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Uriel and Qemuel     It's relatively quiet in the Bar and Grill tonight. Considering the odd customers it sometimes pulls in, things are pretty tame right now. Mostly humans, but for an elf in one corner sniffing disdainfully. Well, that and... the twins?

    They are twins only to a trained eye. At a passing glance, the two casually-dressed young women seated at the table are different. One with dark hair and eyes, and deeply-tanned or a dark complexion. The other, fair-skinned and fair-haired, with deep blue eyes. They aren't talking too much, but the dark-haired one has a bandage over one eye while she's sketching something, while the light-haired is flipping through a book. It takes a /very/ sharp eye to note that while they look different in coloration and attitude, their body shape is identical, to every detail.
John Rizzo A tall, weary man with fiery red hair enters into the Bar and Grill, hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks. Running a hand through that hair in a vain effort to tame it, he sighs and takes a look around. Eyes the color of granite rest upon the twins, his brow furrowing. Spotting details is his livelihood, and in his unlife, it's the edge he has over other, stronger supernatural beings. He indulges his curiosity, hiding his interest by first approaching the bar and taking a seat on the opposite end.

     Straddling the barstool is an act of memory for him, from warmer days. He leans against the bar like a regular, earning a glance from the bartender and raising his hand to gently decline service. Shifting in his seat, he uses his dark gift to peer at the twins in a more supernatural sense. They say that curiosity killed the cat, but Rizzo's never put any stock in that. If anything, his curiosity, or perhaps his easily aroused suspicion, has kept him alive. So what do we have here, then?
Uriel and Qemuel     Emotions are a little murky, just because they aren't really /doing/ much, but the girls seem to be at worst vaguely irritated at something. The Dark-haired one much worse about that, but then she keeps fussing with her bandage. The light-haired one murmurs without looking up, "Stop picking at it, it'll be fine."

    More immediately, neither are mortal. The light-haired one even has a faint impression of a halo, but mostly they both have a definite feeling of /age/ about them.
John Rizzo A knowing grunt from Rizzo--this only confirms his suspicion. The halo is odd, something to take note of, but nothing he wants to bring up. After all, it's impolite to out other supernatural creatures. Eventually he raps his knuckles on the counter to get the bartender's attention. Shortly thereafter he's given an old-fashioned glass with ice, but nothing else, an odd request which the experienced bartender provides for with only a modicum of annoyance. Rizzo pours a dark, thick red liquid into it, then downs it with a grimace the likes of which one usually sees in tandem with cheap, paint-thinner vodka.

     Or rather, he tries to down it. He gets about three-quarters of the way through it before the taste of it gets to him. Coughing and sputtering in disgust, he ends up making a scene and drawing attention to himself. "Ugh," he utters with distaste and annoyance.
Uriel and Qemuel     Uriel can't sense anything that far away, so she really isn't paying attention. Thus this could totally end here, were it not for her sister. The dark-haired girl is NOT reading a book, and is much more bored than her sister. The coughing spasms nearby bring her eyes up... but she can't see anything special about John.

    There doesn't need to be anything special, it seems. Pushing herself up, she brushes her hair back and just saunters on over, with the lighter sister glancing up in vague annoyance. So it's the dark one that now shows curiosity, drawing up a chair and plopping in right at John's table without even asking. "Hiya. Looks like someone has a drinking problem."

    A snort of disgust at the awful joke floats up from Uriel.
John Rizzo John has more problems than that, as Uriel might discover should she also approach. "Sister," he says. "You don't know the half of it." He downs the rest of his drink with a determined scowl, as if forcing it down. The way it clings to the glass, stains the ice, the way it has that terribly faint coppery smell. The way that little bit on his lip seems to stick there? All of it comes together, painting a picture the angel has likely already seen. It's blood. "Don't feel sorry for me. I earned it."
Uriel and Qemuel     Qemuel lacks her sister's sin sense, but she is an angel of battle. Blood? She can recognize that. Narrowing her eyes, she shows no regard to personal space, either... just leaning over and poking at the side of the glass, pondering it gingerly. "Mnnn... now that is interesting. Sister, come here. I think this might be a Child of Cain."

