That is fiiiiiiiiiine by him.

Yes. Yes it is.

He beams and hugs her.

"Jovah is good," she sighs, nuzzling against where his shoulder meets his neck.

"He iiiiis," Micaiah says happily.

"And they say when an angel's born, he dances," she says, squirming slightly and settling her wing closer.

Micaiah, in the meantime, is napping in her room. Because he is tired. Happily, happily tired.

There's an angel girl a few years older than Isabella whose name Micaiah has not yet had occasion to learn, walking the other way. She pauses when she sees him. "Oh," she says, fluffing milk-white wings in a way that makes her short auburn hair flutter, "you're Isabella's, aren't you."

"I don't belong to her," he says, amused. "What's your name? I'm Micaiah. Your wings are pretty."

"Phebe," says the angel, smiling suddenly. "No, of course you don't belong to her, do you? I think I heard you're an Edori. You want a closer look at the wings?" One of them waggles a bit.

"Sure!" he says, all cheerful innocence.

"I'm down this hall," Phebe says. "I was on my way to practice but it was going to be just me today, since Timaeus wore out his voice yesterday..." She holds out her hand invitingly.

Smiling, Micaiah takes her hand.

Once they have some privacy, Phebe offers more than just that, too. She seems unutterably pleased about the whole thing.

There's something a little strange about how pleased she is. But it's fun, and he's had this conversation with Isabella and knows she won't be mad, so he just goes with it.

Phebe's not particularly cuddly after; she puts on her wrap-sort-of-garment again - Isabella isn't unusual in wearing flying leathers all the time, but plenty have more wardrobe variety - efficiently and stretches out all six limbs and hops to her feet. "I'm not sure whether to tell her as soon as she's back, or just hint at it and drive her nuts trying to figure out what I mean, or keep utterly mum and throw it in her face after she's inevitably named Delilah's successor when Delilah retires," she muses, half to herself.

"You can, you know, lie there for a while if you're worn out," says Phebe. "I suppose you don't have anything else to do while she's off proving to everyone how important she is... Let yourself out whenever," she shrugs. "I'm going to go get note-perfect on the Requiem."

"Mmm... not that worn out," he decides, and rolls out of bed and gets dressed.

"As you like, then," says Phebe, and she waits until he won't scandalize passersby before she opens the door and sweeps out, white fans of her wings held regally behind her.

Micaiah goes and gets a snack, and returns to Isabella's room, and curls up in her bed, and cries quietly.

Angela's back on schedule, looking tired. She goes looking for her Micaiah.

Her Micaiah is in the practice rooms, singing that one mass, and putting more emotion into it than usual.

Angela comes in at her next pickup, closing the door quietly behind her.

His voice catches, and he breaks off and turns and hugs her, burying his face against her shoulder.

She falls silent when he stops. "What's wrong?" she exclaims. "What happened?"

Angela wraps her arms around him automatically. "Phebe - the angel, right, not the angel-seeker who works in the laundry?"

He nods.

Her wings go around him too, overlapping behind his back. "I - I didn't even know she had a problem with me," she murmurs. "But it's not your fault - it's okay -" She hugs him tightly.

"I've never had a lover who was even pretending they didn't want me with anybody else," he says, clinging a little. "I didn't think of it until she started talking about throwing it in your face."

"I - I'm afraid I can't exactly sign up for a harmonics slot and improvise an explanation in soprano-tenor for everyone's ears. It'd be - It's not uncommon exactly, for angels and people around angels to be... imperfectly constant? Is there a nicer word for that? But it's generally very discreet if there's any kind of relationship instead of just dabbling with angel-seekers. There would be... consequences, to announcing it. ...And now if Phebe does want to hurt me, I can only hope I can think of a way to act hurt after a private revelation instead of having to come up with a reaction to a public declaration."

"I don't want you to have to act hurt."

"If I don't, she'll find a way to tell everyone in a way that will actually cause me problems. Delilah in particular I don't think would think much of it if it weren't for anyone else, but there are some people she listens to who would."

Angela swallows. "Here's what might work best. I go find Phebe, today. I tell her that you confessed and you feel terrible and I forgave you, and then I tell her I forgive her. I act completely unconcerned about public opinion, I make it sound like it's just a matter between me and her to me. She won't have a chance to try making it general knowledge without hearing from me and if I can pull off sufficient - I don't know, serenity - then she might think it's not worth it to try."

"I love you," he murmurs.

"I love you too. - Can you think of a better plan? Because if I'm going with that one I had really better not wait."

"No." He kisses her cheek. "It's a good plan."

"Okay. - Will I find you here or in our room, after?"

"Here," he decides.

"Okay. I don't think this will take longer than half an hour, unless I can't find Phebe," says Angela, and she kisses his forehead, and unwraps wings and arms, and slips out of the practice room.

Micaiah wipes his eyes, and takes a breath, and starts singing again.

He's still there, as promised, singing his heart out.

His angel joins in the next time the soprano part enters, and takes his hand in hers.

This time, he doesn't interrupt himself, just keeps singing.

"I don't have to stay in the hold all the time," he points out. "And I don't want this to happen again."

Angela nods, then says - "But, if I acquire anything like prominence - if Delilah names me successor and retires, let alone if I become Archangel and you angelico - then the number of people who don't know who I am shrinks."

"I can still find some, I bet," he shrugs.

