pagemistress: (Default)

Hello, Dreamwidth!

OK, so I am very, very new to this place so please bear with me. I know that this place has many of the same functions as Livejournal (but apparently more user friendly) so it shouldn't be too difficult, right? I have been on LJ for years and use it predominantly for my fanfiction but I wanted a place for my original writing also, to keep them both separate and thus this journal was born!

What can you expect to find here? Well, I created a prompt calendar for myself (which I am failing miserably at fulfilling, I might add) so as and when I fill any, I will probably put them up here. I am also currently working through my first novel called The Fates of Angels so I will probably post parts of that and just generally my process of how it's (not) going. I am a terrible procrastinator so if anyone feels like giving me a motivational boost it would be most welcome.

I'll use tags to make things easier to navigate so any prompt fills will be under...wait for it..."prompt fills"! Genius, right? And anything about my book will be under "Fates of Angels". If I decide to start posting the prompts, regardless of whether I've filled it, I'll tag it "daily prompt".

Please feel free to follow/friend/add/whatever me if you are also a writer and enjoy discussing your work and especially if you are willing to trade work for critiquing/feedback.

In my fiction, I tend to lean towards fantasy and science fiction but where my prompts are concerned, it can be all over the shop!

pagemistress: (dagan foster)
Fandom: Original (The Fates of Angels)
Character(s): Dagan (about Lucifer)
Words: 508

It’s impossible to “know” the Devil, he simply doesn’t exist. The devil is an entity, it isn’t corporeal or any one thing; I suppose it is more accurately described as the essence of evil. Like when people say “the devil is in the detail”, that is somewhat accurate because details are there to cause problems and chaos. This whole representation you people have of a red demon with horns, pitchfork and tail running amok in Hell? Please. There’s only one governor of the dark realms and, while he does have more than a little devil in him, he is not this cartoon caricature that you have invented. He is something much worse.

Lucifer may not bare the resemblance of any demon (unless it suits his purpose, of course) but that doesn’t make him any less terrifying. The man is beyond sociopathic; were there more like him they would need to create a more fitting term but you may thank your lucky stars that there aren’t, the term may remain simply: Lucifer.You may think that you can get to know him, he is after all very cordial; a smile here, a laugh there accompanied with comforting touches and bright, attentive eyes. But it’s all for a purpose. Lucifer never, never acts without motive, it’s carved deep in his soul (or whatever remains of it). Everything he does is to distract, to analyse, to assess…How useful might you be? Are you worth his time? Should you be allowed to leave as you came? Do you deserve a punishment for taking the liberty of merely approaching him.

I have been an acquaintance of his for many centuries but I don’t even attempt to kid myself that I have even seen the tip of the iceberg of what he is. And I don’t believe I ever want that familiarity. Every time I visit Hell, I am 98% sure that I will leave intact – mentally and physically – but that is almost enough to paralyse me every time I descend. I don’t doubt that he knows the effect that he has but he never raises it, it is unimportant to him for now. But while I may never underestimate him, he deeply underestimates me. Because when I see that smile, I see a hunter stalking its prey, when I hear that laugh it’s like nails on a chalkboard and each touch and look burns me to the core like a brand. But I know that he isn’t aware of anything beyond the fear I have for him, he feeds off it so much that he misses the respect and disgust that is also there, the contempt and desire. The ulterior motives. Because while Lucifer is an irrefutable genius, he tends to only see what he wants to see. And if you don’t meet those standards, he will go to any lengths to make it so.

So, better the devil you know? This particular one is best left well alone, because once you “know” him, he’ll want to get to know you. Intimately.
pagemistress: (the fates of angels)
Fandom: Original (The Fates of Angels)
Character(s): None. Focused on the setting of Heaven.
Word Count: 793
Author's Note: I tend to have a bit of trouble when describing the surroundings of my world, especially when they are complete fabrications so I thought I'd give this prompt a try. And it came out in a kind of weird second person narrative as well...I don't know if it works but it's how it wanted to come out.

