Uriel walked alone down the sidewalk, or rather he thought himself to be alone despite the constant press of bodies against his own, as he has lost sight of Michael and Azrael a few minutes ago. As he walked, he was constantly muttering "Excuse me," "Pardon me," and an occasional "How rude!"

Every few moments he would stop a person. "Excuse me, do you know a girl with flame colored hair?" And every time he was told that he would have to be more specific, but he realised that he knew nothing else about her. So he kept walking, and kept asking. However, as he continued, he noticed the number of people around him diminishing, and the buildings become less and less charming. He also noticed that the females around him wore less and less. The clothes he had noted had gone from professional-looking business suits to miniskirts, halter tops, and fishnet stockings with shoes that had four-inch heels.

Uriel modestly hid his eyes whenever one of these women passed, but had to stop walking when he felt something warm against his chest. He was forced to look up, and he saw before him a woman who would have been quite lovely if her hair hadn't been greased down, or her face covered with layer upon layer of makeup. His eyes widened slightly in surprise and alarm as he looked down and realised that is was her hand on his chest, and he blushed furiously.

"Aww, what's the matter baby?" the woman asked, her voice slightly high-pitched but smooth. "Got no money?" She smiled with bright red lips and moved closer to him, those lips inches from his, which caused him to blush an even brighter shade of crimson. He shook his head and attempted to move away, silently vowing to get back at Eiseth Zenumin for this, but she stayed close to him.

Her smile turned a bit devilish as she spoke. "Well baby, you're just so cute, I might just have to give you a freebie..."

"...A freebie...A...a free what...?" he stuttered, trying once again to move away.

The woman laughed. "A free screw, silly," she said as she leaned up to kiss him.

Uriel's eyes widened and he quickly took many steps backwards. "I-I'm afraid I can't do that, Miss, thank you."

The woman looked absolutely astounded. She placed on hand on her shapely hip. "What's the matter, I'm not good enough for you? You don't want any of this?" she asked frustratedly, gesturing to herself.

"Oh, certainly not!" Uriel exclaimed, holding up his hands as if to stop her, should she decide to advance once again. "That would be giving in to lust, I can't do that! Please excuse me," he ended and quickly turned, walking away. He tried to remove the flush of redness from his cheeks as he walked. Imagine, a lovely mortal girl like that having to sell her own body on the street! How could Earth have come to such a state? Terrible! Absolutely outrageous!

He sighed. He couldn't save the world alone. He couldn't change people's minds about how they lived. But perhaps...perhaps he could change her life. Go back, talk her out of a life on the street, find her a job, give her some money--but he had none of his own, and no way o acquire any. He couldn't sell himself on the street, how revolting! And he was an angel, besides! Unthinkable!

Another saddened sigh escaped the golden-eyes man's lips. He simply kept walking, asking the few people he met along the way about the flame-haired woman.

Michael, meanwhile, was having no more success then his fellow angel. He had gone the opposite direction apparently, and found himself in the more expensive area of the city, where he received many cold stares, be he couldn't understand why. He looked just like everyone else, didn't he? He had all his appendages, with none to spare growing from odd places, did he? He was not deformed, was he? On the contrary, his earthly body was near perfect in every sense of the word. So why the stares? It angered him somewhat that people should give him such looks, as though they were disgusted with him.

It was then that he noticed the nature of the area of the city around him. Everyone wore a dressy business suit, and carried some kind of briefcase. They walked with excellent posture, their heads held high. The buildings around him were clean and whitewashed, their entrances varying from large slabs of oak to graceful pieces of spotless glass that rotated on the spot with the encouragement of nothing more than a gentle touch.

Then he looked down at himself, at his baggy denim pants and oversized shirt. At the chain that hung in a loop down his leg, and at the dingy sneakers that could be seen from beneath the ragged cuffs of his pants. Hmm. Perhaps the simple fact that he was dressed differently than they were was reason enough for their stares. He paused, looking up at one of the large buildings that seemed to reach up and touch heaven itself with their graceful towers.

Michael was then approached by a man wearing a blue uniform. He was overweight and none too handsome, both features which were made startlingly apparent to Michael as he turned back to face the man.

"Excuse me sir, you're going to have to move along," the man grunted.

Michael blinked in confusion. "Why?"

"Sir, don't make any trouble, just keep moving," the uniformed man ordered, placing a hand on Michael's back to urge him along.

"I am not doing any harm by being here," Michael objected, holding his ground. "I'm looking for someone."

