Blue Angel
Trailer 3: Green
"What is this city coming to?" a voice calls from the distance.
Something enters her nostrils, it is foul smelling, not anything like she has smelled in Elzya. Could she be in Niolem? She certainly hasn't smelled such things on the surface of Walk'kon, the moon above Niolem.
"Ugh! She looks like some trollop!" another voice, more indignant than the first, blusters. "Lying in the garbage like that!"
She is resting against something, warm and squishy. She feels liquid running down her leg and the bang of her deep brown hair.
"Do you think she's dead? She hasn't moved." The first voice whispers.
She begins analyzing her situation.
What is this place and what am I doing here?
"Probably just drunk, you know how their kind are." The second voice huffs. "Oh, what a way to ruin my evening jaunt! And the sunset was looking so beautiful too!"
Those voices are not the voices of angels. I know this. They must be human voices; therefore, I must be on Niolem. But what am I doing here? Why do I feel weak?
A new thought causes her some discomfort.
Who am I?
She quickly scours her memories for any hint. Facts, concepts, and ideas spring to her mind easily. She deduces from the data in her memories that she must be what her mind refers to as an angel, else she would not have any memories of walking upon the floating cities of Elzya. However, when she attempts to recall events from her own past, there is only a faint throbbing of pain in her temples.
"Oughtn't we call th'orities?" a thick husky voice slurs.
My mind…what is wrong? Records of my experiences should be recorded in my memory. I am capable of cognitive thought. I understand language. I recall facts. Senses appear to be functioning nominally, though I appear to be experiencing some extraneous sensations. I feel as if I am fatigued and my eyelids feel unnaturally heavy. Clearly, some error has arisen. I wonder if these physical sensations I am experiencing are also connected with the error in my memories.
"I dare say I will be launching a complaint of this." The second voice mutters. "It's one thing for this to happen in the underwood, quite another thing to see such foulness in the ringed district."
I will be unable to decide on a proper course of action without sufficient data. My first objective, therefore, will be to gain more information. These humans will likely be useful.
She opens her bright green eyes.
Her eyes water a little as she adjusts to the dim light of a sap lantern burning with green fire just above her head, the faint aroma of the burning sticky substance it uses as fuel permeating the air. Overpowering this scent, however, is the odor of the rotting fruits and vegetables of the compost heap she is lying in. By the looks of the stone houses and cobbled streets, she guesses that she must indeed be in a human city, more specifically, a wealthier district of the city. She recalls how truly astonished she is that even the wealthiest of humans can permit themselves to live in such filth when the orichalcum and adamantine streets of Elzya, by contrast, do not allow even a speck of dust to settle on their surface.
To her right, she can hear the astonished gasps of the three humans who have been observing her as she quickly gets to her feet and approaches them, observing them with a curious look on her face. Two of them look like what the wealthy humans call gentlemen and the poorer classes call dandies. They are wearing the finery of blue robes and feathered four-cornered hats, and their faces are adorned with powder and skin-colored make-up. Escorting the men with a large wooden rune-engraved truncheon in his hands is what the humans call a masher, a type of bodyguard in the employ of the wealthy to make sure hecklers and cutpurses do not molest them. The masher is a large burly man with a swollen lower lip, half his teeth missing, and multiple scars and cuts over his reddish face and skin. Unlike his masters, his clothing is less pompous and more practical, with a tough leather shirt, pants, and apron, steel gauntlets, and a metallic metal helmet embossed with the skull-smashing truncheon symbol of the mashers' guild.
"Heavens!" one of the wealthy men, the one with the second voice blusters as she approaches them.
"What do you want, girl?" the other wealthy man, a gentleman with a thinner face and a deeper shade of pink make-up protests, getting behind the masher as the burly man smacks his truncheon against the palm of his left gauntlet, runes glowing before releasing sparks of red fire against the metal.
She analyzes the men quickly. Clearly, her ragged trash-covered appearance and lack of clothing besides the thin garment covering her have caused the men to judge her as some kind of street tramp. They would never speak to her as an equal, and while she is certain that she is an angel, and should therefore have angelic powers, it would be imprudent to harm any of the humans unnecessarily. She could try groveling as a commoner might, appealing to their pride, but the masher was looking a little too eager for a fight.