It should be cold. You look around at the marble floors and the columns that continue upwards beyond your sight and it looks hard and solid and uncomfortable. But when you touch it, it instantly warms to your body temperature. It's strange and yet welcoming at the same time. The floor seems more inviting then, as you slip your shoes off to feel the marble beneath your feet. Again, the expected shock of cold doesn't come and instead the smooth surface of the stone seems to almost massage the newly tender skin of your soles. It's not like walking on air or grass but it moulds itself around you with every pace you take, assuring you that it's there, that you won't fall.

You look around you and can see for leagues. The white scenery, like a blank canvas, continues indefinitely in every direction. It's daunting and makes you feel so small yet you feel a cloying sense of claustrophobia, that a move in any direction will make you lose your way. You reach out a hand to steady yourself as your head spins slightly but there is nothing there, no walls to lean on. It's freeing, of course it is, but it's also too much. Too much open space to get swallowed in. You shuffle over to a column to at least have some kind of support should your legs give out. Moving seems like terrifying prospect all of a sudden so, with a quick shake of the head and a harsh blink of your eyes, you continue to just focus on your surroundings.

The lack of colour is obvious though not unexpected. The sheer volume of white makes it hard for your eyes to adjust but it's getting easier. You notice some muted blues and greens and the occasional pastel yellow but nothing vibrant or bold. At least where the people are concerned. The decoration appears to be treated somewhat differently. Furniture is sparse but the odd bench can be found here and there, possibly more for aesthetic purposes than for resting legs and backs that no longer get tired.

There is, however, quite a large quantity of flora scattered about. No, scattered is the wrong term. If you were to have a bird's eye view of the area, you're sure that everything would be symmetrical, nothing would look out of place. Numerous ferns add a dense green to the surrounding areas but there are no trees, nothing taller than any of the people around. The flowers provide pinpricks of colour, a veritable rainbow with the amount of exotic species there seem to be, many of which you suspect might not have even existed back home. But despite their beauty, there is something almost sad about them. They seem rigid and deliberately crafted rather and wild and alive. The lack of any breeze makes them stand stiff and awkward, like those fabric decorations you used to see in department stores. But you brush your fingers delicately across a petal and feel the softness and fragility within, revealing it is indeed real. The smell is sweet and yet unobtrusive as it permeates the air.

Beautifully crafted yet simplistically designed fountains are dotted throughout, the water flowing over the rim rather than the heavy gushing. You look into the base and the water is so clear that were it not for the reflection of light skimming over the surface, you could swear there was nothing there at all. It's cool to the touch and no doubt refreshing to taste but you refrain as you see no-one else indulging.

The technology is something else entirely and not something that you can decipher at this stage. Beams of light zip constantly above your head, silently and unobtrusively and transparent board hover under glass domes with an image of what looks to be a blueprint but is more likely to be a map. You notice similar beams of light on the image, moving at a greater speed over the scaled distance. The writing covering the map is as useful as hieroglyphs to you so leave it be for now.

You've been walking for a while now and not a lot appears to change. If it weren't for the frequent new faces, you might be convinced you were walking in circles. You close your eyes for a moment to soak in the absolute tranquillity: the smell of the flowers, the flow of the water, the gentle warmth soaking into your skin...and you still feel ill at ease. It's too quiet. The soft murmurs of friendly discussions filter around you but there are no birds, no sudden noises or outbreaks of laughter or life. It's a strange kind of perfection, but maybe you'll get used to it.

pagemistress: (lucifer)
Fandom: Original (The Fates of Angels)
Character(s): Lucifer-centric
Word Count: 638
Author's Note: I don't get inside Lucifer's head a whole lot in my book and this scene focuses more from Dagan and Elias' point of view in the original so I thought I'd redo it to see things through his eyes a bit more and help to have a better grasp of his character.

