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Who: Michael and YOU
Where: The playground. (Other locations possible; PM me and we can work something out.)
When: Friday, March 21st - Sunday, March 23
Rating: PG for now, to be updated as needed.
Summary: Michael falls victim to the age-down effect of the playground, both in (borrowed) body and in mind.
The Story:

Though the appearance of anything new in Wonderland generally means unfortunate consequences for its residents, Michael doesn't shy away from investigating the newly renovated additions. Fear and apprehension aren't emotions he's frequently given to experiencing, and taking a look at the new areas himself is about the only way to learn anything about them - if, indeed, there's anything worth learning. From afar, the gazebo looks like nothing more than a gazebo, and it doesn't hold his attention for long.

The playground doesn't call to him any more than any of the other new locations do, but it winds up being the one to sink its claws into him.

The effects of the playground are insidious. Michael doesn't notice anything amiss as it turns back his clock; there are no gaps or blank spaces in his memory, because it lops them off from the front rather than the back. The longer he stands there, the less he remembers why, and the less inclined he is to leave. Maybe he's supposed to be here?

God's absence after Lucifer's fall had been the longest and the most permanent, but certainly not the first. From time to time, He'd left Michael on his own in Heaven. He'd always come back.

In time, the Michael Wonderland knows is no more. In his place sits an unfamiliar boy, four or five years of age, inhabited by an archangel of equivalent age. Even if his appearance doesn't seem out of place, his odd disinterest in actually playing on the playground probably is. It's apparent that he's waiting for something.

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Aziraphale isn't quite the same angel he's always been. At least on the outside. Inside, everything is just the same, thank you very much. And as she is approaching, but steering clear enough, of the park (she has seen it's effects already and that is not something she wants to deal with) she notices a familiar aura. The shape, however, does not look at all right.

"Er... Michael, is that you?"

Surprised to hear someone other than God calling his name, Michael turns to face the unfamiliar woman. Any recollection of who Aziraphale is has disappeared along with his memories of anything that came after his own creation. Michael eyes her, and as he does he notices that the one addressing him isn't purely flesh and bone like so many other creatures that wander the playground. She's definitely something other, though the young archangel can't immediately tell quite what she is. He's never seen a fellow angel before.

Michael nods once. Whoever the mystery woman is, she has the right name.

"Who are you?"

The boy's expression is guarded. So far there's little for Michael to fear in his Father's creation, other than the thankfully-sealed door to Purgatory, but he's not entirely trusting of the unknown. There's much here that he's never seen before.

Edited (derp) 2014-03-25 03:44 (UTC)

Oooooohhhhh deeeeaaaaaarrrrrr. Aziraphale kneels to speak with Michael on his level. "Ah... My name is Aziraphale. I'm an angel, like you."

The little archangel frowns, ever so slightly, but it's hard for him to reject a statement coming from an older, closely-related supernatural authority figure. He tries hard to work it out. If he squints, he can see the space where the halo and the wings should be.

Aziraphale isn't exactly like him, but she's very close.

"Father made you?" he asks, still wary, but at least open to the idea. It's easily within God's power and the concept of others is nice. Certainly less lonely than his current existence.

She smiles and offers a hand out to the boy. "In a manner of speaking. We're, er... We're from different worlds."

The little girl had been enjoying the swings, wildly reaching for the sky, as the demon inside of her lusted secretly for the peace and grace that heaven offered. For a moment, she could understand her father's anger and frustration at being denied it. But knowing that she was part of the cause for his absence still stung within her. She was an abomination...despite the beauty of what she was and how much love she had for the work she had been left for.

She watched the archangel as he simply stood to the side, remembering him, but not completely. Her demon knew him and was drawn to him, but feared him all the same. He was beautiful, as all angels were, but it hurt to look upon him. The damned both lusted for and were fearful of the saved.

Hesitantly, she jumped from the swings, inching her way closer to him. "Hi..." she said, looking over his face for any signs of a near attack. "Do you want to play with me?"

Normally Michael wasn't fond of demons, to put it mildly, but at the moment they were just one more piece of the past that he no longer remembered. When he peeked up at the girl inviting him over, he saw her true face, but recalled none of the attached history or emotions - none of the bitterness or the white-hot anger at Lucifer's rebellion that he normally associated with the sight of a demon. Inside the human girl he saw only something that looked as though it had been wounded and had healed over wrong. It was just shocking enough to prompt a lowering of his eyebrows, but little more. No hostility.

If anything else, he felt a slight stirring of pity. It looked like it hurt to be whatever she was.

"What do you want to play?" he asked, a touch confused.

He looked around the playground, gauging the available options - which were many - and not being particularly drawn by any of them. Play was something he didn't truly engage in. He hadn't yet had someone to play with.

His gentleness and the feeling of sympathy rolling off of him made her calmer. She could feel herself instinctively reach out for him, needing that grace that seemed to shine through his vessel. He was a relief, even for the damnation that had forged her. His beauty painful to look upon, but even worse to be denied. She wanted to remain in his company for as long as possible.

