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Who: Balthazar (or Mirror!Balthazar), and OPEN
Where: the gardens
When: Wednesday-ish
Rating: PG-13-ish?
Summary: Balthazar is just having a nice little booze picnic. The Mirror version is looking for information.

Armed with a blanket from his room, a cooler of beer and bourbon, and a set of sidewalk chalk he retrieved from his closet, Balthazar has found a place to settle, amidst the garden he first stumbled through when he arrived. Now he's in a better state to appreciate the beauty. They may all be in a prison, but at least it's a pretty prison, and well-stocked with comforts.

Anyone who comes upon him will be offered a drink, of course. The later in the day he's found, the more elaborate will be the chalk design he's sketching onto the brick path. It's not recognizable as any specific person or item, just a tangle of color and repeating patterns. Maybe it means something to him.

Leviazar is not interested in alcohol, except as a tool to lubricate social interactions and get others' guards down. He's even less interested in chalk art. Today, he's stayed inside, despite having seen his real depart for the open air. There are other people to watch, on both sides of the mirrors. But a close observer on the realside may catch him tracing Enochian sigils in steamed-up glass, with the tip of one finger.

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"I can imagine," Susan replied and politely ignored his curious expression. "I'm glad I've never had to worry about something like that, even if the idea of unassisted flight is somewhat tempting."

Generally, Susan wasn't one to just provide personal information. Truth be told, she generally loathed discussing any aspect of herself that might label her abnormal...but she had never had to discuss it with anyone non-human. Everyone non-human on the Disc already knew who she was, and anyone who didn't generally figured it out very quickly, she was the opposite of a mystery. Non-humans, oddly enough, had always been a strange exception to the rule, she never minded talking about anything with them. Whether this was because they couldn't judge her as anything less than Normal or because she quietly considered them as such, it was impossible to say, but they were a definite loophole in her reluctance.

"If you're wondering: Yes, I am alive," Susan assured him, finally. "Not undead, or displaced, or anything of that sort and, as I said, mostly human. I'm just...partly...not."

That last word was like pulling teeth and Susan took a deep breath after she was out with it. Admittedly, awkward as it was, it was mildly pleasant to have someone non-human who knew. She was used to dealing with any number of mythical people who knew and, despite herself, their absence was something of a burden.

"Mostly the whole thing just results in awkward holiday dinners and a truly tacky family crest, really, when you get down to the bare bones." She paused and then idly motioned to him. "That and I can see, well, everything. It's really less appealing than it sounds."

Owing to his own lack of skill, and the slight awkwardness that couldn't be helped with a stick, his own lines are a lot less precise. Nevertheless, he does manage the basic shapes and marks just fine. A lot can be said for pure curiosity and determination, and Nightfuries have an intelligent eye for detail. What nature had intended for stalking prey is now being used in a bright chalk mural.

...though his demented smiley face could really use some work, as he notices this new pattern of Balthazar's and tries to match it. It looks like more of the Joker's handiwork than anything else.

"Must have been after then. Amusing though, isn't it? Castiel needs a vessel and he became the vessel for something else. He was greedy, but it worked out for the best. If you can wrap your mind around this, he and Crowley worked together briefly to pull that off...not that it worked out too well for the demon. I can't say that I sympathize at all."

Now this was where Dick got to reminisce on his past meals. Oh, he has a rather nice smile on his face now. He felt like he had not had a damn bite in centuries. All of these residents were being paraded in front of him like prime steaks and he had yet to even have a sample of it. This growing need for food did not show on his face. He did have an image even in front of the other.

"Every being has a different taste to it. I had demon once or twice. Add a little spice to them and they can be uniquely delicious."

"Can I join you?" Souji gestures at the bucket of chalk. He probably can't produce anything like what Balthazar has already, but stick figures can be charming, right? Right.

"Please do!" He brightens visibly. The only thing better than making a mess of color and design is doing it with another person. And a small dragon. "There's plenty of space."

If there were ever any doubt that animals--or at least dragons--have souls of some sort, Toothless seems determined to put it to rest. Even if it's not the most comforting smiley-face, it's a decent first attempt, and Balthazar is pleased to settle into this new game.

He thinks a moment, switching to orange, and draws a very simple outline of a fish.

"Assisted flight is more fun, if you ask me. Easier to look around and enjoy it." He manages to put the curious stare under wraps, going for another drink as she explains.