He clenched his fists and made an obvious effort to stamp down his temper. It was all so entertaining to watch and Lucifer didn't even bother to cover the smirk on his face, the boy wasn't paying him any attention anyhow. Dagan made a move towards him, hand reaching out to grip his arm but Lucifer intercepted, shaking his head as if reprimanding a small child for reaching for the cookie jar without permission.

They both continued to watch as Elias fought to control the sudden wave of rage that had overcome him at seeing the boy that had bullied him mercilessly at school. No doubt he thought it was some cruel coincidence but Lucifer was nothing if not resourceful. No-one quite knows the extent of his abilities (and he never had any intention of letting anyone see below the surface) but none can deny his talent for disruption with the blink of an eye. Not chaos, you understand, Lucifer can't stand disorganisation (unless he's planned it as such) but meticulously strategized snags delivered in such an innocuous way to make people wonder "why me?" Things to really tip people over the edge. It gave him such an intense thrill to cause it but cause and effect was a rare pleasure to witness and one that he wasn't about to deny himself.

Instead, they both just watch the slight tremor flit across Elias' shoulders with the tension he was exhausting to keep himself in check. The kid was good, he had to admit. But of course, he wasn't just your average angel. If he were, he wouldn't be down here in the first place, they had such a lack of curiosity, the cretins. Still, the hesitant step back was unexpected and Lucifer's eyes flashed the colour of molten gold for a brief moment before looking across at Dagan. The man looked back at him with a blank expression, one Lucifer knew he had perfected just for dealing with him. He'd be insulted but he had to admire the angel, he'd learnt the value of distrust well. He flashed his signature grin, both of them knowing that Elias' failure of this test was already a forgone conclusion, it was merely a matter of how.

Wrapping an arm around Elias' shoulder in a deceptively friendly gesture, he drew the boy closer to his adversary. "Ah, you were at school together, I understand?" Lucifer spoke in a casual tone, as if it had only just occurred to him.

Elias nodded, absently. "Billy Cranston. I didn't even know he was dead."

With a quick flick of Lucifer's wrist, Billy made eye contact with Elias and appeared to look through him with dead eyes before something appeared to ignite behind them. A sneer, so familiar and yet belonging on someone younger, rounder and more animated, spread across his lips then as he opened his mouth to address Elias. "Well, if it ain't Smelly El-"

He didn't even get to finish the moniker that Elias had been lumbered with for those 5 years, the right hook positively knocking the spark right out of him as the man went autonomously back to his eternal labour. Elias stared at his hand in shock, as if it had been momentarily possessed. Dagan had closed his eyes briefly on the impact, his posture revealing his slight disappointment despite the fact that it was inevitable. Lucifer meanwhile was refraining from clapping gleefully to himself. What a display! Certainly he reeked of purity but there was a fire in there that, with the right kind of kindling, could become something wonderfully explosive. It would need more planning, however, and now was not the time.

He snagged the wrist that Elias was still holding speculatively and hauled him down the path, followed closely by Dagan. "Come, we have much to discuss..."
pagemistress: (writing)
This is a poem I wrote for inclusion in the Sherlock Holmes fanwork book "The Art of Deduction", due out in August. It revolves around the similarities between Dr Watson and Colonel Moran...

Not So Different

We're not so different, he and I,
One a soldier, one a spy,
One an assassin, a hunter by trade,
The other a doctor, deliverer of aid.

Read more... )
pagemistress: (elias campbell)
Fandom: Original (The Fates of Angels)
Character(s): Mostly Elias.
Word Count: 725
Author's Note: Yet another point in the story that I have yet to reach but have a vague idea of the unfolding of events. This is just a tiny glimpse into that.

