That's pretty much what Michael's been telling himself since he left Linda's, repeating it over to himself like a mantra. Fuck all of them. If Michael had even half his Father's power there'd be worse than a thunderstorm ripping through L.A. right now and he'd be glad of it because at least it would mean they'd pay attention to him for once. He'd raze the whole fucking city to the ground and call it a mercy because he'd be able to do so much worse. So much for the city of fucking angels.
That's what he's contemplating as he lands, not in Heaven as God had commanded, but in Molly's apartment. Or, more specifically, Molly's bathroom because it's the smallest, darkest room (by Molly's standards) in the building and Michael feels vaguely sick at the idea of arriving in the living room and finding other people there, having to make small talk. He'll say or do something he'll regret if he has to face anyone, pretending to smile and make nice.
Bad enough that he's just come here to say his goodbyes.
He arrives with a clamor, a racket of broken glass and scattered bottles as wings that are too large for the space accidentally sweep everything off the counter onto the floor. The toothbrushes, the soap, the incense holder, that stupid crystal dish with the tiger's eye and why the fuck does Molly need to have so many things in the first place!? This is his own fault!
Michael kicks the mess aside with a rough sweep of his foot, bracing his hands against the counter, head over the sink like he might actually through up, wings crammed behind him.
At the very least, for Michael's sake, the rest of Molly's friends, the ones who'd be around in his apartment anyways weren't around. Jester visiting her mom, Beau and Yasha busy somewhere out of state, the others going with Caleb on one of his antique book hunts. So the only one there was Molly. And he certainly heard that racket, gaze skipping towards the bathroom.
There was no window in there, so there was no way it could be a burglar. It wouldn't be the first time Michael had just noisily appeared like that though, which just had him pausing his show, pushing up from the sofa as he approached the bathroom door. The angel had been gone most of the day, for what Molly wasn't sure, but such an abrupt return didn't bode well.
"Michael? You alright in there?" He called lightly, unable to help but be a little concerned.
He's tempted to break the lock. He could twist the handle until it snaps off or warps enough that Molly couldn't open it without ripping the door out altogether. It'd be so easy.
"Can I get a minute in here, please?" Michael snaps, gripping the counter harder, lifting his head to glare at his own reflection in the mirror. He looks even more like Lucifer, staring at himself with that same twisted expression, the same hatred. The give away is the mass of black behind him and Michael ducks his head against, shrugging his wings away as he reaches for the tap.
He lets the water run, splashing it onto his face, the back of his neck. Maybe Molly'll think there's actually something physically wrong with him, that he's puking his guts out or something, take the hint and leave. Just so he can get himself together enough to grab his stuff before he goes.
"...Yeah, that's alright." Molly was admittedly a bit startled at the snap, but at the same time it wasn't entirely a new thing. Michael wasn't especially discriminate when he was in a foul mood. And not knowing what was causing it this time, all the tiefling could do was not smother him. The angel would likely hear him padding away from the door, directing his worry into dumping some grounds in to get coffee going, from the bag that he knew Michael liked.
It was questionable if it would help, but it was something Molly could do without hovering in that way that would just set the angel off more typically in these sorts of moods.
Shit, shit, shit. It's jarring, just the sound of Molly's voice through the door, so patient and understanding and nicer than Michael knows he deserves that reminds him that Molly isn't like his messed up excuse for a family. Any one of them would have barged in here and dragged him out by his scruff, Amenadiel probably leading the charge to berate it for overreacting, when are you gonna grow up, you need to put all this behind you. Michael sighs into the room as he listens to Molly puttering around in the kitchen, closing his eyes.
Just get it over with.
He reaches for the hand towel hanging off the heated rail and presses it to his face, desperately trying to compose himself. He shoots the mess on the floor a regretful look but there's nothing he can do about it now. He probably doesn't have enough time to make everything right again. The sound of the water shutting off is Molly's only warning before Michael emerges into the kitchen a minute later, greeted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee.
