Now presenting... whatever hot mess this is!

[hider=Sloane Southsühn][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/vZoFNBS.png[/img][/center]
[quote][color=#b58c57][h3]𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞[/h3][/color][indent][indent][color=gray]Sloane Southsühn[/color][/indent][/indent][color=#b58c57][h3]𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 & 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬​​​​​[/h3][/color][indent][indent][color=gray]Technically Genderless but Masculine Presenting; [i](he/him/his)[/i][/color][/indent][/indent][color=#b58c57][h3]𝐑𝐚𝐜𝐞/𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬​​​​​[/h3][/color][indent][indent][color=gray]Judeo-Christian Archangel[/color][/indent][/indent][color=#b58c57][h3]𝐀𝐠𝐞[/h3][/color][indent][indent][color=gray]Mentally Since the Dawn of Time; Physically Early Thirties[/color][/indent][/indent][color=#b58c57][h3]𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞​​​​​[/h3][/color][indent][indent][color=gray]What does one visualize an angel looking like? In truth, if one studied any holy texts they'd note the form would be akin to something Clive Barker would make while on peyote and lost in an bird exhibit. So, what does their mortal husk look like? Probably something more like Michelangelo would produce on a good, non-petty day.

Sloane has all the makings of a gorgeous angelic figure, but with one resounding flaw. Tall, though probably not the tallest in the room, broad-shouldered, and with a bone structure that would make the aforementioned [s]Clive Barker[/s] Michaelangelo cry. He has blond hair, short on the sides and longer on top with a slight curl to it. His brows are not like other natural blonds, non-existent and spooky in darkness. Instead, they are a darker shade and expressive. His eyes are downturned and a pale shade of hazel with flecks of blue in them. He has strong cheekbones and an even stronger jaw. The only part of his face that might be offputting to modern beauty standards would be his gold-rimmed, round spectacles set atop a Greek nose. Another deterring factor of what would be a rather picturesque Adonis is the fact that Sloane has been around for twenty or fifty or so years, and has not really known how to cope. His mechanism, at first, was his compulsive need to organize. But once things were organized, it was hard to re-organize them infinitely. And he did try. So, he turned to food. That was a hole that could be filled again and again. He's quite overweight, though he dresses in a way to appear slimmer. Still, it doesn't stop the round curves of his form and a noticeable belly that he attempts to girdle with a waistcoat. Notably pearshaped, his face remains equally as striking as his weight is a balance between broad shoulders and a long gait. And one might simply recommend a diet, but Sloane sees nothing wrong, or at least he finds nothing wrong with his habit. Mortals have far more destructive behaviors. And, he's quite fond of donuts.

His clothes are all tailored and bespoke. The colors follow the trends of the seasons as he's fashionable. Sloane adores three-piece suits, ties, and well-polished buckles and shoes. On his days off, he'll wear something only a smidgen less formal. Good luck ever seeing the angel in shorts, no matter the weather. He always smells of warm fires on a new winter morning with a dash of birch for lightness.[/color][/indent][/indent][/quote][quote][color=#b58c57][h3]𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲[/h3][/color][indent][indent][color=gray]The first thing to know about Sloane, and probably the most noticeable is that he doesn't lie. It's hard to tell if that's an angelic trait or a concept that he can't quite fathom and so can't enact. But he does have a tendency to not wax poetic, or wax at all. Everything from his lips is as blunt and square as a brick. He doesn't really care if it hurts your feelings, because quite frankly he thinks lies are childish padding that displays mortal's fallibility. And, of course, he's an instrument of God. He can't be prone to mistakes.

Except that he is. Trapped in a human husk has made him prone to the same machinations as any other mortal around him. In truth, he does try to hold himself to a higher standard. But the years on Earth have caused his gears to slip more and more. His angelic properties come to light in the form of his meticulous nature. His desk is absolutely organized, his sticky notes color-coded, and his office plants sufficiently watered and groomed. More so, he seems to be the most willing to fence phone calls and tend to secretarial duties with ease. Though, if you ask him to fetch you a coffee, you're getting a black liquid with congealed grounds in the bottom where he has coffee the color of a lightly toasted marshmallow. He enjoys work, but he doesn't live to serve. Well, he [I]did[/i], but he's currently on hiatus from that facet of his life.

