"Miss Pierrot?" inquired a bland voice behind her. She turned and made herself face the Seneschal of the Holy Place. "Yes. Are you the master of this place?" One had to make sure, after all. The man who had just entered the study nodded an affirmation. He was of average height, and of a wiry build. Not entirely to her taste, a stray thought noted much to her annoyance. His eyes were dark brown and his hair was black and short; carefully trimmed. He wore spring green, lose-fitting slacks made of something that looked like linen, and a crisp, white poet's shirt open down to the middle of his chest. It had the required puffed-up sleeves and in addition to that, it sported floral embroideries on along the collar, making him look quite the bohemian. She was startled to find that he didn't look like a complete twit in that outfit. Somehow it looked right, and that was quite a feat.

"I am Giuseppe DeCenta, but in this room you may call me Shem. Why have you come to this place, Serpent?" His dark brown eyes finished appraising her, and came to a steady rest meeting hers. His posture and demeanour told her flatly that he'd better like her reason, or she would be in a world of hurt. It was most unsporting of Creation to replace the Mercurian she had known with a new angel, a random thought muttered as it hurtled through her feverish mind.

"I need to speak with your Lord, Seneschal. It is a matter of the most extreme urgency," she told him after taking a deep breath to calm herself. "Please..." Shem didn't look impressed at all. "Oh, I think you will have to do better than that, Serpent. Why don't you begin with presenting yourself?" he said calmly, and sat down on one corner of the desk.

Blast. That one had to be one of the psychotic killing machines the Lord had created during the Revolution. Angels unable to Fall, oath-bound to uphold the biddings of the Lord. Their Holy Oaths manifested like chains around their bodies. The Malakim were black of wing and unyielding of mind. She also briefly considered the possibility of Shem being one of the Seraphim, like Michael. A serpentine creature who knew God's absolute Truth in itself and others. Liriel had been one herself, before the Revolution in Heaven.

She made an educated guess and chose the former. "I am unimportant, Virtue. This isn't about me, it is about... It is about a matter vital to your side. I have come here because your Lord is the only one who might be able to deal with this. Please, I swear on my sou..."

He broke her off with an impatient gesture of his hand. "I can see that you have honour, Liar. I can see that you have done many deeds considered good and noble. You are even using one of the gifts and talents the Almighty has granted you to lift the spirits of humans and to do good. However, if you cannot give me anything more than empty pleas and non-information, I can hardly justify calling my Lord away from his tasks. So, a simple question: Are you seeking Redemption?"

This wasn't going too well. In fact, it seemed to be going right down the drain. There was no way in hell that this arrogant bastard of a Blackwing would believe her, if she told him the real reason she was here. Liar indeed. Just because you had the ability to change truth and Truth by forcing her truths upon the world, didn't make you a liar. God may not have planned for this to be possible, but now it was. Why couldn't they just suck it up and deal, she thought angrily before pushing those thoughts away. She had to make him call on Eli! One deep breath later, she tried again.

"I swear on my Pride. I swear on my very existence; Eli will want to hear what I have to tell him. Please, please call him, Shem." She paused before adding, "What have you got to lose?"

The Seneschal stared her in the eye and thought for a moment. Then, to her great relief and distress, he picked up a small something seemingly made out of clay and muttered an incantation. A few moments after that, a slightly sunburnt young man, dressed only in ripped-off denim shorts, came ambling into the study. "Whazzup Shem? Do we have someone homesick here?" he asked cheerfully and winked to Lily, who stood there looking at him frozenly.

"Lord Eli," she finally managed to whisper, and then bowed formally.

The Archangel of Creation beamed. "Liriel! It's been a long, long time. It's great to see you and you're lookin' good! What can I do for you?" he asked and reached out to pat her arm. She dimly noticed that he had mosquito-bites all over his skin.