It's his favorite and, if he wasn't such an asshole, he might've actually smiled. But he doesn't.
"Don't bother," is all he says instead, voice pitched low. "I'm not staying."
Given his first instinct was to barge in, it was probably better that Molly listened to the sometimes slow-to-arrive common sense he had. Not that he'd have dragged Michael out or started a lecture, but sometimes when a person was sick, or just in a mood it helped to have company. But then with Michael sometimes that wasn't what was needed. The tiefling had noticed that in him, that want to set boundaries and have them respected.
So instead he focused on something that usually would get a smile from the angel. A bit confused when it didn't especially at the comment.
"More errands to run?" He asked with a smile of his own, though a bit confused. Michael didn't tend to be the sort to flit in and out when it came to getting things done- he'd go and single-mindedly complete whatever tasks he needed before he finally let himself come back to the apartment to rest. "I can put it in a travel mug for you."
Already reaching for the shelves where the mugs and travel mugs were kept, finding one of the ones that he knew Yasha used- less likely to spill if Michael was flying.
Ugh, that's so disgustingly thoughtful of him that it gives Michael pause. Why should he have to go when Lucifer's been here for years, deliberately shirking his responsibilities in Hell and doing whatever the fuck he wanted? It isn't fair.
"No." Michael approaches the counter slowly, eyes anywhere but on Molly. "No, I think I'm pretty much done here. For now, at least." It'll probably take a couple centuries for this whole thing to blow over but, hey, the only luxury Michael's ever had is time so he'll take what he can get.
"Dad's back in town," he says by way of an explanation, punctuated with his driest, most humorless grin directed at point somewhere around Molly's feet. "It's been a hot minute since he was last here and you know God and his mysterious ways so I'm -" He mimes slicing a finger across his throat for emphasis. "Thought I should probably stop by first though."
That comment, that Michael was done here, gave the tiefling pause, something unpleasant tweaking him at the tone of it. Slowly lowering his hands to the counter instead, listening to what Michael was saying. He knew academically that the angel's Father was well... God but the idea of him just being somewhere around was still a bit surprising.
It didn't however stop Molly's flush of outrage on Michael's behalf. "Wait so he's fucking grounding you? How the hell is that fair?" He hadn't gotten the whole story, just bits here and there when Michael complained about some new slight, knew he was getting it through the lens of Michael's own bias, but even boiling down to facts, it seemed wildly unjust to him that Lucifer could just wander around as he liked and yet Michael was the one punished.
"Yeah, well, when you figure it out maybe you could do me a solid and pray to me? 'Cause I sure as fuck would like to know the answer." It's probably blasphemous for him to say it but there's no lightning storm or toads raining from the sky so he figures he might be able to get away with it just this once.
And as easy as it'd be to sit here and rage, to have Molly bend him the sympathetic ear that Michael so badly craves, he knows he shouldn't linger. It'll just make it harder in the long run. "Listen, I'm not making a thing of it, I just wanted to drop by and give you the good news. You get to have your couch back! Hallelujah, am I right?"
"If I make a breakthrough you'll be first to know." He may or may not be considering tracking down God to make a case for why this shit was absolutely entirely unfair and unjust.
"I'd rather keep the friend that's using the couch, if we're being entirely honest." Molly points out, tail lashing behind him as he stubbornly pulls down one of the travel mugs to fill anyways. "And it sounds like this isn't likely to be a short stint, is it?"
Also if Michael expected anything other than Molly coming around the counter to push the mug into his hand and then throw his arms around him to hug? Well clearly he didn't know his dorky tiefling buddy well.
"If you get out early you'd better come visit." Grumbled against his coat, tail still lashing like an upset cat's might. "I'll be so pissed if you don't."
"I've got my orders and do you wanna know the funny part? Here's the kicker, they're actually super clear for once." The one time he could've really used a loophole. Couldn't his Dad have said he wasn't welcome in California or something? He could've called Molly from Denver and had that trip they talked about until things blew over.