"Okay." She smiles faintly. "And there could easily be Milliways again, regardless, where it doesn't make a difference if they know me or not."

It is four days later when Angela makes it all the way through breakfast without acquiring an assignment. She tells Serah where she's going, in case anyone looks for her. She picks up Micaiah, flies up to notify Shell Bell and Sherlock so they can follow if they like, and sets out for Sinai.

Of course they follow. This is bound to be fascinating.

It really is.

After the three-hour flight, Angela lands at Sinai, and notifies an acolyte of her name. This one is from Chahiela, apparently, because she has to repeat herself three times, slowly and clearly, before she repeats it successfully. She goes in and comes out and haltingly says that Alleluia can see them now.

In they go, then!

He smiles and leans into her.

Micaiah grins right back.

"I - am not optimistic that you will get a straightforward answer, but since it's only a hypothetical question, perhaps that doesn't matter much," says Alleluia slowly, peering with a dubious expression at Micaiah. She turns to the interface and types.

[It just looks like a computer,] remarks Shell Bell to Sherlock. [...I'm tempted to pentagon the language she's writing in just like we wound up having to pentagon the local vernacular outside of Milliways, what do you think?]

Sherlock doesn't consider the question for long; she turns it over in her mind, and then makes the wish for herself.

Rather than expend a separate pentagon, Shell Bell reads over Sherlock's shoulder, so to speak.

>If there were such a thing as magic, would its use incur any probable deleterious effects on Samaria, or place us under fire from you?

Like technology, magic would only be dangerous if it could not be controlled or fell into ill-intentioned hands. I would not send thunderbolts as a result of its use.

Micaiah grins and hugs his angel.

[Odd way to talk to a god,] Sherlock observes.

[Yeah. Not "will it offend you" or "might we", just - "will you attack us". And then she filtered that out for Angela.]

[Should we bring this up, do you think?]

[...Maybe. I'm not sure. Let's see how she reacts to getting the coins first. I mean - I don't know what's up with the funny way Alleluia talked to the god, do you? I think she'd dismiss it as nothing without more details, religious like she is.]

Angela lands where she landed last time she departed Sinai, rather than continuing straight on to the Eyrie. "Are you two there?" she asks, in completely the wrong direction from where Shell Bell and Sherlock are hovering.

Bell likes this idea. She follows suit. "Here I am. Want some coins to mint you and Micaiah, since it's allowed after all?"

"Yes. Please," says Angela, beaming.

"Okay," he says agreeably, and hugs his angel. "I want magic powers, give me magic powers," he says, nuzzling her shoulder.

"I will," she says, and she wishes on two hexagons in succession.

"I want to see your coin colors," enthuses Shell Bell. "I don't match Stella - I'm mother-of-pearl and she's glowy red."

Angela bites her lip experimentally, and produces a triangle: white with speckles, just like her wings. She grins at it. She wishes her hair untangled from the flight and giggles when the triangle disappears.

Celebratory kisses! Magic! Angela has never been so happy in her life.

Shell Bell privately passes along to Angela the emergency mint-containment protocol that Stella invented - the anti-coin envelope around the skin - and, aloud, explains the design of the standard coin bandolier - "But I'm not sure how that will work with the wings."

"I can have the belt part," says Angela. "And if it gets too long, I can twist it in front and put my head through it, and it won't foul up my wings at all."

Micaiah nudges Angela. "Sing something," he murmurs, grinning.

Angela grins back and then launches without preamble into the soaring solo from the Magnificat. She can't sing through the whole of it - she can only cover about half the range - but she can do this bit.

[You can sing pentagons and hexes out of him,] Bell remarks, silently so as not to interfere with the gorgeous music. [That is cool.]

And now that his nice new coins are all on his nice new bandolier, Micaiah has his arms free to hug her! So he does.

Yay!

[Do you have any more specific guesses than I do about why Alleluia would talk like that to Jovah?] Shell Bell asks Sherlock.

[None come to mind.]

[Hm. Oh well.] "Back to the Eyrie?" Shell Bell asks aloud. "You could teleport there, now."

"But I told Serah where I was going and so no one will expect me back for another three hours. Besides, I like to fly, and I might pass something that needs doing," Angela laughs, still giddy with new power. "Thank you again - thank you so much, both of you, for being patient until I had my answer, for giving me the coins -"

"You're completely welcome," Shell Bell assures her happily.

"And very sweet," adds Sherlock.

"Isn't she?" beams Micaiah.

Angela blushes and picks up Micaiah again, but then pauses before taking off. "Unless you'd like to fly by yourself?" she asks him.

"I like it when you fly me," he says, curling up happily in her arms. "Do you like flying me?"

Shell Bell turns invisible again and goes into the air after them.

Sherlock likewise follows.

Shell Bell teleports down. "Are you coming?" she asks.

"Not this time. I'm too - excited to start work here, I don't think I can stand to leave, and you can write all the necessary notes in the Belltower for us," says Angela, grinning. She holds the door with her foot so she can give Shell Bell a hug. "But it was lovely to meet you. I hope we run into each other again!"

"I hope the same," says Sherlock.

Micaiah distributes hugs.

"Bye!" says Angela merrily.

Shell Bell and Sherlock go through the door, and close it behind them.

"I believe I will go and snuggle my brother," says Sherlock.

"I'll be along as soon as I've written up our vacation's events," says Shell Bell, giving her a kiss. "I love you."