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"That is entirely understandable. Would it help if I didn't physically leave the bar? If you just opened the door a crack, I could look through--well, look is perhaps not the best word, I have senses you probably don't. And you could close it again before I could push past you."

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"Unless you also have speed that I don't. I'm given to understand that the body you're occupying is a convenience. But I don't wish to have an elaborate conversation about the details of my limited trust; that seems rude."

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"Fair enough, I suppose. It just bothers me...why on Earth would my name have become a word for a twisted, broken child? And if your God is as involved with your world as your language suggests--"
"They are from what she's told me."
"Then why are they even a thing? It doesn't make sense. Anna had plenty of problems when she was a baby and no one said boo when I fixed them, and that's in a world where people are encouraged to take it on faith that my Father even exists.
Hmm. Bar, is there any way--a room, perhaps, that you could vouch that I couldn't get to the door from there before Isabella noticed and shut the door to her world?"
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Subjective time varies across different parts of the bar. Even if you were incarcerated by Security for subjective hours it might not take long enough for her to open and close the door. I cannot affect this feature of the premises nor reliably predict it, says Bar.

"I admit I don't know why," says Isabella. "They only happen when two angels have a child, which is quite forbidden, so it isn't as though Jovah wants them to occur."
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"I suppose that might do it. The Nephilim were forbidden too, when it became apparent what a bad idea they were. But you don't...you don't seem to have any kind of oomph the way angels do that would make it even a little bit tricky to fix.
...Excuse me." She goes back to the door, opens it for a long moment, closes it again, and returns to the bar.
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Isabella tilts her head curiously.

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"This place is cut off from my God somehow. There's still the connection that is me, but it's not wholly comfortable. Think stepping out for clean air while in a place with an unpleasant smell."

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"Oh. We don't have anything quite like that."

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"You don't seem to, no."

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"You believe you could tell even if mine worked completely differently from yours?"

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"I think I would probably feel something from you, even if I had no idea what it meant. I could be mistaken, but since you don't believe you have such a thing either," shrug "it seems simplest to believe I don't perceive anything because there's nothing there. In that case, anyway. Honestly--to my senses you don't seem to be different from a human at all. Aside from the obvious biological differences, of course."

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Isabella waggles a wing. "They are generally considered sufficiently obvious to make identification trivial."

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"Right. But I'm not sensing anything from you on the metaphysical level aside from a bogstandard human soul."

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"The metaphysical specialness of angels is often exaggerated at home, but anyone can tell it doesn't do very much if it exists at all."

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"...My God isn't cut off from this place when I have the door open. It...is my strong impression, via I-am-a-living-conduit-of-his-will, that he wouldn't...interact with you, without your consent. If looking at your world isn't possible due to entirely reasonable practical concerns, could He get a look at you?"

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"Has he not already, when you opened the door?"

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"Mm, there's a difference between observing you as you exist and trying to derive things from that...to be blunt, yes, but he won't do anything with it unless you say yes. Basically I'm asking permission to try to figure things out about your world from you."

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"I don't mind that, assuming that's all you do. No reading my mind."

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A slight--humming is the wrong word, but everything else is more wrong--fills the bar. For a moment, it seems completely ridiculous to mistake Heylel for a human, although what she would be instead is...non-obvious.
And then it is over, and she is merely a tall woman.
"Well," she says. "I know what's going wrong with your kids, anyway. Not that I'm sure how to explain it to someone who probably doesn't have a grasp on Mendelian inheritance. Um...angels have a thing in their bloodlines, and mortals don't, and if you're an angel you can pass on the thing to your kids or not, and a Lucifer has the thing from both parents, and that's too much."
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"That makes sense. Although once two angels were given dispensation to marry. They had mostly angel children, all healthy, and one mortal."

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"If someone with a Lucifer's blood were somehow rendered healthy without changing their blood, and they grew up and had children with a mortal, they would have naturally healthy children all of whom were angels," she adds. "Not that that's particularly relevant, but just as an addendum on how that sort of thing works. I suppose in the instance you refer too...if I had to guess, there would be something about the angel woman's body that would make her miscarry a lucifer before it was old enough for the pregnancy to be noticed."

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"I wouldn't know. It was generations ago. But that seems like a reasonable guess."

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"And...I think I have an idea of why your world has some of the terms it does. It looks like the people who first came to your world were the descendants of people who had lived on an Earth much like ours, and much of your culture based on our mythologies. 'Lucifer' as 'bad angel'...makes sense in that context."

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"There is a folktale about the origin of the word, but it's unclear how true it may be."

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"Well, that's what I'm getting. Oh, and interestingly enough, your kind of angel doesn't seem to be a different species from humanity, as our world's scientists would reckon it."

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