"There's no ambiguity in the whole 'you're no longer welcome on Earth' thing," he remarks bitterly at the counter, running his thumb absently across the grain. He doesn't see Molly coming until it's too late, makes a puzzled noise as the hot coffee's shoved into his hand and Molly's hanging off his neck. "Oh, hey, don't -" Well. This is happening, apparently and, conveniently, Molly's made sure Michael doesn't have both hands free so he can't push him away.
He doesn't have much of a choice but to sigh into Molly's shoulder, actually managing to stand ramrod straight for once, stiff as a board. "Want me darkening you doorstep again, Molly? Careful what you wish for."
"The one time you could've really gone for a nice, classy loophole." Molly lamented, with a sad-sounding chuckle.
There's no escaping the hug, Michael. And Molly's gonna make damn sure it's a good one, seeing how he might not be able to give the angel another one for a while from the sound of things.
"Why would I be careful? That's not how I do things, and besides that I'd love to see your grumpy mug turn up on my doorstep again." Molly smiled, bumping Michael lightly with a horn, in a purely tiefling gesture of affection, jewelry jingling with the motion. "Once you figure out how to squirm free of this little grounding, you've gotta come back, and we'll think of something fun to do to celebrate."
"I might have a couple of ideas." Which isn't at all reassuring given how things usually turn out for him. He's... hopeful, at least, that he might get to come back and crash with Molly again sometime soon and not after his Dad's finished his snit in a couple hundred thousand years. "But I've gotta wait to see how things pan out down here first."
"Anyway, by my count, you still owe me a hot chocolate so I'll probably be back sooner rather than later. Just -" He's going to squirm free here, hooking a finger around the end of that horn and giving it the gentlest of tugs to peel Molly away from him. "I know I said I was gonna help you piece together what happened to you." In fact Michael's made an awful lot of promises since he's been here, the majority of which he had absolutely not intention of delivering on but for Molly? He's prepared to make an exception.
"I'm not Lucifer, I don't give a shit about upholding my end of a bargain but I'm gonna give you one last shot at this." He takes a step back. "Last chance. Want me to mojo you or not?"
"There's only so much I can tell you about flying." They're standing on the perimeter of Molly's roof, the scuffed toes of Michael's second-hand loafers dangling treacherously over the edge. "A lot of it's instinct and you're not gonna be able to figure it out until you just get out there and do it so -" He twists on his heel, gravel skittering off the edge and down to the street as he turns to offer Molly a hand up. "Come on, get up here."
It's a good evening for it. Balmy, even for L.A. and almost completely still except for the faint breeze ruffling Michael's hair. and it's dark enough in this part of town that, once they get some altitude, it's unlikely anyone'll spot them.
Molly was feeling miles better. It had been a few days since he'd... gained these wings, and had grown mostly accustomed to working them- even managed with some great effort to sort out how to 'put them away' with Michal's somewhat patient assistance. And under the blood they at least looked like wings should, a smoky gray outside and snowy white inside, entirely like a mollymawk's wings. They were currently out, twitching against his back as he reached to accept the hand up.
"So what you're saying is 'just jump and figure it out, you yuntz' then?" The tiefling whistled faintly as he stood beside the angel, peering down at the quiet street below.
"... Basically, yeah." Doesn't it sound like good advice? Magnanimous, yes, but it's also more or less what God told him when He decided, in His infinite wisdom, to bestow wings upon His children. Michael figures he can't go far wrong.
Michael leans out to look down to the empty sidewalk a few stories below them, clapping Molly on the shoulder with false enthusiasm. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"Eh, what's a little death by falling between friends?" It made sense, honestly. And from what he understood it was how Yasha had learned to fly- he remembered the looks on some of the other's faces at the story she'd told of being taken as a child and flung off a cliff. And The aasimar's absolute bewilderment when informed that her family might be sort of fucked up.
