Ezra [ Side Scene 2 ]

Sliding her jacket on one arm as she rounded the kitchen’s entryway, Ezra snatched up an apple from the enticing bowl display at the edge of a counter. It was only once the apple was crammed into her mouth, her other arm extended to slip her garment on completely, that she realized her aunt and uncle were seated at the table neatly ensconced in the breakfast nook. They stared back at her with just as much surprise.

Quickly grinning around her oral obstacle, Ezra bit down and pulled her meal away with one hand.

"'Mornin’," she attempted, the word accompanied by a wave; she exhibited the unendearing skill of speaking, chewing, and swallowing almost all at once.

"You know it's three in the afternoon, right?" Her aunt offered, sounding more amused than annoyed. Strewn around them were books, papers, pencils, bits of chalk, and some half-done drawings of what looked like summoning sigils. Steaming cups of what Ezra assumed was tea, according to her aunts' assertion that it was actually late in the afternoon, were placed strategically where they’d do the least amount of damage if they were accidentally up-ended.

Ezra shrugged, chewing and swallowing completely before attending to a reply. "I'm headed out -- have a clean up job, should be real easy.

"Oh, and just so you know, I might be gone for a few days," she added, not entirely feeling the nonchalance she was attempting. "Next week, so don't be surprised if I don't make it home for a little while." She turned to the cabinets, both trying to find something she could pocket as a snack for later and avoid eye contact at the same time. The sounds of bone china cups sliding on plates and one very defeated sigh told her that her relatives weren't going to let her off that easily.

"Thanks for the notice," her uncle replied. Bone china scraped against its plate, and as though she had eyes in the back of her head, Ezra could plainly see him holding the cup aloft, fingers gently curled around its handle. "Care to offer any other details? You know, we've both been around here for a while. We can help from time to time."

Ezra's lips thinned. She pulled down a bag of trail mix and began attempting to stuff it into one pocket very unsuccessfully. As she performed this ill designed trick, she circled back around to her audience. "Just to the undersling."

A choking sound, and bone china rattled into its resting place. "I'm sorry, did you say the undersling?"

"Mmm, are there anymore raisins?" Without waiting for a response, Ezra dropped the abused bag of trail mix onto the counter and darted toward the pantry. She had known that the introduction of the word ‘undersling’ would draw out an all too likely conversational trajectory; sometimes an escape was the next best option.

Ezra let the pantry door half close behind her, puttering loudly for a few minutes until conversation resumed in the kitchen. She paused, listening to her aunt and uncle mutter at each other in low tones they clearly thought Ezra could not discern-- about how she needed to start taking care of herself, because no one was going to figure out matters for her after Shadow, she needed to do it on her own. Then there was something else about... a calling? The family's role. No specifics were discussed -- her aunt and uncle were well-practiced dancers at edging around the topic Ezra dearly wanted to know more about. She moved toward the door, and flicked on a switch that brought up the lights.

This also revealed a second form inside the pantry, sending Ezra flat against a wall with her heart thudding against her rib cage. It wasn’t that the second form was a tall, bird-like being too large for the generous storage space of the pantry that nearly sent Ezra into cardiac arrest as much as the simple fact of its unannounced appearance. Taking a few long, slow deep breaths, Ezra forced herself to modulate her voice before she spoke.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!"

[Sooth card: Revealing Knife]

The angel blinked down at her, black eyes implacable in its avian face. "I do not merely come when called," it said. In spite of their unusual meeting-place the angel did not appear to prioritize voice modulation. It spoke as it ever did, soft but sure, and at a volume better suited to a living space than a pantry. "I have need of you. I assume you recall our bargain."

Ezra, pressing one hand to her brow and releasing a long, deep sigh, straightened from where she'd fallen against the wall in surprise. She didn't immediately respond beyond nodding, instead waiting and listening to discover if her relatives had heard -- and if they had, praying they'd chalk it up to the manner of the Manor and its other residents. When there was no response from either aunt or uncle, Ezra felt safe enough to reply.

