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[wentdowntogeorgia]

 

Hello, you've reached the voicemail box of






..̧.͂.̩͆͊͞.̮ ,.. %᷿᷿᷿̣᷿̍͐*᷿̪᷿᷿̎͏᷿.᷿̣᷿᷿̲᷿᷇!᷿̹᷿᷿᷿̏͐.᷿̫᷿̩᷿̙᷿.̧̢᷿᷿᷿᷿̾.̵᷿᷿᷿᷿̽̆ .͈͗͗͗ͤ͗͢.̜͗͗͏̲͗͗.̰̟͗̈͗͗͗.̥᷿͗͗̄͗͗.̠͗̂͗͗͒͗L̷̞̟᷊͖͂̽ͦ᷾᷉͛̍̕͘̕u̸̡͖̰̝̹̩̫̲ͪ̔̾̾̕̕c̸̵̪̮̩̑̏͑̑̌ͮ̕̕͟͜i̸͉̯̯̜̓̿̉̿᷈̓̔̿̕̕f̴̛̲͖̰͈̙̰͍᷃ͤ᷀̄͒ͧ᷈̊̽̕̕̕͠͝ȩ̸̩͖͎ͫͧͮͦ͐̆͊̕̕͢r̷̥̠̟ͭ͊̆̓̾᷇ͨ̕̕̕͝.͈͗͗͗ͤ͗͢.̜͗͗͏̲͗͗.̰̟͗̈͗͗͗.̥᷿͗͗̄͗͗.̠͗̂͗͗͒͗ %᷿᷿᷿̣᷿̍͐*᷿̪᷿᷿̎͏᷿.᷿̣᷿᷿̲᷿᷇!᷿̹᷿᷿᷿̏͐.᷿̫᷿̩᷿̙᷿.̧̢᷿᷿᷿᷿̾.̵᷿᷿᷿᷿̽̆






is no-ot-ot-ot-tt^tttttt a̱v̀a̮i̞l᷉a̚b͟l̽e̷. A̯ͫ̃t̊̃̋͗͝ ̃ͬ͟t̝̃͡ȟ̃͏ë̴́̃͋ ẗ̸͉̗̭᷿̞̰́ͣ̅͒̂͑̈᷅͑̕ơ̩̙᷊᷂̼̎᷉̍ͬ̆ͧ͜͟͝ͅn̞̰̼̪͚̮ͩ̍̆᷾͊͒᷅̐͞e̴͚̊͗͞͏̶̶̢̗͇͐̔̔͢͡, p̷̴̶̵̴̤͍͉᷿͕̗̥͙᷊͇̦͗̐̃͂ͧ͗͒̐̄͋᷈̎̐̃̌͗̓̈ͩ̐᷈ͩ᷅̐̑̆͌͊ͧ̐͊͌͋̐̓͂͒᷆̇̐̽̉̕̕͟͡͞l̶̴̢̛͈͎̠͍͙̦͇̮̖̯̹͔̹̼᷂̯̠͉̝̄̐͋̊̇̐͛̃̐᷉ͮͬ᷀̐̋᷇̄̐͆͆͌ͨ̉̐᷀᷈̐ͨ̿̓᷆̐͘̚͟͢͝͡͞ͅȩ̰͍̺͍̲͚̤͚᷁̎̐̑͑᷇̌̐͋̒̐͏̸̴̴͓̲͚̫̭̥̰᷊̲᷇̅ͯ̐͋ͭ͛᷄ͬ̐̔᷀̃̿ͥ̐̓͋͐̍̇᷅̐̊̆̎̐̈́̚͟ą̶͓̖͚̲᷿̼̙̼͕͛̐͌᷀̐̅᷀ͧ᷃̐̍᷉᷀̐̕̚͜͜͡͏̷̸̨͖̭̘̣̻̙͓᷇̈́̋̐̽͌̎ͯ̇ͮ̐᷉̓᷃̐̾᷄ͫ̐̃̚ͅs̷͍̭̭͇̜͔͕͈̹̗̺̯̐᷇ͫͦ᷉͒̐̇́̓̐̆᷄̿̐́͊͌̐͘̚̕͜͜͢͏̴̢̧̳͕̼̜͖͎͙ͫ̐̑᷄͗̐᷀ͤ̓̇̐̂͊͡e̹̗̳̊͌̐̉̈́͡͏̵̶̵̸̨̢̢̻᷿᷊͉̥͓̹̥̯᷊̙͍͓̜᷊͇̏̐͗̏᷈̓̾̐̐᷇ͥ̐̐͗̊͌̑̐ͮͧͭ̐᷄ͪ᷅̐̉̚͞͡

W-w-w-w-eee͖̪͙᷅̆͌ͨ̆̽̆͗e_ee're sor̴᷿̓r^yyyy-y-y-y, your call cou^ld not be

tempor-or-or-̞͈͇̱᷿͙᷂̥᷉͂ͤ̉ͮ͟͟o̷̭͙̰͂́ͧͮ̃̂̇͘͟͟͞r̸̞̦̼᷾̓ͮ᷾᷆᷁ͧ̎͒͟͟͠͡-̸̼̱̜͂͗̉͛᷄̓ͤ᷉ͫ͟͟or^{ororororrr-rr-r-r-r} ou̡̨̯ͬ͋ͬ̃ͬͬͬͬ̃ͬͬ͠tͬ᷅ͬ̃ͬ͊ͬ of










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Comments

text.

[majestyofthethrone]

1. Your brother is a dick.

2. What's your deal with Sally?

angel radio. backdated to near the start of the plot

[rebelled]

Was that you?

[there's nothing else sent at first. he's still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he finally feels more whole. that, even though he knows where that power had come from, he had still chosen to take those souls for himself. (it was wrong. he knows that. but--)]

Did you leave them for me? I need to know.

message received 5/7; post jump

[majestyofthethrone]

[At first, it's audio; a stanza of music, but it sounds warped and weird. It plays and keeps playing, repeating and warping, and if he listens to the whole thing it lasts over an hour, and then another, music warping and the distortion growing. It's frantic, the fear in it clear. It's like someone begging, someone begging to be saved, someone begging for help.

And then the audio cuts out.

Another message, this one a series of numbers, an immense equation.

And then a third message, a final one. This one comes in the form of letters, except that if Lucifer is clever, he can read them as music; it's violin music, written out in letter form, like the kind of music that is taught to beginners. Sometimes the letters cut out, garbled, but someone with a good knowledge of musical theory could piece it together; it's violin piece that's almost five hours long, the beginning the music of the Throne, the song of Seraphim, but then it changes, it evolves into something enormous, majestic, and then-

-and then it winds its way into an apology.

It's an apology. A love letter.

It's a goodbye.]