Post by snow on Feb 26, 2011 20:20:23 GMT
For those of us that weren't in the original, the Healing thread in Heaven picks up where it left off, meaning that Raphael and Nala have already interacted. These are the posts that make up what came beforehand. What has happened until this point is that Michael has brought Nala to Raphael before leaving to chase Gabriel.
Raphael
He had been right, he thought to himself with satisfaction. Michael had been near-desperate to catch the Messenger. With a half-amused sigh, Raphael turned his attention to his newest patient. He crossed the room and smiled in welcome, automatically giving her the once-over. His skilled gaze noticed the rips in her clothes, which hinted at previous injuries that had healed, and her bare feet. She had the scar Michael had mentioned, visible through a tear, and her wings were slightly patchy. She was armed with a dagger, which he vaguely recognised from previous glimpses of her. She had treasured the weapon, and it was probably a gift from God. "Hello, Nala. How are you?"
Nala
The archangel glared at the ground for quite some time while they were talking, her arms crossed tightly acrossed her chest. They were talking about her, and it made her somewhat mad. She never liked when people talked about her.
Though she seemed frustrated on the outside, which she was inside she felt like crying, she felt like breaking down into tears because it felt as if everything was wrong and nothing was right, but somehow, through the seemingly endless pain and lonliness she had found the strength to keep on moving, and to keep her head up.
She was ditched again, by someone who she at least thought was half decent, but of course had more important things to attend to then focus mainly on a lost soul.
She looked at the healer, up and down and observed his white, what seemed like a uniform. She found this, aggravating since compared to him she was dirty. Her hair lay in tangles and knots, it was time for her usaul haircut. It was getting to long, an inch past her chin, but that was besides the point.
When he had spoken she was at a lost for words, she didn't want to be rude but had no idea what to say so she finally settled on the word. "Hello." She winced at how formal the word sounded. She sounded unsure of herself, and this made her even more frustrated with the fact she couldn't remember anything. She hated the way he smiled at her as if nothing was wrong with her. She almost blurted out 'Stop acting as if nothing was wrong!' She knew something was wrong with her. Nala felt as if it was broadcasted to everyone she had met and it made her feel self concious. "Welcome to my life," She said with dry humor, as if she was tired of it all, of all the looks and the smiles of sympathy and the rumors.
She glanced down at her dagger and closed her eyes as if trying to hold on to the imperfect moment forever, that it wouldn't slip by her like so many minutes had before. She didn't want to lose anything else. Not when everything is gone, you learn to treasure everything you have.
In the beggining God made angels out of pure love and energy, why was she so different from the rest? Somewhere in this place she belonged, then why did she feel so lost? In the land of 'milk and honey.' She was left alone to fend for herself.
She looked at the healer, nothing came to mind though she knew she had seen him before, no memory of him. It was just a feeling, just a quiet hope in the back of her head, that maybe her memory is coming back. Soon that hope was crushed with the realization that she still knew noone and noone cared about her. They only cared to gossip, it was like she could still feel there harsh words. She rubbed her arm, almost as if she was self concious in frount of the healer, though she completly forgot he was even there. "Noone came for me," She said, almost painfully and her eyes filled with tears.
One of the few memories, she was looking up at the sky, every inch of her was hurting, her blood spilling onto the blackened ground. She couldn't even move her hand to grab her dagger. She wanted to curse out the demon who had done this to her, but she could barely breathe. She turned her head to the side, everything became quiet except for a slight ringing in her ears. A ravens wings unfolded, blocking the sun. She tried to lift her arms up to shield herself, but she couldn't move. She cried out in pain and everything went black.
Raphael
She had, albeit humorously, welcomed him into her life. He didn’t feel welcomed. He felt like he was being shut out. She sat without saying any more, her eyes sliding away from him to her dagger, and then they closed. He shifted his weight, wondering how to get her to open up, when she looked at him again. For a moment he thought she was about to say something, but there was something about her expression that made him hesitate. Her eyes unfocused and she fell still, except for absently rubbing her arm. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask a follow-up question to her non-answer. He closed it again when she spoke.
Quote: ”No one came for me.”
For a startling moment he thought she was talking about after the battle against Azazel, but sensibly banished the thought, as it could not possibly be the case. That meant something had happened, she had gotten lost or been taken or trapped somewhere, and been injured greatly, probably by a demon. What else could have done this much damage to a warrior archangel? It must have been powerful, or had allies. Or had something happened before that? There was too little information, too many possibilities. He knew now what Michael had meant when he had described her as disturbed. Nala was traumatised, and by the looks of things, quite rightly so. Angels very rarely received such grave wounds. Perhaps it was post-traumatic stress disorder, perhaps it had run deeper.
He caught her shoulders with both hands. “Nala,” he said firmly. “Nala, listen to me.” He leant down to meet her blank stare, concentrating on snapping her out of her distant state. Whether it was avoidance of his queries or a flashback, both typical of PTSD, he had to work around her lapses. “Listen, Nala! Concentrate, or else this isn’t going to go away. You have to talk to me. Talk to me,” he repeated, and kept on repeating it until she recovered, continuing to gaze into her wide, green eyes. His own were serious and concentrated, his brow creased and grip tight on her. He wouldn’t give up on anybody, let alone a patient like this. He never turned away somebody that needed treatment.
He had known that this would endanger him from the beginning. Usually, when battles were being waged, he had his cherubim team to rescue those that needed attention. But once, only once, he had left the safety of Heaven and flown to a patient’s aid. He hadn’t been able to help himself; it had been all that he could do to not take the direct and highly dangerous route. His only conscious thought at the time was that he couldn’t allow Sariel to die just like that. He had to do something. And since Sariel couldn’t have come to him, having been following Azazel loyally to the other side and thus banished from Heaven, not to mention mortally wounded, Raphael had abandoned his post and descended to the battlefield.
Even with their combined, desperate efforts, it hadn’t been enough. Michael was handy enough with his sword, after all. He’d missed the heart by centimetres. Raphael hadn’t even known they’d been fighting. By the time he’d realised, it had been too late. And he’d been too late getting there. And he’d been too late to save him. He should have been paying more attention. He should have known Sariel would try to protect his master. He should have been watching in case Michael had been defeated. He had known it was more likely. He had known Sariel was better, or at least he had believed it. How had Sariel lost? How had Michael managed to kill him? How had Raphael been so careless, so distracted, so much that he only realised what was happening when it was over. All he could do was listen to his last words. Remorse. Guilt. Apology. And finally, an eternal farewell.
Nala
She watched as the strange man shook her, finally coming back from the flashback she had so despertly tryed to stop. She concentrated on his face, his eyes. She was fascinated by them.
"Why are you shaking me?" She asked, suddenly aware of what was happening. She almost glared at his hands, which were touching her shoulders tightly. She was there again, not lost in her thoughts that she was usaully hiding.
She sat up from her position and straightend her shoulders, so that even her small figure would allow her to look into his eyes. She looked into them, almost as if she's looking inside of him.
She tried to think back about what happened before she remembered the flashback, Michael was leaving, and he had smiled at her. Had that triggered the flashback? She shuddered remembering the raven.
She looked up again at the healer. So many questions threatend to burst out of her but she bit her tounge. Why ask a stranger? She cracked her knuckles restlessly. She wanted to be put to work. She wants to remember. She wants things to be okay again. She glared up towards the ceiling trying to figure things out and then she looked at the healer again. "What happened?" She asked, she barely knew the answer herself. She furrowed her brows in frustration when her mind came up a blank, again. She only had that one memory of the raven.
She sighed looking at the ground feeling foolish. 'Somebody get me through this nightmare, I can't escape this hell.' She thought to herself and looked up at the healer. Her face was questionling as if looking to him to know everything about her, though she highly doubted that.
Raphael
Quote: ”What happened?”
He released her shoulders, straightening once she was aware of her surroundings again. It was such an open question; she could mean just then, or how she had become that way, or before that. He paused to think, and realised that the answer was the same for all three possibilities. “I don’t know,” he admitted, slipping his hands into his pockets and looking away from her questioning face, staring at the wall behind her. “All I can tell you is that there’s something wrong,” he glanced down at her to gauge her reaction, just in case she did the unexpected and expressed surprise. Unless she was extremely withdrawn, she had to have noticed her scars, though her mental state was another matter entirely and it wouldn’t be beyond belief if she was completely unaware of it. “And,” he completed, his voice softening to reassure her, “it’s my job to help you.”
Although it was inappropriate, he couldn’t deny he had an interest in her, albeit from a fully medical perspective. She had appeared at the edge of Heaven, been discovered by two archangels in succession, and neither of them had known what to make of her. Though Gabriel was by no means famed for his social skills, the fact that Michael had also been stumped said a lot. Maybe she didn’t know anything to tell him, or maybe her personality was erratic. Maybe he’d been distracted by his humans. Whatever the cause, it only made her even more of a mystery. He was intrigued.
He cared little for what had happened in her absence, bar anything that might prove useful information. It was her business, and if he didn’t need to know, he wouldn’t ask. He had heard the gossip from others, and wondered about her, but he hadn’t had anything to contribute to the rumours. People assumed he knew plenty about everybody, and they were wrong. He simply didn’t get enough work for that. Strangely enough, the inhabitants of Heaven were usually psychologically stable, leaving him with plenty of time off. It was nice, usually. On the other hand, it didn’t really feel like he was pulling his weight. The only time he felt worthy of his position was when he was doing something nobody else could do, certainly not anymore, after Sariel was gone. That list of talents particular to him was, in his mind, one item long: healing.
He pulled up a faint smile from somewhere, with no happiness, just mild warmth and acceptance of whatever her reply would be. She had to be honest with him, and open. He would probably need to know as much as she did in order to drag her back to sanity. “That is, if you’ll let me.” He didn’t anticipate rejection; only if she didn’t know that she was still traumatised and didn’t trust him enough to accept that there was at least something that needed curing. Only Michael had ever turned him down, and he had done so repeatedly, over the hundreds of years since he had fought Azazel. It bothered Raphael to think that there was an injured angel out there that he hadn’t yet healed, but he couldn’t force Michael to let him help. In fact, it was impossible to force Michael to do anything. If he would just acknowledge that he didn’t have to do everything by himself, it would give Raphael a little peace of mind.
