#em:tisha

[icarian-carrion]

hi this is emmanuel bringing you a forehead kiss and i made myself weirdly emotional with this one :')

tisha's mind is special. when it rumbles, he can almost feel it halfway across the earth. or perhaps it is just that he is keeping an eye out there, worrying. she sees too much. feels too much. aches too much. he himself might just be a part of it, and yet he cannot bring himself to really stay away. she's a friend, and as such, he wants to make sure she is alright. all the more if she's a friend struggling with something that much greater than she is. and she's great, as is. it's just that the world is even bigger. emmanuel knows this, he's known it for eons and still does the disquiet never stop. life folds over itself and resonates until his head hurts. it turns into decay and that turns into more life. time keeps on going but never just forward, not for him. and he can tell when a very real smidge of that awareness settles on her brow. heavy, uncomfortable. sharp. like a particularly strong migraine. he can feel it because he distinctly knows it. it's knowledge of his own that may have just rubbed off on her last time they spoke.

he doesn't take too long wallowing in guilt. if the knowledge is his own then he should be able to take it. for all the fear he had of coming too close to tisha, of overwhelming her sensitive mind, he now feels nothing but calm. urgent sort of calm. one that translates even as he slips into the form of sunlight, running across her face, warm and comforting, pausing momentarily on her forehead in what might be a kiss, drawing out that bit of universal poison. it's alright. i am so sorry.

[icarian-carrion]

"Because they're the same. Divine in the monstrous, and all that. I thought you were an angel, that sounds like something you'd be up on."

"the devil, huh? your devilish and my divine feel all too similar, sometimes."

[icarian-carrion]

“I… yeah, I think I do.” Tisha smiles faintly. She’s surprised that his hand on her shoulder doesn’t do anything to her mind, doesn’t bring any horrible new rush of light and heat, but she’s not going to question it. It's nice. “I mean, I’m not in any hurry.” Only a half lie. Sometimes she is, but not at this moment.

“I don’t know if it’s wisdom. I think it’s just…” This is usually where she backs away from the philosophy of things, to avoid sounding too woo about it, but if anyone will understand, surely he will, someone who’s been there since the beginning.

“It’s what we do, right? We measure our development as a species by when we started looking outside ourselves. Art, stories, religion. People need to take hold of what they don’t understand. We need to make things.” She laughs sheepishly. “But what about you? I mean, I don’t really know the whole mythos that well, so if angels are supposed to just hang out in churches, fair enough, but you’re the first one I’ve seen. Why are you here? Like, on Earth.”

there is a special kind of ache reserved in his heart for human minds stretched thin by capabilities beyond their years and beyond their comprehension. there is something wonderful about being able to see into the universe this way, but something terrifying about being able to do that when you are not meant to. the sketchbook settles comfortably into just one of his hands, while the other wanders to touch gently upon her shoulder if she lets him. a ghost of touch. a ghost of understanding.

"you've great wisdom from it. and not just... from it. — i have seen others who'd gotten driven mad by a power lesser than this. you hold onto your heart, and onto your thoughts and feelings and — you concentrate them in here," he taps gently upon the sketchbook still firm and gentle in his hold, "and that's so wise. and so precious."

her calm in the face of death strikes him more than the words she says. it is after all all so easy to see the thread pulling humans to their death, a line through their life that makes sense long before the end. "you've a good life ahead of you. wonderful sights to see, among the bad."

[icarian-carrion]

"I guess you would know, huh? What means what to the world. Thank you, though. I don't know about all that, but it means a lot to me. To hear that."

"well, i for one think you are doing great. holding onto your ideals, following your gut... perhaps inspiring others to do the same along the way. it means a lot to the world."

[icarian-carrion]

“Every single day of my life.” Tisha admits, and though she's used to keeping her voice level, trying to make it sound like a neutral statement, she can tell from the furrow of his brow and the set of his mouth that he knows better. Not because of what he is exactly, though that has to help. Because he's a bit too kind and a bit too perceptive for her to get this kind of bullshit past him.