"Well, I..." She swallowed, took two steps closer, and whispered in his ear. "I have an old friend of yours waiting outside. He needs your help." She flinched as his arms came up around her and made their closeness into a hug. She really didn't want a hug, she just wanted to get this over with and hopefully escape. He was warm, like Michael, and his skin smelt of sandalwood and cinnamon and muscat and clay and apples and oil paint and... Damn his hugging ways! And he was an Archangel, known to be more than a little eccentric and extremely dangerous and why was she here again? Why hadn't she gone looking for Flowers? She didn't dare try to pull herself out of his embrace.

"You ain't telling no lies so far, sweetie. Who's the friend?" He gave her a rub on the back, as if trying to calm her.

"Michael. Or what's left of him..." she managed.

That got a reaction. With speed like lightning, Eli grabbed her arms and held her out in front of him. The grip was hard and unyielding, like Malakite Oath chains. His eyes instantly stopped dancing and laughing, and became focused and deadly instead. Looking into Creation's eyes was like looking into two points of tightly focused potential. Power unimaginable, held in check by his will alone. Like twin proto-universes ready for the Big Bang. "Repeat!" he snapped, giving her his full and undivided attention. Liriel was beyond fear and well on her way through terror.

"M-Michael. His...Remnant. I brought him here. To you. He doesn't know who he really is, or was, and you were the only one I could think of who can possibly help... Him," she stuttered with a faltering voice.

"How do you know it is him and where is he?" he demanded severely. His voice rang in her head and heart like the very first sunrise. This was no hookie-playing, layabout lout. This was one of the most ancient and powerful of all the Archangels; in total control and in total command.

"O-outside, Lord Eli. He is waiting for you in the café just down the street. R-Regina's. There's an angelic rune on his back, very difficult to see. I haven't told him he used to be an angel, but he is aware he's not human. And that I'm not either. Be..."

Eli was already sweeping out the door, leaving Liriel standing forlornly in the middle of the study. "...careful, please," she said to the empty doorway. Then she shook herself to regain clarity and made to follow. This could very well be her one and only opportunity to get away.

The Seneschal had other plans and grabbed her arm. "Oh no you don't. You're waiting here with me until the Boss gets back," he told her in no uncertain terms. She struggled briefly, but to no avail. His grip was too strong, and so she had to wait. "Don't be afraid, ser... Liriel. If what you're saying is true, you will have done Heaven a great service. No harm will come to you unless my Lord orders it."

How very reassuring. Liriel felt desperation settle in again. "Let me go. I have done what I could, and now I must leave. Please." She pleaded with him, but the Virtue was adamant that she stay. He was trembling slightly with repressed excitement.

It took an eternity of three minutes before Eli was back, tugging Michael along. She tried smiling encouragingly to her lover, but all her face could manage was a fearful grimace. Michael looked apprehensive and deeply suspicious, and this did not improve when he saw how frightened Liriel was. He demanded brusquely to know if anyone had hurt her or threatened her; because if they had, then so help him God...

Eli held up his hands in a calming gesture. "No no no, my friend. No one's been threatened or hurt. Nor will they be. She is just nervous and excited, Mike. Michael. We all are." Eli's eyes were focused and calm, brimming with unreleased power in a way Liriel was strangely certain no one had witnessed in countless ages. This was Primal Creation. She could feel the hum of it all around them, and she knew she'd been right in bringing Michael's remnant here. If anyone could restore him, it would be Eli. The fact that he was only wearing shorts didn't even register any more.

Michael peered suspiciously between Eli and Liriel, his look and bearing also focused and brimming with promises. Promises of violence, mayhem and destruction, all coiled up like a spring and ready to be unleashed at the drop of a wrong word. Liriel shook the hand of the Seneschal off her, not a difficult task, since he was gaping in awe and shock at the Remnant. She walked over to Michael and placed her hands on his arm, holding it.

"It's going to be all right now, darling. Eli will help you undo your loss."

He put his arm around her and pulled her close; all possessive and protective. "Well, for starters, it would be really nice if you guys could be so unbelievably kind and tell me what exactly it is I've lost. Since I don't fucking remember!" he growled impatiently.