"That wasn't what I was thinking, actually. I was just trying to see a resemblance, and failing. My apologies, I didn't intend to be rude." He takes a thoughtful gulp of beer, then smiles and shakes his head. "Awkward holiday dinners, hm? That I can sympathize with. If I ever learn to cook, I'll roast you a turkey and attempt to make up for the deficiency in cheer."

Now that he's aware she can see his wings, he seems to be a bit more careful with them, keeping them folded loosely but neatly behind him, where before they were sprawled out everywhere. When she motions at him again, they flick and stretch, almost an unconscious acknowledgement of the gesture.

Ironic! But this is good information. It helps him connect the dots from the inklings he has of Purgatory to the memories he holds, taken and adapted from his Real.

The talk is making Leviazar hungry, as well, but he has no past memories to compare his current fare to. Listening to Dick talk, he realizes that for the moment that's a good thing. Not knowing what he's missing will make him less distractible. Not that the real Leviathan seems to have much trouble controlling himself. But he may be an extraordinary example.

There's another demon: Meg. Working on an alliance with the mirrorside version.

For a moment, the Nightfury just stares at it. But dragons of his type were decent at picking out a 2D resemblance to something else, and he realizes that this is the form of his most favorite snack. Maybe, finally, he can draw something when people ask him what he eats.

It's a thought, at least, that Toothless is pleased with as he gives this new shape an enthusiastic attempt. Too enthusiastic, as it turns out; the fish is just a mess of wiggles. But the dragon, determined, tries it a few more times, creating a wiggly school of pink fish on the walkway.

Helpfully, the angel sketches the shape over a few times in different sizes to give Toothless something clearer to look at. When the dragon seems to have gotten it well enough, he applauds and sits back on his heels.

"You're really fairly quick at this. I wonder if trying to write letters would be worth it." He's not expecting an answer, necessarily, uncertain whether the dragon will even recognize the word 'letters'. But the wheels are turning.

"I am acquainted with Meg. Call her somebody I would like to have over for dinner."

All the trouble she caused for Dick just being in the same league with the Winchesters and the mobile vessel Castiel...he really needed to see Meg again. He would have to purposely run into her sometime and give her a nice little greeting. He doubted it would be anything but their own brand of pleasant that could only come between a Leviathan and a demon whore. He digressed though. As for the hunger, that was just one of the many perks of being at the very top of not only the respective food chain, but of his own kind.

"I'm pleased to hear that. Already making progress before we met. I wish I had that kind of dedication from the rest of those beneath me."

if all of that worked out then he would very much like to meet this mirror of Meg.

"Castiel told her the angels are made to be soldiers." It's a quiet comment, more off hand than anything, but she can't help but wonder if that's got something to do with the fear and grief that he mentioned.

"She wanted to be an artist, once upon a time. Before she went crazy." She pauses for a moment to think about that, then adds with a slight grin, "He's much better than she ever managed though. it wasn't written in the stars for River. Only dancing, and running."

Souji smiles and takes a seat, setting his half-drunk beer to the side. Tefra immediately knocks it over while snuffling at it and begins to lick up what pours out of the can. The taste seems more pleasant to her than it was to Souji.

He watches her for a second, then decides that he'll deal with his dragon getting drunk when and it happens. In the meantime, he selects a blue piece of chalk and starts to carefully outline a rather odd looking bear. It's more like a guy in a mascot costume than an actual bear.

Toothless cocks his head to the side, curious, looking more cat-like than ever as he drinks in the compliment. He knows that Vikings have a scratch-mark system to communicate with, as he's seen Hiccup using it. But he's never thought about trying to learn it.

Leaning his head down to experiment some more, the Nightfury starts drawing fish with smiley faces on the side. His chin is looking a bit pink, now, from him blowing on the dust; as is his throat. But he hasn't noticed, yet.

"Oh, he's never lacked cheer," Susan said after an appropriate pause, her expression just a touch exasperated by the memory. It was like fondly recalling, well, a doddering relative...more than like, in fact, that was rather the whole of it. "He just never gets the hang of it, it's all too Human for him."

She laments the careful folding of his wings, somewhat, but she'd stared long enough as it was.

"However, if you learn to cook, I will take you up on that offer. It's not an activity I'm particularly fond of, myself," Susan added and gradually pulled the conversation toward slightly more Normal topics. She'd nearly finished her drink but, pleasant as this all was, she probably wouldn't remain around for another.

"Is that how you spend retirement, then? Picking up various creative endeavors?" Susan asked and her voice was laced with a tacit sort of approval. Learning was a sensible goal, especially for people who weren't generally mortal.