He jumped to his feet, appalled and confused by what he had witnessed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Diego make an aborted movement to stop him lurching forward, towards Dagan's kneeling form, but he stopped of his own accord. Should he go to him? Should he run and never look back, forget he had ever met the man? It would be so easy to conform and accept the norm like he should have, would have, had Dagan not gotten to him first. But in the short space of time that he had been his apprentice, he had been shown so much and didn't think he could just forget it all under these unforeseen circumstances. He had heard them whispering, heard words like "brainwashing" and "manipulating" being carelessly tossed around. They didn't understand. Elias could barely understand himself, but he was at least willing to listen. Maybe that was why Dagan had taken to him in the first place. Or maybe he did just think he was young and niave enough to mold to his liking.

As the thoughts chased each other around his head, Dagan's eyes lifted from the corpse in front of him to meet Elias'. The moment stretched as Dagan stared right into him, as if searching for something, hands still twitching with the strength it had taken to break the man's neck. Diego remained passive at Elias' side, unsure whether he should risk leaving them alone but feeling like an interloper. Just as Elias was about to break eye contact, uncomfortable with the attention, Dagan's mouth twitched into resigned and ugly smile. His eyes drifted back to the slowly disappearing form of Caleb on the ground, fingers idly playing with the ornate robes that he had so often disparaged as he nodded slightly to himself.

When he spoke, it's unexpectedness made both Elias and Diego start and they had to lean in to make out the words due to the roughness of his voice. "Follow who you will, boy," he began, eyes still remaining downcast as his whole form started to tense, as if he were fighting against something, "But be sure to feel. Don't let them quash what you have fought hard to regain."

Diego frowned at the words but Elias remained impassive, refusing to acknowledge the sentiment one way or the other. When Dagan looked up again, the fear that was plain on his face was like a physical blow to Elias, forcing the air from his lungs. Never had he seen him anything but controlled, even when he was angry or frustrated. It was then that he noticed the change of his skin, the way it had begun to glisten silver, as if a second skin of ice were forming over his body. Dagan seemed aware of it, expectant even, and dismissed Elias' wide-eyed stare with a weary wave of his hand.

"Follow who you will," he repeated, the words sounding more and more of a struggle, "But not me. I go where none can follow. Better yet, lead for a change. Your...pig-headedness...will get you far." He chuckled to himself but it came out more like a wheeze and it was the last exhale he managed before his whole body became rigid, encased in the silver film.

A choked sound escaped Elias and this time Diego did move to hold him back before he could even think of approaching the form of his...friend? Mentor? ...Downfall? Without warning, the figure rocketed into the open sky, propelling them both back with the sheer force of it and sliding them a good distance across the marble floors. When Elias had finally gotten his wits about him once more, he scrabbled to his knees, dragging himself across to where Dagan had been. Both figures were now gone and there was zero evidence of what had just occured, save the only two people that had witnessed it.

Diego, who had made it to his feet, tapped him softly on the shoulder but Elias just continued to stare at the bare ground. He dimly heard the young man sigh before shuffling away, leaving him to his half-formed and endless thoughts.

Clenching his fists together, he raised himself up and squared his shoulders as if preparing for battle. Considering who he knew he had to pay a visit to, maybe he was.
pagemistress: (isaac westwood)
Fandom: Original (The Fates of Angels)
Character: Isaac Westwood

I see the irony of it, don't think that I don't. Spend your last days fightin' for freedom - or some twisted manifestation of it, at least - and what happens? Wind up a prisoner in my own afterlife. Or afterexistence 'cause I sure as hell ain't livin' it up where I am, I can tell ya. I weren't never a prisoner of war but I passed through Castle Thunder enough times to know that there ain't just one definition of the term. Prisoners there were cooped up in dirty cells, visited by soldiers who enjoyed taking their frustrations out on them Yankees a little too much and their one hope was to be left alone in their isolation.

Me? What I wouldn't give for some contact, even if it was just for a quick punch down. At least it would be a way to keep my mind alive, to prove to myself that I haven't drifted off where no-one can find me. Hell, I'd probably jump at a chance to be confined in a cell! At least then you know where ya stand...You're in those four walls and there ain't no getting out. Here I got walls, probably 8x2, that even I can't see but damn do I know they're there. Confinement is one thing but being trapped in the same cubic space for over 100 years and being able to see the world change around's a fresh kinda torture.