"I don't think you're going to find anyone you know here, sir. Go back to where you belong."

Michael looked astonished. "Where I belong?! Who is to say I don't belong here?!"

"Well...look at you."

Michael blinked, speechless. Is it possible that these mortals base so much on appearance? So much as to segregate their own cities from people dressed differently? How disgraceful! "Who are you, to command me from this place?!" he spat defensively.

"I'm a police officer," the man said slowly, as though speaking to a child, which only angered Michael further.

"Are you in a position of any power within this city?" the frustrated angel asked.

"Well...yes, a bit."

"Can you help me find someone?"

"A missing person?"

"Something like that."

"Then come with me, I'll help you file a case," the man said and began to waddle his way down the sidewalk.

"I thank you," said Michael as he walked behind the man. When they arrived, Michael found himself in the midst of dozens of the blue-uniformed individuals, some women mixed in with the men, who still claimed the majority. The man that escorted Michael led him to a counter, where another somewhat elderly and overweight man sat.

"This boy needs to file a missing persons," the officer explained to the man behind the counter, who nodded in return and gestured for Michael to come closer, pulling out a clipboard as the first officer left.

"Name of missing person?" the man behind the counter asked gruffly.

Michael blinked, pausing as he realised that he didn't know.

"I said, name of missing person?!" the man repeated in an irritated tone.

"I...I don't know," Michael replied quietly.

"Don't play games with the police department, you delinquent!" The man stood. "Get out of here!" he shouted as he pointed to the door.

Michael took a step back, stunned. Delinquent? As in juvenile delinquent? Did this man see him as a child?! He narrowed his eyes. "I am not a delinquent. I am older than you," he said quietly, his deep voice angry.

The man laughed. "YOU think you're older than me? Good one, kid. If you're not a juvenile then you're a regular criminal! Yo, Johnson!"

Yet another man in a blue uniform appeared, this one somewhat younger and more fit. Apparently this was Johnson. "Yes sir?" he asked.

"Take this wiseguy to cell 29D, let him cool off a little...let's say, overnight," the man behind the counter spoke up, his tone somewhat snide.

Michael found himself unable to move without enough force to become noticed, as the man called Johnson grabbed him by the arms and placed some kind of metal restraints on his wrists, behind his back. "Let go of me!" he cried angrily as he was escorted roughly down the hall. He could easily escape of course, but then he would be discovered, and he couldn't allow that. So he let the man drag him down the corridor and throw him violently into a small room, a cell, surrounded on three walls by strong metal bars, the fourth wall of solid stone. It was damp, and slightly cold, but not particularly uncomfortable. At least there was no one with which Michael would be forced to share the area.

The restraints were removed, the door shut behind him and locked with a clank. Michael sighed as the guard walked away, and he sat down on the ragged cot that sat in the corner. If he were to leave, it would have to be by force, and that would draw too much attention. He would just have to wait it out.

***************

Gabriel looked around him, taking in the view of the city from his "seat." He sat, or rather, he perched, on the very edge of the roof of one of the tallest buildings in the area. He was in an almost crouching position, resting against the balls of his feet, literally on the edge of the building. If someone had even touched him he would most likely fall, but as it was, his immense, invisible wings supported him and helped him keep his balance. He must have looked more like a statue than a man, so incredibly impossible was his position, so perfectly still was his body. The only part of him that moved was his hair, the thick black tresses floating gracefully back from his face with the gentle, cool breeze.

His pale blue eyes took in the scene around him, the tops of the white buildings slowly dirtying and turning to brick instead of marble the farther he looked, the streets becoming more filthy and desolate with the buildings, the very air seeming to become more polluted and heavy as the view progressed to the poor area of the city, the area Gabriel had heard to be called the "ghetto." He shook his head and stood, still on the verge of falling from the roof. Would it be so difficult to distribute the wealth in this city more evenly, more fairly? From what he had seen just walking to where he was now, it seemed the more obnoxious people, the ones most likely to upturn their nose at you, were the ones with the money, while kind, beautiful and hardworking people such as Atanya had to strive to stay fed and keep a filthy home in a dangerous neighborhood. It was simply unfair, and he suddenly, loudly, declared so to the entire city.