Nala
The archangel sighed looking at her hands. What was she supposed to say? Go ahead? Take what little life that I do have away from me to find memories that I might not want to know? Two have just ditched her, trading her off to some other stranger to do more important things. She wasn't worth saving, Or in her mind that is what she thought. Even though the dagger strapped to her thiegh proved her wrong, she still felt empty inside.
She looked up at him, a determined look in her eyes and a smile. "I guess It's worth a shot." She said, proudly, determined to get over the block in her life. It was a mountan that she had to climb, one step at a time.
The mountain was her gaol to climb, her obstacle in life to overcome. To reach the top and shout with victory. IT was a challange in her eyes, not a disability, though at times she might think about giving up she will have the fire with in her to keep her moving when all else fails. She will have Rapheal on the way, that was certain. She looked down at her scars, wincing at the memory of the raven. She could still remember the pain. The helplessness.
She stood up. "We'll never know if we don't try, So whats first?" She asked looking up into his eyes smiling. Such a strange emotion for Nala, a side that noone has seen. It was like a little kids personality, a childs innocene shone in her bright ember eyes. He had gotten past her shield of anger and revealed the true Nala. The one whos helpless just beyond the surface, the ones who has been screaming for someone to save her. She smiled brightly at him.
Raphael
He had internally relaxed when she had agreed, but when she stood and smiled, the relief was intense. Not only was she willing, but she was determined. With that firm attitude, he could allow himself a little confidence. This was his job, what he did, the one thing he knew he was good at, the purpose for his existence. If she had screamed at him to leave her alone, he wouldn’t have given up. If she had lashed out, he wouldn’t have given up. If she had proved to be in deeper than he thought possible, he wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t allow discouragement. He had to make up for his past mistakes, and fill the role of both he and Sariel. These thoughts washed through his subconscious, strengthening his resolve as they did with every patient. His mouth naturally spread into wide, shining smile in response, though he did feel obliged to provide a reminder of the difficulties she would face.
“There’s no rush. This isn’t something I can just magic away. I need to know what happened first, find out what is different so that we know where to start. So…” He spread his hands, hoping she wouldn’t balk. “When did this begin?”
With psychological afflictions, the process was a blend of therapeutic discussions, some expressive guidance, and meditation. The discussions were the easy bit, where he could probe for causes and solutions and direct the conversation to be constructive. They had begun already.
‘Expressive guidance’ was the umbrella term for the various practical activities that would get her to express her feelings and give him a glimpse of her subconscious. This was more difficult and the results more varied. Some people took to the idea; others found it tedious or degrading. In some cases he would find much to read into, in others, nothing. The two pairs of possibilities came in all four combinations, and changed from patient to patient, day to day, and also between mediums. He liked the artistic ones best, but had more experience with physical forms because of the years of treating those scarred from battles. He would not bet on Nala to be somebody that would find the method useful, but patients often surprised him by being more than happy to get their confusion out of their minds and turn it into something tangible.
Meditation, on the other hand, warriors often did very well in, so long as they weren’t too restless or self-conscious. They were used to focus and self-discipline, and could usually sit for hours under his hand. Meditation was the only option that was non-negotiable. Everybody had to do it. It was the only way he could heal anything physically damaged in their minds. It also often had a positive effect on stability and reduced episodes of disturbance. He had never known whether this was a direct result of his healing efforts, or psychosomatic, or just a benefit of the meditating itself. Taking the time to sit, relax and reduce activities to simple living; it was an infinitely underestimated practise. If Raphael had his way, everybody would do it regularly. Somebody like Michael, who worried about billions of people that weren’t even on the same plane of existence, or the cherubim with more difficult cases, spent an unhealthy majority of their time stressed. They would find it incredibly difficult to stop fretting and clear their consciousness, which was all the more reason for them to engage in it. Usually, the excuse was that they were too busy to waste even seconds by doing nothing. Raphael’s argument was simple: the time to relax is when you don’t have time.
Nala
She closed her eyes in deep concentration. She brought back the memory of when she first woke up.
The Memory came back, quickly. She was on the black top, pain over every inch of her frame. She sat up wincing from the pain, trying to ignore it and looked around. In the distance she could just barelysee the gates of hell. 'Who am I?' She wondered and looked at herself. 'What am I?' She looked up and stood up on her feet, unbalanced and in pain she swayed slightly and finally regained her balance. She looked around. Suddenly a figure emerges from behind her. Nala suddenly turned around, her dagger in hand. She crouched into a defensive pose, trusting mainly on instinct. "Good evening my darling." Said the figure, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. A warning that this was not safe. "Who are you?" She hissed, years of training, and the instinct washed over her, but no memory returned with the feeling. The feeling that she could die in that spot. The feeling of hopelessness invaded her, it made her want to cry, it made her want to give up. She stood tall, not giving up yet. "They call me by many names, Azazel, Lucifer, Satan, El Diablo, Beelzebub, but you can call me master." The figure said smugly to her, a sense of arrogance surrounded him. She almost growled in response, not liking the fact that she was trapped in a position that if she tryed anything she would most likely die. "Don't be like that." He said as he circled her. Little did she know she was face to face with death. "Straighten up." He commanded and somehow without control of it herself she straightend up. It was like she wasn't in control, like she had to listen to the figure. She clenced her teeth, trying to break through the trance that she was under. The brainwashing. She was still there, just not in control. "Now put the dagger down and join me." He said with open arms as if expecting a hug from her. She clenched the dagger tightly, trying not to let it fall to the ground. she took a step back. Only then did she feel his blade, Rarnorak agaisnt her stomach. Take another step and you'll wish you were never created. Nala, her faceset with determination she tried to escape his grasp, The sword dug deep withen her stomach. She held back a scream as the pain overwhelmed her, washed over everything blocking everything else out. The Devil smirked at Nala, who had fallen to her knees. "I warned you, now about those wings. Those witll never do," He walked behind Nala lifting his sword in the air. No, The thought rang clearly in her mind, through the confusion it was the only thing that was sharp. The only thing that made sense. He brought down the sword. She dodged as best as she could, allowing that the sword be dug into her back. She pulled away from him. The place started to spin. she looked at her hands to see blood. She looked at Aaazel. He opened his arms. "Welcome my sister. His wings, they were the black ravens wings. The wings she saw before everything went black. Before she couldn't take the pain anyway. She kicked off the ground and tried to fly away from everything. She soon collapsed on a basketball court in earth.
Nala Sighed at the memory, as if she could still feel the pain. "When I woke up, I was with him, he was trying to persuade me to join him. Telling me lies, trying to trick me." She said simply.
Raphael
She could only be referring to one person – if he could still be called a person anymore. He smothered his shock with practised ease, smoothing it from his expression, allowing none of it to show. A healer could never let surprise be seen. If a patient was shy about a sensitive problem, for them to see astonishment in the one man they could trust to help, for any signs that what they suffered from was unusual, could worsen the problem and make them clam up. It had happened a few times in his early days, but back then they could have gone to Sariel if they didn't feel comfortable with him. Eventually he had mastered the ability, and everything he treated only increased his experience and so strengthened him.
Azazel had caused her injuries, whether personally or by commanding an accompanying demon. He supposed it wasn't all that unlikely. Nala was a warrior of the Host, a formidable enemy by anybody's standards. Azazel had tried to coax and then coerce her onto his side, used whatever means necessary, Raphael expected. He could have done anything to her. From what he could see, there was already plenty of damage. How much of that was psychological?
He allowed his sympathy to show, though he did not mention it aloud. How could he not? A direct confrontation with Azazel was not something anybody wanted to face, remember or hear about. He moved his mind onto more practical thoughts. Still not enough information. Next question. He needed her to open up and give details, specific information, especially concerning physical actions and more pressingly, Azazel's lies and promises that could have driven her to the mental state. "What did he do?" He asked finally, gently.
He had heard a plethora of horror tales from his patients, far more than he cared to listen to. They usually described intense torture, creative and bloody, slow and suspended agony. The more perceptive ones recognised that Azazel's greatest asset was his serpent's tongue of temptation. Their stories were the unsettling ones, true horrors, the ones that stayed with him for days after. They spoke of words like parasites, burrowing deep into their minds and driving out devoutness in favour of doubt. A few angels had confessed to him in strictest confidence that they had almost succumbed. Often, they asked if God would forgive them, seeking help from the high-ranking angel. Sometimes he wondered why they asked him rather than one of the other archangels. It was usually due to his approachable and welcoming disposition. He was easy to find, he didn’t lecture like Michael, and nobody would seek advice from Gabriel. He had never known why nobody sought Nala’s help; or perhaps they did and he simply never heard of it. No matter how much uncertainty they had allowed, Raphael was always firm and confident in his reassurance. God always forgave.
He wondered if Nala would be one of those cases. She had likely resisted whatever weave Azazel had spun to convince her. It made no sense for him to have resorted to violence before he had tried an easier route. He felt the brush of admiration. She had held her own and kept her faith true. That was no easy task. He had underestimated her. Perhaps she would be very good at meditating.
Nala
The question rang in her ears. She thought back again, trying to remember the details.
Fire was a main part of it. The intense burning that laid right under her own skin. Still to this day she couldn't stand being even near fire. Coaxing, confusion, brain washing, so many techniques. She had all pushed through them. Multiple attacks, she had dealt with. Only did he dig deeper withen her own mind, slowly making her lose control of the only thing she had left, her sanity, did she break apart into pieces. He had convinced her that she was worthless, that noone loved her, that noone cared. He had promised her love if she had joined him, the one thing she had craved most was the feeling that someone had cared about her. The one thing that she so despertly needed to end the madness that engulfed her. She could remember the words that had made her fall to her knees, in sheer agony. 'What a worthless disaster. Can't even protect herself anymore. Worth nothing to the Lord, just a nuisance." A disaster, something she had tried so hard to avoid. She wanted to be a better person, a better angel. She had tried so hard not to lash out at the innocent souls, she tried so hard to earn God's love, never quiet making it completly. Nothing more than a nuisance. A lamb that had lost her place in line. A nightmare to humans-alike. An angel who had turned her back agaisnt everything that she once had. She had tried so hard, so hard to be someone shes not, to be someone worth living. All the hours she had trained, trying to get stronger, all the hours of being alone, wearing down on her sanity. All the time she had to look at the angels talking and laughing, having the best time of her life while she had to go train to get her aim right. She had always wished that once, just once that they would invite her over. That they would invite the misfit. The torture, the agony, the sheer pain of it all. Slowly she had lost her bearings, she started to lose the life she once had, she lost her memory piece by broken piece. 'I tried to be perfect.' She told him with a shattered heart.
