Alright. I'll start this way.

Fuck ALL of you.

There. Okay. Mom's spirit said I should start like that.

Right.

So, I'm not an owner of some mystical thing. I AM the mystical thing.

I'm a plain angel.

Just an angel. Sure, I've got some awesome powers that the big dude gifted to me for my hundredth birthday, and some cool weapons. I've got everything a normal angel has, even cliche white wings on my back. Except they're not white, and haven't been since I was born.

My owner?

A ten year old kid who is absolutely stupid.

The mistakes we make?

Tons.

Do I know how to do aerial tricks?

No. I was too lazy to ever do it.

I hate my owner. He's a ten year old, and worse, he's a FAIRY. A MOTHERFUCKING FAIRY. I'M A HUNDRED YEAR OLD ANGEL.

Do you know how much I hate those flying pipsqueaks? Always screeching and splattering fairy dust everywhere.

A shit load whole lot more than I hate elves. And DAMN are they annoying. Those little craps are way too helpful.

Anyways.

The fairy kid got in trouble with the giants once.

Do you know what happened?

We got into a son of a bitch problem.