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ā€œOi, you boiled shrimp, if youā€™re going to chew out my ears at least know itā€™s pronounced gall. I know I got feathers on me, but Iā€™m not fighting your puny ass for some fucking chips. Also, Iā€™ve got a whole bunch of braincells in this noggin! Thatā€™s infinitely more than what youā€™ve got. Did the radiation blast your logic outā€™a you?ā€

Sorrel bit down on his tongue. Maybe he was getting carried away. Maybe he was being a bit too mean, but, by Jove this idiot deserved a chewing out.

He took a breath in. This was about to get nasty. ā€œFor the record, I do pay attention. Ground Zero is literally a weird ass northern jungle in the edge of Wilacrik, so you know where he is. Gamma-Burn has an active social media, which I follow, and last I checked heā€™s also responsive. Fuck! If you had a damn Geiger counter, they cost like 50 bucks on Amazon and I bet your stupid boss would reimburse you for an epic story, you could definitely just wave that thing around at people until you stumble into him. Oh! Also! There are other people living in Ground Zero, who, last I checked, interact with the dude regularly and might also be open to talking. Making excuses for yourself just shows how much of a shit-faced dumbass you are.ā€

Shit like this made Sorrel remember why he hated just interacting with people so much. This was absolutely exhausting. He wished he was in his lab, or with his plants, or just cooking his own food at home. He wanted to hide away and just be nobody. His thoughts snapped off as he noticed the pockmarked giant just careening towards himā€” why did that feel familiar? A giant dude running straight at him in that exact way?

Sorrel pinched the bridge of his nose instead, and only spoke again when the man caught up to them. ā€œAnywaysā€¦ if you want to continue this conversation civilly, maybe donā€™t be the worldā€™s pissiest toddler?ā€
Damn. Sorrel wouldnā€™t be surprised if the pink-haired reporterā€™s skull contained just water swishing around. It was a genuine question! He wanted to know! No need to be so rudeā€” it soured Sorrelā€™s tastebuds too much. Fuck the mediocre food, heā€™d just take it home.

Sorrel snapped the plastic containerā€™s lid back onto his meal, leaving the plastic spoon in there. He didnā€™t exactly want it to end up in a landfillā€” itā€™d probably work as some Tupperware storage, or another little garden container. Up-cycling was important! As he stood up, he justā€¦ had to poke holes in olā€™ Strawberry Shortcakeā€™s logic.

ā€œWell,ā€ he started, ā€œfirst of all. I see tons of anti-hero interviews nā€™ shit, theyā€™re *more* hated by the DNCC, no..? ā€˜Cause they arenā€™t regulated, and the DNCC really wants control nā€™ a good way to lock ā€˜em up, or at least recruit. Andā€” second!ā€ Sorrel paused to cough, and wiped the blood from his mouth with the edge of his sweater sleeve. ā€œSecond, you said you got coverage on the fight between King Stag nā€™ the radiation dude, right..? Howā€™re you not dead yet? Maybe he canā€™t really hurt you, for some reason? Maybe thatā€™s a start if youā€™re super duper interested, which it sounds like yā€™arenā€™t.ā€

Sorrel didnā€™t exactly want to respond to Swiss-cheese, but, of course, he also just had to bump into the fucking behemoth as he was trying to leave. Sorrelā€™s skin was..l feverishly, unnaturally warm at the momentā€” not really dangerous, per say, but he knew he got warmer when his body was acting up the way it did. He took a few steps back, looked at the giant, pockmarked man, and then the door. And he looked back, and saw a little beetle scurry down the manā€™s neck. What the fuck?