"Everything." She whispered, her voice thick with tears as the words echoed in her mind.
Raphael
Though her answer had terrible implications, it didn't really help. 'Everything' just meant she had been overwhelmed. It didn't mean anything specific. For all he knew, all Azazel'd had to do was show up and she'd have been begging for mercy, although that was pretty unlikely. She had to be tougher than that, if she had come back.
Still, she deserved sympathy. He couldn't push her too much. He heard how upset she was by her own memories. He took a seat next to her, his upper body turned towards her. After a natural hesitation, a pause to debate whether or not he should, he moved to put an arm around her shoulders. He froze for a moment as he did so, seeing for the first time the second scar on her back. Forcing himself to carry the action through and hoping she hadn't noticed, he then spoke to reassure her in his best comforting tone.
"I know it's difficult. I know it's painful. You can take as long as you need and it's alright if that's a lot of time. We can work around it, around you." His voice became more encouraging and earnest. "I need you to start from the beginning. When you first met, when he first approached you. Don't leave anything out. What you say is for my ears only; it won't leave this room, I promise you." He met her gaze squarely as he spoke, his sincerity ringing in every word. "Any details that seem unimportant, I want to hear them too. You can tell me it all and I will listen."
Though he would never admit this to any patient, whether past, present or potentially future - which was therefore everybody - what he had said was mostly a constantly changing pre-prepared paragraph that he had been working on since his first psychologically affected patient. He had refined it endlessly until he held great confidence in it. It was altered accordingly from case to case, but he had used it often and it was heartfelt every time. There was always a moment, a topic or a memory that was hard to recount aloud. Coping with those times and alleviating that pain was the purpose of that small speech. From survivor's guilt to confessions of contemplated suicide, consciences wracked over the killing of fallen angels and horrors endured in dealing with demons, he had heard it all. Despite his experience, there was foreboding growing in the pit of his stomach. He had a feeling that Nala's story would appal him even after so many years of life hearing such tales. He had never helped somebody recover from a meeting with Azazel. Then again, few angels ever returned from such an occurrence, and fewer recovered at all.
Nala
She quietly listened as he had told his small speech. Deatails, The details that she would so much rather forget then have to spill out her hearts contents, to a stranger no less. It was going to be a long recovery road and if she got past this one little bump of insecurity she could get through the rest. It was like sitting in a shrinks office, except more was at stake, her entire memory was based on how open she could be to him. She closed her eyes and slowly began.
"I was on the black top, staring up at the sky. Every inch of me felt as if I was on fire, from the inside out. I couldn't move anything, I couldn't even grab my dagger, which was only inches from my hand. The sun blazed down at me. Suddenly what seemed to be raven wings spreaded there wings, flying downwards toawards me, momentarily blocking out the sun. At that moment the sensation of the fact that I could die there invaded me. It was horrible, lieing there, knowing that you can't protect yourself. All you can do is watch as the enemy draws closer to you. Wait for your exacution. Soon everything went black. When I woke up again I was in a cavern, torches lit with fire attached to the walls. I had a massive headache and I could barely concentrate. Then I saw him. 'Welcome Sister.' He said to me, as if I had just come home from a long journey. I quickly stood to my feet, unbalanced. I glared at him and found my footing. I could not remember who's side I was on. I could barely remember my own name. 'Come with me, come be at my right side. Come be loved, I know how lonley you are. I can see it in your eyes.' I wondered how he knew who I was, HOw he knew what I wanted. Still I shook my head no, going with the instinct, I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. 'What a pity, I guess I'll have to force you then.' I knew my capabilities and the thought that crossed my mind was that I was gonna die there. The mere simpleness of it all, just to give up. It saddended me, but gave me the courage to move on. Though I had nothing worth fighting for, I would still fight while I could. Then they came. The demons that is. Dark masses, started surrounding me. I was able to fight most of them off, with only a few scratches, but I felt my sanity grow a little lower. I blacked out again, I cant remember by what this time. When I woke up I was in the cavern again, this time my memory almost completly gone. I saw him again. 'Hello My darling.' He welcomed me. Yet again with the same friendly tone. 'Who are you?' I demanded from him, while my own thoughts crowded up my mind like 'Who am I?' and 'What am I?' 'They call me by many names, Azazel, Lucifer, Satan, El Diablo, Beelzebub, but you can call me master.' The mere idea of bowing before a scumbag like him made my head spin. I was disgusted by the idea. I almost growled in response. I was trapped in a position that if I moved I would have died in a heartbeat, not like I was in control anymore. I couldnt control myself even if I wanted too. I scowled at him, and he shrugged. Arrogance seemed to radiate off of him like some sort of perfume. I moved my foot slightly, trying to get in control. He shook his head no. 'No, naughty angel.' and suddenly I was on fire again. The burning from before that lay just under my skin. It took everything had to not scream and to not break down, to just give up on the spot. When he realized I wasn't going to give up with just physical pain he brought mental pain, digging through what little memory I had left. I suddenly saw two angels giggling and having a good time, talking about random stuff. I felt upset. Iwanted so despertly to join them, to fit in with them. Then it was Gabriel and Micheal talking to the father. my two brothers, how God loves them so much. I felt as an outcast with them, not truely fitting in anywhere that I went. I closed my eyes, a stupid thing to do at the moment but if I didn't I would have cried, I would have showed weakness to my enemy. Suddenly it was like a million knife stabs at my stomach. I looked down, it was in my imagination, but it was like I could feel the blood run down my side. 'I doubt God loves all his children, or maybe he just hates you, letting you suffer like this? Hmm not a very merciful God now is it?' He told me, hitting another nerve. I flinched but showed no othyer sign that he was slowly winning. The pain went on. I could barely stand. Multiple attacks, cuts running up my arms and legs. Still the physical I could deal with, but it was the mental that had made me almost give up. I still struggled to hold on to what little sanity I had left. Somewhere along the way I realized I was swaying. I couldn't take much more abuse. I still held the dagger in my hand. The only thing that kept me standing was that dagger. 'It could all end if you just drop the dagger.' He promised me. At the time his words seemed so promising to me. So open and inviting, but I kept my ground. He took a step clowser to me, his beloved sword in hand. 'Then it's time to teach you a lesson,' I watched as he brung the sword down apon me. I dodged the best I could and the sword dug deep withen my stomach. I held back a scream. Not only did the wound hurt, but what he said afterwards made everything unbearable. 'What a worthless disaster. Can't even protect herself anymore. Worth nothing to the Lord, just a nuisance.' These words just made something unside of me break. I felt as if my entire life had come crashing down. The only thing I had left as I stood there was my will to go on, and even then he was taking that away from me. I fell to my knees. The blood ran down my torso, from the gash in my stomach. My fingers seemed to loosen on my hold of the dagger. I felt the tears roll down my face. 'Now then, lets take of those hideous wings.' He said as he approached my back. He lifted his sword and brought it down violently. I moved just enought so that it missed my wings but it dug deep withen my back. He distracted at the moment had reclaimed his sword. The only thing I could do know was run, run as fast as I can and that is what I did. I took off out of there, trying to ignore the pain in both my back and stomach. As soon I was out of his reach I collapsed, When I woke up it was the only memory I had."
She Said finally finishing her gruesome memory.
Raphael
After taking a moment to absorb what he had been told, Raphael turned his mind to the analysis. The recollection said a great deal about Nala. She had very low self-confidence and no faith in her abilities. Warriors rarely considered the possibility of loss, not least because fear tended to incapacitate. Yet it had been all she had been able to foresee once faced with Azazel. She had predicted only death. That pessimism had begun, or strengthened, the sense of worthlessness Azazel had then homed in on. A person that believed they had no future did not usually recognise that they still had life left in them. Raphael personally never considered a life lost until the spirit had gone. There was no future in assumptions, and certainly not of that gravity. Nor was he an optimist. Reality was what faced you, what you heard on the winds and felt in your heart.
She had recognised the threat to her mentality from the start, her sanity dripping away under the intense pressure to defect and fall. It had amplified her other feelings: loneliness, vulnerability, helplessness. She had coped with the physical torture for the most part, but the threat to her wings had pushed her over the edge and finally prompted her to flee. He turned this over in his mind, theorising they were important to her as the only physical evidence that she was still an angel, still, in some way, good and true and one of God's children. Yet, despite her loss of identity, she had retained her integrity and resisted his efforts. She had still managed to understand that Azazel was the enemy, even as he apparently extended the only hint of kindness she felt she had known. Having forgotten all of her happy memories, he wondered how she had rejected the promise of better times. Great internal strength or simple pride; whatever the reason, it had saved her.
Also consternating were the emotions her memories had brought up, primarily inferiority and isolation. As one of God's archangels, she could only have been comparing herself to the others in the Host. The ones she had mentioned specifically were Gabriel and Michael, undeniably the two that had the closest relationship with God. He could empathise with that feeling. He had often reflected on the matter. In his mind, there was nobody as mighty as Gabriel, or as noble as Michael. The only beings he held in higher esteem than they were God, his Father and Creator, and - every time, he mentally stuttered over the name - Sariel, his closest friend. As for Nala's isolation, that was something she seemed to feel acutely. Everybody felt lonely from time to time, but it seemed she had always felt on the outside. Perhaps it was because of her job as a warrior, which led constant comparison to Gabriel. Most angels trained for combat, unless they had a heartfelt aversion as Raphael did, and it often took a good long lecture from Michael to encourage his troops to stop comparing themselves to each other. In battle, he regularly emphasised, it does not matter how good your allies are. What matters is the skill of your foe.