"You're right. It's overwhelming. It's all very cliché, you know, is this a gift or a curse, blah blah blah. I... just live with it. There isn't really any dealing with it, I'm not capable of that, I can't ever be... more than I am. I'll never be able to handle it more than I handle it right now, which is with art. It'll... it'll kill me one day."

She's surprised by how raw the confession feels. She's said it dozens of times, tells everyone in this world, spoiler alert, this is how the story ends, it is the only way the story can end, it was over before it even started. But somehow, when she tells him, it feels sad again. "But we all have to go sometime."

the angel hesitates, but ends up picking up her sketchbook, with great care, his finger brushing at the side of the page just to get a feel for the paper that he sees the sketches blossom from. "the eyes of the skin..." he muses, half to himself, half to her. appreciative of her understanding, but still hesitant to allow himself to be quite so immersed in the artwork as to reach to touch it, as he almost did before. he is, after all, too polite for that.

listening to her, something of a frown settles upon his brow. while it is true that it is rather difficult to really make sense of others' vision of the world, he has known and seen and felt so much — he wonders if he really can relate, and the thought alone makes him kind of sad for her. he exists in such close connection to everything in the universe, he sees so deeply into the core of any one he meets, he struggles to imagine just how overwhelming that has to be to her. and as she stumbles through her explanation, that tinge of pity grows...

"i see." he does. "and... you've been like this, always? you've never been able to — shut it out? you just deal with it the best way you know how?" gently he gestures with the sketchbook, as if to express just how grateful he is all of a sudden for her art. "there's a lot of beauty and joy to this world, but i can imagine how the sorrow and cruelty can get overwhelming, sometimes..." that and more than anything he realises that she is human. on top of the entire world, she still carries herself through it all.

[icarian-carrion]

“Oh, it’s alright!” Tisha says quickly. His hand is withdrawn too quickly for her to stop him, but she holds out the sketchbook, offering it to him with the sort of casual attitude of someone passing a shared drinks menu to a friend at brunch. “I do the same thing. Even when it’s not… physical, or 3D, whatever, art is tactile, you know? I never liked the look with your eyes, not with your hands speech. We understand so much of the world through touch."

It's part of why she likes sculpture so much. She loves forming her work with her hands, making them real physical things with texture and weight. She can paint, she can draw, and she does - but nothing feels as good as a real, heavy, tactile statue.

"Well, we all struggle to see the world through the eyes of people very different from us." Tisha shrugs. "I guess... the closest way I can explain it..." She presses her lips together, thinking about it for a moment. "It's a lot of noise. Always noise, clicking and chattering and scuttling noises. Movement, out of the corner of my eye, or... out in the open. Sometimes it's very literal, I just see what's hidden. Sometimes... especially with people, or things that are closer to people, I see things... in pieces. It's not just sight either, it's sound, smells, sometimes sensations. It sucks mostly, I won't lie."

"no, i'm sorry, i didn't mean—" he starts raising his hands up in an apologetic gesture, though he does recognise soon enough that she is not actually offended, fast as she is in trying to explain herself to him, without guilt but rather with joy of sharing that which makes up the base of who she is. he trails off at the sight of a sketchbook alone, and leans forward a little bit to be able to better see inside of it.

"you're an artist..." he repeats, absentmindedly, and something of a smile settles upon his lips. there is something ever so delightful in humans realising their own true nature and pouring it into something as sacred as art. of course she would be an artist, with a sight so great... "that's wonderful!" without thinking, he reaches forth in an attempt to gently touch the sketched features of the statue by the entrance but stops himself before his finger can reach the paper. "—sorry. i. truly, they are lovely."

he listens to her, then, head tilted to the side ever so slightly. "that makes sense. — it... it might be hard to make sense of all the things you see without a point of reference. i understand. still— i struggle to imagine what this must be like for you, as a human being, i mean."