Even the folks here that can see me don't pay me any mind. Most of the other purgatorios ain't exactly great company so I can live without that, so to speak. But angels and demons are comin' up (or down) here all the time collectin' their charges and the least they could offer is a "Hey, don't worry, we haven't forgotten you exist!" Course, I've become an inconvenience to 'em now. I'm the glitch in the paperwork that everyone hopes if they ignore it, it will go away. Not gonna happen! This may not be a prison I can break out of but if they think I'm just gonna resign myself to this...ghost world of a hell then they've got another thing comin'! I'm not letting myself get trapped in my own head like the rest of 'em. I will see this through to the end, dammit, no matter what the hell that might be.
pagemistress: (dagan foster)
Fandom: Original (The Fates of Angels)
Character(s): Dagan & Elias
Words: 755
Author's Note: Again, a random scene from later on in the story...Dagan is taking Elias to see Lucifer via a gateway in the Hollywood Cemetery in Virginia. Cemeteries are crawling with souls in limbo, one of which happens to be a close, personal friend of Dagan's. 

"They are there, but they are harmless enough."
OK, so it had been a lie. But it was hardly one of the most damning lies he had told in recent times so the guilt he felt for it was more of an afterthought. Dagan knew that Elias was going to prove very useful in the coming days and was not about to say anything to scare the boy off now. If he made it through the next few hours, he had nothing to worry about but until then he was going to tread as carefully as possible.

As they marched through the deserted cemetery, Dagan saw the way Elias was shooting glances to his left and right, hands thrust deep in his pockets. It was obvious that he still wasn't completely comfortable in his presence but apparently curiosity trumped any sense of self-preservation.

Slowing their pace, Dagan half turned to address his apprentice, "I wouldn't look for them, if I were you. They're not social creatures. They've been without contact for so long that the majority of them have become somewhat hostile."

"I think the term you actually used was 'harmless'," Elias responded accusingly, eyes still darting around while his shoulders hunched in further.

"If you don't engage them or draw attention to yourself then that will certainly be the case. Just keep your eyes on me."

Grudgingly, Elias obeyed as Dagan led them through the deserted cemetery. The surety in his steps told Elias that they were headed for somewhere in particular but nothing looked out of the ordinary as far as he could see.

Something flashed in the corner of his eye and before he could think better of it, he turned his head in the direction of the light. At first he couldn't quite pinpoint what had caught his attention but then he saw it; a darting light, similar to the reflection of a watch as it flits across a wall. Except there was nothing there for anything to reflect off of, especially as the sun wasn't even visible beneath the clouds. He approached with care, hands slipping out of his pockets as he raised them in a gesture of peace. The light stilled its frantic movements to hover in front of the gravestone but despite its sudden calmness, it was giving off an irrepressible vibe of 'under threat'.

Just as Elias came to a halt in front of it, the orb transformed with a wisp into a human figure. Or what used to be a human figure. The face was so worn and distorted, almost skeletal, that he couldn't even define whether it was a man or a woman. The remains of clothing hung in shreds across rakish limbs and hair so fine it was barely visible clung stubbornly to a flaking skull. It was the eyes that made Elias lurch backwards; glazed and sunken, barely a hint of pigment left in them, they bore through him with such desperate sadness that he felt a sudden compulsion to just break down and weep.

The figure lunged for him but he was just out of reach, wrenching his arm back for good measure. He made to turn, wanting to get back on track when another figure crowded him, then another before he found himself surrounded by the tortured apparitions. All reached out for him, their frail looking limbs holding a fierce strength he wouldn't think them capable of. The sound was deafening; a constant roar of nonsensical wails and moans. Despite the fact that he couldn't identify any words, he knew they were pleas of mercy and howls of loneliness.