Bowing her head to the gentlemen in a show of peace and politeness, she turns her back to them and calmly walks away, bare feet avoiding the shattered glass of bottles. Behind her, she hears the Masher grunt before putting his truncheon away, the gentlemen he is protecting muttering to themselves before all three of them leave.
Trying to keep a low profile, she stays in the shadows of alleyways, hoping to avoid the attention of more mashers. Several glances at the writing on shop windows and stores tells her that she must be in the large human city of Timberholm, famous for being built upon the top of the ancient world tree, which the Angelic legions had cut down when it had become infected with corruption. In her mind, she can recall images of winged angels striking at the monstrous trunk of the tree.
A sudden realization causes her to stop.
Reaching behind her, she feels her back, fingers probing her bony shoulder blades but finding nothing else.
My anatomy has changed! How is this possible? If I am indeed an Angel, then I ought to have a pair of wings precisely here. But I don't feel anything! The skin appears to be smooth and undamaged, no sign of any injury that would have removed my wings. Evidence, on the contrary, suggest that I never had any wings…but then…if that's true…
She freezes, trying to process this new information.
Two possibilities come to mind. Either I was never an Angel to begin with and am therefore insane, or my body has physically changed. Damage within my mind seems to support the first hypothesis of mental defects, yet as I continue to reason with myself, it seems unlikely.
She shivers with cold, the sticky juice of old rotten fruits and vegetables on her clothing and skin making her smelly and uncomfortable. On her left ear, she feels a faint itch.
Continued erroneous sensations unfamiliar to my angelic memories appear to support the second hypothesis. However, the cause of this sudden physical alteration is…uncertain.
A sinking feeling overcomes her, making it hard for her to continue rational thought. She is suddenly aware of immense feelings of fear as she considers the ramifications of her situation.
I am clearly defective. Can I trust any of my thoughts at all? Nothing is making sense. I must find a way to fix myself, but how can I fix myself if I don't even know what's wrong!? I need help. I need to be repaired. I must find help. I need to find…
She looks around, but there is nobody to help her. She is in a human city. None of them would have the power to care for an angel, assuming she even is an angel, and not another demented human who only thinks she is an angel.
Her body begins trembling again, only this time, not just from her growing cold. One word keeps repeating in her mind.
Defective. Defective. Defective.
It can't be true. The angels are beings of perfection. They cannot truly fail.
But am I an angel?
She continues walking through the streets of Timberholm, staying hidden in the shadows like the wandering wraiths of Walk'kon, spirits of the dead who fulfilled no purpose in life and so continue wandering directionless in death.
She has become one of them. Directionless. Purposeless. All angels like herself were created to fulfill a specific purpose, but without her memories of her past life, she cannot know what that purpose was. And even if she knew what her purpose was, how could she fulfill it when she is as defective as she is?
My existence is pointless.
"It's pointless, ma'am." A young adult male voice remarks a few stone-throws from her. "This dandy's killer's prob'ly gone 'n fled to the underwood b'now."
Turning her head around, she spies a pair of individuals, a young man and a middle-aged woman. The man is a scrawny boy with sandy-brown hair, a pock-marked face, and a pronounced Adam's apple. He is chewing a pulp of blue roots, blissroot the humans call it, a mild natural drug used to nullify pain. Judging by his pale face, blood-shot eyes, and slight cough, it looks like he has contracted a human plague. The woman next to him is taller and broader, muscular jaw clenched in thought as she examines the body of a dead gentleman lying in the gutter next to where a horse and carriage are parked. Judging by their green uniforms and tri-corn caps, they must be mossers, Timberholm's law enforcement agents.
"His head looks like it was bashed in with a truncheon." The female mosser muses. "And there are burn marks surrounding the place where the skull was bashed in."
"Mos' likely on'a those mashers." The man grunts in a very thick accent, spitting out a wad of blue phlegm and blissroot before opening a pouch fastened to his belt and depositing another pinch of the pain killer into his mouth. "I nev'a trust'd the like o' them. Dodgy people. Enjoy bashing stuff with their glor'fied truncheons a'most as much a' breathin. My guess is, dis dandy 'ere had 'ired one a dem to 'scort him to 'is mansion. There was prob'ly a squablin' over the price, an' the masher, thinkin' 'es been cheated a few leaves, decides to make off with the rest o' the man's pocketbook. And so, once the man gets ready ta board the carriage, 'e swings his truncheon into the man, kills 'im with one blow, an' makes off with the cash. Ya can even see 'es been robbed."