ā€œTwo things for you too, I guessā€”ā€œ Sorrel furrowed his brows as he more mumbled than tried to push a debate. ā€œFirst, take a shower, for the love of everything that is good?? I just saw some bugs on you??? And second, youā€™re just as big as the bug hero, so either stop being a walking concrete wall or start having a bit more self confidence..?ā€

Another cough. Heā€™s just gonna leave. Heā€™s just going to leave. He wiped his now bloodied sleeve over his lips again before wiping at his forehead and eyes. He pushed himself through the door with his leftovers in his hands, and justā€¦ started walking away. Maybe heā€™ll go sit at a park and keep eating. Maybe heā€™ll actually go home.
Oh. THAT was where Sorrel had saw this man. How.. how was this pink-haired stranger still alive? Some sort of radiation immunity? They were obviously Numan, with the pink hair and the goat horns and such, but maybe it was rude to assume some other abilities underneath..? This little goat also claimed to have coverage on the fight from this morningā€¦ something the press rarely could catch with all the fights involving himself and King Stag.

Andā€¦ along with that, the short stranger had an interview with King Stag. Sorrel couldnā€™t help but wonder how many of those were out there, and how many people begged and begged for interviews. His mind then trailed toā€” this dude must have met King Stag. Probably today. Probably this morning. Maybe that was why King Stag dove through a building. Maybe this was the person who threw a piece of building at him, too..?

Hmmā€¦ Sorrel wasnā€™t exactly hungry, anymore. He wasnā€™t hungry in the first place. He felt like just grabbing his bowl and snapping the lid on to make his way out. Maybe heā€™llā€¦ eat it later? Fat chance, though. He wiped the little drop blood from his lip instead of having another bite.

ā€œShit, King Stagā€™s going for an interview? After what happened this morning?ā€ Sorrel almost clasped his hand over his stupid mouth, why did he blurt things out all the time? Jesus Christ he was so stupid.

Instead of minding his own fucking business, he continued with his stupid, stupid rambling. ā€œArenā€™t hero interviews likeā€¦ a dime a dozen? Have you ever done a villain interview..?ā€

He turned to the far taller man with pockmarks as he twirled his spoon around. ā€œYouā€™ve ever read a villain interview?ā€

He also already wanted to beat himself up. Maybe he shouldā€™ve never gone out, and just spent the day alone in his little house at Ground Zero with his weird cat.
It was another busy day for Tohato, a time where even the off hours have a good few tables, and where Tohato played against a few customers who requested the mahjong challenge because his father was busy cooking. Overall, he didnā€™t have a chance to think about the strangeness around him ever since that hallucination earlier in the day. He didnā€™t have a chance to think about how, sometimes, the customers he spoke to didnā€™t have faces. He didnā€™t have a chance to think about how the walls felt like they were caving in. He didnā€™t have a chance to think about why his heart kept beating so quickly and why he felt uneasy. He didnā€™t have a chance to think about how there were moments where he couldnā€™t hear his dad calling from the kitchen.

In between all the orders, some time in the evening, Ha-Neul eventually asked Tohato what was going on.

ā€œIs there anything wrong, snowbird?ā€ Tohato heard from the kitchen, after silence and melting walls plagued the young manā€™s senses. Tohato couldnā€™t answer anymoreā€¦ for some reason, he kept feeling fear..? A fear so strong and soā€¦ unreasonable that Tohato both wanted to run despite his bad leg and hit his skull against a steel beam for being so scared of what was most definitely nothing.

Ha-Neul gently put a hand on Tohatoā€™s shoulder. ā€œCan you check on the chickens for me?ā€ They asked with a smile on their faceā€” Tohato knew his father was trying to give him a little fresh air. Maybe it would help.

The albino still couldnā€™t talk, and instead silently nodded. The chickens wereā€¦ probably fine, honestly, but he loved just being with them. So, he slowly walked overā€” out of the back door, into the little patio, right where the chicken coop was. All do the hens were getting ready to roost as the light started to dim, the rooster trying to encourage the ladies to head into the little wood hut that Tohato was about to sit in.