"Of course." She straightened, her gaze wandering up the length of the angel toward its face. Her tone was hushed, and she hoped it might take a hint. Another voice in the back of her mind said it wouldn't, beings like this didn't care if they were about to tip off those Ezra was trying to keep in the dark, but she still wanted to offer some modicum of respect to the seraphim before her. Relationships were all about diplomacy, after all. Now that she'd gotten past the 'afraid' part of 'do not be afraid,' a sense of wonder and awe began to wash over her from the angel's presence. Terror was an addicting feeling, one she was edging toward far too often lately.

"What do you need?"

Indeed, its voice did not change. The angel spoke as though it had no concern for others overhearing; theirs was not a mission for which they felt need for secrecy or shame. "I understand you are going to the Undersling." How it knew this, it did not say. "You must travel to the Pinion Court there. A..." It paused, now, its black eyes for a moment downcast. But it found its certainty again, quickly enough.

"One who is dear to me is due to be tried there. They stand accused of a crime they did not commit. You must free them. Free them. Spare their wings from the tearing. If you do this, your debt will be paid."

Sorrow descended on Ezra, her whole form growing heavy. There were too many people — too many souls — that she was immediately reminded of, not to mention their recent brush with the wraith that had escaped with their undead hostage. She opened her mouth to immediately reply, but her physical form seemed to have more care for itself than she. Her throat was robbed of words by the emotions she was picking up from the angel. Instead, she used the moment to pace herself. She needed information, not to rush head first into danger. Her jaw closed gently, and she swallowed.

"I promise to do what I can," she said, carefully. Her expression was a mixture of apology but willingness. "What can you tell me that would help me achieve what you’re asking?"

It paused for a moment, so still it seemed frozen. These first thoughts it kept hidden. When it spoke, it did so with a confidence and solemnity that made clear just how important its message must be.

"Its name is [the sound of television static from a distant room]," it said, intoning the unpronounceable name with ease. "It is accused of aiding the Dark. Its trial is in a month's time, unless the judges deem otherwise. I would never call them faithless, but some might." It fell silent, as though afraid of its own words. Soon enough it found better ones. "There will be no convincing them. There will only be freeing [the sound of television static, slightly nearer now], and finding safe haven after. That, I must see to on my own."

Ezra blinked, doing her best to mask the physical flinch she displayed at the angel's sobriquet for its friend. It wasn't the first, nor would likely be the last, time such new and different languages would be displayed for her. She did her best to file away the sound, its pitches and depths; not in the hopes of reproducing it in the future, but merely being able to recognize it. Perhaps one of her weaver friends could help her recreate the sound; Ezra made a mental note to raise the issue at their next meeting.

As she opened her mouth to ask a follow up question--who were they, why was their friend associated with such a crime, was there more information about the place they were being held were all just a few that immediately sprang to mind--the bird vanished. The large, impossible-to-miss, anthropomorphic avian disappeared in a blink before Ezra's eyes. Confusion descended over her as she glanced about the small pantry space--there was nowhere the seraphim could have squished itself, and it certainly would not have been able to do so without Ezra's perception and (some) understanding of what it was attempting.

"Ezra? I think the raisins are gone. You can stop hiding in the pantry now." Her aunt's voice wafted through the door, amusement lining her gentle chastisement. "I promise we're not going to shackle you to the house."

"Well, don't tell her that," her uncle added with light laughter. The sounds of ruffling paper, tinkling china, and tea sipping were a constant undercurrent that pulled Ezra back into the now. Ezra rubbed her eyes, glad her relatives either hadn't heard any of what had just happened or were being polite enough to not pry. Rolling her shoulders and releasing a great sigh that left her feeling hollowed out, Ezra opened the pantry door and stepped back out into the familiar light of the kitchen.