Then again, even if Nala had listened to the speech, and not forgotten its message, which was unlikely anyway, few angels would combat Azazel in a normal situation. She had not even been in control of her own body. That meant her inferiority had not been the issue. Her lack of belief, maybe. It was probably why she had been targeted in the first place. That she had lost her memory was worrying. The overwhelming experience had likely driven everything else from her mind. It was all she knew about herself. That was definitely not psychologically healthy. What she needed, he decided finally, was somebody to hold a mirror to her and reflect her qualities.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I am glad you were able to tell me about that, but I also want you to remember that this memory is not who you are. It does not define you. You know far more about yourself. So," he challenged her, though his tone was mild, "tell me about you. Your personality, your virtues and faults, what makes you who you are. Though I warn you," he lightened the mood again with a half-smile, "if you're too harsh on yourself, I may disagree."
Nala
The archangel nodded, sitting up and crossing her legs. She closed her eyes, flipping through her most recent memories, almost as if she was looking from a different persons point of view then her own, trying to learn about herself as much as she can.
She smiled to herself quietly. "I don't like shoes, They aggravate my feet and it makes it harder to run." She stated, almost pleased that she still remembered that little fact about herself.
"Armor is too heavy for me to wear, Thats why I usaully wear light and durable clothing, so that I can move quickly when in battle." She said, still flipping through the recent memories.
"I find that solitude is much more comforting then being around people who don't understand me." It was true, remembering kneeling before Gaberiel. It had felt so stupid to do that to a face she didn't even recognize. She had felt so out of place, she was not the one to grovel on the ground and beg for mercy.
"I won't bow before anyone but my Lord." She said, almost uncertanly, wondering if the Lord still loved her enough to bring her back into his home. She still felt like an outcast among her own.
"Not a lot of people understand me." Another thing she had noticed, if she looked at someone they'd look away, almost as if they were afraid of her. It left her feeling alone.
"I'm not strong." She admited, which was true. Nala was 'built' for speed and accurancy, long distance combat. She was created to withstand brutal attacks, almost like a shield. She wasn't a 'tank' like Gaberiel or a 'torpedo' like Michael. She was like an Arrow. Deadly if you get it at the right angle.
"I don't like when people touch my back, wings or stomach." She admitted looking down. Thats were most of her scars were, where most of the pain she experinced had been.
"I won't hesitate to fight back." She said, which was true. If you give her a fight she can break a person down, mentally. Something she had worked forever on. To be able to know your oppenent. To be able to break him down and see withen him, making him doubt his very sanity. She was good like that. Her stares were deadly, mostly full of venom.
She looked back up again. "I like watching the sunset, It calms me down."
"Sometimes I doubt myself." She whispered. She doubted why she was created in the first place. So many were better than her. She felt no better then the rest, just a weak link that might break the chain.
She stared off into the distance. "I don't know how or why, but lately I've been out of reach, I've been too long on my own." She said quietly, as if staring at something that had taken her very breath away.
"Just as soon as I walk in it's like all eyes on me and I hate it, I hate that they always have to stare, it's like there staring into me. It's like there seeing things that I can't." She said looking at the ground.
She became silent after that, losing herself in her thoughts.
Raphael
Though she started with habits and physical features, Nala quickly adapted to picking out the implications these had on her personality, and soon began to detail those instead. He listened carefully, filing each fact away in his mind, building up a cautious outline of her personality. Though she had focused on her faults, as he had predicted, he was able to glean plenty from her words.
She hated being slowed down, finding speed important because of her lack of strength. She couldn’t stand being judged and, more importantly, prejudged. She sought solace when she had no good company, but seemed not to realise that close friends were something she needed. She had some pride, but at other times she lacked confidence. She was pretty self-aware, he thought approvingly, but worried too much why she felt how she did. He began to make educated guesses, no longer working on what had been stated. She appreciated silence. She would combat any foe she believed she could defeat. She was loyal, but thought too much to be a simple soldier, cared too much, maybe, about her actions and their effects. She was independent, but craved companionship.
There was the answer, staring him in the face. Companionship. Somebody to rely on; whether she felt she needed to or not, knowing there would be somebody there was always reassuring. A listening ear and kindly smile, somebody that would understand her and not flinch at anything she did, not retreat when she stepped outside the boundaries of convention and expectation. Reliable, loyal and advice-giving, but smart enough to know when to back off and back down. Perhaps a change of job would also help, though he would have to see what she thought about that, as he could be completely wrong. Having endured as much suffering as she, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for her to grow averse to violence. His work only strengthened his own repulsion. The needless death of the battlefield could do more harm to her, even if she was a warrior by design. If Michael was to be believed, God wasn’t always right, though Raphael thought that it was because of Him and His wisdom that everything worked out in the end, or at least it would, if the end ever came. Raphael didn’t visit his Father often, mainly because he knew that if he did, he would end up staying at His side for hours on end. He did pray regularly, like a son moved away from home.
He picked out a few observed traits to voice aloud to Nala, with the intent of boosting her confidence. “I think you are strong,” he told her. “Maybe not physically, but inside. A strong will. And I can tell you with certainty that you are still sane.” He wasn’t lying, and never lied to his patients, but didn’t feel it was the right time to measure and announce whether or not she was close to losing herself. “You can’t stand prejudice,” he suggested, speaking more slowly, “and you’re a deep thinker, often getting mentally and emotionally involved in things, which drains you. You can be pessimistic; on the other hand, you don’t give up easily. You can usually look after yourself, but need somebody to be there to lean on, even if you don’t need to.” He paused thoughtfully, and decided to take a figurative step back from the matter. “I’m only guessing, here,” he assured her. “Correct me if you like. Or am I making sense?”
Nala
She remained silent as he spoke. She thought quickly for a minute or two, analizing what he said, breaking it into pieces, trying to understand what he had said. Companionship? The word seemed so stupid it was almost humorous. When had someone looked at her and walked towards her without the sense of fear or sadness or sympathy almost radiating from there very frame. Even if her memories are gone she still has a pretty good idea of what her reputation was around this place. It was true, all she really wanted, somewhere deep inside was for someone to hug her and tell her the four most simplest words in the planet. 'It's gonna be fine.' when she needs it most. She wants someone to be there when it's the dead of night, when she feels most alone. Could anyone be that person without judging her?
"You're the expert." She whispered, almost the same way she had talked to Michael. something Michael didn't know was at these moments she was the most unsure of herself and deep withen the realms of her mind she thought she was losing her bearings that she had held so tightly on the world, almost as if she was terrified that everything would dissapear in a second.
She held onto this life as if it was a flower in her palm, fragile and easy to break. She held onto the preciosus moments that she tried so hard not to let slip through the cracks.
Raphael
He bit back a small smile at her response. She had neatly sidestepped giving an answer, perhaps because she was reluctant to confirm or deny any of her character traits. Maybe he had confused her by making seemingly random guesses that were bafflingly inaccurate. It could be the other end of the scale entirely, and he had stunned her with shrewdness. He doubted both. It was more likely that she was bored or apathetic, or simply had nothing to say. It was no matter. She was wrong.
“No,” he disagreed lightly. Expertise had nothing to do with it. He had gotten by on observance and careful consideration. None of what he had said was definite. He had been inferring, reading between her words to dig deeper into her personality. He didn’t really know anything. “I’m not an expert. You’re the expert.” She was the only person that knew whether or not he was right. On the other hand, perhaps she genuinely didn’t know. Perhaps she was trusting, or hoping, that he was correct. She could have no idea whether or not he was right in his assumptions. He supposed that was as far as they could take the topic, and so decided to move the conversation in another direction.
“But anyway, there’s only so much you can say about that. Instead, I should tell you what I’m planning on doing to help you recover.” His tone was relaxed, and his voice was clear in the quiet room. “Your remaining injuries can be healed at any time,” he begun, before remembering what she had said about others touching her injuries and adding, “though this needs physical contact, so you may want to wait until you’re comfortable with that. You’ll see me regularly, and we’ll work on understanding why you are how you are, how you can express that, and what needs to be done to improve. You’ll be meditating,” his eyes warmed, and he acknowledged, “as best you can. That will help you mentally and emotionally, but I’ll also be able to help your mind along its way during those sessions.” He spread his hands. “There are lots of things we can try, and really it’s just a matter of finding what works for you. All you need to do is be honest with me, and try your hardest. How does that sound?”
He was prepared for any answer, as he had received many varied replies in his time. From an outright refusal, which he had always managed to get around eventually, to a desperate agreement. Some were uncertain; some were willing to do some parts but not others; some still denied they needed treatment at all. He had never let a would-be patient escape him. If Raphael decided you needed help, you got it, like it or not. He would try all avenues to reach a healthy goal, and was pretty good at deciding which would have the most impact. Resistance was futile.
Unless, he remembered resignedly, you were Michael, Heaven’s most obstinate resident. Unbeknownst to Raphael, Michael saw the injury as a reminder, of both Azazel’s fearsomeness and Michael’s own recklessness. It was supposed to stop him from acting unreasonably. It hadn’t yet worked.
Nala
She looked at her hands, seeming deep in thought. Nala was trying to figure out how she could be an expert at something she knew nothing about. When he started talking again she looked up, at him. Injuries.. She sighed again as the memory threatened to come back. The same memory from before. Oh Those injuries.
She looked back at her hands, still listening. So the journey had begun. She nodded in aggrement, meditating. How strange the thought of trying to get in touch with your inner self. She half-smiled as she contemplated the idea of doing so.
She looked into his eyes, she smiled. "Sounds like a plan." She said, nodding to herself.
She mentally groaned when he had said she had to be honest, that meant no avoiding questions, great. She was going to lose her temper a few times and might even cry, but at least it is going to be better then the empty feeling she felt inside. She nodded to herself, looking at the ground.