From within the shadows, she analyzes the dead body, making note of the position of the wound on his head, the marks on the man's clothing and skin, and the position the body is laying in on the street. There is something wrong about the mosser's analysis.
"I'm afraid it might be the most likely explanation." The woman sighs. "What a fix we're in if you can't even trust your own bodyguard anymore. Do we have any records on Councilman Tambrik's mashers?"
"It'll only be a moment 'fore we do." The male mosser shrugs. "Not that it'll make much'a difference if we do. Masher's prob'ly long gone by now. If I were 'im, I'da found a nice secluded hole in the underdistrict by now. We migh' send an agent or two down 'ere, though. See'f we can flush 'im out."
"You are making a mistake." She involuntarily exclaims, earning the attention of the two mossers.
"Oo is this now?" the man growls, chewing his blissroot more vigorously while regarding the dirty girl with a disgruntled expression.
"Go back to your home now, girl." The woman growls. "This is official mosser business. You know the law. Don't force me to fine you for interfering with our work."
"The gentleman was not killed by a masher." She hastily replies, desperate to help the humans understand.
The man arches his eyebrows.
"An' how'd you know that?" he asks, stepping towards her. "Ya' seen wha' happened?"
"Explain yourself." The woman agrees.
Stepping forward, she ignores the glares of disapproval from the man before pointing at the crater in the man's head.
"Your hypothesis suggested that the gentleman was taken unaware by his bodyguard. But this could not have been the case." She explains. "Judging by the position of the wound, this blow was taken from the front, meaning that he would have been aware of the attack had he been conscious."
"Well that don't mean much." The man grumbles. "The Masher who did 'im in still's guilty as 'ell, whether he bashed him in by surprise or went at 'im from the front. Wha's your point, girl? Ya'd be'er not be wastin' our time."
"From the position the body is in, and the lack of any other wounds," she continues, "it is clear that there was no struggle from the man, which seems unlikely given that he would have seen a frontal assault coming. One would expect there to be signs of struggle, even something as slight as the blow hitting the side of his head, but this blow appears to have hit him while he was lying down, suggesting that he was struck when he was already dead."
The female officer strokes her chin, looking thoughtful.
"He could'a been knocked to the ground first 'fore the masher smacked 'im on the head to finish 'im off." The man muses.
"The lack of evidence for a struggle leading up to such a killing blow seems to suggest otherwise. It also does not explain the odd position of the man's limbs, or the slight red spots on the man's eyes" She replies, pointing to some faint but unnatural red spots.
Both Mossers take a closer look.
"Judging by the evidence, particularly the petechia on the eyes," she continues, "I would guess that the cause of this man's death was not the blow to his head, but asphyxiation."
"Asphyxiation?" The female officer asks. "How would he have asphyxiated? Are you suggesting the masher choked him to death?"
"There aint no mark on 'is neck." The male mosser comments, pointing at the gentleman's neck. "We'd 'ave known if he was choked out. And besides, like I said before, none of this changes the fact that it was the masher what did it to 'im."
"Had someone physically choked him, there would be signs of struggle." She agrees. "Signs of struggle would have also been evident had the man even choked on a piece of food, as he would have attempted to cough out the food, or have his masher save him. Thus, based on the lack of any struggle, the odd placement of the man's limbs, and the signs of asphyxiation, my current hypothesis is that the man was poisoned, most likely with a type of paralyzing agent. The lack of any external wounds suggests that such a poison must have been administered to the gentleman through oral or respiratory intake."
"But how can you tell it was poison?" the woman asks, tone suggesting that she was slightly impressed by the young girl's deductions.
"Excuse me." She apologizes, hastily removing a knife from the female officer's side and making an incision in the man's carotid artery.
"Oi!" the male mosser roars, whipping out his own knife, but stopping when the female officer grabs his hand.
"No blood is coming out." The female mosser says, pointing at the man's artery.