"So I've figured out." The tablets aren't quite the same; if they were he guesses any angel could read them, and wouldn't his life be so much simpler? There are some similarities, though, and once Balthazar tells him what it means, he can pick up on how he sort of could have seen that meaning if he'd had time to sit with it. Not that he wants to go there again.

He picks up some chalk for himself, green, and scrawls a sigil from the tablet above Balthazar's. It looks pretty good, and it should because he stared at it so hard for so long he actually strained his eyes.

"That one's 'getting your spine ripped out through your mouth for all eternity.'"

Mirror Meg dislikes her Real. Maybe they can make use of that. Leviazar smiles to himself. He's a firm believer that the enemy of his enemy is...well, not friend, exactly, but ally, certainly.

Guess I'm a self-starter? He's flattered, and pleased. Seems like they both have their assignments now, though. Maybe they should go get started. Any more questions for me?

"That's true," he says quietly. "Or so we've been told, for hundreds of thousands of years. I'm not sure any of us really knew the mind of the Creator, though. Maybe he had intentions we're not aware of."

He blinks at her, caught between surprise at the compliment and sympathy for her. He reaches over and pats the back of her hand. "Dancing is art, too, darling. Anyway, stars are the worst critics I know. Do what makes you happy, even if it only works for a moment or two."

"Hm. There are some factions within my family that court an active contempt for humanity. I see what they're driving at, but the longer I've lived on earth, the more comfortable I get with the mortal set. Don't spread that around; I have a reputation to uphold." A reputation for calling the Winchesters by the names of various primates, at least.

"I can cook pancakes and omelets," he says. "And I can make extremely mediocre pasta. I don't actually have to eat, so I haven't had much practice."

Taking another gulp of drink, he shrugs. "I didn't expect to last this long, to be honest. But...yes. That, drinking, and partying are the main things I've been up to. Long-term, I'm sure the artwork is healthier."

Balthazar opens his mouth to point out that Souji's drink has been stolen, but thinks better of it. Hell, maybe beer is good for tiny dragons? Makes their scales lustrous?

He watches the bear emerge curiously for a few moments, then reaches for the green and doodles a curling vine across a space of three or four bricks, ending in the stem and bracts of a flower. "What's the story with the blue fuzzy, then?"

He's intrigued by the etymological discussion. Never had an opportunity to chat with a prophet like this before. He saw a few of them, here and there, over the centuries, but the archangels tended to be overprotective.

...there's an unsettling thought. The only archangels here are Gabriel and Lucifer. Lucifer seems unlikely to take Kevin's defense in hand. Gabriel might or might not, but if not...

Putting that thought aside, he blinks slowly at the sigil. "That's not one I'm familiar with. You be careful writing things like that out. The wrong combination could make trouble for someone."

He frowns slightly, tilting his head at the writing. No, it's utterly foreign. Kevin's gift (curse?) is far advanced over an angel's native understanding. "I'd love to know who decided having one's spine ripped out for eternity was an important enough concept to have its own symbol. Now, I've seen the one about venomous serpents infesting your intestines, but that actually strikes me as less dire."

Seeing the pink stain on the dragon, Balthazar briefly wonders whether he could use chalk dust to paint color across those dark scales. He's not about to suggest it, though. He's be offended if someone suggested he dye his wings.

The angel switches colors once more and draws the letter mals, similar to a Greek omega. "This is a letter."

"He's a friend from home. I haven't seen him in awhile, since I've been here." And being of an odd shape, he's easier to draw than his more human friends.

Well, so what if they don't? Angels haven't been that great for Kevin, historically. Even Cas, who Kevin mostly thought was alright, shoved him into a wall and browbeat him into reading a tablet for him. The only one that did anything for him was Metatron, and he was lying to Cas or something. Whatever. Kevin can either take care of himself, or he can't; that's the one thing he's learned in this whole process. The only person he can really count on to dig him out of any situation is himself.

He'll heed Balthazar's warning. The tablets haven't brought anyone he knows anything worthwhile, except those demon bombs are pretty cool.

"God, I guess," he says in answer to who thought this concept needs its own symbol. He starts adding onto it, obscuring the symbol with doodles.

"He really had some creative punishments. Do you think that's just because weapons hadn't been mass developed yet?"

He stares at it for a moment, then takes it as their previous game and sets about copying it, too. It takes him a few tries to get the deliberate shape and it's still wobbly, but no more wobbly than a child learning its first letters. (And pink, in the same way.) He looks up from his work at the wingless Viking next to him, chittering curiously. What does it mean?

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