How did it still feel soā€¦ tight? He was outside, but he still felt trapped. He felt uneasy, as the lush garden around him started toā€¦ melt? Strip itself away from the world? The chickens disappeared from his vision, as did the restaurant, as did all the buildings in the traditional town he was in.

He felt hands all over him. He felt claws on his back. He felt the pain of being thrown around, the pain of people, the pain of loneliness, the pain of fingers on his neck tightening until he could black out. Where was he again? What was going on..? He shouldā€” he should go back to the restaurant. He should go back home. He was just there! What time is it? Where is uncle..?

The last thing Tohato was able to hear was his name, until everything swallowed him up. ā€œSnowbird? Tohato?ā€ Ha-Neul called from the back door.

ā€œTohato..? TOHATO??ā€

And then Tohato was entirely alone.
Bezaliel startled with the banging sound. Its wings flapped, its legs kicked out, and it almost bumped into a wall and the ceiling with that reaction. Not to mention, that nest was nowā€¦ entirely strewn across the room. That colorful nightlight globe in the corner still soothed the Angel, however, and a few minutes staring at the gentle lights got it feeling well enough to rebuild the nest. The Angel spent a good few meticulous minutes weaving all of those plush blankets back together, putting every cozy pillow and plush back in place, and placing string lights back on top. Finally, it laid on its precious little mound of coziness, and chirped in satisfaction.

As much as Bezaliel wanted to bury its head back into all the covers, tuck its large wings in, and curl up into the nest, it simply couldnā€™t go back to sleep. Today was such a good night, tooā€” dreamless, painless, eased by all the sweet little lights around it. But, young Bezaliel still wasnā€™t home. It was still entirely alone, in another dimension still entirely foreign to it. It flicked its long tail as it decided how to vent its frustration.

Bezalielā€™s door swung open, a few minutes after the whole commotion. Out came the giant, ethereal bird, its wings stretching out to almost take up the hallway. A single powerful flap was enough to absolutely launch Bezaliel over the strange meat man, over the guards, over plant guy, over the doctor he saw as a friendā€” straight to Sabriel. The Angel essentially tackled the white-haired man, its talons not piercing skin but still pressing down on his chest. It crouched down and let out a loud hiss before stepping off and going about its early morning, first turning around when Sabriel managed to get up by piecing together a sentence.

ā€œMy nESt!ā€ The Angel shouted in that parrot-like voice, ā€œmy NEST! Do nOt! No scarING me!ā€
It seemed that Sorrel decided to spend a little more time in the cityā€¦ of course, as Sorrelā€” not Gamma-Burn. Instead of a haunting specter with a gas mask, he had a simple knit sweater with a patterned yoke in Icelandic styling. He had his dreadlocks half-up in a bun, and his feathers framing his hairline puffed out. The sweater absorbed his thin form, bunching over his hips and leaning to one side and covering his slim hands almost entirely. Those baggy jeans he chose to change into didnā€™t do him too many favors, eitherā€” each movement still showed just how much of a stick he was, and it made him want to peel his skin off. At leastā€¦ the height was right..? The jeans didnā€™t sag onto the ground, instead stopping right before the heel of Sorrelā€™s trusty steel-toed boots.

He still felt like absolute shit. While he got his core back in control with a quick visit to the meta-doctor stationed at Ground Zero, a few minutes of little intra-venous drips and painkillers, heā€¦ was supposed to be fine. He wasnā€™t dyingā€” that counted as fine, but Sorrel struggled to stand up or swallow food. Why did he decided that today was the day he had to air out a bit, to be in the city and beā€¦ among other people? Ground Zero is a wonderful settlement, a great community built upon the work of the people and ran by those same people. Everyone also knew exactly who Sorrel was, there. He was alone, in his double shipping-container house overgrown with vines and trees. He was alone, in the repurposed guts of the power-plant that became a perfect lab for him. He was alone, as he double-checked the tasks of the day and talked about nothing in particular with people whoā€¦ tried to treat him like a god, for some reason. Long story shortā€” he was alone, sitting in this stupid Mexican-American restaurant, butā€¦ sitting with strangers who just saw him as some dude with feathers and green hair was much calmer, for some reason.

