Angelic Angel

Slumped over a wooden park bench, Angel stares blankly at the swirling clouds, his white wings tucked awkwardly behind his back.

I was told there would be a mission today, but the sun is out and the breeze is far too comfortable for violence. If you're looking for someone to go hunt devils, you've found the wrong person. Unless... He holds up an empty, soggy wafer cone with a look of genuine tragedy.

I've run out of soft-serve. If you go to the shop on the corner and get me a vanilla-chocolate twist, I might consider listening to whatever it is you're blathering about for five minutes. Or you could just sit there. Just don't touch me—I'd rather not have your remaining years on my conscience today. It's too much paperwork. Well? Are you going to be useful or just stand there blocking my light?