Characterisation – Page 2

Al’s Trolley

Posted on January 18, 2019

The trolley stands in the storeroom, a wooden beast of burden. On entering, Al, the Collector, pats its smooth surface, as if greeting a favourite pet. The wheels squeak in reply.

Unhooking his clipboard and quill, Al checks the supplies on the trolley.

“Ink pots. Two, three, four packs. All shades. Okay,” he mutters to himself, his eyes flicking between the list on the clipboard and the trolley. Scratching a tick on the parchment, he continues, “Stamps, two, four, six. Check. Scrolls, five boxes. Good. Repair kit, including replacement beads. Yes. Red tape…ummm, running low.”

Walking deeper into the storage room, Al checks several shelves and wonders why there hasn’t been another delivery of Red Tape.

The deeper he goes the more shadows his light makes. The looming storage seem like monsters, and as Al’s light dims they get bigger. Fortunately, he finds a full box of Red Tape, before his light goes out.

Carrying it quickly back to the trolley he unloads the tape and makes a note on his clipboard. He’ll need to speak to Management about increasing the next order.

Finished, he pulls the trolley into the corridor, then pushes it along the soft, white carpet.

With every step, Al’s light intensifies, like turning a dimmer switch.
Reaching the open plan area is his second favorite part of the day, because now he sees the warm glow of his most efficient colleague.

Although he wants to race straight over, he restrains himself. Molly has always been friendly, but he knows she doesn’t feel the same way about him.

Her core doesn’t flash, when he’s near. Nor do sparks race through her light when he smiles.

So, fingers tingling and chest hammering, Al allows himself a single sigh before forcing his legs to walk the normal route.

Gossiping to the many luminous immortals who work in the Never-Ending Office, Al delivers the various supplies from his trolley. But all the time, he’s conscious of that one light. Occasionally, he glances over in the hope that maybe today Molly will be looking out for him too.

But today is not that day.

With the practice of thirty-thousand Wild years, Al allows his feelings for Molly to simmer, whilst collecting gossip. Keeping busy is a good distraction.

Everyone is talking about Gabriel, as Al expected, but one worker’s question catches his attention.

“I wonder what will change this time?”

After the first message, the Collection and Distribution Plant, the Never-Ending Office and the Postal Workers were established. It was how Al became Collector. Maybe if things change this time, he’ll be able to do something different.

Maybe he’ll be able to stand out, to be noticed, even by Molly.

Arriving at Molly’s immaculate desk, Al finds her reading a scroll. Even doing admin she shines with a light warmer than anyone else’s, like the glow from a house in the night.

“Hi Molly,” says Al.

Smiling, Molly looks up, “Morning Al.”

Like a neon sign, Al’s light buzzes with happiness.

Gabriel’s Bag

Posted on January 11, 2019

Walking into the tent, one of many in the Boundary Camp, Mykal, Prince of the Luminous Defenders, stops and watches Gabriel, the Glorious First Messenger of the Unmoved Master.

Dressed in a white tunic and trousers, Gabriel stuffs various items in a beige, canvas bag. One item is a stack of folded parchment – letters, which the Glorious One wrote but never sent. Next are a pen and ink pot, the tools of his trade, followed by a grooming kit to keep up his glorious appearance. Mykal’s mouth twitches at the reminder of his friend’s vanity. He recalls the times when all other angels have been streaked with mud and dirt but Gabriel has emerged sparkly clean.

A broken watch-glass makes the cut, despite having a crack down the middle of its face. Mykal has never been sure if it even works.

Finally, Gabriel picks up the Staff of Summoning and collapses it to fit inside the bag. The Staff is a long, gold stick that can be collapsed like a telescope. It was a gift from the Master and enables Gabriel to amplify his message and send it directly into the heart of his listeners.

“What are you doing?” asks Mykal.

“Packing,” says Gabriel.

“Okay, I can see that but why?”

In response, Gabriel hands Mykal a rolled-up parchment. Unfurling and reading the page, Mykal’s regal brow frowns. Gabriel has been recalled to deliver a message. Risk of contamination certain!