His taco bowl started getting cold. Why did he come here anyways? He could cook! He was a great cook, he had fresh garden ingredients and fresh meats and a mighty set of recipes stored in his head, butā€¦ he frankly didnā€™t have the energy. That, andā€¦ Sorrel just wanted to feel normal for maybe two seconds.

Of course, he wasnā€™t normal. He wasnā€™t ever normal. He knew that, as he stared down at the stupid taco bowl as he sat at the very corner of this stupid restaurant in the center of town. He still felt like his insides were two steps away from becoming outsides. He still felt like his lips were stained red.

Sorrel coughed into a napkin, still staring at that stupid, overpriced, probably-full-of-GMOs-and-preservatives taco bowl. He finally moved his mismatched eyes to the brown napkin crumpled in his hand. Blood. Of course. Nine Hells, this day was the worst day his body couldā€™ve chosen to just fuck him over so severely. For some reason, he still felt cold, despite that thick sweater and despite that pulsing core radiating an eerie heat from his solar plexus.

Eventually, Sorrel fought against his nausea and fatigue to take a spoonful from that taco bowl. It wasā€¦ okay. The shrimp was obviously frozen, the cheese was from a bag instead of freshly grated, the tomatoes were maybe a week old instead of freshly-picked, the sauce was obviously from a mass-produced canā€” Jesus. He could say it was okay, but it cost him 12 dollars, and he could cook better at home for basically free. What the fuck?

He crinkled his green and blonde brows together as he glared down at his meal. Wellā€¦ this was his fault, for wanting to try a new place. No matter. Wasting food is just plain bad. As he took a second bite, he looked up to the sound of the front doorā€™s jingling bell. A short man with pink hair and horns entered, with large and pointed ears. Where did Sorrel see this man before? He couldā€™ve sworn he knew those features from somewhere else. It seemed his two seconds of being normal had ended, because Sorrel literally just stared blankly at that familiar stranger, half hunched over his mediocre food.
@rexgn IM NOT THE DM BUT I LOVE HER SO MUCH ALREADY??? And the potential conflict between her and Bezaliel is going to be so much fun omg
Iā€™m so excited hehehe
Number: 007
Code Name:The Angel
Classification: Volatile || Risk Level: Extreme Risk
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Legal Name: BĢøĢĢæĶ—Ķ€Ķ„ĢƒĢšĢĶ‹Ģ•Ģ¬ĢØĶˆĢ²Ģ¼Ķ•Ķ•ĢŸĢ–ĢÆĢ¢ĶœĶ“ĶšĶ…eĢøĢ“Ģ½Ķ‡Ķ–Ģ°ĢŗĢ–ĶšĶˆĢ¹zĢ¶ĢĶĢ‘Ķ›Ģ Ķ‡aĢ·ĶĢ­Ģ™ĶˆĢ¦Ģ£lĢ“ĶĶĢ”Ģ’Ģ•Ģ€ĢæĢ”ĢĢæĢ•ĶŠĢ©Ģ—Ķ‰Ģ©Ģ¹Ģ¢iĢ·Ķ ĶĢŗĢ©Ģ³Ģ°Ģ°ĶšĶ‰eĢµĢƒĢ‚Ķ”ĶˆĢ²Ģ®Ģ«Ģ¼Ķ”ĢœĢœĶ™ĶšĢ©ĶŽĢžlĢµĶĢ“ĶĶĢŽĢšĶƒĢ§Ģ§ĢĢÆĢŖĢ°Ķ–ĢØ
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Preferred Name: Bezaliel
Age: ā€œfirst-flightā€ stage of life, approx. 518 years || DOB: Not calculable to earth dates
Height: naturally 9ā€™6ā€ but morphs || Weight: natural 159 lbs but morphs
Sex: can morph, mostly stays X || Gender: unknown; it/they/he

