The City of Fallen Angels. Not

Los Angeles, a sprawling metropolis located on the western coast of the United States of America. As one of the largest cities in the world, Los Angeles boasted a population of almost four million people. This megalopolis held the appearance of a jungle, one made of brick and steel as opposed to wood and fern and rock. The large, towering mesas were actually colossal skyscrapers that reached into the sky, some seeming to climb high enough to reach the clouds. Blacktop streets and interconnecting highways made a maze of the city, one that anyone could get lost in if they weren't careful. The streets were congested, filled with hundreds of thousands of cars heading off every which way, and the sidewalks were covered to the brim with people walking to and from their destinations. It was, most certainly, one of the most crowded cities in the world.

Michael, Archangel of Heaven, the best swordsman in all history, and the right hand of god, did not fall into this particular city, the place where traffic piled up and millions of people congregated.

He did, however, fall several miles outside of Los Angeles in a smaller city called Seal Beach.

1

Dressed in a pair of short black, hip-hugging shorts and an equally black crop top, Alice Grayfield wrote down the notes whilst listening to her professor with diligence. She sat behind a desk, the class her last one of the day, a notebook in front of her and a pen in her grasp. The sound of her pen scratching against paper echoed loudly in her ears as she intently followed her psychology professor’s lecture.

All around her, many of her classmates were zoning out. Alice could only click her tongue in distaste. Idiots. If they didn't want to learn about this, they should have taken another class.

Then again, maybe these people just wanted the college credit. Though she believed such a piss poor reason for attending class was flimsy at best and imbecilic at worst. She could only lament how low her species had fallen.

Her thoughts were put on hold when the bell rang. As their teacher finished up his lecture, reminding them that their next assignment on the behavioral patterns of the individuals they had selected in their previous class was due next week, Alice packed her stuff in her bag and hefted over her shoulder.

She left before everyone else.

While walking to the bus that would take her close to her apartment, Alice found herself subject to many stares and even more whispers.

“Hey. Isn't that her? The girl that everyone says lives on her own?”

“I heard she ran away from home because her father was abusive.”

“I heard she works at a bar.”

“I heard she's a hooker.”

“Hehe, think she'll give me a good fuck if I pay her enough.”

“Not with your ugly face.”

“Ouch, man. That's harsh.”

Alice grit her teeth behind closed lips and did her best to ignore the people talking about her. She should have been desensitized to this by now, she knew, as her peers and fellow high school students had been making comments like that for years now. And yet, no matter how much time passed or how many people made similar comments, it never became easier to deal with.

The bus ride was much the same. Alice, as per the usual, sat in the very back of the bus, doing her utmost to remain inconspicuous. Even then, she still received her fair share of looks and comments from idiots who had nothing better to do than make fun of people less fortunate than them. When her stop came, she couldn't get off fast enough.

Upon beginning her walk, Alice, for some reason, decided that she didn't feel like going home right away―not like she had much of a home to go to. So instead, she decided to take a stroll down the beach. She held her cheap five dollar sandals in her left hand while her feet crunched along the shore. The cool sand felt nice between her toes.

She also liked how quiet the beach was during winter. With December almost upon them, no one came to beach anymore. People just didn't enjoy splashing around in the water when it was so cold.

While she walked, she thought. Alice didn't like thinking much, unless required to for school, because when she thought about anything, all she seemed capable of focusing on were the negatives. How her mother was a deadbeat who only came home once or twice a month and sometimes even less, how her father left them when Alice had still been a little girl, and how most of her peers avoided her like she had contracted the plague because of how she dressed. No one at school wanted to go near that “weird Goth girl who was always scowling.”

To put things in perspective, life for Alice sucked.

Pausing in her walk, Alice looked at the sea, an ocean of murky greens and blues. The tide would rise, clashing against the shore, then retreat when gravity's pull forced it back. Seaweed floated about, some washing up against the sands, others getting sucked back out to sea. In the distance, she could see ships, and over on the far side of the beach, her eyes could make out the harbor, a bare glimmer of personal yachts bobbing along the water's surface.

Most people would have probably considered this sight beautiful. Alice? She just scowled.
She continued walking again.

“Waaa.....”