    The other glances up and FROWNS. "If they aren't, that would be quite the insult. Stop pestering the man, Qemuel." She does close her book though, sidling over to the table to take a look. "I apologize for her, she gets... curious."
John Rizzo "Well, didn't take long for that racket to flop," he muses to himself. The angel hit the nail on the head, it seems. He peers at Qemuel from the corner of his eye, not minding the invasion of personal space. Word is this place is neutral ground. Rizzo is... lively, for a Cainite. He appears to breathe, and there is actually some coloration to his skin, although his heritage in life has imparted upon him a decidedly pale complexion which contrasts that blush of life. The color drains from his face upon hearing Qemuel's name.

     "She's right," he says. Then, a look to Qemuel. "That sounds like the name of an angel."
Uriel and Qemuel     Surprisingly, Qemuel's face falls a little at that. "Former," is all she says, suddenly curt and stiffening up in her seat. It's only with effort that she forces a wry grin. "I guess I asked for it, hmm?"

    Uriel settles in and takes a glance at John, then looks back to Qemuel. "I keep telling you to use an alias. Even if most people haven't heard of you in the modern age, the naming style is just too distinctive." She looks to John again. "I did all I could for him, your curse is-"

    "Oh stop being so serious!" Qemuel suddenly swats Uriel on the shoulder, then holds her hand out to John. "Qemuel, of the Fallen. This is my sister Uriel, she's still receiving paychecks, if you get what I mean. Somehow. What's your story? Don't worry, she's always going on about how it isn't our place to judge."
John Rizzo "It's everyone's place to judge me. A fugitive and a vagabond, etcetera." He doesn't see the need to quote the whole passage to them--fallen though they may be, the two are still angels. "The 'I didn't ask to be sired' tune is a grift the Camarilla pulls to get Cainites to pity themselves right up to their front door, and you can take that to the bank. I /did/ ask for this, with my sins." He shakes Qemuel's hand. "John Rizzo, private dick." With lingo like his, he must have been sired near the middle of the century, perhaps later.

     When he reaches out, Uriel will be able to see his sins: adultery, divorce, and murder stand out.
Uriel and Qemuel     Qemuel of course just... shakes the hand. As a Fallen Angel she's neither holy nor unholy, so there's nothing remarkable about shaking hands. Not that there would be for Uriel either, for different reasons. Qemuel tsks, "Those words don't mean anything to me. Probably different worlds. Well, /I/ won't judge you. I think it's charming. Er... not the whole Cain thing. That was a pretty awful thing for him to do."

    Uriel sighs, glancing at John again... then staring quietly. "Mn. She's right, though. I really won't judge you. I haven't spoken to Him in... a long while. This is neutral ground, and we would get in trouble if I made a big deal out of it anyway." She tsks. "Besides... I have seen worse. Humans are flawed creatures by nature, some just... more than others."

    Qemuel stares at Uriel for a long moent, then sighs. "Ignore her. It's nice to meet you, John! We're a little new to this area, but we've been wandering for a while. I didn't think I'd actually meet a child of Cain though... I've only heard of them. We met a Nephilim the other night! Exciting. A little too exciting." She touches the bandage.
John Rizzo "There's only a handful of us worth knowing, and even those fellas are mostly heathens. One guy especially." A particular Gangrel Noddist comes to mind as Rizzo loosens his tie. "The rest of 'em are so caught up in their own shell game they can't see two feet in front of 'em. For what it's worth though, yeah, nice to meet you too, girls."

     "I wouldn't stop you if you tried to kill me," says John. He sounds like he absolutely believes that, too. Rare for a vampire. "Wouldn't blame you, either. I want to get back into His good graces, too, but I'm doing that by serving Him. You say you haven't talked to Him in a long time. I go to candlelight mass at St. Dominic's in San Fran every Sunday night. Maybe you two should come. I've never heard Him talk back, but I know He always listens."

     Seems this one's more the quiet, brooding Uriel type than the bright and enthusiastic Qemuel type.
Uriel and Qemuel     Saying THAT actually gets Uriel's attention. "Then I have less reason to. I am an angel of Salvation, and I could hardly stop someone from working toward that," she notes, suddenly more talkative. "And if yours is like ours, you're right. He listens. We can't claim to understand Him, either."