Ability(ies):
  • "Shapeshifting" - While an angelā€™s shapeshifting is not absolute or perfect, they can morph their natural body drastically. In Bezalielā€™s case, it is able to appear near-perfectly human through shapeshifting and roughly mimic different peopleā€™s bodies and faces. Through shapeshifting, it can also mask its extra eyes and extra wings, or entirely shift to more ā€œferalā€ forms entirely. According to Bezaliel, its shifting will get better when he ā€œages to the next stage,ā€ which is apparently in a few thousand Earth years.
  • "Light Manipulation" - As the rest of its species, Bezaliel is capable of emitting, manipulating, and shooting light in beams. Naturally, it gives a faint glow off its skin and feathers, with its eyes, horns, and markings glowing slightly brighter. It can either glow brightly if needed or dim itself entirely, and it can shoot controlled bursts of light from its ā€œhalo,ā€ a pair of horns on its head that form an arch. It can also bend beams of light, both its own emitted light and light from other sources like lamps, creating rainbows or reflections. It seems Bezaliel holds a talent for this specific power, as it likes to create little ā€œlight showsā€ when it is boredā€” an impressive feat of meticulous and exact light control that usually only older members of its species can do after living through most ā€œstages.ā€
  • "Blink" - An angel is capable of moving short distances faster than humans can register with their own eyes, making this fast movement seem like teleportation. It is not teleportation, just a form of ā€œsprintingā€ that this species can do.
  • "Hunting" - Bezaliel is an avid and energetic hunterā€” being able to use its sharp teeth and talons to take down prey easily. It has extremely keen tracking senses, and it rarely loses track of prey. Angels, as far as we understand, are obligate hypercarnivores, and will hunt in packs. This explains why Bezaliel strongly prefers hunting with people it has deemed its friend. Bezaliel in particular will ā€œshareā€ its catches with others, as well.


Physical Description: Bezaliel can shapeshift, but has a ā€œbaseā€ form and a few specific morphs it defaults to. Its standard form sports a dark purple-blue, translucent skin, light freckles and ā€œstarmarksā€ (lighter blue and cream colored cloud-like markings) as it calls them staining its skin. Its ā€œhair,ā€ actually a thick set of long and thin feathers on its head, is a pearly white, as is every feather on its body. It has a crown of horns on itself head, one small set of horns, one curlier second set, and one set that joints together to form a ā€œhalo.ā€ It has two arms, each hand having a zygodactyl appearance to it: two ā€œmiddleā€ fingers, and a thumb at each side, making for four fingers. Its legs are long, thin, taperedā€” the build comparable to a craneā€™s legs, and the feet presenting the same zygodactyl features as the hands. It has a long, prehensile tail with feathers, both long and hair-like snd short and fluffy. It has a set of five eyes on its face, and four more eyes down its chest. It has shiny golden eyes with dark sclera. When closed, the angelā€™s mouth is barely visible, but when open it has a row of extremely sharp, shark-like teeth.
The ā€œhumanā€ form it takes has mocha-colored skin with light freckles and the same iridescent, white hair, usually in long braids. It has two eyes there, but its eyes still sport the dark sclera and golden irises. It has an ethereal face, its full lips naturally perked up to a slight smile and its button nose upturned. In this form, it shrinks down to 5ā€™4 and weighs the same as it normally does.