And here we breach into Sloane's imperfections. He thinks he's right. He [I]knows[/i] he's right. All the years of mortals blundering and butchering the simplest of things have just shown him that they're incapable of learning from their mistakes. That has led to him having a sense of pride that is both grating and self-aggrandizing. He gives in to his notions and compulsions because they must be right. Right? He'll take the last muffin from the break area because quite frankly mortals are neglectful and prone to wastefulness... even though he's already had two, and half the office hasn't had any. It's that justification he gives himself which leads him into compulsive and sometimes foolhardy decisions. 

Sloane will get the job done with great speed and efficiency and will assume no one else could do what he could.[/color][/indent][/indent][color=#b58c57][h3]𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬, & 𝐀𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬​​​​​[/h3][/color][indent][indent][color=gray]In Heaven or the various Otherworlds of differing religions, Sloane is quite powerful. On Earth, he's not so much. As regent of the sun, he does contain the ability to bend light to his will. Only if it is made naturally, though. He can't just cause light to appear. He isn't a paltry magician. It's white-hot and filled with sanctified energy. Basically, it's a night light constructed of holy water. He uses it to mostly form weapons and takes to wielding long stave-like ones--grumbling if anyone asks him to make a sword. He seems to have a fond dislike for his sibling, Michael. He can also use the ability to refract and reflect the light in a way that can make him invisible (to sight) or blind his target. Don't ask him to make a rainbow, though.

His angelic powers also allow him to see the lingering dead and speak with them. He can't help them cross over--anymore. But he can converse with them and point them in the direction they need to go to receive such relief. He's basically a glorified DMV employee for Heaven.

Sloane can also fly. He reminds people that the depictions of angels, humanoid figures with wings, aren't really how they look. So, when he sprouts wings and darts about, it's because mortals can comprehend that. They couldn't comprehend his true form, a mass of wings and eyes that would make even Lovecraft blush. 

His mortal body can also be destroyed without it destroying him. He just shifts back to Heaven, regroups his power, and then creates another mortal husk for himself. His spirit can be stopped from regenerating, but one needs to know quite horrific and unnatural arts. Sloane has admitted to the fact that angels have been caught and snuffed out. He hasn't ever been caught, though. And it's apparent he doesn't even allow much damage to happen to his mortal husk considering the wear he's put on it.

All that said, if you want something that Sloane [I]does[/i] wield like a sword look no further than his prowess with Excel. That angel can build tables, create graphs, assign budgets, and present and PowerPoint with all the numbers and talking points that you could ever imagine. If the angel could become an accountant without years of study and experience, he would.

In Sloane's off hours, he enjoys cooking--more prone to baking than anything else. He'll drive the next city over to participate in chili cook-offs and pie baking contests. He also owns a plethora of cats as he fosters them in hopes of relieving the local shelter of its overcrowding. Not that you would be able to tell considering he never has a single strand of fur on him. But he seems to relate to the cats, they're just as fat and self-absorbed as he is.

As much as Skiball is concerned. He just states that it's a game for hacks and mortals. Of course, that's right before he decides he'll play. Maybe he'll win this time around. He never does.[/color][/indent][/indent][/quote][quote][color=#b58c57][h3]𝐘𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝[/h3][/color][indent][indent][color=gray]“… so, I went on hiatus.” Sloane said into the phone’s receiver, fingers twirling his pen slowly. There was a beat when the person on the other side of the line didn’t respond. “Fine, I was asked to go on hiatus. But honestly, Gregory you have to look at the numbers. The socio-political climate of Earth was… well [i]is[/i]… revving up for another massive influx. It’s hard to say if we have the infrastructure for such numbers.”

Another pause came across the end of the line. Gregory, the man who had called him, seemed flustered. “I don’t even remember the question I asked you or the answer.”