"So?" the male officer asks.
"So, wouldn't you think that blood would come gushing out if just about any artery were slashed open?" she officer growls.
"Coagulation?" the male mosser asks, suddenly looking intrigued.
The female officer takes the knife from the girl and makes a few more incisions in the man's major arteries.
"Coagulation." She agrees. "All of his blood. And in so short a time."
"By the gods…" the man gasps, blue drool dribbling down his chin as he stares at the man.
"Although I am not 100% certain, I believe that certain poisons in Niolem are capable of causing such instant blood clots." She continues, addressing both mossers. "Based on all the evidence present, I am guessing that the man collapsed here from the effects of the poison, most likely causing whatever masher who was accompanying him to flee. Whoever poisoned this man must have then also arranged to have the man's skull crushed by a masher truncheon after the death in order to deflect suspicion from him or herself while casting suspicion on the man's bodyguard. Had the scheme worked, the investigating officers would have immediately set about to find and convict the man's masher, delaying any possible further investigations of the man's body until it could have looked like the blood had naturally coagulated, if any further autopsy was even conducted."
"By the gods," the man gasps again, "she migh' be right! Didn' a gang lea'er in the underdistrict turn up dead one day? I think the autopsy report said 'is blood was all dried up too!"
"Poisoned." The female mosser muses. "There were traces of venom in his blood, but they couldn't figure out how the poison had been administered to him. They say the poison paralyzed him."
"This murder was carefully staged to look like the gentelman's masher had killed him." The girl concludes, addressing the two humans standing over her. "The next reasonable course of action, based on this new information, would be to immediately analyze any poisons found in the man's blood in order to determine the poison's likely origin and distributors."
The two mossers look at each other before looking down at the girl.
"Who are you?" the woman asks. "Where are your parents?"
The girl's throat tightens uncomfortably. Understanding, the woman nods before turning towards her partner.
"Do you know of any places in town that would take her in?" she asks.
The man takes a thoughtful pinch of blissroot and begins chewing.
"Dunno, ma'am." He shrugs. "Not likely any orphanage 'ould wan' her. By the look o' her, she migh' 'ave the plague. Could be a church willin' to take 'er in, but they'd expect her to become an altar girl, or shrine cleaner. Still, could be better than livin' in the street."
The woman shakes her head before turning towards the girl.
"Do you have a name, girl?" she asks.
She shakes her head, considering what the humans are planning. She ought to feel indifferent about where she ends up, having no purpose to guide her anyway, but their talk of shipping her off to some unknown place fills her with unease.
"I see." The woman replies before scratching the side of her head thoughtfully. "Well then, girl, you've certainly proven yourself helpful to us, and I can't bear the thought of you wandering these streets. My sister owns a tavern not too far from here. Would you like to spend the night with me and my sister there?"
She looks up into the woman's eyes, considering her offer.
It shouldn't matter what happens to me. If I have no purpose, there is no point in me living.
The woman's eyes are warm and inviting, and she is so cold. The thought of a warm fire is so tantalizing.
She said I had at least been helpful to them. Perhaps I can continue to do some good if I go with her.
Nodding, she takes the woman's hand.
"My name is Officer Umbara." Says Officer Umbara, shaking the girl's hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you. What's your name?"
She looks down at the ground, and Officer Umbara nods her head again.
"I see." She sighs. "Well, I don't think its my place to name you, but I'm glad to have met you."
She feels a pleasant sensation in her chest as she grasps the woman's hand, as if her insides are being warmed.
"Thank you." She replies with a bow. "I look forward to performing further services."
A/N: Not gonna lie, this particular angel might be this author's personal favorite. But then again, we are just getting introduced to the team, and not even the full team at that. Two more angels have yet to be introduced for this mini trailer marathon. Once the last two are introduced, we can start getting to the good stuff. Until then, I continue to look forward to more of your positive reviews!
Reader 1: WORK ON SIGNS OF RENEWAL!
Reader 2: NO! WORK ON YGO VRAINS ABRIDGED!
All your positive reviews! Speaking of reviews, time to respond to the reviews from yesterday! (I can still call them "reviews" since 2 is still technically plural.)
Epsilon Tarantula chapter 2 . 22h ago
Trailer: Yellow. More trailers to come...