Procedure: Two trackers are implanted into Bezalielā€™s bodyā€” one at the back of its neck where it connects to its shoulders, and one at the base of its tail. The reason why there are two trackers is because the distance between the two can also show if Bezaliel has shifted and is a different stature than it is naturally. The handler assigned to the angel has a GPS connected to both trackers to monitor it with. Besides the tracker, a small device wrapped around Bezalielā€™s halo prevents it from generating light intense enough to cause harm to others, but it can still make gentle light. Bezaliel, like all angels, is an obligate carnivore, and must be supplied a live animal for food as it will deny cooked meals on the premise ā€œit tastes weird.ā€ Unless the handler is someone Bezaliel knows, it will deny prepared, raw meat because, in its words, ā€œI donā€™t know you well enough for you to share your hunt with me.ā€ It must be allowed to hunt in free air at least once a week, or else it gets antsy and will start to lash out and be violent towards almost everyone.
The Angel should not be left alone at any point in time, as it will get irritable, anxious, and/or violent when on its own. Bezaliel often tries to break out, under the pretext of ā€œwanting to go home,ā€ but can be calmed down with books and music. Handlers are encouraged to interact with it, but be carefulā€” it readily attacks ā€œthreatsā€ and lashes out extremely violently to discipline and attempts to sedate it. Bezaliel usually perceives prayers, chanting, any talk about religion, loud sounds, and any flashing lights as threats. Thus, handlers are also advised to remove shiny jewelry and speak softly.
To stop Bezaliel from constantly trying to break out, a regular supply of ā€œnest suppliesā€ must be given to it. Nest supplies include plush materials such as pillows and stuffed animals, along with blankets of different thicknesses; it responds particularly well to string-lights.
Important handler notes: Bezaliel particularly enjoys fish. It also likes the texture of squishmallow fabric, and would respond better to blankets if they are perfectly square or circular in shape. It deeply dislikes the texture of Sherpa, coarse wool, and absorbent/moisture-wicking microfiber.

History: Bezaliel first arrived on Earth through a inter-dimensional tear of the fabric of space-time. Supposedly, that was entirely on accident, as Bezaliel was in the process of having its ā€œfirst flightā€ through ā€œthe highest sky-planesā€ of its dimension and fell through the wormhole. The Angel landed in a maple-syrup orchard, and subsequently hunted the cattle of a nearby dairy-farm before wandering to a small town. Shortly after arrival, Bezaliel burned the small town to the ground and attempted to build some kind of contraption out of various metals and gems from bits of jewelryā€” most likely something to open another portal.
Soon after, the angel flew to a nearby city a few hours away, and proceeded to hunt people while trying to ā€œform a nestā€ out of concrete, rebar, and any fabric he could find. When the army came, Bezaliel proceeded to hunt and ā€œplay withā€ the army.
As months passed and Bezaliel continued to occupy and destroy a portion of downtown, a gigantic, ethereal-looking statue built from metals and precious stones and bent wood was built upon the clearing that used to be a large roundabout. The Angel guarded the statue with fervor as it continued to build and destroyed infrastructure, almost completing some kind of circle with prongs atop a tiered pillar before a tank managed to get close enough to blow it up. By that point, a 20-mile radius was entirely destroyed and ā€œrebuiltā€ into pillars and strange, pointed structures that all faced the central circle. One flat-topped building was left mostly in tact by that Angelā€” its nest made from whatever it could find on top likely being the reason why it didnā€™t tear the building down yet. During that time, those few months, it hunted hundreds of people and pets, and apparently ate two pastors who tried to communicate with it.
Soon enough, someone learned that Bezaliel, despite making mostly chattery bird sounds and layered, echoing noises, could speak some approximation to basic English. Through this, the DNCC learned that Bezaliel was ā€œtrying to go home.ā€ And, of course, instead of letting the strange outlander to open another portal, another person was sent to trick it into captivity. A military general spoke to Bezaliel and promised it that if it came peacefully to the base, the government would open a portal to its home realm.
Of courseā€” they didnā€™t have that technology that Bezaliel was trying to create, but Bezaliel didnā€™t know that and fell for that trap. Thatā€™s how the Angel was contained. Bezaliel still holds out hope to get home, though, and mentions it hopes theyā€™ll send it home soon.
Giving an obligatory update
Iā€™m making a lad. Callin dibs on #007 ehehehehehe
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