04-22-2014, 05:38 AM
"Yeah, totes me that's the moron." Ford stood back up at the rim of the crater, hands digging deep into his pockets. He didn't bother jumping down, didn't have a reason to. If the idiot couldn't climb out of a hole, he deserved to die in one. "At least I fell during the dark ages. Moving wingless is just like moving with wings--on your feet. We can't stay here long, my wards only last so long." With a roll of his eyes he turned away, carefully picking his way back through the rubble. Hopefully one of their kind who had their wings in tact would be by to fix the hole--like hell if he was going to waste energy on it.
Once he got out of the way of the crater, he dropped down on one of the park benches, arms outstretched over the back, and waited. Once upon a time, they would have both been able to hop, barely beat their wings and be well out of the hole and into the sky. It would be a cold shock to the poor sap.
Ford wanted to watch the despair. The bench was a good spot. He could get the guy the clothes and other necessities he'd brought along with him later, after all the panic. He'd only ever found one other fallen of their type, years ago. But they'd been so distraught they'd let a demon run them through. Ford?
He missed heaven. He missed flying, missed spreading his wings and his faith and his holy light out from every pore to bare down onto the damned masses. He had fallen with the weight of his sword in his hands, his one and only souvenir. He cherished it. Ford had been a soldier of an angel, one of many. He'd never had the patience to be a Guardian Angel.
And yet here he was, drawn by what holy power had been left to him to care for one of his brothers. Ye may be cast out from heaven, but never do you escape it's sight.
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