The commander left her quadrant, nodding at appropriate parties as she went.  Hair smoothed in place with a row of ponytails, poofed at the front in a vaguely Pentecostal fashion, hanging low at the back of her neck so that it continued to trail her spine, out of the way of any exerted movement.  Her uniform was in the officer's Summer standard of white, decorated minimally with polished brass and heeled boots, casual sportswear for the female soldier.  She had one more stop before fulfilling her alibi with an actual appearance.<br/><br/>Her walk took her through the gates of Edelweiss, like walking through a garden gate... that was heavily guarded.  The scenery was green and the sun shone on the streets, something relaxing compared to the war scenes that one might expect during such a time, and it should have been a relief to the military woman, but to her it felt false.  A front.  Somewhere people were dying for this, the cause, the innocent, and here it was practically untouched.  The coming parade and the presence of the Fuhrer were no doubt to blame, in which case she couldn't really blame the presentation, but it didn't stop her from regarding it bitterly.  Instead, she smiled, like was expected, and lifted her face to the sunlight.<br/><br/>Then again, maybe this was Someone Else's doing.<br/><br/>Afterall, she wasn't heading to an athletic event, she was heading to a revolution.  It wasn't something she would normally attend, but He had directed her there through one of His messengers, Raphael no doubt, and His Chosen, Isolde Devereaux, would be there.  She wasn't entirely sure as to the purpose, but she knew that it would be His and that she would follow.  From the behavior of the woman she had met just the day before in the confines of the church, spewing blasphemy about combining the efforts of Heaven and Hell to defeat the spawn of only one of them - Isolde did not have the faith in the Lord to right this evil.<br/><br/>That was why He had many amongst the nonbelievers who could spread His Word and do His Work.  The angels, like Raphael and Yvael, and the Chosen, like Isolde and Adolf.  The Chosen often did have all the answers, but they had the opportunity to do His Work as intermediaries and heroes, and had His Guidance to bring it to fruition, usually despite any failures or sometimes because of them.  The angels just had to be sure the opportunity remained.  The forces of the dark, the demons, would work against Him and His Chosen, and they would do whatever was necessary to remove that opportunity and keep His Work from being done, His Word from being spread.  Including sitting at the table of His Son, poisoning His bread and wine with lies, and betraying His confidences, selling them to the lowest of bidders.<br/><br/>She would be there to prevent another Judas from infiltrating the ranks.  If only it were that easy.<br/><br/>Commander Wojcik looked up at the building, ambrosial smells of warm, baked bread wafting from the open door.  The breeze had cooled her on her way, but now it wrought an increased heat from the ovens inside, comfortable in this section of the valley despite it being midsummer.  It took the half-angel a moment to remember she was here on business, and she eyed the shadows on the road, the bushes and trees, and the windows and rooftops for any shooters like had been posted outside the church.  Someone had known about her meeting with Isolde before, and it was possible they would know about the second one, whether or not it was the same sender.  Better to be safe, it was said.  Certain with her physical sight, she closed her eyes and moved on to her holy sight, senses barring any ill-will for a mile out without her awareness.  It was a public place, so she couldn't force back any unholy creatures, but an once of prevention was worth a pound of cure, and she wasn't sure about the reception of such entities in any case.  It didn't sound like they were yet unwelcome.<br/><br/>She was early, so she felt little beyond the typical grey and black of sinners' hearts.  There was an odd emptiness stretching throughout the town she had sensed since arrival, which gave her pause, but only long enough to recognize there was little more she could do than accept its existence and be wary.  Pushing the aura through the walls of the bakery, she took account of the bodies inside, regulars to the establishment.  Having these persons present would make their own presence accounted for and give difficulty to spies that might be sitting among them, but it made whatever they, as a group, intended to communicate less flexible. More importantly, resounding like a spiritual sonar, was the blazing aura of an angel, and one she recognized.<br/><br/>Yvonne stepped inside, seeing a man sitting alone at a table near the shaded windows.  He had a different face than she remembered and she decided to take it in stride, that the man he possessed would have been of particular standard and given purpose to the angel's intents.  As she entered, she could feel warmth radiating invitingly off of him, and she was certain he was the man she was looking for, the sensation an effect of the power from this inner-being.  Moving forward, her steps took her toward the table and through a second aura, much akin to break through water on a dive in the pool.  It was refreshing and distorted sounds and shapes around her through holy means.  This wasn't unfamiliar to her and she removed the red scarf wrapped about her arm, knowing that it would cause distress to some of the members that would soon be showing up, but believing it to go unnoticed by patrons surrounding the room considering the special conditions under which she now stood.<br/><br/>"Raphael," she said with a nod of her head, seating herself at an angle to the man whose flesh was worn by the angel she addressed.  She did not feel so friendly as to take the chair aside him, but she wanted to keep the arrangement open for others to join by facing more toward the door herself and leaving open the majority of the positions nearest them.  It did allow them to remain flanking any unsavory additions to the table.  "I received your missive.  Thank you for the invitation, I hoped it would be to find you well.  I have reason to suspect I was not the only one, however, and that the others will be here soon - can you feel them?"