A firm hand grasped him by the collar, yanking him sideways but before Elias could lash out, he realised the hand was attached to Dagan who was wearing a concerned frown. Just as he took a breath to explain himself, both of Dagan's hands came up either side of his head and connected hard enough to make him black out for a split second and stumble forward.

Above the dull thudding in his ears from the sudden violent contact, he absently noticed that the wails had vanished. Straightening up, he gave a quick look around him to see that the figures had receded back to orbs, once again left to their own personal torment. He looked back at Dagan who was giving him the most phenomenally unimpressed look yet and decided to keep any excuses to himself.

They continued walking as if nothing had happened as Elias muttered to himself, "Harmless. Right."
pagemistress: (dagan foster)
1. Which of the 7 heavenly virtues (chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, kindness, humility) do you feel you most embody and why (if humility recall that we asked first)?

How did humility even become a virtue? I mean, really. It doesn't do to be humble but when people aren't it's considered arrogance; it's absurd. But I suppose I'm avoiding the question, aren't I? It would probably be a tie for patience and diligence. Although my patience is rapidly wearing thin, I think the several thousand years that have preceded it allow me to make it a viable choice. As for diligence, it's a quality that I have always had. You need to be meticulous in this business; the slightest misstep, the smallest overlooking of a charge's documentation and you could have a crisis on your hands. They're not as fun as they sound, trust me.

2. Do you tend to consider your words carefully, or do you just say whatever is on your mind?

Depends on the scenario or who I am speaking with. Most of the time, when I am in a conversing mood, I will speak what's on my mind. I've been around for too long to watch what I say; if they don't like it then that's their issue, not mine. Anyone that knows me has come to accept doubt this is why few people engage with me. I don't tell people what they want to hear, I tell people what I think and what I know. And a lot of what I know, they won't like. Of course, when dealing with Lucifer, you must watch everything that comes out of your mouth. While he's smiling and laughing with you, he's making a mental note of everything you say and you don't want it coming back to haunt you.

3. Where would you go if you needed to feel secure, comfortable, or safe?

With a simple thought, I can travel anywhere on Earth but there are surprisingly few places that ease my mind these days. Rather than specific locations, I find a good high mountain is the best place to clear my head and sooth my tensions. Being able to rest between the vast expanse of white cloud below and blue sky above is a comforting place to be. (Despite popular beliefs, Heaven does not sit on clouds. There are no clouds to be seen, no weather at all. Also, while I'm at it, Heaven is not in the sky; it is a temporal space that has no measurable relation to Earth.)

4. How do you feel when you are in a crowd?

It's been awhile since I've been in a crowd, at least in the proper sense of the term. I'm often in the middle of hoards of people but they are completely unaware of my presence and I tend to disregard the majority of them where possible. Due to the immense area of Heaven, crowds are pretty hard to come by. I've never been one for them, anyway. If I find myself in one, I tend to slip away as soon as possible.

5. How do you feel when you are alone?

Comfortable. At ease. Some might say that I have "trust issues" but when I have someone around me, especially if it is in my personal space, I have to restrain myself from removing them somewhat forcefully. Generally, I find other people tedious and disinteresting but I have found some exceptions to the rule. It's hard to find adequate alone time in my postition, though.

pagemistress: (ravon evermore)
She managed to bite back her bitter words. However, Dagan thought he would have preferred her vehemence, her righteous anger over this charged silence. They sat opposite each other; his posture stiff and still but his fingernails digging into the faux leather of the armchair while she crouched forward, rocking ever so slightly back and forth, wringing her hands together in her own chair. He noticed her hands shaking and how the tremor ran through her arms and shoulders. Shock, he thought. She's going into shock.

At the barest inch that he moved forward, she abruptly raised a hand, eyes not leaving the worn carpet below her feet. "Don't. You dare," she said, the restrained tremble in her fingers alone keeping him in place. Her voice was wrecked, words choked out of a throat that sounded too dry and over-worked. He'd have thought she'd cried herself hoarse had he not been in front of her the whole time and not seen a single tear spill from her, admittedly damp, eyes.

