IC Contact

[tryingitall]

You've reached the voice mail box for the angel Balthazar.  Sorry I missed your call!
Well... actually, that depends who you are.  I may have deliberately missed your call, in which case I won't get back to you unless you have a really good reason I should make the attempt.  So, I advise you to make a list of potential bribes when you leave your message.  If I want to talk to you, I won't need them.

...Beep.
 

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[tryingitall]

The smile on Balthazar's face fades at Aziraphael's confession, and he nods slowly. "Like marble statues. No desire, no compassion...bleached tombs filled with nothing but bones."

He loves the Host anyway, because they're his family. Sometimes love is the same as pain.

"I think angels are just another kind of monster," he adds. "Setting aside our proximity to the Divine--or maybe because of that. We carry the very breath of Creation within us, and what to we do with it? We kill things. Mortal things, immortal things, one another..." His gaze has gone distant and grim. Haunted.

"I'm over five hundred million years old, Aziraphale. And nothing, not a thing, I've ever done has had half the meaning or given a tenth as much to the world as a five-minute sketch my vessel did with a hangover, before he'd had his morning coffee."

"Don't ask me why we're the exceptions that prove the rule, but it seems we are, you and I. Let me know if you get some insight on what, exactly, to do with that."

[sohoangel]

It's a grim image, but it's one he can't entirely argue with. Especially not after the final days of his near Armageddon, when the archangels showed their true colors and he finally stopped pretending that they wanted anything other than the ultimate holy war.

But his own turmoil pales in comparison to Balthazar's, who has clearly given this much more thought. Maybe because his world is that much bleaker, or maybe because he's had more time to think about things. Either way, it hurts to see his friend like this, and without over-thinking it, he gets up off his chair and walks over to the other angel to put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"My dear boy, you matter much more than you could possibly know." He gives Balthazar's shoulder a squeeze, his sigh speaking of his own troubled thoughts. "I don't know why we are so different from the rest of the Host. I'd say it's our time among humans, but even before Eden, before the Fall, I felt..." He trails off, thinking back to that time before time technically existed. "I didn't have the words for it, but I wanted a friend. I almost wish that I knew Crowley back then, but I think it would have been too heart-breaking to see him again afterwards. I'm glad that I know him now, as he is. I'd like to think he was like us before the Fall."

[tryingitall]

Balthazar blinks at little at the comforting hand. Usually when he gets grim, someone changes the subject. Except for Lucifer who seems to either angst with him or pull him into a romantic embrace. A friendly touch on the shoulder is different, and much appreciated, and his tension dissolves.

He smiles up at the other angel, wry with the mutual understanding of grief between them, but warm. "I haven't spent nearly as much time among humans as you have, though. I don't know, maybe every organized system needs a few outliers like us to keep it from being stagnant. Maybe...maybe there's some hope in that."

He's going to have to think about this one, long and hard.

"I always wanted to love and be loved," he says, tilting his head. "In whatever ways were available. Family, friends, lovers. They're all precious."

[sohoangel]

This isn't a subject that Aziraphale discusses much, if at all. Not even with Crowley. He's only beginning to process those six thousand years of what was essentially a toxic work environment, but he won't let Balthazar think that he's alone when it comes to this. He returns the wry smile with one of his own.

"I think there's a great deal of hope in that. And I think you'll find that hope only grows the more time you spend around humans." He pats Balthazar's shoulder a final time before letting go and returning to his seat, which has somehow moved closer to Balthazar's chair, within arm's reach. Technically a miracle, but the passive kind that comes from an angel who anticipates inanimate objects being there when he needs them.

"I'm very happy to call you my friend," he tells him. "And Crowley is, too. I think it's very exciting for him to know another angel who isn't a sanctimonious blowhard." That's not the phrase that Crowley used, but Aziraphale doesn't like to repeat foul language. "He's, ah... he's not happy about Lucifer's presence in the Nexus. I wouldn't expect him to keep as open a mind as I am."