Eli nodded and launched into the explanation. "You were an Archangel. You were Michael, Archangel of War and you were the first angel created. You were destroyed by Lucifer and Belial five years ago. But obviously not as totally as we believed."

The ex-stranger eyed Eli with little enthusiasm. "You know... That there is quite a mouthful. I know I'm not human, but I don't feel that old. I don't have a memory of being old. Unless angels are really a recent invention?" The snark left his voice as he added with a disgusted sigh, "The worst part is that your tale doesn't even sound insane. It should, but it doesn't. Go on."

"You are a Remnant, a celestial being stripped of that part of your soul which makes you a celestial. Invisible to the perceptions and minds of other celestials, impossible to find by other means than sheer luck and guesswork. To restore you, we have to rebuild your soul -- and that, my dear old friend, is a highly difficult and dangerous task. I'm going to take you to a Holy Place of War, to up our odds," Eli explained.

Frowning, Michael tightened his free hand into a fist of frustration. "I dunno what the Hell you're talking about, 'Eli', but I feel I should. It's like the meaning is dangling right outside my reach, trying to bait me. I can smell it. Are you trying to bait me?" he asked suspiciously and made a point of appraising all of the shorts-clad Archangel's appearance. Eli blinked mildly and nibbled on a bread stick he just pulled out of his pocket.

Liriel got the idea that her lover wasn't at all impressed with Eli's eyes and timbre of voice, nor with his general aura of power. If she needed any more proof that he was indeed Michael, the Firstborn, she had it right there.

The young man finished his bread stick and dipped his head in an acknowledgement of Michael's arguments. "I'm not a hundred percent sure yet, but gimme another half-hour... My main evidence is that your personality is a perfect match for the Mike we all knew and loved (even if you were a stubborn ass most of the time), and that your appearance is that of your favourite vessel. This is the body you, Michael, preferred when walking the Earth. And there's the name tag on your back, which Liriel found..."

His arm tightened around her waist, as he gave her a quick squeeze. After staring at Eli for a few moments of silence, Michael announced, "Let's go. I'm done waiting."

The Archangel of Creation reached out and touched the two drifters with his hands and then they were in a different place. Liriel cringed as the aura of War and struggle rolled over her like a flood wave, filling her ears with the roars of a thousand soldiers and a thousand guns. Instinctively she clung tighter to Michael, seeking reassurance in his big, solid presence, and breathing in the smell of him. Her hands clutched at his shirt as she tried to fight her inner tremors.

"You have nothing to fear, Liriel. You will not come to any harm, I promise." Eli's words were warm and kind, managing to soothe her fears just enough to ease her shaking.

"What's this? Identify yours..." A gasp broke off the sharp questioning, followed by a quiet thud as someone knelt in a hurry.

"My Lord."

Pause.

"You have returned...?" The Seneschal of the Normandy Beach Tether's voice was hushed with awe. He looked utterly dumbstruck.

Michael regarded the man with a frown. "What's with the kneeling? Is that standard procedure?" Eli shook his head and smiled. "No Mike, but it's less embarrassing than falling over." He turned and addressed the kneeling angel. "Please put the Tether on, er, Red Alert at once. Contact the other nearby Tethers and have them take the same precautions. I will summon the Council here to help your Lord get back what is his. And then he will return to you for real."

The Seneschal gaped up at Eli with wide eyes, not comprehending this at all. But his military training took over and initiated the auto pilot sequence. He rose and saluted smartly. "Yessir! Right away, sir!" And with that he turned and hustled out to make it so.

Liriel had an eerie feeling of liquidness. She felt like her entire self, vessel and soul had turned into ice-cold water and the only thing keeping it from sloshing all over the floor was her skin. Eli. Was. Going to. Summon. The. Entire. Seraphim Council. Here. To this place. And he was doing it right at that very moment. How do you run from that? Something heavy was on her shoulders. Ah. Michael's arm.

The hum from the Tether's heart grew louder. They were coming.