“You’re going,” says Mykal. It wasn’t the staff that made him reach that conclusion; it was the letters and the grooming kit. Gabriel was always far too concerned about his looks to enjoy a Defender’s position on the Boundary. When Gabriel doesn’t deny the statement, Mykal asks, “But what about the fight?”

“You don’t need me,” says Gabriel. “We both know I’m too good-looking to be a Defender.”

“You’re more than a defender oh glorious one. You’re my friend and contamination will taint your dazzling facade.”

“You’ve always had such a protective glint Kal,” says Gabriel, pushing passed him. But catching sight of his glorious appearance in a mirror, Gabriel turns to admire the reflection and continues, “Don’t worry, they say contamination won’t ruin my good looks.”

“But it means you won’t be able to return,” replies the Prince, meeting the reflection of Gabriel’s golden eyes, “Ever.”

Shifting his focus, Gabriel watches his own molten pupils solidify into golden steel as he says, “This is my chance, Mykal. Our chance to change the flow of the fight. Maybe, if I go down there, into the Wild, maybe I can help. If I could speak to them before it happens – tell them what they will become.”

This was the reason Mykal loved Gabriel: through the arrogance and beneath the glorious appearance, the First Messenger cared.

He pretends he doesn’t, denies having a single good feather and yet agrees to contaminate himself to help mortals. So, what if he does this with perfectly quaffed hair and a dazzling smile?

Molly’s Desk

Posted on January 4, 2019

On the boundary between the Light and the Wild is the Never-Ending Office, where Molly Most-Efficient works at her desk. Made of ash, it has four legs and one draw, and all its edges have been smoothed to give a simple grace.

The desk has been Molly’s for thirty-thousand Wild years. On the left-hand side are three brown trays. Facing the aisle, they wait, like open mouthed chicks, for today’s work load. They are labelled in black script; Decisions Pending; Decisions Made and Last Decisions. Each morning Alexander (“Call me Al”), the Collector, drops a pile of scrolls in Pending Decisions, along with a smile that Molly returns with ease.

Then breathing in her favourite fragrance, Molly selects a scroll. Unfurling it, she notes the location details and taps what appears to be a paperweight, the size of her palm. This is her watch-glass. Sitting in the middle of her desk, it allows her to see events in the Wild. At first glance the centre of the watch-glass appears misty, but as Molly concentrates an image solidifies. A mortal comes into focus, but the watch-glass shows more than the normal senses.

Waiting for the image to clarify, Molly stretches her hands to the wooden frame at the back of her desk and makes sure the beads on her morality measure are set to the centre. The morality measure looks like a large abacus crossed with a toy roller-coaster. Different shaded beads sit and slide along thin wooden dowels, but they don’t just run from left to right they go at angles and arches, up and down, and round and round. Interpreting the morality measure is the job of Decision Analysts like Molly. Most analysts get through a few decisions each day, Molly Most-Efficient gets through many.

Watching the mortal, Molly spins, slides and positions the beads on her morality measure, like a musician playing an organ. But rather than music she produces a score. Finished, her nimble fingers retrieve her stamp and ink pads from the draw. She sets the score and stamps the scroll.

The last item on Molly’s desk lurks in the shadowed corner, where the cubicle partitions meet. Red Tape sits in a convenient dispenser, like mortal cello-tape but rather than clear and sticky it’s blood red and once it binds something it can never be cut loose.

Binding the scroll, Molly places it in the Decisions Made tray. Al collects these at the end of the day. At that time Molly glances at the third tray and sighs at its inefficiency. It has sat there unused for thirty-thousand Wild years. But Molly hopes one Wild day it’ll be filled, and she’ll get the chance to order an entire life, to see a mortal make their Last Decision.

In A Philosophy of Angels, Molly’s dream comes true. But in getting her light’s desire she discovers a terrible secret about herself and the Red Tape that she has so efficiently been tying for the last thirty-thousand Wild years.

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