by M.C. O'Neill
***
Blobs of form regained normal resolution with the slow, encroaching light. She was surrounded as a crowd was peering down from over her. This crowd was a sight that made her wish she was still beyond the realm of consciousness.
“Quen’die, are you all right?” she managed to recognize Mavriel’s soft voice in her haze. “Quen’die?”
It pained her to prop herself up on her elbows as her head was still reeling from whatever had just happened. Although she could see with perfect clarity once again, it took some time just to deduce what the exact natures of these beings before her were.
Angels, she agreed with her suspicions. Many angels and not all of them were formed in the same way as her deva. Mavriel bore only one pair of wings, while some of these specimens had two and three pairs lining their backs. None of them were one of those Ophanic wheel-things Mavriel had mentioned before. She felt grateful for that, because she figured seeing such a being would freak her out at that moment.
“Quen’die,” her angel’s voice dropped to a stern tone. “You peeked out the viewport, right?”
“Uh, kinda?” she relented like a bleating sheep.
He huffed at her admission. “You just suffered an epileptic episode by doing that. I hope that it goes away, but it may be a permanent condition for you from now on. Only time will tell.”
From underneath, Quen’die felt dampness in her controller’s robe. “Eww,” she winced with great embarrassment. “I think I just wet myself too!”
“Mortal!” a six-winged angelic boomed down upon her crouched form. “Why does your deva bring you here, and where are the arks?”
This one was one of those “imposing” types of which Mavriel had warned her. As friendly and warm as Mavriel was, this specimen was stern and cold. It was not possible that he could be anyone’s deva. An immediate answer was the best solution, she assumed as she stood herself up with some effort. “Eh, the earth is full of demons. They stole your arks and now they want to steal the elves! Well, basically.”
Six-wings steadied the top of her head without a word. With an abrupt tug, he lifted the front of her handler’s robe.
“Hey!” she shouted and slapped his golden-tan hand with mortified reaction. “You can’t do that to a lady!”
Ignoring her protest, the angel studied her bare belly and dropped her garment with a brusque movement. “She’s chosen,” he informed his company the instant he saw the infinity-sigil.
“Rude!” she spat. All the modesty and embarrassment which Quen’die was suffering at that moment was replaced with pride and anger at the staunch commander’s actions.
“No, I am to be called Gabriel,” his drilling gaze into her eyes was stoic and almost militaristic. He must be some kind of commander, she figured. Either way, he didn’t need to be a jerk and take a gander at her junk without warning, she seethed in her mind.
“Around you are a host of archangels. We will command your people against this grave issue that has befouled your world,” he gestured to the motley ring of celestial life around him. Some were male, others female, but every one of them owned a beauty that matched Mavriel and was superior to any of those tawdry demons.
“Uh, sure,” she peeped. This guy was not much for grand introductions, she thought, and considering the situation, perhaps being hasty wasn’t such a bad idea. Taking cue from Gabriel’s immediacy, the maiden shrugged. “Where do we start?”
