Balthazar is a beacon. He's gone to the widest part of the river and stayed high above the treeline, burying his searing light in the clouds to protect accidental passers-by. His best efforts at care have nevertheless sent wildlife fleeing as if from a forest fire, but the power of the Nexus means he has at least caused no harm. Just a few frights.
He’s quite bad at being still in trueform, though he’s able to stay in roughly the same spot as he waits for Lucifer to catch up, spinning and circling and fluttering in the air, like a meteor that has no intention of landing anytime soon, thank you very much, this atmosphere is lovely. There is a sound that accompanies his motions, as well, something like the quiet whoosh right before a firework goes screaming into the sky and bursts into dazzling sparks. He is not a star nor a shedder of light, but he is most certainly a flame of joy.
He is able to expand or contract the rings of this shape, and he has them pulled down to the most convenient size he can manage when Lucifer arrives, but that is still quite large, the diameter of a large carousel rather than the span of the London Eye. Still, that should be enough to appreciate his shape, as he peeps out from behind a cloud, somehow conveying a coy look even without human features. He is a series of rings, of course, a swoop of semi-corporeal light and smoke and iridescent red-gold vapor, glittering like a cut fire opal in the light of the sun and his own energies. Eyes hover in the haze of color and flame, studding the rings—sometimes there are two rings, sometimes six, sometimes just the one, but there are always thousands, tens of thousands, of eyes, singly and in matched pairs and groups.
Many are humanoid, in every shade possible for mortal people: brown, blue, hazel, caramel, green, sable, black. Others are animal eyes of every description, from hawk to doe to frog to octopus. There is even a pair of shimmery compound eyes that flicker at Lucifer as they slide past, very clearly modeled after a butterfly’s. His wings, too, are dotted with eyes of every description, but here the eyes are more organized, laid out in lines like peacock feathers.
And his wings, well, he never seems to have more than four on any given ring, but they come and go in a dizzying rush, enough speed and motion and color to make a human sick or temporarily insane, but they are tawny-gold, like sun on a field of ripe wheat, and the feathers are curly, absurdly curly at the bases in a way that would make them impossible to fly with if he were required to obey the laws of physics. Somehow the curls and the glittery gold of his eyelashes soften the raging-fire effect of the rest of him and make him look playful. Glory with a giggle.
That, and suddenly without Levi’s body around him, it’s clear he’s much younger than Lucifer. Not a child, by angelic standards, but still boyish.
“Boo!” he says, as if Lucifer’s caught him at hide and seek, and laughs. His usual accent somehow carries over to his celestial voice, even if the power of it is enough to make the trees below shiver. “Shall we find the ocean? It’s only a few miles downriver, we’ll be there in a flash.”
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He’s quite bad at being still in trueform, though he’s able to stay in roughly the same spot as he waits for Lucifer to catch up, spinning and circling and fluttering in the air, like a meteor that has no intention of landing anytime soon, thank you very much, this atmosphere is lovely. There is a sound that accompanies his motions, as well, something like the quiet whoosh right before a firework goes screaming into the sky and bursts into dazzling sparks. He is not a star nor a shedder of light, but he is most certainly a flame of joy.
He is able to expand or contract the rings of this shape, and he has them pulled down to the most convenient size he can manage when Lucifer arrives, but that is still quite large, the diameter of a large carousel rather than the span of the London Eye. Still, that should be enough to appreciate his shape, as he peeps out from behind a cloud, somehow conveying a coy look even without human features. He is a series of rings, of course, a swoop of semi-corporeal light and smoke and iridescent red-gold vapor, glittering like a cut fire opal in the light of the sun and his own energies. Eyes hover in the haze of color and flame, studding the rings—sometimes there are two rings, sometimes six, sometimes just the one, but there are always thousands, tens of thousands, of eyes, singly and in matched pairs and groups.
Many are humanoid, in every shade possible for mortal people: brown, blue, hazel, caramel, green, sable, black. Others are animal eyes of every description, from hawk to doe to frog to octopus. There is even a pair of shimmery compound eyes that flicker at Lucifer as they slide past, very clearly modeled after a butterfly’s. His wings, too, are dotted with eyes of every description, but here the eyes are more organized, laid out in lines like peacock feathers.
And his wings, well, he never seems to have more than four on any given ring, but they come and go in a dizzying rush, enough speed and motion and color to make a human sick or temporarily insane, but they are tawny-gold, like sun on a field of ripe wheat, and the feathers are curly, absurdly curly at the bases in a way that would make them impossible to fly with if he were required to obey the laws of physics. Somehow the curls and the glittery gold of his eyelashes soften the raging-fire effect of the rest of him and make him look playful. Glory with a giggle.
That, and suddenly without Levi’s body around him, it’s clear he’s much younger than Lucifer. Not a child, by angelic standards, but still boyish.
“Boo!” he says, as if Lucifer’s caught him at hide and seek, and laughs. His usual accent somehow carries over to his celestial voice, even if the power of it is enough to make the trees below shiver. “Shall we find the ocean? It’s only a few miles downriver, we’ll be there in a flash.”