He sank back further into his chair, making himself as non-threatening as possible. Several more seconds of disquiet followed before a shuddery breath forced its way past her lips and she looked up through hair that hands had raked through, distressingly. "You-" The words caught in her throat and she had to cough to make them heard clearly. "You have absolutely no idea, no idea what you've done."

Once again he made to speak but she cut him off with a sterner gesture of her hand, "No, you shut up. This is not up for debate. I have to believe that you had no idea 'cos I don't want to think that anyone could be cruel enough to do what you've done to me all these years."


"NO! I swear to- to anyone out there that if you interrupt me one more time I will be out of here and will not come back. You let me say my piece and then we'll see where it goes." Even the slightest suggestion of a positive resolution to this nightmare was enough to make Dagan's mouth snap closed. He knew that whatever she was about to say would cut straight to the bone, it had every right to, but he had to physically steel himself for the blows. The result could be worth the numrous cuts and bruises to his soul.
pagemistress: (dagan foster)
1) If you had a weakness for one of the seven deadly sins (envy, gluttony, greed, lust, pride, sloth, wrath), which one would it be and why?

You're really asking a Guardian Angel about the seven deadly sins? How entertaining. My reputation proceeds me, I suppose. They have always seemed frivolous and dull to me but perhaps envy. But it's hardly fair to be blamed when the imbicilic herd known as humanity are given so many choices and chances and I...well. That's a different question, isn't it? And maybe you should add wrath to that answer.

2) What do you do when you are angry?

Ah, anger. Angels don't feel anger, we aren't supposed to feel anything. But I remember how it felt and, as each day passes, I feel it return more and more. I don't tend to react to it, it would be fruitless after all, but I can't say that throwing the occasional item doesn't do something for me. But the blank reactions of the others only serves to frustrate me more.

3) Do you have a secret passion? What is it? Why is it a passion? And why is it a secret?

If it's secret, what makes you think I'd share it with you? Millenia of the same thing tends to quash the passion out of anything, it becomes tedium. I suppose in an abstract sense, I have a passion for the unpredictable. It's not something that is appreciated (or common) here and we aren't exactly encouraged to cause rifts in the norm...perhaps that's where the appeal lies.

4) How do you think people see you as a person, either internally or externally?

I think people have given up trying to see me and I like it that way. I don't need their judgement at every turn, it just impedes me from my work. That, in itself, is probably an answer. They see me as an outsider, a burden, a menace. The funny thing is, they don't even know the half of it.

5) How do you see yourself?

...A shell.

From a prompt on [community profile] muse_prompts
pagemistress: (the fates of angels)
Due to the various communities I've joined on DW so far, there will undoubtedly be posts told from the perspective of my various characters and so I wanted to sum them up a bit for anyone (the icons for each charater can be found below, and yes I know I used Callisto for Erich but she's the closest thing to how I imagine him!). I will tag posts with the character's name, just to make it clear if it isn't elsewhere.

Dagan Foster: One of the central characters of the book (probably the main character if there need be one). He is a senior guardian angel, having been one of those original tasked with the job and has been in the position for several millennia. He has become utterly disenchanted with the role and wants out by any means necessary. He is hard-hearted, introverted but with a fierce passion for things he believes in.

Elias Campbell: Another central character, Elias dies in the opening chapter to become a guardian angel and apprentice to Dagan. At only 22, he is one of the younger GA's and his endless curiosity and tenacity cause a stir amidst the community. He values honesty and integrity and is a very wholesome person but his intrigue of Dagan's past and the inner workings of the GA system force him to take a big step out of his comfort zone and take some major risks.

