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Warren Justin DeMartini. The human name was elegant enough in its own way, and it wouldn't warrant too much suspicion in this place of debauchery and violence and overwhelming beauty. He walked the streets carefully in what the humans called a t-shirt and jeans, his eyes searching for the tall blond man he was assigned to. When he heard the voice he'd become acquainted with in the heavens above, he turned to see his parter, Jake E. Lee, jogging to catch up with him.

"Have you found him yet?" Jake asked, his voice soft and musical as any angel's, not a drop of sweat or a pant to prove he had been running.

"No," Warren confessed. "Have you found yours?"

"No," Jake admitted. "But it's not like it's my fault. Everyone here is dressed so alike you can't tell the women from the men. And these are the creatures our Father worked so hard to create in His image?"

Warren blushed a little. He wasn't used to these human emotions and, frankly, talking about his Creator in the way Jake did. But Jake had been human far longer than him, and he supposed that when one made the transition from divine to human, they began to fade into the rest of the population. But only in attitude, Warren reminded himself. Jake was still as beautiful as when the heavenly Father had made him. His long, curly hair fell in a deep auburn profusion around his full lips and soft cheeks. His eyes, the dark brown of the earth their Father had birthed Adam from, were still filled the stars and their light. It was as if the twenty plus years of "life" had not occured.

"I will get back to you when I find Ozzy," Jake said, glancing at the people milling around them. "If you haven't found Robbin by then, let me know, and I'll help you. Okay?"

"Okay," Warren agreed, pushing some of the wavy light brown strands of his hair back from his face and tucking them behind his ears. "Jake, can I ask you one thing?"

"Of course."

"If the Father loves these humans so much, why does He allow them to behave in this way?"

"The same reason He allows me to speak such blasphemy," Jake replied with a bittersweet smile. "It's because He loves them and He knows they must come to Him on their own, not with His coaxing. And if they don't." He shrugged his small shoulders. "Then they turn to our brother. Simple as that."

Warren nodded. It made sense. "Thank you for listening."

Jake nodded and headed back down the street, his small body swallowed up by the crowds of men and women all dressed the same. Warren turned himself and headed for the bar they called the Whisky a Go-Go. Sure enough, once inside, Stephen Pearcy from Ratt was gesturing him over with a wide, childish smile on his face. The rest of the band was there, including the tall blond Warren had yet to formally meet. Warren went over to Ratt's table and took a seat next to the blond.

"Right, King, this is Warren DeMartini," Stephen said, nodding at the blond. "Warren, this is Robbin Crosby, but you can just call him King."

"Nice to meet you," King said warmly. His light blue eyes clouded for a moment. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

Warren placed a slightly puzzled look on his face while, underneath, his insides began to tremble. Yes, King knew him very well. When King had been just a child, he'd had dreams of Warren. Of course, he'd never seen Warren's face. Every dream had just been the figure of a man standing in pure golden light, and the only things that had been made out were Warren's long brown hair, wide brown eyes, and large, white wings.

"No, I don't think I've ever met you," Warren said, silently relieved when King nodded, accepting his words.

"So anyway, we're going to a Motley party later on tonight," Bobby "Blotz" Blotzer said with a smile.

"Yep," Stephen agreed. "Tommy already invited us, and I said yes. That okay with you, Warren?"

"Warren needs a nickname," Juan Croucier popped in.

"He smokes a lot," Stephen volunteered. "Smoke?"

"How about Torch?" King suggested, his eyes glittering deviously. "It's perfect, you know?"

"Yeah. Torch sounds good," Stephen agreed. "Warren?"

"Torch is great," Warren said, nodding. Secretly, he was a little ashamed of his quite human addiciton. But the Father had assured him it was okay if he tottered a little.

"So anyway," Juan said. "Hey, look! There's Axl and the gang!"

Warren glanced up again to see Guns N' Roses, a more recent spawn of the glam rock scene, standing at the bar, ordering drinks. Another of his brothers was standing there. Slash, the angel assigned to watch over Axl Rose. He caught Warren's eye and waved. Warren waved back.

"Dude, you know Slash?" King asked curiously.

"Yeah," Warren said. "Old friends."

The Gunners walked over. Well, all of them except Axl walked. Axl was more or less subconsciously strutting, more interested in his conversation with Izzy Stradlin than where he was going. Perhaps it was his looks or perhaps it was his seeming uncaring attitude, but something seemed to attract people's stares from all over the room. When he saw Warren, he plastered a gorgeous country-boy smile across his face.

"Hey, I'm Axl," he said. "You must be the new Ratt guitarist."

"Warren DeMartini," Warren said automatically, then added, "Torch."

"Torch. That's cool." Axl pulled up a chair between Warren and Blotz, then turned to his band. "Pull up a chair guys." He returned his blue-eyed gaze to Warren. "So, are you excited about being out here on the Strip with the big boys?"

Warren laughed. Now he knew why people liked Axl. Despite the make-up and teased hair, Axl was acutally charismatic. "Yeah, it's pretty cool."

"Awesome. Are you excited about the Motley party tonight?"

"Yeah, did you hear Sixx invited Lawless and his gang?" Duff McKagan interrupted, glancing at the Ratt boys. "I mean, seriously, were those two fuck buddies or something? Cause even though Nikki got freaking fired by Blackie, all those two do is hang out with each other."

"Fuck buddies?" Axl wondered aloud. "Hell, I don't doubt it. I don't care what kind of front Sixx puts up, he's a bitch at heart. And Blackie seems like the kinda person to bring that out."

"Oh please!" Izzy rolled his eyes. "If Sixx is getting fucked by anyone, you know it's Tommy. For the adorable puppy crap Tommy does, he gets as protective as a rabid Rottweiler when someone tries to hurt Nikki. This drug dealer tried to sell Nik some smack, right? Tommy damn near took his head off, he punched him so hard."

"And if anyone's fucking with Blackie, it's Chris Holmes," Steven Adler said. "I mean, Chris is wrapped around Blackie's little finger. Blackie says jump, Chris asks how high. So I bet you Lawless is the bitch in that equation."

"And-" Axl broke off. "Oh kick ass, here comes the Tallica boys."

Warren glanced up to see four guys without any make-up walking towards them. Of them, he saw another angel, Lars Ulrich, assigned to both James Hetfield and Dave Mustaine. Dave grabbed a chair and pulled it close to Axl. Redheads stick together, Warren thought to himself.

"This the new Ratt guy?" Dave asked, nodding at Warren.

"Yep," Axl said. "Warren DeMartini. Torch. Warren, this is Dave Mustaine, the other redhead is Cliff Burton, the surly motherfucker is James Hetfield, and the short guy is Lars Ulrich. Fuck with one of them, and you fuck with them all." He grinned at Dave. "When this guy hurt Lars, Dave broke his legs with his bare hands."

"Wow," Warren whispered. Overprotective.

"So anyway," Axl said, gathering everyone's attention. "The Motley party's in, like, fifteen minutes. Wanna go ahead and head over there? Vince, Nikki, and Tommy are outside offering rides, and you know you can squeeze like ten people in Tommy's van."

"We got a ride," James said. "I got a truck. Remember?"

"Oh yeah," Axl said, nodding. "Mind if I catch a ride with you?"

"Sure," Dave said. "Torch, King, you guys want a ride too?"

"Yeah," King said, standing. "Come on, Warren, let's go."

Warren stood and followed King and Axl out of the bar. When he glanced over his shoulder, he noticed Cliff was staying with the others, and Slash was untangling himself to follow after Axl. He sighed. Why did these humans make it so hard to be watched over?