So Michael might be a bit surprised that, after a grin and a wink his way, Molly was more than willing to leap from the roof, letting out a exhilarated little yelp as his wings snapped open in reflex. Not perfectly- it turned into a more awkward midair floundering than anything, but while he did go down, it was less 'freefall to death' and more 'clumsy drift' ending with the tiefling landing on his ass on the sidewalk when he didn't get hooves under himself in time, earning a breathless little laugh from him.
"Exactly, but you might wanna -- hey!" Uh, but Molly's already stepping out into nothing before Michael can even finish the thought and he's left gaping as Molly sort of -- glides? Michael wouldn't call it flying, anyway, as Molly's wings catch at the air, bowing into a graceful arc that gentle deposits him onto the pavement below.
Michael blows out a breath and, with only the briefest shrug of his shoulders, appears in front of Molly with a whumph of displaced air, his mangled wings barely even making an appearance as he shrugs them away. "Good job on the not dying, Mol. I'd give it a six out of ten."
Molly was still sitting when Michael all but appeared before him, beaming up at the angel even as he pushed to his feet, dusting the dirt off his pants as he did.
"I'll take it!" He chuckled, tail flicking behind him, riding on the flush of adrenaline still. "Think I might need a higher jump if I want to sort out getting my wings under me for more than just floundering my way out of a faceplant though."
It made sense to him anyways- the longer he had to 'work' his wings the more time he had to sort out what instinct was trying to do. Like relearning things when he'd first started being him, but with wings.
It's also more of a risk if he get things wrong but Michael can't help but agree. A few stories off the ground just isn't going to cut it.
"Think we can arrange that," Michael says with only a small amount of reluctance, shrugging his shoulders to unfurl his long, dark wings. "You're gonna need to hold on for this part." Does he go in for the fireman's carry? Or should he lift Molly bridal style? Michael's uncomfortable with either but, really, their only option is for Michael to fly Molly as high as they dare so that he can - with all the love in the world - drop him like a hot potato.
Molly isn't thinking of the risk. He rarely does, truth be told, but at the same time... Michael is right there. The tiefling trusts his grumpy friend to catch him, should it prove necessary.
Bridal style would likely be easier to drop while flying, to be fair. It hasn't quite occurred to Molly that being the actual plan- he just figures Michael doesn't feel like waiting for him to hoof it to the nearest tallest building and get up there himself. So he just nods, moving in to do as Michael had asked, reaching up to wind arms around his neck so the angel could hoist him, keeping his own wings tucked in as well as he could.
"Here goes nothing." Michael has to reach behind him to yank Molly's tail out of the way - he ends up winding it around his waist for added security - and locks his arm behind Molly's knees to hoist him up against his chest. He gives his wings a cursory flap, the right slower to follow than the left, stiff and jarring in its movement before he can get any sort of lift. A second attempt, then a third and something in Michael's shoulders loosens as they both leave the ground, Molly light in his arms as they circle up and up until they clear the tallest buildings in the neighborhood altogether.
Far in the distance, the L.A. skylines shines bright. "You ready?"
At least Molly doesn't seem to mind being hefted around like that. Just letting Michael lift him, tail obediently wrapping as it seemed the angel wanted it. He resisted the urge to make a 'swept off his feet' joke, at least for the moment, though that was more aided by the sudden jostle of movement, the attempts to lift followed by Michael finally catching wind and taking them up.
His heart all but leaps into his throat, and it's really rather thrilling to see the city like this, even though it becomes quickly apparent that they've well outstripped the height of the buildings. Michael's question just draws his attention, brows furrowing faintly. "Ready-?"
Is that yes? It sure sounds like one so Michael drops Molly's legs in favor of reaching up to unwrap Molly's claws from around his neck, more or less shoving him away into -- well. Nothingness, really.
It's a thousand foot drop to the ground and there's nothing between it and Molly except for a few power cables and the roof of an apartment complex.