After this, Chocolate and I decided Raphael needed a bit of time to think and get things sorted, so told Nala to make herself comfortable. Being the unpredictable thing she is, she went and sat outside in the corridor, where she met Joshua and the posts here pick up again from there.
Raphael
He had been right, he thought to himself with satisfaction. Michael had been near-desperate to catch the Messenger. With a half-amused sigh, Raphael turned his attention to his newest patient. He crossed the room and smiled in welcome, automatically giving her the once-over. His skilled gaze noticed the rips in her clothes, which hinted at previous injuries that had healed, and her bare feet. She had the scar Michael had mentioned, visible through a tear, and her wings were slightly patchy. She was armed with a dagger, which he vaguely recognised from previous glimpses of her. She had treasured the weapon, and it was probably a gift from God. "Hello, Nala. How are you?"
Nala
The archangel glared at the ground for quite some time while they were talking, her arms crossed tightly acrossed her chest. They were talking about her, and it made her somewhat mad. She never liked when people talked about her.
Though she seemed frustrated on the outside, which she was inside she felt like crying, she felt like breaking down into tears because it felt as if everything was wrong and nothing was right, but somehow, through the seemingly endless pain and lonliness she had found the strength to keep on moving, and to keep her head up.
She was ditched again, by someone who she at least thought was half decent, but of course had more important things to attend to then focus mainly on a lost soul.
She looked at the healer, up and down and observed his white, what seemed like a uniform. She found this, aggravating since compared to him she was dirty. Her hair lay in tangles and knots, it was time for her usaul haircut. It was getting to long, an inch past her chin, but that was besides the point.
When he had spoken she was at a lost for words, she didn't want to be rude but had no idea what to say so she finally settled on the word. "Hello." She winced at how formal the word sounded. She sounded unsure of herself, and this made her even more frustrated with the fact she couldn't remember anything. She hated the way he smiled at her as if nothing was wrong with her. She almost blurted out 'Stop acting as if nothing was wrong!' She knew something was wrong with her. Nala felt as if it was broadcasted to everyone she had met and it made her feel self concious. "Welcome to my life," She said with dry humor, as if she was tired of it all, of all the looks and the smiles of sympathy and the rumors.
She glanced down at her dagger and closed her eyes as if trying to hold on to the imperfect moment forever, that it wouldn't slip by her like so many minutes had before. She didn't want to lose anything else. Not when everything is gone, you learn to treasure everything you have.
In the beggining God made angels out of pure love and energy, why was she so different from the rest? Somewhere in this place she belonged, then why did she feel so lost? In the land of 'milk and honey.' She was left alone to fend for herself.
She looked at the healer, nothing came to mind though she knew she had seen him before, no memory of him. It was just a feeling, just a quiet hope in the back of her head, that maybe her memory is coming back. Soon that hope was crushed with the realization that she still knew noone and noone cared about her. They only cared to gossip, it was like she could still feel there harsh words. She rubbed her arm, almost as if she was self concious in frount of the healer, though she completly forgot he was even there. "Noone came for me," She said, almost painfully and her eyes filled with tears.
One of the few memories, she was looking up at the sky, every inch of her was hurting, her blood spilling onto the blackened ground. She couldn't even move her hand to grab her dagger. She wanted to curse out the demon who had done this to her, but she could barely breathe. She turned her head to the side, everything became quiet except for a slight ringing in her ears. A ravens wings unfolded, blocking the sun. She tried to lift her arms up to shield herself, but she couldn't move. She cried out in pain and everything went black.
Raphael
She had, albeit humorously, welcomed him into her life. He didn’t feel welcomed. He felt like he was being shut out. She sat without saying any more, her eyes sliding away from him to her dagger, and then they closed. He shifted his weight, wondering how to get her to open up, when she looked at him again. For a moment he thought she was about to say something, but there was something about her expression that made him hesitate. Her eyes unfocused and she fell still, except for absently rubbing her arm. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask a follow-up question to her non-answer. He closed it again when she spoke.
Quote: ”No one came for me.”
For a startling moment he thought she was talking about after the battle against Azazel, but sensibly banished the thought, as it could not possibly be the case. That meant something had happened, she had gotten lost or been taken or trapped somewhere, and been injured greatly, probably by a demon. What else could have done this much damage to a warrior archangel? It must have been powerful, or had allies. Or had something happened before that? There was too little information, too many possibilities. He knew now what Michael had meant when he had described her as disturbed. Nala was traumatised, and by the looks of things, quite rightly so. Angels very rarely received such grave wounds. Perhaps it was post-traumatic stress disorder, perhaps it had run deeper.
He caught her shoulders with both hands. “Nala,” he said firmly. “Nala, listen to me.” He leant down to meet her blank stare, concentrating on snapping her out of her distant state. Whether it was avoidance of his queries or a flashback, both typical of PTSD, he had to work around her lapses. “Listen, Nala! Concentrate, or else this isn’t going to go away. You have to talk to me. Talk to me,” he repeated, and kept on repeating it until she recovered, continuing to gaze into her wide, green eyes. His own were serious and concentrated, his brow creased and grip tight on her. He wouldn’t give up on anybody, let alone a patient like this. He never turned away somebody that needed treatment.
He had known that this would endanger him from the beginning. Usually, when battles were being waged, he had his cherubim team to rescue those that needed attention. But once, only once, he had left the safety of Heaven and flown to a patient’s aid. He hadn’t been able to help himself; it had been all that he could do to not take the direct and highly dangerous route. His only conscious thought at the time was that he couldn’t allow Sariel to die just like that. He had to do something. And since Sariel couldn’t have come to him, having been following Azazel loyally to the other side and thus banished from Heaven, not to mention mortally wounded, Raphael had abandoned his post and descended to the battlefield.
Even with their combined, desperate efforts, it hadn’t been enough. Michael was handy enough with his sword, after all. He’d missed the heart by centimetres. Raphael hadn’t even known they’d been fighting. By the time he’d realised, it had been too late. And he’d been too late getting there. And he’d been too late to save him. He should have been paying more attention. He should have known Sariel would try to protect his master. He should have been watching in case Michael had been defeated. He had known it was more likely. He had known Sariel was better, or at least he had believed it. How had Sariel lost? How had Michael managed to kill him? How had Raphael been so careless, so distracted, so much that he only realised what was happening when it was over. All he could do was listen to his last words. Remorse. Guilt. Apology. And finally, an eternal farewell.
Nala
She watched as the strange man shook her, finally coming back from the flashback she had so despertly tryed to stop. She concentrated on his face, his eyes. She was fascinated by them.
"Why are you shaking me?" She asked, suddenly aware of what was happening. She almost glared at his hands, which were touching her shoulders tightly. She was there again, not lost in her thoughts that she was usaully hiding.
She sat up from her position and straightend her shoulders, so that even her small figure would allow her to look into his eyes. She looked into them, almost as if she's looking inside of him.
She tried to think back about what happened before she remembered the flashback, Michael was leaving, and he had smiled at her. Had that triggered the flashback? She shuddered remembering the raven.
She looked up again at the healer. So many questions threatend to burst out of her but she bit her tounge. Why ask a stranger? She cracked her knuckles restlessly. She wanted to be put to work. She wants to remember. She wants things to be okay again. She glared up towards the ceiling trying to figure things out and then she looked at the healer again. "What happened?" She asked, she barely knew the answer herself. She furrowed her brows in frustration when her mind came up a blank, again. She only had that one memory of the raven.
She sighed looking at the ground feeling foolish. 'Somebody get me through this nightmare, I can't escape this hell.' She thought to herself and looked up at the healer. Her face was questionling as if looking to him to know everything about her, though she highly doubted that.
Raphael
Quote: ”What happened?”
He released her shoulders, straightening once she was aware of her surroundings again. It was such an open question; she could mean just then, or how she had become that way, or before that. He paused to think, and realised that the answer was the same for all three possibilities. “I don’t know,” he admitted, slipping his hands into his pockets and looking away from her questioning face, staring at the wall behind her. “All I can tell you is that there’s something wrong,” he glanced down at her to gauge her reaction, just in case she did the unexpected and expressed surprise. Unless she was extremely withdrawn, she had to have noticed her scars, though her mental state was another matter entirely and it wouldn’t be beyond belief if she was completely unaware of it. “And,” he completed, his voice softening to reassure her, “it’s my job to help you.”
Although it was inappropriate, he couldn’t deny he had an interest in her, albeit from a fully medical perspective. She had appeared at the edge of Heaven, been discovered by two archangels in succession, and neither of them had known what to make of her. Though Gabriel was by no means famed for his social skills, the fact that Michael had also been stumped said a lot. Maybe she didn’t know anything to tell him, or maybe her personality was erratic. Maybe he’d been distracted by his humans. Whatever the cause, it only made her even more of a mystery. He was intrigued.
He cared little for what had happened in her absence, bar anything that might prove useful information. It was her business, and if he didn’t need to know, he wouldn’t ask. He had heard the gossip from others, and wondered about her, but he hadn’t had anything to contribute to the rumours. People assumed he knew plenty about everybody, and they were wrong. He simply didn’t get enough work for that. Strangely enough, the inhabitants of Heaven were usually psychologically stable, leaving him with plenty of time off. It was nice, usually. On the other hand, it didn’t really feel like he was pulling his weight. The only time he felt worthy of his position was when he was doing something nobody else could do, certainly not anymore, after Sariel was gone. That list of talents particular to him was, in his mind, one item long: healing.
He pulled up a faint smile from somewhere, with no happiness, just mild warmth and acceptance of whatever her reply would be. She had to be honest with him, and open. He would probably need to know as much as she did in order to drag her back to sanity. “That is, if you’ll let me.” He didn’t anticipate rejection; only if she didn’t know that she was still traumatised and didn’t trust him enough to accept that there was at least something that needed curing. Only Michael had ever turned him down, and he had done so repeatedly, over the hundreds of years since he had fought Azazel. It bothered Raphael to think that there was an injured angel out there that he hadn’t yet healed, but he couldn’t force Michael to let him help. In fact, it was impossible to force Michael to do anything. If he would just acknowledge that he didn’t have to do everything by himself, it would give Raphael a little peace of mind.
