milliways_bar | (no subject)

"...Ace?"

Remiel looks up from his book-- yet another poetry compilation-- and blinks at the sight of her.

"You okay?" he asks, concernedly.

She wonders, wearily, which angel this is. It doesn't seem fair that they aren't all easily recognizable. Since she wasn't called Inferno, she's guessing it isn't Sariel. Hurrah for deductive reasoning.
"Not terribly, no." She replies, not leaving the doorway. Door frames are such supportive structures.
"You see, there's this knife..." She makes a vauge handwave with her left hand to the opposite shoulder. No knife there... but then, you can't see her back, can you?

He gets up, frowning, and draws up closer to Ace and her doorframe. Remiel can't see her back, and this worries him considerably.

"Knife? Where?"

She's becoming rather fond of this doorframe. It's keeping her from falling on her arse.
"Shoulder. At least, I think so. Haven't actually seen this one, though I saw its mate. Nasty little bugger. So's the owner, but that's neither here nor there. Rather then, actually. S'all then here." So she's rambling a little. As Remiel get's closer, he might see something that, with the right sort (or wrong sort, really) of imagination, might be the top edge of a boot knife's hilt just beyond her shoulder. If he's looking.

He's looking, and he allows himself a slight wince-- ouch. She deserves the rambling. Remiel draws up to her side, brow furrowed, eyes soft and concerned.

"Want me to..." A pause, as he weighs it. "...Take care of that, for you?"

A knife in your shoulder can't be too comfortable, after all.

She gives him a crooked sort of smile.
"Please. S'rather inconvinient." And it makes the world even more twirly than it already is. Stop the universe, she wants to get off.

"I would imagine so, yes," he says, softly, smiling. He lifts a hand to brush two long, slender fingers against the hilt of the knife --

not

there

anymore

-- and then his hand is resting on shoulder, and no knife, and Remiel furrows a brow. He hasn't done something like that in a while. It feels... relieving, somehow. He can only imagine how it feels to Ace.

"...better?"

She slumps, slightly, pain no longer keeping her stance tight. But she smiles, as well, glad that all she has to deal with now is the battering she got from the day's events.
"Ta very much, Remiel. That's lots better."

"Good."

He offers his arm, happy to see the steel of pain (mostly) gone fron her frame, and wonders if she can walk all right. "Come on, I'll get you something to drink. What happened?"

"Someone wasn't too happy to be rescued. Prolly 'cause I intend t'hand him over to the council." She takes the offered arm, leaning perhaps a little more than is normal, but she's exhausted, and has been under more strains than the human body was designed for.
"A drink sounds lovely."

Remiel supports her as much as she needs-- he doesn't have any issues in that area. It's an angel's job, after all-- and helps her back to his table. A doorframe is lovely, but a chair, now there's a nicely supportive piece of furniture for the tired.

"Sounds like a rough old time-- did it go well?" He pauses. "Or, at least, end well?"

He flags over a waitrat.

Ace would have to agree that a chair is decidedly better than a doorframe, even at the risk of sounding disloyal to the doorframe.

And she smiles.

"Yeah. It ended brilliantly." He had said she'd done good. That's all Ace ever needs.

He beams happily at that.

"I'm very glad to hear it. 'Not in vain' and all that. What's your poison?"