"Oh shi-" He's startled enough that Michael absolutely gets away with it- Molly at first drops like a stone before he seems to shake out of it, wings flaring open. Not that it seems he's having an easy time of wrangling the concept of pulling out of a fall- it takes several tries to get his wings out at the same time rather than one or the other opening faster and sending him tumbling.
Gliding is another thing entirely- Michael can likely track the progress on that, both from the way he'd awkwardly seem to stop that drop a few moments before the wind shifted in a way he wasn't expecting, or he overcorrected and dropped again, swearing breathlessly the whole while. And likely getting worryingly close to the ground considering he was mortal and thusly much squishier than an angel would be.
He actually yelped when he somehow managed to figure out getting lift and reversed directions, but the movement seemed to startle him, and after several wingbeats he lost it again, tumbling with the shift of wind that came with being closer to the ground. Luckily he went head over hooves onto the roof, or he'd be looking at a lot more unpleasant landing if he'd missed and pitched to the ground instead.
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tieflingtarot) wrote2021-06-02 03:57 am
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That's pretty much what Michael's been telling himself since he left Linda's, repeating it over to himself like a mantra. Fuck all of them. If Michael had even half his Father's power there'd be worse than a thunderstorm ripping through L.A. right now and he'd be glad of it because at least it would mean they'd pay attention to him for once. He'd raze the whole fucking city to the ground and call it a mercy because he'd be able to do so much worse. So much for the city of fucking angels.
That's what he's contemplating as he lands, not in Heaven as God had commanded, but in Molly's apartment. Or, more specifically, Molly's bathroom because it's the smallest, darkest room (by Molly's standards) in the building and Michael feels vaguely sick at the idea of arriving in the living room and finding other people there, having to make small talk. He'll say or do something he'll regret if he has to face anyone, pretending to smile and make nice.
Bad enough that he's just come here to say his goodbyes.
He arrives with a clamor, a racket of broken glass and scattered bottles as wings that are too large for the space accidentally sweep everything off the counter onto the floor. The toothbrushes, the soap, the incense holder, that stupid crystal dish with the tiger's eye and why the fuck does Molly need to have so many things in the first place!? This is his own fault!
Michael kicks the mess aside with a rough sweep of his foot, bracing his hands against the counter, head over the sink like he might actually through up, wings crammed behind him.
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There was no window in there, so there was no way it could be a burglar. It wouldn't be the first time Michael had just noisily appeared like that though, which just had him pausing his show, pushing up from the sofa as he approached the bathroom door. The angel had been gone most of the day, for what Molly wasn't sure, but such an abrupt return didn't bode well.
"Michael? You alright in there?" He called lightly, unable to help but be a little concerned.
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"Can I get a minute in here, please?" Michael snaps, gripping the counter harder, lifting his head to glare at his own reflection in the mirror. He looks even more like Lucifer, staring at himself with that same twisted expression, the same hatred. The give away is the mass of black behind him and Michael ducks his head against, shrugging his wings away as he reaches for the tap.
He lets the water run, splashing it onto his face, the back of his neck. Maybe Molly'll think there's actually something physically wrong with him, that he's puking his guts out or something, take the hint and leave. Just so he can get himself together enough to grab his stuff before he goes.
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It was questionable if it would help, but it was something Molly could do without hovering in that way that would just set the angel off more typically in these sorts of moods.
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Shit, shit, shit. It's jarring, just the sound of Molly's voice through the door, so patient and understanding and nicer than Michael knows he deserves that reminds him that Molly isn't like his messed up excuse for a family. Any one of them would have barged in here and dragged him out by his scruff, Amenadiel probably leading the charge to berate it for overreacting, when are you gonna grow up, you need to put all this behind you. Michael sighs into the room as he listens to Molly puttering around in the kitchen, closing his eyes.
Just get it over with.
He reaches for the hand towel hanging off the heated rail and presses it to his face, desperately trying to compose himself. He shoots the mess on the floor a regretful look but there's nothing he can do about it now. He probably doesn't have enough time to make everything right again. The sound of the water shutting off is Molly's only warning before Michael emerges into the kitchen a minute later, greeted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee.