Nala
The archangel sighed looking at her hands. What was she supposed to say? Go ahead? Take what little life that I do have away from me to find memories that I might not want to know? Two have just ditched her, trading her off to some other stranger to do more important things. She wasn't worth saving, Or in her mind that is what she thought. Even though the dagger strapped to her thiegh proved her wrong, she still felt empty inside.
She looked up at him, a determined look in her eyes and a smile. "I guess It's worth a shot." She said, proudly, determined to get over the block in her life. It was a mountan that she had to climb, one step at a time.
The mountain was her gaol to climb, her obstacle in life to overcome. To reach the top and shout with victory. IT was a challange in her eyes, not a disability, though at times she might think about giving up she will have the fire with in her to keep her moving when all else fails. She will have Rapheal on the way, that was certain. She looked down at her scars, wincing at the memory of the raven. She could still remember the pain. The helplessness.
She stood up. "We'll never know if we don't try, So whats first?" She asked looking up into his eyes smiling. Such a strange emotion for Nala, a side that noone has seen. It was like a little kids personality, a childs innocene shone in her bright ember eyes. He had gotten past her shield of anger and revealed the true Nala. The one whos helpless just beyond the surface, the ones who has been screaming for someone to save her. She smiled brightly at him.
Raphael
He had internally relaxed when she had agreed, but when she stood and smiled, the relief was intense. Not only was she willing, but she was determined. With that firm attitude, he could allow himself a little confidence. This was his job, what he did, the one thing he knew he was good at, the purpose for his existence. If she had screamed at him to leave her alone, he wouldn’t have given up. If she had lashed out, he wouldn’t have given up. If she had proved to be in deeper than he thought possible, he wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t allow discouragement. He had to make up for his past mistakes, and fill the role of both he and Sariel. These thoughts washed through his subconscious, strengthening his resolve as they did with every patient. His mouth naturally spread into wide, shining smile in response, though he did feel obliged to provide a reminder of the difficulties she would face.
“There’s no rush. This isn’t something I can just magic away. I need to know what happened first, find out what is different so that we know where to start. So…” He spread his hands, hoping she wouldn’t balk. “When did this begin?”
With psychological afflictions, the process was a blend of therapeutic discussions, some expressive guidance, and meditation. The discussions were the easy bit, where he could probe for causes and solutions and direct the conversation to be constructive. They had begun already.
‘Expressive guidance’ was the umbrella term for the various practical activities that would get her to express her feelings and give him a glimpse of her subconscious. This was more difficult and the results more varied. Some people took to the idea; others found it tedious or degrading. In some cases he would find much to read into, in others, nothing. The two pairs of possibilities came in all four combinations, and changed from patient to patient, day to day, and also between mediums. He liked the artistic ones best, but had more experience with physical forms because of the years of treating those scarred from battles. He would not bet on Nala to be somebody that would find the method useful, but patients often surprised him by being more than happy to get their confusion out of their minds and turn it into something tangible.
Meditation, on the other hand, warriors often did very well in, so long as they weren’t too restless or self-conscious. They were used to focus and self-discipline, and could usually sit for hours under his hand. Meditation was the only option that was non-negotiable. Everybody had to do it. It was the only way he could heal anything physically damaged in their minds. It also often had a positive effect on stability and reduced episodes of disturbance. He had never known whether this was a direct result of his healing efforts, or psychosomatic, or just a benefit of the meditating itself. Taking the time to sit, relax and reduce activities to simple living; it was an infinitely underestimated practise. If Raphael had his way, everybody would do it regularly. Somebody like Michael, who worried about billions of people that weren’t even on the same plane of existence, or the cherubim with more difficult cases, spent an unhealthy majority of their time stressed. They would find it incredibly difficult to stop fretting and clear their consciousness, which was all the more reason for them to engage in it. Usually, the excuse was that they were too busy to waste even seconds by doing nothing. Raphael’s argument was simple: the time to relax is when you don’t have time.
Nala
She closed her eyes in deep concentration. She brought back the memory of when she first woke up.
The Memory came back, quickly. She was on the black top, pain over every inch of her frame. She sat up wincing from the pain, trying to ignore it and looked around. In the distance she could just barelysee the gates of hell. 'Who am I?' She wondered and looked at herself. 'What am I?' She looked up and stood up on her feet, unbalanced and in pain she swayed slightly and finally regained her balance. She looked around. Suddenly a figure emerges from behind her. Nala suddenly turned around, her dagger in hand. She crouched into a defensive pose, trusting mainly on instinct. "Good evening my darling." Said the figure, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. A warning that this was not safe. "Who are you?" She hissed, years of training, and the instinct washed over her, but no memory returned with the feeling. The feeling that she could die in that spot. The feeling of hopelessness invaded her, it made her want to cry, it made her want to give up. She stood tall, not giving up yet. "They call me by many names, Azazel, Lucifer, Satan, El Diablo, Beelzebub, but you can call me master." The figure said smugly to her, a sense of arrogance surrounded him. She almost growled in response, not liking the fact that she was trapped in a position that if she tryed anything she would most likely die. "Don't be like that." He said as he circled her. Little did she know she was face to face with death. "Straighten up." He commanded and somehow without control of it herself she straightend up. It was like she wasn't in control, like she had to listen to the figure. She clenced her teeth, trying to break through the trance that she was under. The brainwashing. She was still there, just not in control. "Now put the dagger down and join me." He said with open arms as if expecting a hug from her. She clenched the dagger tightly, trying not to let it fall to the ground. she took a step back. Only then did she feel his blade, Rarnorak agaisnt her stomach. Take another step and you'll wish you were never created. Nala, her faceset with determination she tried to escape his grasp, The sword dug deep withen her stomach. She held back a scream as the pain overwhelmed her, washed over everything blocking everything else out. The Devil smirked at Nala, who had fallen to her knees. "I warned you, now about those wings. Those witll never do," He walked behind Nala lifting his sword in the air. No, The thought rang clearly in her mind, through the confusion it was the only thing that was sharp. The only thing that made sense. He brought down the sword. She dodged as best as she could, allowing that the sword be dug into her back. She pulled away from him. The place started to spin. she looked at her hands to see blood. She looked at Aaazel. He opened his arms. "Welcome my sister. His wings, they were the black ravens wings. The wings she saw before everything went black. Before she couldn't take the pain anyway. She kicked off the ground and tried to fly away from everything. She soon collapsed on a basketball court in earth.
Nala Sighed at the memory, as if she could still feel the pain. "When I woke up, I was with him, he was trying to persuade me to join him. Telling me lies, trying to trick me." She said simply.
Raphael
She could only be referring to one person – if he could still be called a person anymore. He smothered his shock with practised ease, smoothing it from his expression, allowing none of it to show. A healer could never let surprise be seen. If a patient was shy about a sensitive problem, for them to see astonishment in the one man they could trust to help, for any signs that what they suffered from was unusual, could worsen the problem and make them clam up. It had happened a few times in his early days, but back then they could have gone to Sariel if they didn't feel comfortable with him. Eventually he had mastered the ability, and everything he treated only increased his experience and so strengthened him.
Azazel had caused her injuries, whether personally or by commanding an accompanying demon. He supposed it wasn't all that unlikely. Nala was a warrior of the Host, a formidable enemy by anybody's standards. Azazel had tried to coax and then coerce her onto his side, used whatever means necessary, Raphael expected. He could have done anything to her. From what he could see, there was already plenty of damage. How much of that was psychological?
He allowed his sympathy to show, though he did not mention it aloud. How could he not? A direct confrontation with Azazel was not something anybody wanted to face, remember or hear about. He moved his mind onto more practical thoughts. Still not enough information. Next question. He needed her to open up and give details, specific information, especially concerning physical actions and more pressingly, Azazel's lies and promises that could have driven her to the mental state. "What did he do?" He asked finally, gently.
He had heard a plethora of horror tales from his patients, far more than he cared to listen to. They usually described intense torture, creative and bloody, slow and suspended agony. The more perceptive ones recognised that Azazel's greatest asset was his serpent's tongue of temptation. Their stories were the unsettling ones, true horrors, the ones that stayed with him for days after. They spoke of words like parasites, burrowing deep into their minds and driving out devoutness in favour of doubt. A few angels had confessed to him in strictest confidence that they had almost succumbed. Often, they asked if God would forgive them, seeking help from the high-ranking angel. Sometimes he wondered why they asked him rather than one of the other archangels. It was usually due to his approachable and welcoming disposition. He was easy to find, he didn’t lecture like Michael, and nobody would seek advice from Gabriel. He had never known why nobody sought Nala’s help; or perhaps they did and he simply never heard of it. No matter how much uncertainty they had allowed, Raphael was always firm and confident in his reassurance. God always forgave.
He wondered if Nala would be one of those cases. She had likely resisted whatever weave Azazel had spun to convince her. It made no sense for him to have resorted to violence before he had tried an easier route. He felt the brush of admiration. She had held her own and kept her faith true. That was no easy task. He had underestimated her. Perhaps she would be very good at meditating.
Nala
The question rang in her ears. She thought back again, trying to remember the details.
Fire was a main part of it. The intense burning that laid right under her own skin. Still to this day she couldn't stand being even near fire. Coaxing, confusion, brain washing, so many techniques. She had all pushed through them. Multiple attacks, she had dealt with. Only did he dig deeper withen her own mind, slowly making her lose control of the only thing she had left, her sanity, did she break apart into pieces. He had convinced her that she was worthless, that noone loved her, that noone cared. He had promised her love if she had joined him, the one thing she had craved most was the feeling that someone had cared about her. The one thing that she so despertly needed to end the madness that engulfed her. She could remember the words that had made her fall to her knees, in sheer agony. 'What a worthless disaster. Can't even protect herself anymore. Worth nothing to the Lord, just a nuisance." A disaster, something she had tried so hard to avoid. She wanted to be a better person, a better angel. She had tried so hard not to lash out at the innocent souls, she tried so hard to earn God's love, never quiet making it completly. Nothing more than a nuisance. A lamb that had lost her place in line. A nightmare to humans-alike. An angel who had turned her back agaisnt everything that she once had. She had tried so hard, so hard to be someone shes not, to be someone worth living. All the hours she had trained, trying to get stronger, all the hours of being alone, wearing down on her sanity. All the time she had to look at the angels talking and laughing, having the best time of her life while she had to go train to get her aim right. She had always wished that once, just once that they would invite her over. That they would invite the misfit. The torture, the agony, the sheer pain of it all. Slowly she had lost her bearings, she started to lose the life she once had, she lost her memory piece by broken piece. 'I tried to be perfect.' She told him with a shattered heart.