―Only to pause when an odd noise caught in her ear. She stopped walking and cocked her head, silently trying to hear the noise again. Alice couldn't be certain, but that noise sounded a lot like someone screaming.

“...aaaaAAAAAAHHH!”

Her eyes widened when she realized that the sound was indeed that of a person screaming, and they were quite close too. She looked to her left, then to her right, and then behind her when she saw no one around. She frowned. Where was that noise coming from?

“LOOK OUT, GIRLY!”

Eyes widening, Alice looked up... only to see massive amounts of brown hair and a screaming face before everything went black.

2

“Owch. Owch. Owch.”

Michael was in pain. He supposed that was to be expected, considering he had just fallen God-only-knows how many miles down to Earth. And yes, that was a literal statement. Only God could possibly know how many miles apart Heaven and Earth were. Regardless of all that, he supposed he should just be grateful that he was alive. He really had to thank the girl who'd broken his fall.

And speaking of...

Opening the eyes that he had closed on instinct when he had impacted against the girl, Michael found himself staring at the female lying underneath him. She looked to be unconscious. Her eyes were closed, mouth parted slightly, arms sprawled above her head. yep. She was, without a doubt, completely insensate.

She was also quite pretty, in an odd, dark kind of way.

Her skin was pale, not Gabriel's healthy pale, but more like she spent way too much time indoors pale. Or maybe even sparkly vampire pale? Her face, an almost ashen white, shaped itself in the general outline of a heart, with midnight black hair falling all around it, spread against the sandy ground almost like a halo. Soft cheekbones, a cute little nose, and full lips made up her most outstanding features. Well, her eyes were nice, too, what he could see of them. He couldn’t see much because her eyes were closed, but she had some pretty long, thick eyelashes, which contrasted well with her white skin.

Michael couldn't judge her age, which might have been due to the fact that he, as an angel, looked pretty young himself. It was hard to determine the number of years someone else has lived when you yourself didn’t look a day over eighteen. He imagined her to be quite young, however, maybe around seventeen or eighteen, judging from her general youthfulness.

As he looked at her some more, his hands flexed a bit, more on reflex than anything else.
The girl moaned.

“A-ahn...”

Like that.

Michael began blinking. He then looked down to see that his hands were cupping the young woman's breasts. Curious, he squeezed some more, eliciting another lyrical sigh from the pretty but pale-faced female. Not that he was paying attention to the sounds she produced anymore. He had something important to find out.

This was an investigation.

“Mm. Mmhmm. Yes. Oh. I think, maybe.” Michael clicked his tongue, a frown marring his face. “She's wearing a bra. That makes things more difficult, but I think... yes. Yes. They're definitely 78 centimeters. Kinda small, but they suit her.”

As he continued shamelessly groping the young woman, not even really aware of what he was doing, a squeak from underneath him caused him to look down.

“Oh. You're awake.”

Michael looked at the now conscious female. He noticed a few things as he did this, like how red her face was, how wide her eyes were, and where those eyes were looking. He followed to where her eyes pointed, peering down to see his hands still on her breasts, and then looking back up at her face.

Their eyes locked.

Michael could only think of one thing to say.

“You're boobs are really small. Have you ever thought of drinking milk?”

3

A young couple were walking to the beach. They both had the day off from work and thought that going to the beach would be a great way to spend time together. Sure, the water was probably freezing, and they wouldn't be able to swim, but they didn't care. All they wanted to do was spend their time lying on the sand, gazing into each others eyes with passion and longing―and maybe doing the horizontal mambo if the mood struck them.
Sex on The Beach wasn't just a drink, you know.

The young couple, lost in each other’s arms, were not lost enough to not hear the loud shout of “GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME, YOU DAMN PERVERT!” followed by the equally loud sound of someone getting slapped hard… which was then followed by the strangest shout of what sounded like, “Zaphkiel!”

“What do you think that was about, love?” asked the woman.

The young man tilted his head. “If I had to guess, I'd say someone's in trouble for getting a little fresh.”

The young woman bat her eyes. “You know, you can get fresh with me whenever you want.”

The young man grinned. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

That was some smooth talking there, Romeo.

Not.