been waiting for the glory ((open, nexus_crossings))

Balthazar's vessel was an artist. Not a famous one, certainly not a wealthy one, but one of those sorts who cannot help but do what he does. Every now and again, he searches the Nexus' galleries and museums on the off-chance there is some world where the man succeeded and earned the recognition the angel feels he was due.

The human soul is within him, still, sleeping, waiting for a well-earned Heavenly reward. He'd wake it up to see if he found his work somewhere.

No such luck today, but the angel has found a sculpture he admires and bought it for one of his safehouses back in his own world. It will be shipped later in the week, and for now he's taking a break, sipping a margarita on the patio of a Tex-Mex restaurant that bears the sign 'Nacho Mama's' in bright pink neon.

He's not interested in the food, but a really good margarita is nothing to be missed. This is his third, and the staff is starting to look deeply concerned by the volume of tequila he has consumed this afternoon.

"It's all right," he tells the waitress as she comes by to check on him, and there is no hint he's even tipsy. "I'm just very fond of lime."

"You, um, must have a high tolerance," she says. "The bartender keeps asking me if he should cut you off."

"Oh, I see. Tell him I could clear out every bit of liquor in the place and still keep my feet. It takes real work to get an angel drunk."

"That explains it," she says weakly, and leaves him be, although it really doesn't explain it, because since when do angels get drunk??

The Nexus is rough on people, ontologically.