    Qemuel lifts an eyebrow, but the last comment strikes a nerve. "I don't think it's possible for us to. Understand I mean. Humans have a much different connection than we do. You're lucky that way. Uriel has been in His Presence, but none of us can claim what humans can."
John Rizzo "I dunno," says Rizzo. "I never drank from the same barrel as you guys. I know from nothing about your connection with Him." Is that what drove them to fall, he wonders? Jealousy over that connection? It is typically an element of most accounts. "Is ours really that special? The world's in such a hurry it won't look twice at anything it can't touch or prod or measure somehow. I feel like most of us are blind to it. Faith isn't fashionable. Sacrifice isn't easy."
Uriel and Qemuel     "It's... complicated," Uriel starts to say, sighing faintly. Surprisingly it is Qemuel who speaks up again now.

    "Of COURSE it isn't easy!" Qemuel sprads her hands, and then claps them down and lowers her voice, as she draws some looks. "Of course it isn't easy. Strife and challenge is how you grow. How you define yourselves and become more than the silly little things you normally are. We'll never be much more than what we are, but you humans can do some amazing things. Usually you just roll over and die, I guess, but once in a while it works."

    Uriel sighs again. "Please excuse her. Qemuel was an angel of battle. She... believes that conflict drives humanity forward. She really means the best, but it did get her into trouble." She gives her sister a long stare, which actually causes the enthusiastic one to wilt a little. "But she's right. You can grow. Maybe it's unpopular now, but you have that choice. I like that you didn't lose that Faith even after what happened. You should hold on to that."

    Qemuel makes small 'yapping' gestures with her hand, but the silliness fades toward the end. "You seem like a good man, John. I like that. A good man who has done bad things, I guess? Heh... probably not how you imagined meeting an angel or fallen one would go, huh?"
John Rizzo "No, but, to be fair, I never figured I'd meet the Knights of the Round Table, either."

     "I see your point," says Rizzo. "Granted, change is harder for us than for the average joes, but not... impossible." His face betrays determination, a very human emotion. He wants to grow--badly. Perhaps to absolve himself of his perceived (and real) sins, or perhaps only to keep himself from stagnating.

     "Us, we fight tooth and nail to hold onto that human spark, or we... fade, I guess. Like a photo. The general picture's there, and you can see what it's supposed to be, but the color's all washed out. Eventually a guy just..." He makes a motion with his fingers like holding sand. "Freezes. There are guys sleeping now who don't have a lick of humanity left in 'em. They gave up a long time ago, and unlike you two, the picture isn't pretty."

     "You give up on that spark and you change. You don't admire humanity, you plan around it. You don't have friends, you have obstacles and yes men. You're alive, but not living. I'd rather die serving God by putting the fear of Him into monsters than live as a monster. When I die, I'll die believing in His plan for me."
Uriel and Qemuel     "Oh I like this one, he's a fighter," Qemuel purrs, starting to lean in... before Uriel taps her on the forehead. She pouts, sitting down again, then sighing, "Fine, fine. You're right, it's easy to lose your way. I don't know much about your kind. Uriel's the one who might actually have fought you."

    Uriel rises with a shake of her head. "Not so much, with the fighting. You're... a human problem to deal with. I'm afraid mass and communion mean little for us, but perhaps one or both of us will try. My sister is not one of the Morningstar's, she can attend without fear. Though our... current assignment... may keep us from doing that. I certainly wish you the best, and hope that your death comes after your forgiveness."

    Qemuel nods, also rising. "Most humans would curse their fate! You're an interesting one, Mister Rizzo. I'll keep you in mind if I need a detective. My sister isn't likely to, but I like finding new things."
John Rizzo Rizzo wipes his mouth, sliding the bloodied glass to the bartender, who takes it and begins to clean it with a beleagured sigh. The vampire seems grateful for Uriel's intervention, shooting her a silent glance of thanks. He remains seated, still a creature of the night despite his solid grasp on his human side. Most humans would curse their fate, but... "That's how they get you," he says with a wan chuckle to Qemuel.

     "God go with you, ladies."