Ravon Evermore: A very important character but one that takes awhile to appear in the text. Ravon is a 31-year-old Australian woman and former charge of Dagan's. "Former" being a somewhat inaccurate term seeing as how she gets more attention from him than any of his others. She is the only human being to be without a GA as several years ago Dagan pushed her to such limits, testing her resolve that she finally went against him and he deemed her worthy of total free-will and stopped acting as a conscience. However, that didn't work so well for her and he is soon faced directly with the consequences of his meddling. She's quick-witted, hard-working and loving but has a bone-deep anxiety that haunts her every move.

Diego Martinez: A supporting character, Diego is another GA. He immediately hits it off with Elias and shows him the ropes. He's energetic and fun-loving and also not quite dead. The council were slightly to eager in recruiting him that they didn't wait the appropriate length of time before assignment and didn't realise that he was on life support. As a result, whenever he flatlines in the hospital, he will temporarily vanish from heaven only to return several hours later when he stabilises. He doesn't like Dagan and the feeling is mutual. He is kind-hearted but internally struggles with back and forth he suffers and becomes increasingly undecided about his allegiances.

Isaac Westwood: Another supporting character, Isaac is a confederate soldier who died during the Civil War and is still currently stuck in limbo. Because of the numerous deaths at the time, there was quite a waiting list to get into heaven or hell and he suspects he fell through the net somehow. It's gone on so long that it's believed that neither side wants to admit that they missed something as serious as a human soul and just keep putting it off indefinitely. As such, he cannot leave the cubic space of his grave site and wallows in the cold and dreary existence that is limbo. He is one of the few people that Dagan can tolerate, visiting him fairly often. He is a voracious reader, a loyal companion and powerful ally but he is slowly losing the battle of will against the psychosis that limbo can provoke.

Lucifer: The prince of darkness himself is a supporting character, albeit a very important one. He has a partnership with Dagan but is rather fond of the angel, in his own way. He thoroughly enjoys his work, especially the little details that people take for granted, and is remarkably easy going and deceivingly friendly. He's certainly a charmer and it's easy to get sucked in by his voice and smiles. He's controlled, devious and enigmatic but he is also terrifying and single-minded. The potential to get back into heaven is his overwhelming goal and little will detract him from that. He won't let it.

Erich: A minor character but one that has a lot of influence on Dagan's character. They were friends back in their mortal life but Erich betrayed Dagan many times over and left his mark over the man's soul. For his sins (of which there were countless), he found himself in one of the deeper circles of hell to suffer for eternity. But his mind never strays from Dagan and he still vows to tear him apart a piece at a time. He is psychotic, chaotic and sadistic. Absolutely no redeeming features there.
pagemistress: (the fates of angels)
I thought it might be helpful to have a bit of background on the book that I'm writing, just so anyone can see if it's their sort of thing and if they have any inclination to follow it.

It tells the story of a Guardian Angel called Dagan who has been in the prodigious role for millenia now and is basically completely sick of it. He has grown to despise the people he is meant to be looking out for, angry at how they seem to get away with anything and how they can make vast choices (even going so far as to denounce God) while he is practically a prisoner in his own "vocation". When it becomes apparent to him that he cannot get out of his position by request, he decides to take matters into his own hands in a plot that involves Lucifer himself.

When Elias, a young man recently appointed GA apprentice, meets Dagan they strike up an unlikely partnership. Dagan sees him as someone with enough curiosity and stubborness to prove useful in his scheme while Elias finds his mentor fascinating and mysterious and is willing to push many boundaries to uncover his history.

Thrown into the mix are Ravon, a charge of Dagan's whom he is especially protective of for reasons unknown to any but him; Isaac, a confederate soldier who perished in the Civil War and has yet to be retrieved from limbo; Diego, a junior GA who, due to a malfunction, isn't actually quite dead yet and Erich, a remnant of Dagan's life currently residing in the darkest circle of hell.

Genre-wise, I would describe it as a fantasy thriller, I suppose. It has elements of humour throughout and is more character based, rather than plot focused.
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