[y'all don't have to match at all the only important paragraphs are down at the bottom]

She came to him as an angel. She towered over him like a skyscraper, an indescribable glowing mass tinged with all the colors of the sunrise behind her. When she moved, the sky sang and the earth creaked with her massive weight. Every step she took shook the ground, made buildings collapse around him, and she advanced until there was nothing but a concrete mess circling him. In the center of it all, there he laid, starving and freezing. His fingers were black, his eyes were red, and any kind of movement was a feat within itself. He was useless at that point. He was just waiting to die. Her hands were several times bigger than himself, and when she picked him up, it burned.

She was the light at the end of his tunnel. He thought that for sure, this would be the day he faced God, or at the very least had the gates of heaven slammed right in his face. This was the end of his time on earth, and soon he would be strung up in hell, subject to eternal torture. When the angel spoke, his eyes rolled back. He felt her voice in the pit of his stomach, like thunder rumbling overhead.

She tore him apart, from limb to limb. He was a tangled mess of himself, of his own blood and guts, choking on his own innards. It was impossible to contain her in his tiny, fragile body, he thought. Whatever the angel was trying to do, it would never work - he kept begging her to stop, to piece him back together and just send him off, but she was determined. He had already been marked, and there was no going back.

She did it. Pieces of her were left scattered around him, wiggling scraps of monster flesh at his feet, an eyeball or two strewn here and there. When it was all said and done, Zachariah came to in the same spot he had been before the angel arrived, in the same ratty clothes, with the same red eyes and black fingertips. There were no writhing pieces of glowing flesh to be seen, and every building lining the road was intact.

Zachariah no longer felt weak. In fact, he didn't feel any of the pain he had felt before, not a bit. The feeling in his fingers had returned, and despite his skeletal frame, the gnawing hunger in his belly had vanished. He did feel a... pressure inside of him, but it wasn't enough to distract him. As nightmarish and surreal as that experience had been, there was no way he could ever pass it off as a dream. It was too vivid to be his imagination, and the seal on his stomach was proof enough for him.

He spent months wandering around the world. He no longer had any lingering sense of urgency, like he always had to be on the run. No one recognized him. He became just another face in the crowd.

But with nothing to be afraid of, Zachariah is now incredibly bored. He might be taking this protective angelic presence for granted, as otherwise he would probably be on death row, but without any conflict he's not sure what exactly he should do with himself. So far the past several years have been spent wandering around the world, exploring every nook and cranny, and this is his most recent stop. It's nothing special, really, if also a bit boring.

What does catch his interest is a giant pineapple. He's seen plenty of weird installments, displays and sculptures, but he doesn't ever recall seeing a giant pineapple. It's... charming. It's a sight for sore eyes, honestly, with all the grimy, grim places he's been to lately. Often the angel (who he now affectionately refers to as Tammy) will have him waking up in the most obscure, dark and seedy places. This is a breath of fresh air.

He doesn't see many people out and about the town, save for a few tourists excitedly taking selfies in front of an old Ferris wheel in the distance. This isn't really what he's looking for, it's nowhere close to the kind of entertainment he seeks, but Zachariah supposes it's a step in the right direction. He would like to know where he is, since he doesn't have the slightest clue. He approaches the closest person, and with a gentle tap on the shoulder, he asks, "Excuse me, but, uh, where the fuck am I?"

Zachariah chuckles when Alexander jumps. "Good read?" He asks, throwing a glance at the magazine in their hand. He's not sure how they didn't hear him coming - maybe he's just not heavy enough for his footsteps to make noise anymore. He can't read a lick of what's in the magazine, but he guesses it's a catalog for make-up or something along those lines.

"Sign?" Zachariah hasn't even thought of that. The angel must have fried his brain too much. Half the time, he doesn't choose where he goes, rather he just... ends up there. Hell, it's a miracle if he even remembers how he got there. This case is no exception. As per usual, Zachariah woke up in some obscure alley, dazed and confused. It isn't worth the energy to explain that he never knows where he is, how he got here, or what year it is. "Wasn't payin' attention, I suppose." Though Zachariah is glad he didn't have to subject his eyes to such a thing.

When Alexander bares their teeth, Zachariah leans closer to get a better look. Are those fangs? Kids these days will do anything to their bodies. "What's with the teeth? New fad or somethin'?" He thinks he's seen something like that before, though when exactly, he doesn't have a clue. Zachariah could definitely say he's seen worse, in both the mirror and on the streets. He sticks his rotting hand out for Alex to shake. "Zachariah. Nice to meet you, too." He's sure that their acquaintanceship will last for several days at the most, however long it takes him to vanish. He's just glad he isn't being shooed away like a dirty hobo this time - though he's sure he smells like one. Just to spare Alexander's nose, he makes sure not to get too close.