"It's unfair! The mortal world digs its own grave, you destroy the culture you worked so hard to create, destroy it with your own greed! You all curse yourselves!" he cried, and took a step back from the edge, then quickly took the step forward again, leaping from the roof. He used his large, still unseen wings to propel himself to the next rooftop, landing with a quiet thump as his shoes touched the whitewashed stone. What was there to do now? He didn't want to return yet, he wanted to at least spend a full day. And it wasn't even noon by mortal time. Gabriel continued his leaps from rooftop to rooftop, until he reached a somewhat dirty building. He looked across the street and saw a quaint, park. There were tall oak trees beautiful with wide, yellowing leaves, and the grass was thick and green. He could see white benches, couples walking along the sidewalk, children playing, dogs running to and fro. He smiled and leaped from the top of the building, landing behind a tree and turning to peek out at the people.

He particularly watched one couple, their arms entangled around each other's waists, the female's head leaning on the taller masculine shoulder. He watched in silence as the man turned to smile down at the woman, leaning close and pressing his lips lovingly to her temple. There was a difference between what he and Atanya had done, and what those two mortals did. There had to be. There was no emotion behind what he had done to that flame-haired woman, nor what she had done in response. At least he didn't believe so. He didn't feel anything for her, certainly, but her emotions were as of yet unknown. Perhaps he would ask her.

Gabriel felt a gentle tugging on the leg of his pants. He looked down to see a young girl, with slightly curly light brown hair, and wide, innocent green eyes. Her skin was fair, and she had a few freckles spattered across her dainty nose. He smiled to her. "Yes?"

She giggled adorably and smiled up at him. "Will you play with me?"

"...Play?"

She nodded happily, tugging on the material of his pants again. "Come on, it'll be fun!" she proclaimed, looking up at him hopefully.

Incredible. That a child so young, so vulnerable, would simply approach a stranger...she couldn't have been over six Earth years old, and yet...she trusted him. She somehow knew that he wasn't going to hurt her. He smiled. "Of course. What would you like to play?"

She pointed to a tall jumble of metal and plastic, planted a few yards away from them in a large rectangle of white sand. "Jungle gym, come on, come play!" She took hold of his hand and ran towards the apparatus, whose use was as of yet unknown to Gabriel. He barely had to quicken his pace to keep up with the girl. When they reached the edge she released Gabriel and rushed behind him, pushing on the back of his knees and causing him to stumble into the sand, landing with a quiet thump. "What's your name?" she asked as she climbed up a metal ladder that had been colored bright red. Apparently she was fairly agile for her age.

"Gabriel," he said quietly in his deep, raspy voice.

"Do you have a sore throat, Gabriel?" She handed her way across a horizontal ladder while he watched in silence.

He blinked. "No...why do you ask?"

"Your voice sounds funny."

"...It does?" He had never even thought about it before, having sounded this way since the beginning of...well, everything. "This is the way I always sound."

"Oh." She dropped down from the ladder and sat down in the sand, urging him to scoot closer to her, which he did.

He watched as the girl smoothed a place in the sand, and with one finger carefully wrote the letters C-A-R-A, a bit messily. "...What is that?" he asked, unable to read the language of the humans.

"That's my name! Cara!" She smiled happily. "Can you write your name?" she asked, smoothing a place in the sand for him.

"Of course." He carefully wrote his name in the sand, but instead of normal characters, it was a single symbol, different from any other known on Earth.

The girl blinked her wide green eyes. "What in the world's that? That's not how you write Gabriel!"

"It isn't?"

"No! Like this!" She spelled the letters G-A-B-R-I-E-L in the sand. "See?"

"...That's not how I was taught to write. I've never written like that."

"Write my name, like you write yours? Please?" She cleared another place in the sand.

"Alright." He wrote her name in the strange script in which he had written his own.

"That's really cool!" Cara exclaimed happily, clapping her small hands. "How did you think that up?"

Gabriel blinked. "...I didn't. I told you, that's how I learned to write. I don't know any other way."

"Are there different symbols?"

"There are several other variations in dialect and the way particular letters of symbols are written and sometimes pronounced, but basically the language is the same." Gabriel found himself met only with a blank stare. That's right, she's only a child. Remember that she's only a child. Not just in appearance, as in the case of the Metatron, but in intellect as well. Gabriel supposed he had become too accustomed to the sight of the blonde-haired child with ages worth of intelligence. This girl would not, could not comprehend many of the thoughts that currently ran through Gabriel's mind.

"I'm gonna go play now," Cara suddenly said, interrupting his chain of thought. "You're fun, Gabriel, but a little weird." She stood and waved, shouting "Bye!" cheerfully before running off, leaving Gabriel sitting alone in the sand.