It's his favorite and, if he wasn't such an asshole, he might've actually smiled. But he doesn't.
"Don't bother," is all he says instead, voice pitched low. "I'm not staying."
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So instead he focused on something that usually would get a smile from the angel. A bit confused when it didn't especially at the comment.
"More errands to run?" He asked with a smile of his own, though a bit confused. Michael didn't tend to be the sort to flit in and out when it came to getting things done- he'd go and single-mindedly complete whatever tasks he needed before he finally let himself come back to the apartment to rest. "I can put it in a travel mug for you."
Already reaching for the shelves where the mugs and travel mugs were kept, finding one of the ones that he knew Yasha used- less likely to spill if Michael was flying.
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"No." Michael approaches the counter slowly, eyes anywhere but on Molly. "No, I think I'm pretty much done here. For now, at least." It'll probably take a couple centuries for this whole thing to blow over but, hey, the only luxury Michael's ever had is time so he'll take what he can get.
"Dad's back in town," he says by way of an explanation, punctuated with his driest, most humorless grin directed at point somewhere around Molly's feet. "It's been a hot minute since he was last here and you know God and his mysterious ways so I'm -" He mimes slicing a finger across his throat for emphasis. "Thought I should probably stop by first though."
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It didn't however stop Molly's flush of outrage on Michael's behalf. "Wait so he's fucking grounding you? How the hell is that fair?" He hadn't gotten the whole story, just bits here and there when Michael complained about some new slight, knew he was getting it through the lens of Michael's own bias, but even boiling down to facts, it seemed wildly unjust to him that Lucifer could just wander around as he liked and yet Michael was the one punished.
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And as easy as it'd be to sit here and rage, to have Molly bend him the sympathetic ear that Michael so badly craves, he knows he shouldn't linger. It'll just make it harder in the long run. "Listen, I'm not making a thing of it, I just wanted to drop by and give you the good news. You get to have your couch back! Hallelujah, am I right?"
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"I'd rather keep the friend that's using the couch, if we're being entirely honest." Molly points out, tail lashing behind him as he stubbornly pulls down one of the travel mugs to fill anyways. "And it sounds like this isn't likely to be a short stint, is it?"
Also if Michael expected anything other than Molly coming around the counter to push the mug into his hand and then throw his arms around him to hug? Well clearly he didn't know his dorky tiefling buddy well.
"If you get out early you'd better come visit." Grumbled against his coat, tail still lashing like an upset cat's might. "I'll be so pissed if you don't."
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"There's no ambiguity in the whole 'you're no longer welcome on Earth' thing," he remarks bitterly at the counter, running his thumb absently across the grain. He doesn't see Molly coming until it's too late, makes a puzzled noise as the hot coffee's shoved into his hand and Molly's hanging off his neck. "Oh, hey, don't -" Well. This is happening, apparently and, conveniently, Molly's made sure Michael doesn't have both hands free so he can't push him away.
He doesn't have much of a choice but to sigh into Molly's shoulder, actually managing to stand ramrod straight for once, stiff as a board. "Want me darkening you doorstep again, Molly? Careful what you wish for."
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There's no escaping the hug, Michael. And Molly's gonna make damn sure it's a good one, seeing how he might not be able to give the angel another one for a while from the sound of things.
"Why would I be careful? That's not how I do things, and besides that I'd love to see your grumpy mug turn up on my doorstep again." Molly smiled, bumping Michael lightly with a horn, in a purely tiefling gesture of affection, jewelry jingling with the motion. "Once you figure out how to squirm free of this little grounding, you've gotta come back, and we'll think of something fun to do to celebrate."