"Everything." She whispered, her voice thick with tears as the words echoed in her mind.
Raphael
Though her answer had terrible implications, it didn't really help. 'Everything' just meant she had been overwhelmed. It didn't mean anything specific. For all he knew, all Azazel'd had to do was show up and she'd have been begging for mercy, although that was pretty unlikely. She had to be tougher than that, if she had come back.
Still, she deserved sympathy. He couldn't push her too much. He heard how upset she was by her own memories. He took a seat next to her, his upper body turned towards her. After a natural hesitation, a pause to debate whether or not he should, he moved to put an arm around her shoulders. He froze for a moment as he did so, seeing for the first time the second scar on her back. Forcing himself to carry the action through and hoping she hadn't noticed, he then spoke to reassure her in his best comforting tone.
"I know it's difficult. I know it's painful. You can take as long as you need and it's alright if that's a lot of time. We can work around it, around you." His voice became more encouraging and earnest. "I need you to start from the beginning. When you first met, when he first approached you. Don't leave anything out. What you say is for my ears only; it won't leave this room, I promise you." He met her gaze squarely as he spoke, his sincerity ringing in every word. "Any details that seem unimportant, I want to hear them too. You can tell me it all and I will listen."
Though he would never admit this to any patient, whether past, present or potentially future - which was therefore everybody - what he had said was mostly a constantly changing pre-prepared paragraph that he had been working on since his first psychologically affected patient. He had refined it endlessly until he held great confidence in it. It was altered accordingly from case to case, but he had used it often and it was heartfelt every time. There was always a moment, a topic or a memory that was hard to recount aloud. Coping with those times and alleviating that pain was the purpose of that small speech. From survivor's guilt to confessions of contemplated suicide, consciences wracked over the killing of fallen angels and horrors endured in dealing with demons, he had heard it all. Despite his experience, there was foreboding growing in the pit of his stomach. He had a feeling that Nala's story would appal him even after so many years of life hearing such tales. He had never helped somebody recover from a meeting with Azazel. Then again, few angels ever returned from such an occurrence, and fewer recovered at all.
Nala
She quietly listened as he had told his small speech. Deatails, The details that she would so much rather forget then have to spill out her hearts contents, to a stranger no less. It was going to be a long recovery road and if she got past this one little bump of insecurity she could get through the rest. It was like sitting in a shrinks office, except more was at stake, her entire memory was based on how open she could be to him. She closed her eyes and slowly began.
"I was on the black top, staring up at the sky. Every inch of me felt as if I was on fire, from the inside out. I couldn't move anything, I couldn't even grab my dagger, which was only inches from my hand. The sun blazed down at me. Suddenly what seemed to be raven wings spreaded there wings, flying downwards toawards me, momentarily blocking out the sun. At that moment the sensation of the fact that I could die there invaded me. It was horrible, lieing there, knowing that you can't protect yourself. All you can do is watch as the enemy draws closer to you. Wait for your exacution. Soon everything went black. When I woke up again I was in a cavern, torches lit with fire attached to the walls. I had a massive headache and I could barely concentrate. Then I saw him. 'Welcome Sister.' He said to me, as if I had just come home from a long journey. I quickly stood to my feet, unbalanced. I glared at him and found my footing. I could not remember who's side I was on. I could barely remember my own name. 'Come with me, come be at my right side. Come be loved, I know how lonley you are. I can see it in your eyes.' I wondered how he knew who I was, HOw he knew what I wanted. Still I shook my head no, going with the instinct, I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. 'What a pity, I guess I'll have to force you then.' I knew my capabilities and the thought that crossed my mind was that I was gonna die there. The mere simpleness of it all, just to give up. It saddended me, but gave me the courage to move on. Though I had nothing worth fighting for, I would still fight while I could. Then they came. The demons that is. Dark masses, started surrounding me. I was able to fight most of them off, with only a few scratches, but I felt my sanity grow a little lower. I blacked out again, I cant remember by what this time. When I woke up I was in the cavern again, this time my memory almost completly gone. I saw him again. 'Hello My darling.' He welcomed me. Yet again with the same friendly tone. 'Who are you?' I demanded from him, while my own thoughts crowded up my mind like 'Who am I?' and 'What am I?' 'They call me by many names, Azazel, Lucifer, Satan, El Diablo, Beelzebub, but you can call me master.' The mere idea of bowing before a scumbag like him made my head spin. I was disgusted by the idea. I almost growled in response. I was trapped in a position that if I moved I would have died in a heartbeat, not like I was in control anymore. I couldnt control myself even if I wanted too. I scowled at him, and he shrugged. Arrogance seemed to radiate off of him like some sort of perfume. I moved my foot slightly, trying to get in control. He shook his head no. 'No, naughty angel.' and suddenly I was on fire again. The burning from before that lay just under my skin. It took everything had to not scream and to not break down, to just give up on the spot. When he realized I wasn't going to give up with just physical pain he brought mental pain, digging through what little memory I had left. I suddenly saw two angels giggling and having a good time, talking about random stuff. I felt upset. Iwanted so despertly to join them, to fit in with them. Then it was Gabriel and Micheal talking to the father. my two brothers, how God loves them so much. I felt as an outcast with them, not truely fitting in anywhere that I went. I closed my eyes, a stupid thing to do at the moment but if I didn't I would have cried, I would have showed weakness to my enemy. Suddenly it was like a million knife stabs at my stomach. I looked down, it was in my imagination, but it was like I could feel the blood run down my side. 'I doubt God loves all his children, or maybe he just hates you, letting you suffer like this? Hmm not a very merciful God now is it?' He told me, hitting another nerve. I flinched but showed no othyer sign that he was slowly winning. The pain went on. I could barely stand. Multiple attacks, cuts running up my arms and legs. Still the physical I could deal with, but it was the mental that had made me almost give up. I still struggled to hold on to what little sanity I had left. Somewhere along the way I realized I was swaying. I couldn't take much more abuse. I still held the dagger in my hand. The only thing that kept me standing was that dagger. 'It could all end if you just drop the dagger.' He promised me. At the time his words seemed so promising to me. So open and inviting, but I kept my ground. He took a step clowser to me, his beloved sword in hand. 'Then it's time to teach you a lesson,' I watched as he brung the sword down apon me. I dodged the best I could and the sword dug deep withen my stomach. I held back a scream. Not only did the wound hurt, but what he said afterwards made everything unbearable. 'What a worthless disaster. Can't even protect herself anymore. Worth nothing to the Lord, just a nuisance.' These words just made something unside of me break. I felt as if my entire life had come crashing down. The only thing I had left as I stood there was my will to go on, and even then he was taking that away from me. I fell to my knees. The blood ran down my torso, from the gash in my stomach. My fingers seemed to loosen on my hold of the dagger. I felt the tears roll down my face. 'Now then, lets take of those hideous wings.' He said as he approached my back. He lifted his sword and brought it down violently. I moved just enought so that it missed my wings but it dug deep withen my back. He distracted at the moment had reclaimed his sword. The only thing I could do know was run, run as fast as I can and that is what I did. I took off out of there, trying to ignore the pain in both my back and stomach. As soon I was out of his reach I collapsed, When I woke up it was the only memory I had."
She Said finally finishing her gruesome memory.
Raphael
After taking a moment to absorb what he had been told, Raphael turned his mind to the analysis. The recollection said a great deal about Nala. She had very low self-confidence and no faith in her abilities. Warriors rarely considered the possibility of loss, not least because fear tended to incapacitate. Yet it had been all she had been able to foresee once faced with Azazel. She had predicted only death. That pessimism had begun, or strengthened, the sense of worthlessness Azazel had then homed in on. A person that believed they had no future did not usually recognise that they still had life left in them. Raphael personally never considered a life lost until the spirit had gone. There was no future in assumptions, and certainly not of that gravity. Nor was he an optimist. Reality was what faced you, what you heard on the winds and felt in your heart.
She had recognised the threat to her mentality from the start, her sanity dripping away under the intense pressure to defect and fall. It had amplified her other feelings: loneliness, vulnerability, helplessness. She had coped with the physical torture for the most part, but the threat to her wings had pushed her over the edge and finally prompted her to flee. He turned this over in his mind, theorising they were important to her as the only physical evidence that she was still an angel, still, in some way, good and true and one of God's children. Yet, despite her loss of identity, she had retained her integrity and resisted his efforts. She had still managed to understand that Azazel was the enemy, even as he apparently extended the only hint of kindness she felt she had known. Having forgotten all of her happy memories, he wondered how she had rejected the promise of better times. Great internal strength or simple pride; whatever the reason, it had saved her.
Also consternating were the emotions her memories had brought up, primarily inferiority and isolation. As one of God's archangels, she could only have been comparing herself to the others in the Host. The ones she had mentioned specifically were Gabriel and Michael, undeniably the two that had the closest relationship with God. He could empathise with that feeling. He had often reflected on the matter. In his mind, there was nobody as mighty as Gabriel, or as noble as Michael. The only beings he held in higher esteem than they were God, his Father and Creator, and - every time, he mentally stuttered over the name - Sariel, his closest friend. As for Nala's isolation, that was something she seemed to feel acutely. Everybody felt lonely from time to time, but it seemed she had always felt on the outside. Perhaps it was because of her job as a warrior, which led constant comparison to Gabriel. Most angels trained for combat, unless they had a heartfelt aversion as Raphael did, and it often took a good long lecture from Michael to encourage his troops to stop comparing themselves to each other. In battle, he regularly emphasised, it does not matter how good your allies are. What matters is the skill of your foe.
