We Are War

1. I'm packing up my crayons and going!

The Irish bar near the small apartment Valentine had lived in for over ten years was a rather usual spot for him to go to, he had sat there multiple times with the humans he had gone to the tours with; in Afghanistan, Iraq, Africa, South America, they always came here to sit around, have a drink and discuss about everything and anything else but the war or work. It had become their place to unwind and relax, while knowing they were all looking after each other's back, rewind their brain before going back home and spend some time alone. It was dimly lit and there was always rock type of music playing in the background, it was a perfect place to relax and not think about the world outside at all. It was only ten minute walk from his old place, the one room apartment in the tall complex (in bad neighbourhood, but it had been cheap), so he had spent plenty of evenings there rather than go to sleep in the cold apartment, despite always been able to survive on his own he had been brought up with six siblings, Valentine was used to being near people. Trying to get accustomed on sleeping alone in a rather empty place had been a struggle, it didn't help he was a warrior, he worked with six to ten other guys around the clock on long tours, they were close all the time, so it had taken a while. He had spent a lot of nights in the bar, he had even brought Genesis to the bar, to a so called date in the beginning, and now Genesis sometimes brought him there so he would relax and they could sit together and have a drink rather than Valentine toss and turn and not able to sleep at all. It was a nice escape for a moment, and there were corner tables where they could sit in and have a chat about work, or just sit in silence and watch the crowd. There was a lot of silence, but it was never the oppressive uncomfortable silence, it was relaxing and nice, simply sit and enjoy each other's company.

But tonight he wasn't coming in to spend time with Genesis or his brothers, the golden eyes scanned the dimly lit room and he spotted the man he had come to see. The said man was from Arabic origin, his skin was tanned and his hair was dark, he had a tattoo in some sort of ancient language on his left cheekbone, and Valentine knew the man had more along his spine, a prayer in angelic, to bless his body and soul. Valentine didn't know many angels who had tattoos, angels didn't usually do much to personalise their vessel, his dad sometimes let his hair grow out, uncle Uriel coloured his hair, but... most the warriors he had known and met were of the same mould. Genesis was a bit more his own person now, though much like Remiel he liked to look all sharp and business and not waste his time trying to stand out of the crowd and get the unwanted extra attention. The man saw him, and he stood up to greet Valentine with a grip of the hand and a brief embrace, it wasn't anything sweet from an outsider eye, but this was a huge thing for a warrior angel, to greet someone this way. And Valentine was pretty proud he had been able to get through to these people through the years they had known, showing some kindness and friendship wasn't a weakness, nor would it hinder their work.

"Saladin, Masaa el kheer", good evening, Saladin was mostly based in the Middle East, and Valentine happened to be fluent in anything so they usually conversed in Arabic. It had been a big thing to ogle about for the humans who came in in the beginning, they always assumed if you were from Middle East you were a terrorist, thankfully the bartenders knew Valentine, and they had seen him in his uniforms too, so anyone as his guest was a welcome in there. Soon enough the humans who came in frequently had started to not even bat an eyelash when someone spoke in Arabic in the bar. And after years of other angels, and other beings who worked with Valentine, visiting the bar – more languages (mainly German, Arabic and Spanish) had become normal in the environment. Later on Valentine had noticed many other immigrants had come to spend time in the bar, especially the people who spoke Arabic as their mother tongue – the bar had evolved into a place of no judgement. And they were welcome to speak in Arabic and no one would be able to know what they were saying, and if someone did understand Arabic or parts of it, they would only think they are speaking in another language considering speaking of angels and demons was not sane talk.