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"Anyway, by my count, you still owe me a hot chocolate so I'll probably be back sooner rather than later. Just -" He's going to squirm free here, hooking a finger around the end of that horn and giving it the gentlest of tugs to peel Molly away from him. "I know I said I was gonna help you piece together what happened to you." In fact Michael's made an awful lot of promises since he's been here, the majority of which he had absolutely not intention of delivering on but for Molly? He's prepared to make an exception.
"I'm not Lucifer, I don't give a shit about upholding my end of a bargain but I'm gonna give you one last shot at this." He takes a step back. "Last chance. Want me to mojo you or not?"
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hope this is okay! :3
It's a good evening for it. Balmy, even for L.A. and almost completely still except for the faint breeze ruffling Michael's hair. and it's dark enough in this part of town that, once they get some altitude, it's unlikely anyone'll spot them.
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"So what you're saying is 'just jump and figure it out, you yuntz' then?" The tiefling whistled faintly as he stood beside the angel, peering down at the quiet street below.
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Michael leans out to look down to the empty sidewalk a few stories below them, clapping Molly on the shoulder with false enthusiasm. "What's the worst that could happen?"
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So Michael might be a bit surprised that, after a grin and a wink his way, Molly was more than willing to leap from the roof, letting out a exhilarated little yelp as his wings snapped open in reflex. Not perfectly- it turned into a more awkward midair floundering than anything, but while he did go down, it was less 'freefall to death' and more 'clumsy drift' ending with the tiefling landing on his ass on the sidewalk when he didn't get hooves under himself in time, earning a breathless little laugh from him.
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Michael blows out a breath and, with only the briefest shrug of his shoulders, appears in front of Molly with a whumph of displaced air, his mangled wings barely even making an appearance as he shrugs them away. "Good job on the not dying, Mol. I'd give it a six out of ten."
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"I'll take it!" He chuckled, tail flicking behind him, riding on the flush of adrenaline still. "Think I might need a higher jump if I want to sort out getting my wings under me for more than just floundering my way out of a faceplant though."
It made sense to him anyways- the longer he had to 'work' his wings the more time he had to sort out what instinct was trying to do. Like relearning things when he'd first started being him, but with wings.
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"Think we can arrange that," Michael says with only a small amount of reluctance, shrugging his shoulders to unfurl his long, dark wings. "You're gonna need to hold on for this part." Does he go in for the fireman's carry? Or should he lift Molly bridal style? Michael's uncomfortable with either but, really, their only option is for Michael to fly Molly as high as they dare so that he can - with all the love in the world - drop him like a hot potato.
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Bridal style would likely be easier to drop while flying, to be fair. It hasn't quite occurred to Molly that being the actual plan- he just figures Michael doesn't feel like waiting for him to hoof it to the nearest tallest building and get up there himself. So he just nods, moving in to do as Michael had asked, reaching up to wind arms around his neck so the angel could hoist him, keeping his own wings tucked in as well as he could.
"Take it away, maestro."
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Far in the distance, the L.A. skylines shines bright. "You ready?"
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His heart all but leaps into his throat, and it's really rather thrilling to see the city like this, even though it becomes quickly apparent that they've well outstripped the height of the buildings. Michael's question just draws his attention, brows furrowing faintly. "Ready-?"
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It's a thousand foot drop to the ground and there's nothing between it and Molly except for a few power cables and the roof of an apartment complex.
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Gliding is another thing entirely- Michael can likely track the progress on that, both from the way he'd awkwardly seem to stop that drop a few moments before the wind shifted in a way he wasn't expecting, or he overcorrected and dropped again, swearing breathlessly the whole while. And likely getting worryingly close to the ground considering he was mortal and thusly much squishier than an angel would be.
He actually yelped when he somehow managed to figure out getting lift and reversed directions, but the movement seemed to startle him, and after several wingbeats he lost it again, tumbling with the shift of wind that came with being closer to the ground. Luckily he went head over hooves onto the roof, or he'd be looking at a lot more unpleasant landing if he'd missed and pitched to the ground instead.
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Dear dreamwidth *give me my notifs!!!*
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