Then again, even if Nala had listened to the speech, and not forgotten its message, which was unlikely anyway, few angels would combat Azazel in a normal situation. She had not even been in control of her own body. That meant her inferiority had not been the issue. Her lack of belief, maybe. It was probably why she had been targeted in the first place. That she had lost her memory was worrying. The overwhelming experience had likely driven everything else from her mind. It was all she knew about herself. That was definitely not psychologically healthy. What she needed, he decided finally, was somebody to hold a mirror to her and reflect her qualities.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I am glad you were able to tell me about that, but I also want you to remember that this memory is not who you are. It does not define you. You know far more about yourself. So," he challenged her, though his tone was mild, "tell me about you. Your personality, your virtues and faults, what makes you who you are. Though I warn you," he lightened the mood again with a half-smile, "if you're too harsh on yourself, I may disagree."
Nala
The archangel nodded, sitting up and crossing her legs. She closed her eyes, flipping through her most recent memories, almost as if she was looking from a different persons point of view then her own, trying to learn about herself as much as she can.
She smiled to herself quietly. "I don't like shoes, They aggravate my feet and it makes it harder to run." She stated, almost pleased that she still remembered that little fact about herself.
"Armor is too heavy for me to wear, Thats why I usaully wear light and durable clothing, so that I can move quickly when in battle." She said, still flipping through the recent memories.
"I find that solitude is much more comforting then being around people who don't understand me." It was true, remembering kneeling before Gaberiel. It had felt so stupid to do that to a face she didn't even recognize. She had felt so out of place, she was not the one to grovel on the ground and beg for mercy.
"I won't bow before anyone but my Lord." She said, almost uncertanly, wondering if the Lord still loved her enough to bring her back into his home. She still felt like an outcast among her own.
"Not a lot of people understand me." Another thing she had noticed, if she looked at someone they'd look away, almost as if they were afraid of her. It left her feeling alone.
"I'm not strong." She admited, which was true. Nala was 'built' for speed and accurancy, long distance combat. She was created to withstand brutal attacks, almost like a shield. She wasn't a 'tank' like Gaberiel or a 'torpedo' like Michael. She was like an Arrow. Deadly if you get it at the right angle.
"I don't like when people touch my back, wings or stomach." She admitted looking down. Thats were most of her scars were, where most of the pain she experinced had been.
"I won't hesitate to fight back." She said, which was true. If you give her a fight she can break a person down, mentally. Something she had worked forever on. To be able to know your oppenent. To be able to break him down and see withen him, making him doubt his very sanity. She was good like that. Her stares were deadly, mostly full of venom.
She looked back up again. "I like watching the sunset, It calms me down."
"Sometimes I doubt myself." She whispered. She doubted why she was created in the first place. So many were better than her. She felt no better then the rest, just a weak link that might break the chain.
She stared off into the distance. "I don't know how or why, but lately I've been out of reach, I've been too long on my own." She said quietly, as if staring at something that had taken her very breath away.
"Just as soon as I walk in it's like all eyes on me and I hate it, I hate that they always have to stare, it's like there staring into me. It's like there seeing things that I can't." She said looking at the ground.
She became silent after that, losing herself in her thoughts.
Raphael
Though she started with habits and physical features, Nala quickly adapted to picking out the implications these had on her personality, and soon began to detail those instead. He listened carefully, filing each fact away in his mind, building up a cautious outline of her personality. Though she had focused on her faults, as he had predicted, he was able to glean plenty from her words.
She hated being slowed down, finding speed important because of her lack of strength. She couldn’t stand being judged and, more importantly, prejudged. She sought solace when she had no good company, but seemed not to realise that close friends were something she needed. She had some pride, but at other times she lacked confidence. She was pretty self-aware, he thought approvingly, but worried too much why she felt how she did. He began to make educated guesses, no longer working on what had been stated. She appreciated silence. She would combat any foe she believed she could defeat. She was loyal, but thought too much to be a simple soldier, cared too much, maybe, about her actions and their effects. She was independent, but craved companionship.
There was the answer, staring him in the face. Companionship. Somebody to rely on; whether she felt she needed to or not, knowing there would be somebody there was always reassuring. A listening ear and kindly smile, somebody that would understand her and not flinch at anything she did, not retreat when she stepped outside the boundaries of convention and expectation. Reliable, loyal and advice-giving, but smart enough to know when to back off and back down. Perhaps a change of job would also help, though he would have to see what she thought about that, as he could be completely wrong. Having endured as much suffering as she, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for her to grow averse to violence. His work only strengthened his own repulsion. The needless death of the battlefield could do more harm to her, even if she was a warrior by design. If Michael was to be believed, God wasn’t always right, though Raphael thought that it was because of Him and His wisdom that everything worked out in the end, or at least it would, if the end ever came. Raphael didn’t visit his Father often, mainly because he knew that if he did, he would end up staying at His side for hours on end. He did pray regularly, like a son moved away from home.
He picked out a few observed traits to voice aloud to Nala, with the intent of boosting her confidence. “I think you are strong,” he told her. “Maybe not physically, but inside. A strong will. And I can tell you with certainty that you are still sane.” He wasn’t lying, and never lied to his patients, but didn’t feel it was the right time to measure and announce whether or not she was close to losing herself. “You can’t stand prejudice,” he suggested, speaking more slowly, “and you’re a deep thinker, often getting mentally and emotionally involved in things, which drains you. You can be pessimistic; on the other hand, you don’t give up easily. You can usually look after yourself, but need somebody to be there to lean on, even if you don’t need to.” He paused thoughtfully, and decided to take a figurative step back from the matter. “I’m only guessing, here,” he assured her. “Correct me if you like. Or am I making sense?”
Nala
She remained silent as he spoke. She thought quickly for a minute or two, analizing what he said, breaking it into pieces, trying to understand what he had said. Companionship? The word seemed so stupid it was almost humorous. When had someone looked at her and walked towards her without the sense of fear or sadness or sympathy almost radiating from there very frame. Even if her memories are gone she still has a pretty good idea of what her reputation was around this place. It was true, all she really wanted, somewhere deep inside was for someone to hug her and tell her the four most simplest words in the planet. 'It's gonna be fine.' when she needs it most. She wants someone to be there when it's the dead of night, when she feels most alone. Could anyone be that person without judging her?
"You're the expert." She whispered, almost the same way she had talked to Michael. something Michael didn't know was at these moments she was the most unsure of herself and deep withen the realms of her mind she thought she was losing her bearings that she had held so tightly on the world, almost as if she was terrified that everything would dissapear in a second.
She held onto this life as if it was a flower in her palm, fragile and easy to break. She held onto the preciosus moments that she tried so hard not to let slip through the cracks.
Raphael
He bit back a small smile at her response. She had neatly sidestepped giving an answer, perhaps because she was reluctant to confirm or deny any of her character traits. Maybe he had confused her by making seemingly random guesses that were bafflingly inaccurate. It could be the other end of the scale entirely, and he had stunned her with shrewdness. He doubted both. It was more likely that she was bored or apathetic, or simply had nothing to say. It was no matter. She was wrong.
“No,” he disagreed lightly. Expertise had nothing to do with it. He had gotten by on observance and careful consideration. None of what he had said was definite. He had been inferring, reading between her words to dig deeper into her personality. He didn’t really know anything. “I’m not an expert. You’re the expert.” She was the only person that knew whether or not he was right. On the other hand, perhaps she genuinely didn’t know. Perhaps she was trusting, or hoping, that he was correct. She could have no idea whether or not he was right in his assumptions. He supposed that was as far as they could take the topic, and so decided to move the conversation in another direction.
“But anyway, there’s only so much you can say about that. Instead, I should tell you what I’m planning on doing to help you recover.” His tone was relaxed, and his voice was clear in the quiet room. “Your remaining injuries can be healed at any time,” he begun, before remembering what she had said about others touching her injuries and adding, “though this needs physical contact, so you may want to wait until you’re comfortable with that. You’ll see me regularly, and we’ll work on understanding why you are how you are, how you can express that, and what needs to be done to improve. You’ll be meditating,” his eyes warmed, and he acknowledged, “as best you can. That will help you mentally and emotionally, but I’ll also be able to help your mind along its way during those sessions.” He spread his hands. “There are lots of things we can try, and really it’s just a matter of finding what works for you. All you need to do is be honest with me, and try your hardest. How does that sound?”
He was prepared for any answer, as he had received many varied replies in his time. From an outright refusal, which he had always managed to get around eventually, to a desperate agreement. Some were uncertain; some were willing to do some parts but not others; some still denied they needed treatment at all. He had never let a would-be patient escape him. If Raphael decided you needed help, you got it, like it or not. He would try all avenues to reach a healthy goal, and was pretty good at deciding which would have the most impact. Resistance was futile.
Unless, he remembered resignedly, you were Michael, Heaven’s most obstinate resident. Unbeknownst to Raphael, Michael saw the injury as a reminder, of both Azazel’s fearsomeness and Michael’s own recklessness. It was supposed to stop him from acting unreasonably. It hadn’t yet worked.
Nala
She looked at her hands, seeming deep in thought. Nala was trying to figure out how she could be an expert at something she knew nothing about. When he started talking again she looked up, at him. Injuries.. She sighed again as the memory threatened to come back. The same memory from before. Oh Those injuries.
She looked back at her hands, still listening. So the journey had begun. She nodded in aggrement, meditating. How strange the thought of trying to get in touch with your inner self. She half-smiled as she contemplated the idea of doing so.
She looked into his eyes, she smiled. "Sounds like a plan." She said, nodding to herself.
She mentally groaned when he had said she had to be honest, that meant no avoiding questions, great. She was going to lose her temper a few times and might even cry, but at least it is going to be better then the empty feeling she felt inside. She nodded to herself, looking at the ground.
After this, Chocolate and I decided Raphael needed a bit of time to think and get things sorted, so told Nala to make herself comfortable. Being the unpredictable thing she is, she went and sat outside in the corridor, where she met Joshua and the posts here pick up again from there.