THIS IS RWBY. THIS IS RWBY. THIS IS RWBY. If only Blue Angel's team only have four members, then I could give it a name.
Also I'm reminded of Tohru from Kobayashi's Dragon Maid since we have...I think this is Sunny Angel? That being said, if a shapeshifting dragon has a better grasp of humanity than angels do...I think I'm going to be rooting for whatever dragons pop up here.
Also, I find myself wondering just how long it will take until the Archangel is revealed to be evil. Because this kind of story ALWAYS has Heaven be evil in one shape or form.
THIS IS NOT RWBY! This is BYGRP! Or…BSVSR? (Blue, Sunny/Yellow, Green/Vernal, Red/Scarlett, Rose/Pink…gonna have to play with those letters some more, but anyway, THIS IS TOTALLY NOT RWBY!
You do NOT want to be rooting for whatever dragons show up, assuming they can even be called dragons.
Also, why are you slandering Archangel!? Did I not go out of my way to demonstrate how implicitly perfect she is in every way imaginable!?
Thanks for the review, even if you're reviews are too intelligent for your own good!
ThePLOThand chapter 2 . Feb 15
I want to hear that song parody now ;) And while you still havent contradicted the few bits of info Spectre gave us, would that scene where Blue Angel discovered her uhm between her legs really be in a childrens book? But maybe it actually would since most anime would have a higher age rating without the censorship. Its Japan after all.
And Harvest December I dare say has the greatest BGM of all Visual Novels out there, maybe it is not the best written wacky romance out there, but I dont regret downloading it from the E-shop because I found the trailers BGM amazing
Anyway heres the chapter BGM: (this time all found somewhere on youtube, I copypasted the video titles):
For the beginning flashback:Thrill Theme ~ Suspense - Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney Music Extended. Maybe the 2001 pursuit would have sufficed, because this sounds more unsettling, but the appollo justice one is my favorite
When Blue Angel wakes up:1 Hour of Forest Music. Its the first track on that list and the video is the first one popping up when you Search it on YouTube
When she discovers her human parts:[Music] Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc New World Order Extended. Some might think that this reveal is not shocking enough for this theme to be played, but I think being a Little overdramatic perfectly fits Blue Angels reaction
When she thinks about her home: Hikaru no Go OST 2 - 28 - Itsumo Soba Ni Iru. This is from an anime that instead of adults playing a childrens card game revolves around Children playing an adults board game. And even though the fate of the World Never hinges on a game of GO it still is pretty interesting.
For the final Flashback: Investigation ~ The Core 2001 - Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney Music Extended
PS: Wild fanfic recs appear!
s/12687086/1/Yu-Gi-Oh-Cross-VRAINS
s/11026157/1/Yu-Gi-Oh-Reality-s-Curtain
s/11227624/1/Yu-Gi-Oh-Mark-of-Death
While I do like all of these stories, Im more interested in what kind of humorous reviews you ll give, and Can you blame me? have you seen your review on chapter 23 on Moonlight sorrows? Of Of course you have, unless a bot randomly wrote something sensical and hilarious, In which case you might not have seen it.
And as i write this little kuriboh has posted a new episode of Yugioh abridged
Aoi: Blue Angel was never a children's book. Apparently, Akira thought that the rating of "Hentai" meant, "a story full of cute chickens and chicks."
Akira: *flipping through the pages* I'm not seeing any chickens anywhere in this book…
Aoi: *Looking at the book with huge eyes* Six-year-old Aoi is learning more from this story then she ever learned from anyone else. Aoi must build a virtual persona based on these characters.
To be honest though, as I said in the disclaimer, I know this series would probably be more suited for a teen audience, whatever the standards in Japan might be. (Though considering that shows like "Made in Abyss," which featured the exact same body discovery joke as this chapter, are considered kid shows, it might very well have been considered age appropriate for Aoi…which isn't saying much considering Akira was her "caretaker.")
Also, remember that this chapter didn't feature Blue Angel, but, as Epsilon rightly pointed out, Sunny Angel.
And now, if you'll excuse me…*speaks to review-writing bots* come up with some hilarious reviews for these stories.
Bots: Command confirmed, master!
Thank you all once again for your reviews!