"Will you push me on the swings?" Lilith asked, taking his hand.

Crowley wandered into the playground some time ago, and since then he's been trying to figure out where he is and how to get back to Rome. He has a feeling it might be related to the weird metal contraptions over here that seem to be attracting a lot of children, only what is a playground doing in this day and age? Talk about anachronistic.

This time it seems there's an angel over here. An angel in a very tiny body, all things considered. An angel in a very tiny body who also is practically screaming with power. Archangel, then. You wouldn't find anything higher ranked than an archangel here on Earth.

Crowley's wary, certainly; archangels are a pain, even if he's never directly met one yet. Still, if this one wanted to smite him or something he'd be dead already. So maybe he's just here on a mission. There's been talk of a Messiah among the Hebrew folk, so maybe the Man Upstairs is finally making his move. Funny, Crowley figures he would have heard about it, maybe from Aziraphale. Not that they're currently on speaking terms.

So here's a toga-wearing Crowley sauntering up to the kid.

"You are awfully small for an archangel," he says conversationally. No big deal, no threat here, just a demon trying to talk up the local divinity. Maybe he can get some information as to what's going on.

It's far too early in his life for Michael to be charged with a mission beyond keeping his fingers out of black holes and not knocking things over in Heaven's garden, but he certainly holds himself as though he's ready for orders.

Right up until he's approached by Crowley, anyway, and gives the demon the sort of stupid look birds get when they try to fly through glass windows. He's not small. Not really, not on the inside.

"It's just the-" he starts to protest, then cuts himself off.

Just the what, exactly? Michael looks down at himself, suddenly confused. He realizes that he's not sure what he's wearing or how he got into it. This is the first time he's seen One Of These. He feels as though it's important that he stays inside it, though, and he thinks he needed to ask permission to use it, first. Why he'd need to ask is beyond him, though: the only authority over him is God.

That's it! This must be one of his father's creations, then, this flesh and blood thing he inhabits. It's not the name he's after, though. He prods through John's young mind, seeking to pull free a better term for the creature he's wearing.

"- boy. The human. This isn't my body."

To emphasize his point, he stretches his wings out behind him; they're not much smaller than they usually are, out of proportion with John's small body. He gets the feeling that this person he's talking to won't have any trouble seeing them.

That's the thing, though--back home, angels never wear people, not the way demons do. Crowley has possessed people once or twice when he was between bodies and needed to get something specific done, but it's always a rather unpleasant feeling. It's a muddy feeling; at least that's the closest he can come to trying to describe it with words. He can see why some of his kin would enjoy it, the way the human mind scoots aside to make room for you, the confusion and terror and that sensation of making something cower.

He just never too much pleasure in that sort of thing. Major failing, again.

Angels, though, angels don't possess people unless they need to make some kind of grand proclamation, or lend credence to the words of a prophet, things like that. All very brief and productive. So the idea that the archangel before him is possessing someone is a bit lost on him; he thinks that the angels in charge of handing out mortal coils must just be having a laugh at the poor guy.

Which would be weird, because no one laughs at archangels. Especially not Crowley, who visibly flinches when he sees the wings fan out behind the kid, somewhere beyond actual Seeing.

"No? Did you go and get yourself stuck in a human?" Huh, now that he thinks about it, yeah, that's a proper human body and all. Not something actually crafted by the engineers Upstairs. "Well that's a shame. For both of you. Problem with incorporeality, eh? I take it you haven't been planetside that often."

The playground has taken its toll on Samandriel as well, though not quite the same way as it has Michael. His memories are still intact, his own age unaffected--it's simply his vessel that grew younger. And he's found himself stuck this way for a few days now, though he's supposed the entire time that it's perhaps not as bad an effect as he could have been given. As much as he dislikes being so small.

Having decided that it's a good idea to check in with Michael from time to time, to keep himself in the archangel's good graces and avoid getting on his bad side, he goes searching. Keeping up with Michael also gives him a sense of structure, similar to that of Heaven, which he's used to having and honestly prefers to have.

It doesn't take long to locate Michael, but as Samandriel approaches, he realizes something is...off. As he lands before the playground, it becomes clear just what that is. The archangel's vessel as de-aged, quite like his own, but also... Something about Michael himself is different, as well. He's...younger. Much younger. The playground has had a much stronger effect on him, and that's startling to the younger angel.

"Michael?" He asks carefully, stepping toward his brother, uncertain of what to do with this. It's certainly a new experience he never thought he'd find himself dealing with. "Are you...alright?"

If he's coming to Michael seeking stability and normality, Samandriel's about to be disappointed.

There's yet another person calling his name - which is strange in and of itself, because up until less than a day ago, it had only ever been Michael. Sometimes God and Michael, when the former took breaks from the preparations and creative work that the latter didn't dare ask about in detail. Father went away because he was busy. That was all he needed to know.

This time, though, when Michael faces his company, his face lights up.

This one is like him.