[icarian-carrion]

“Well... I mean, like I said, not my religion. I can only speak from the outside. But everything builds on what comes before it, right? So you have a group of people a couple thousand years ago who decided that the suffering was the point, actually, and they teach that, and the people who they taught teach others, and then two thousand years later nobody questions it, because why would they. I don’t mean to be rude, but were you… there? I can’t look at you too close, or too directly, and usually that means someone is… big. Old. Bright.”

"it was... more of a rhetorical question, honestly. of course someone made that decision way back in the day but— they went on to make that same decision over and over. they make little pendants of the cross to wear— isn't that—? isn't that just a tad too much—? a man died on that cross, and they no longer use the symbolism of the man but rather the symbolism of the instrument of his death— that's—"

[icarian-carrion]

“I mean, I would hope not literally." Tisha jokes. "Not that I have anything against... you know, God. That’s so weird. No offense. I’m assuming it’s all a little more complicated than yes and no and this religion is correct and this one is incorrect, but maybe I’m too optimistic. You do have that sort of angel classic vibe. I can just see Leonardo painting you.”

She’s used to blundering past red flags to make friends with people, but Emmanuel doesn’t seem to have a speck of crimson on him. There’s something to his face when he tells her that her secret is safe with him - she believes him. It’s the sort of energy that a lost child looks for in a crowd when they can’t find their parents and need a safe adult, an instinctive comfort.

“Ah, it’s not so bad. I’ve been at this long enough to tell when someone is dangerous because they want to be and dangerous because they have no choice. You seem fine by me, Manny.”

"it means god-is-with-us," he figures he might tell her at least something new, even if she already knows plenty about him. "not— literally, just the, uh, figurative extended hand, you know." he rubs at the back of his neck, wondering if clarifying helps anything or just makes the situation more overly serious.

"oh, i can imagine," there's melancholy to his gaze, one that resurfaces whenever a human mind is weighed down by features not meant for humanity. it's hard enough to be just human, he can't begin to consider how difficult it has to be to have any sort of plus one from that. "well, your secret is safe with me, too."

he smiles at her apology, almost amused. "you lasted a whole three minutes with what i imagine must feel like burning at the edge of your sight without saying anything. that's... already an admirable feat of patience, my friend."

[icarian-carrion]

“Emmanuel. Appropriate.” Tisha grins. At least, she thinks it is. It’s a hymn, isn’t it? Oh Come Oh Come Emmanuel? Or maybe it’s just a Christmas carol. She isn’t always sure which is which. “Oh yeah, completely human. I’m like a… supernatural plus one. Not really involved, just along for the ride. I see… hidden things, I guess. Things that aren’t supposed to be seen. It’s usually a real problem for me, I can’t lie, but it’s got perks. It’s nice to meet you too.” An angel should be a curveball, but Tisha has long counted herself as an agnostic - there are mysteries she simply isn’t meant to have an answer for, and she’s fine with that. Mostly. “Sorry, I really need to learn to be more gentle when I call people out like that. It must be unnerving.”

the angel seems to withdraw into himself further, finally sort of grasping control of his emotions and instilling calm on all fronts. "sorry. can you— even feel that?" then again, it could just be that he struggles to piece a sentence together. he relaxes, though, and smiles gently, while still holding onto his distance. "that must be difficult for you, if... enriching. have you... have you had it always? does it ever get too much?" the subtle frown betrays a calmer tint of concern this time. he knows what it is to see inside of people, but he was made for it. he imagines that it can get quite overwhelming for a normal person. "you... are human otherwise, aren't you? oh. excuse me, i shouldn't— i forget my manners. let me start that again. my name is emmanuel. it's— a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

[icarian-carrion]

“You’re worrying. I told you not to do that.” Tisha teases. “Calm down. Your secret is safe with me. You’re also not the first person I’ve met who could potentially break my mind if I get too good a look, so relax. It’s okay. You’re right, I’ve met a lot of very… interesting people. Never an angel, though. That's fascinating. So all of that father, son, and holy spirit stuff is real? That's not what I would have had my money on. Sorry, I'm being so rude. I'm Tisha. It's a... second sight. That's how I know. Before you ask. I'm not like a new Joan of Arc or anything."