And then Catheryn descends from the skies, though her arrival is much less enchanting than his angel's had been. He raises a brow, vaguely intrigued, but he's still more impressed by the giant pineapple. He has no interest in kids and their wacky new trends. "Lovely to meet you as well, hon." He offers her a little wave and a smile. Zachariah might have an indefinite amount of time on this earth, but he feels like witnessing some girl descend from above has just taken several decades off his life. "So what's your deal, Kumari girl? You a magician or is the world gonna end if your feet touch the ground?" Obviously he's just poking fun. He's not sure what else to do when faced with a thing like that.

"Just passin' through. I like to wander sometimes." He's not sure where he should go, anyways. Sometimes, whenever he's the one in control, he'll close his eyes and point in a random direction, and that's the way he'll go, roam until he hits a new city or ends up lost. He's not sure what draws his angel to these seemingly random places. He hasn't been able to pick up a pattern or anything. Zachariah only knows that she has some strange affinity for travelling. Maybe he's the only way she can explore the earth she's been watching over for so long.

Xenia arrives on the scene and Zachariah is reminded of a threatened cat, back arched and fur puffed out, ears flat and teeth bared. He can't imagine what she thinks he is. Could he really be taken as a threat? If the angel were ever to step in, then maybe he would stand a chance in a fight, but on his own, Zachariah is as intimidating as a chihuahua in a teacup. He's short and malnourished, with bloodshot eyes and poor balance. His stomach rumbling is louder than his own voice. What has this girl so on edge? He's unarmed, and not in the least bit tempted to go throwing hands with anyone here, but just so he doesn't get shanked, Zachariah raises his hands to his chest and says, "Whoa there, tiger. I'm just here for a good time. No need to be so tense."

None of us bear responsibility for that sign, Cat said, but she's wrong. "It's a great sign." That was Rialto, excessive in the covering up to ward off the sun so much that he had on not only a face mask and a hat on top of sunglasses, but also a scarf. Sunny. Why he'd already been loitering around in the tourist pineapple, he didn't figure there was a need to explain - sometimes things just were. "I take responsibility for the sign." Then, apparently overcome, he held his head. "Because I made it," he said - somewhat unnecessarily, but for the benefit of one of the few people in this town who wouldn't immediately identify his work; also out of embarrassment, as one would expect, but for a very precise reason. You might call it something more like bashful.

Rialto had two states: unruffled bastard and humble peddler accustomed to getting his wares spat on. Proud as he was, he wasn't even ruffled that the embellished sign hadn't been seen. Like, understandable. Wondered if people liked it. Weren't the jellyfish totally cool? Yes, Rialto had painted jellyfish on the sign. Because they have a beach. Okay, that was an excuse; he just wanted the jellyfish. And, unsurprisingly, validation. So that was why he said it. Please. Attention. Look out for the sign, Zachariah. For him.

That was digressing, a lot. "Rialto. A pleasure," Rialto said, pulling at the front of his scarf for more circulation. Did vampires feel hot? They (he and the other vampire reading a trashy magazine) normally spouted drivel like, they were hot, and laughed together like prepubescents, but anyway. "You know, I have a product called Good Time. It's a watch. For your phone. I give out free samples, if you're interested." At that point he peeled the face mask down, too, and unleashed a perfectly amiable, pointy little smile, and didn't disagree that the teeth were a fad because they kind of were. The turning of a vampire is almost always a mistake - one only needed to ask Marko.

San Creado had seen many a wandering hobo, Rialto one of them, but few were so forthright - a point in Zachariah's favour. Conversely, the moment Rialto had put down roots, flimsy and dry as they were considering his very impermanent home was a Ferris wheel carriage too small to stand in, he'd simply lost the drive to keep travelling. Maybe the next time he started up again would be because his carriage had fallen right off the rickety Ferris wheel. Or maybe it'd be because he got into one of his and Alex's more dramatic spats that normally concerned overwatering their joint-ownership cactus; arguments that got so bad they started throwing chairs and hysterically pulling out plates, also to throw.

Rialto's not fit to be a wanderer, honestly. Flighty enough, but not motivated.

In the next second, while Alex was distracted Rialto snatched the magazine from their hands, only to give a long unimpressed hum and shake his head. "Absolutely terrible," he said, flatly. "They didn't even include the colour of the season in this issue. What's the point?"

© MADI