He doesn't have any siblings yet, and Father hasn't exactly told Michael the details of his plans for creation, but he is nonetheless aware of the potential for other angels, for - siblings? Yes, that's what this other angel is. Samandriel is kin. The meat he's wearing is a little different, but Michael can see the matching halo and the wings beyond it. It's the wrong number of wings, but they're there.

"I'm fine."

He nods and straightens up a little, almost as though drawing to attention before a superior and waiting for orders. Samandriel isn't an archangel, but Michael can tell at a glance that he's older. (It's odd, to meet an angel older than himself when he'd thought he was the only one, but Father works in mysterious ways.) That gives him authority, doesn't it?

It's utterly bizarre to see Michael like this. To see him perk up like that, to see him so young. How far back had the playground taken him? He's never seen an archangel this age, so clearly it's had a very drastic effect. The fact that Wonderland can do this to such powerful celestial beings is frightening to Samandriel, too. It had been in hearing it, but actually seeing it for himself is a whole other thing.

Michael says he's fine, but Samandriel's not so sure. What's he supposed to do with this? He doesn't even know how to react, or how to behave in front of Michael like this. Should he tell someone? Find Castiel or Gabriel? Both are older, both have been here longer, they might have a better idea...

Frowning slightly, he takes a few small steps closer to where the little archangel sits, remaining silent for a few moments. Just watching him. Thinking.

"What are you doing?" He asks finally, his frown gaining a touch of concern. For now, he thinks, he'll try to simply keep Michael company. The effects wear off eventually, so he's heard, so perhaps they just...have to wait it out.

This isn't exactly supposed to happen.

Gabriel is supposed to be the youngest.

And yet, here she is. In an altered vessel, staring at a Michael who... well, there's a feeling she's getting from Michael's Grace, and it's nothing that she's familiar with. It's too primal, too new, and too hard to figure out. Somehow, suddenly, her older sibling is part of her responsibility, and that's weird.

She doesn't know how to deal with it, so she simply settles on, "You could always climb the playground equipment. You know, for fun. Or fly to the top. I guess that'd be our equivalent."

Whether she likes it or not, Gabriel's now been thrust into a position of authority relative to Michael, and stepping down from that pedestal will take some real effort. Probably a major miracle, even.

For his part, Michael's rather excited. He's met a few angels by now, at least one of which was also a sibling to him, but Gabriel's the first archangel among them. She's beautiful and warm, and he'd like to do nothing so much as he'd like to climb up and roost in her wings.

From the look she's giving him, though, that's not quite how she'd like him to spend the day.

Michael glances between the various playground equipment and his now-big sister. He's not keen to leave her side when he's only just discovered her existence, but neither does he want to disappoint her. He's a good angel. He follows orders.

"Do you want me to?"

He hefts his wings a little, but otherwise holds himself still under her gaze. If Gabriel wants him to practise flying, he will.

His vessel becoming younger is no more bothersome than it changing sexes, but Castiel's already come across others who've explored the playground, and it seems like the majority of those affected also lose their memories of their older years.

Now, it might not be the same for angels, as they don't age the way that humans do, but it's enough to see to it that Castiel gives the playground a large berth. He has no interest in losing years of experience. He isn't going to let it prevent him from going out entirely, however, and so it's as he's approaching the newly made shoreline that he's distracted by sensing a sibling nearby.

Michael. Castiel goes out of his way to keep away from his older brother in most cases, but when he realizes that Michael's Grace is in that playground area, he can't resist looking into it.

He starts in that direction, pausing when he catches sight of a young boy who is most definitely an archangel. Physically, he looks like a young version of John Winchester, but something about his Grace is off. Castiel keeps his distance as he calls out. "Michael."

Whether or not it's a stroke of bad luck for the both of them that Michael happens to be part of the majority who've lost their memories as well as their adult bodies to the playground remains to be seen. It makes him docile and easy to handle at the moment, but archangels have egos like black holes. He may not be pleasant in the aftermath.

(Then again, when was the last time the eldest had been pleasant?)

For the moment, Michael is all open excitement and fluttering wings as he hops his way over to Castiel.

If he had ever thought to ask their Father for siblings, Michael would have stopped at one. It wasn't his place to make demands of God in the first place. One more angel in Heaven would have been plenty of company for him. Three in one day is more than he ever would have imagined or hoped for.

"Hi."

He beams up at his now-older sibling, massive wings still twitching behind him. They're not much smaller or weaker than they are normally; he hadn't been built helpless, after all. For everything else that's off about his Grace, at least this remains the same.

The pure excitement, the sparking of Michael's Grace, the movements of his wings... none of it matches what Castiel's come to know about his brother over the years.

It's as if his personality has been completely rewritten, but maybe it's more that he's been undone to the point that he hasn't yet developed into the cold leader that Castiel's always believed him to be.

The fact that he appears like a human child only adds to the overall image, and Castiel opens and the closes his mouth, at a loss for what to say. He can only imagine how Michael will react to this whenever it wears off.

"Hello," he finally says. "Do you know who I am? Or why we're here?" He's still keeping his distance. Even like this, Michael could obliterate him with a thought, and Castiel's not about to forget that.

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