"you sound like you've met quite a lot of various people." it's clear enough that, though politely, he is fighting for time. he hesitates to uncover himself this way to strangers he meets, though he supposes, this time around it is not even his choice. she can see straight through him. "—it's— i'm an angel. that's— that's what the brightness is. so maybe, um, i know you probably know what you are doing but still. be careful, the light could hurt your eyes. or mind. or soul. or— sorry."

[icarian-carrion]

Tisha frowns for a second at his question, as if she doesn’t understand it, and then she laughs. “Oh, right. Yeah, I guess that is a little weird.”

She opens up her bag and pulls out a sketchbook, showing him the most recent page: a collection of sketches of the architecture, the stained glass windows and their almost abstract saints, and the plaster statue of Mary at the entrance. “I’m an artist. I mostly sculpt what I see, you know - like you. Not that I would sculpt you without your permission.” She adds quickly. “But…”

She’s not sure how to describe it, but takes a stab at it anyways, has faith he’ll try to understand. “Do you know the parable of the blind men and the elephant? It’s like that. I don’t always understand what’s in front of me. The more context I have, the better I understand, the more I can fill in the gaps. So I come to places like this, where there’s a lot of symbolism, to build up my… artistic vocabulary.”

the angel smiles, relieved enough not to have her dig too deep into things. he feels she has seen enough already. though the mention of leonardo of all people does make him look away, shy and melancholy. "angel classic vibe... i have not heard that one before." it was easy for people to gravitate towards the fair and blue-eyed angels that prevailed in churches to this day.

"manny? i have not heard that one either — well, for a long time, anyway. most — most of my friends just call me emmanuel, or em, when they don't have the time. but you may call me whatever you like, of course."

"so... if you are not religious, do you often just— visit churches?" there's no judgement to the question, he does the same. admiring the human works of art, feats of architecture, and sometimes trying at least to atune to the hum of heaven above. still, religion as an institution does not sit right by him, and so he prefers the times when there's no one there to make his appearance.

[icarian-carrion]

"Sometimes it is. But... I don't think I need it to be. You know? I need to do something. I might as well try. The trying is the important part."

"that's no small aspiration. — to be a self harbor, and a person at the same time. an admirable, or appreciated one, i hope."

[icarian-carrion]

“Yeah, that’s what I told the last guy who offered to try and take away the Sight. Better the devil you know, right?”

"it's a lot, being able to hear the existence itself, but you do get used to it. and... when i try to imagine what it would be like not to, the idea of such deep silence terrifies me."

[icarian-carrion]

"I hope they do. I'd like to think I'm a cozy person. I'm not always, but I try. I try really hard to be a safe harbor. I give good hugs, I know that at least."

"that sounds... nice. do you think that is the feeling your friends get from you, too? i rather think they might! small and cozy, like a chair in the library."

[icarian-carrion]

“So that’s a yes.” Tisha chuckles, waving his question away absentmindedly. “Interesting. But you were there before that too, weren’t you? I’ve met a few people who can count their age in millennia, but none quite like you. Definitely not a vampire, though… and I don’t think you’re fae. Interesting.” She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about me. Bright isn’t bad, I just can’t look too close. I see all sorts of terrible things, you’re comparatively much easier on the eyes. I think you are, anyways.”

"—um." alright, she got him there. he was so busy dissecting the particular feeling of dread that came over him when he visited a particular church that morning that when she asks that so casually, he's at a loss for words. "i— is there anything i can do? to make it easier? um, more comfortable?" he spends most the time tucked away in this shell of clay trying to dim the heavenly light in him, something about it not being enough strikes a nerve. he feels guilty.

[icarian-carrion]

“Uh… curious. I think I feel curious. Like when someone else has seen the hidden picture in a magic eye poster before me, so I tilt my head the way they did to help me see how they did. It's a good feeling, though. Small, cozy. Like a chair in the library."

"in my defense, i have been around for far too long to view the world any more narrowly... but please do tell, how did they feel? how do you feel?"