“Right.” Sloan leaned back, setting the pen down. It was an inch from this blue pen, which in turn was an inch from his red pen, which was an inch from his tablet pen. They were all about half-a-foot South from his bonsai plant. He eyed it. One of the branches was uneven. Where were his scissors?

“Sir?” Another pause. “Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Oh, right.” Sloane focused back on the phone. “You don’t wish for me to get into the conversation of my old boss’s son. That is a can of worms I do not wish to open. This brings me to my next questions. Where did that saying arise from?”

“You know what, Management doesn’t allow us to hang up, but I’m hanging up. Have a nice day Mister [i]Soth-sun.[/i]”

“It’s [i]South-sewn[/i].” But those words were greeted with a solitary [i]beep beep beep[/i], letting Sloane know that he had truly been hung up on. He placed the starch white phone back on the receiver. “There’s an umlaut over the u.” 

Sloane counted down the drawers to his third one and pulled it out. In it were the instruments to attend to the assortment of objects on his desk. He grabbed the pruning scissors and slowly closed the drawer. The counterweights grabbed it and pulled it into the housing. There wasn’t much difference between it and the rest of the other carbon copy desks around, except that Sloane’s was sparkling clean and perfectly manicured. He’d even added the counterweights after work one day, because the sound of them slamming was an ear sore. 

He lined up his scissors to take care of the errant branch on the tree when a nasty [i]“whump”[/i] of paperwork landed on his desk. Sloane snipped too soon and barely missed snipping off the entire branch. That didn’t stop him from narrowing his eyes at the interruption.

The shadow that had so unkindly caused an earthquake on his desk was one [i]Turver.[/i] Maybe. Whatever his name was; it was dumb. Sloane glanced up at the other gentleman.

“Wow, you were on the phone for a while, Sloane.” He waggled his brows. “Was it a hot girl? Er, boy? Er, sentient, non-gendered blob? You know, I can’t tell what you like.”

“I like manners for one, Turver. It was a telemarketer asking me if I was happy with my life insurance.” Sloane lined up his scissors for another attempted snip at his tree. Turver huffed.

“It’s [i]Trevor[/i], and I’m assuming you told them all about Heaven’s infrastructure, and how you got into an argument with God about it.”

Sloane ignored the correction. “We didn’t get into an argument. It was a disagreement. A polite disagreement between a higher power that controls life as we know it, and me—the one person in that stinking place that can count higher than fifty-two.”

“I know I’m going to regret this, but why fifty-two?”

He lowered his scissors. “Right. You mortals count on your fingers, and there are ten of them if you don’t decide to involve your bottom fingers.”

“Toes, but sure.”

“So, we have fifty-two.”

“Fingers?”

“No, wings. Keep up, Turver.” Sloane laughed; it was an antiseptic sort of thing that cleaned the air of any merriment. “Fingers…”

“Oh my Go—[i]osh[/i]. I owe Joanne five bucks. I cannot do this.” He patted the stack of files. “I was told you were more than happy to digitize these. So, digitize away. I’m going to try to remember which bathroom I hid the Fireball in.”

Sloane lined his scissors back up with the bonsai. “Thank you, Turver, for the enlightening conversation.” He paused. “That was sarcasm. How did I do?”

There was silence as Trevor walked away, making sure to hip check Sloane’s desk. It caused his elbow to swing inward, leading to him snipping way too much from his bonsai tree. The angel just stared. He slowly lowered the scissors, crossing his hands over them. A few deep breaths were taken before he stood. He rounded the side of the desk and grabbed his garbage can. Setting it underneath the edge of the desk where the bonsai tree was, he pushed the now-and-forever ruined shrubbery into it. It landed in the can with a deep [i]‘thud.’[/i]

Sloane took a deep breath before sitting the garbage can back to its place and returning to his seat. As he was tucking away his scissors, the beams of light seemed to intensify from their source until they pierced through the plastic can and ignited the bonsai within. A small, holy fire roiled upwards, producing quite a bit of smoke.

And that’s how Sloane Southsühn ended up overseeing the Fire Safety courses.[/color][/indent][/indent][/quote][/hider]