And now to be completely random
Sep. 22nd, 2004 06:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrSing a song of sixpence
Pocket full of rye
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened,
the birds began to sing
Was this not a dainty dish
to set before the king?
The man took one last drag of his cigarette as two dark figures approached him, then dropped it to the ground and stamped it out. The smell of cigarette smoke was acrid and sharp in the sweet spring air of the cool evening. A few last rays of sunlight struggled to reach the three men gathering behind an old, scruffy brick building.
What little light did reach them revealed only that there was no lighting up the two walking toward the smoker. They were dark - of skin, of hair, of everything except their white teeth and pink tongues, and eyes so blue and bright it almost hurt to look at them.
"You're late, Blackbirds."
"Sorry boss," spoke the man on the left. To the casual eye they looked exactly alike. Even to the especially observant, and those familiar with the two men, it was hard to tell them apart. but their boss did not seem to have any trouble.
"No luck," said the one on the right. "We've checked with everyone. No one knows a thing."
Lips tight with displeasure - and to the practiced eye, worry - the smoker reached inside his long, deep blue coat and pulled out a fresh cigarette. He ignored the looks of the other two men and lit it. The wind ruffled his blue-black hair. His midnight blue eyes were grim as he stared at his subordinates. "Look again. I don't want you to upturn stones - I want you to shatter them. We have to find Sixpence. No matter what."
"Easier said than done boss."
"Don't I know it," he muttered, pulling deeply on his cigarette.
The man on the left shook his head, long pitch-black hair spilling over his shoulder. Irritably he brushed it back. "What should we do with the stones that don't feel like cooperating? Cause I can tell you, they're already pissed enough as is."
"I. Don't. Care." The man finished his cigarette. "Sixpence must be found. Every day he's missing lessens our chances of finding him." Frustrated, he shoved up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, "Four and Twenty are helping me look down here. If you guys don't find anything on your second search, then I'll probably put you down here as well."
The twin grimaced, "Shit. Things are worse than I thought. What in the hell is going on?"
"What in the hell indeed. If the problem were that simple, we wouldn't be having this meeting. Now get going, the sooner we figure out what's going on, the better."
"Right, boss." The twins nodded, then stepped back and with a flash of shadowy, muted light wings sprouted from their backs, the feathers as dark as the rest of them.
"Be careful, Nakir, Munkar," the man whispered in a voice full of the worry he had until then hidden. "Above all else, be careful."
"Don't worry about us, boss." Nakir smiled.
Munkar nodded, "Yeah, we'll be fine."
Unconvinced, Azrael nodded and watched them until they vanished.
Pocket full of rye
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened,
the birds began to sing
Was this not a dainty dish
to set before the king?
The man took one last drag of his cigarette as two dark figures approached him, then dropped it to the ground and stamped it out. The smell of cigarette smoke was acrid and sharp in the sweet spring air of the cool evening. A few last rays of sunlight struggled to reach the three men gathering behind an old, scruffy brick building.
What little light did reach them revealed only that there was no lighting up the two walking toward the smoker. They were dark - of skin, of hair, of everything except their white teeth and pink tongues, and eyes so blue and bright it almost hurt to look at them.
"You're late, Blackbirds."
"Sorry boss," spoke the man on the left. To the casual eye they looked exactly alike. Even to the especially observant, and those familiar with the two men, it was hard to tell them apart. but their boss did not seem to have any trouble.
"No luck," said the one on the right. "We've checked with everyone. No one knows a thing."
Lips tight with displeasure - and to the practiced eye, worry - the smoker reached inside his long, deep blue coat and pulled out a fresh cigarette. He ignored the looks of the other two men and lit it. The wind ruffled his blue-black hair. His midnight blue eyes were grim as he stared at his subordinates. "Look again. I don't want you to upturn stones - I want you to shatter them. We have to find Sixpence. No matter what."
"Easier said than done boss."
"Don't I know it," he muttered, pulling deeply on his cigarette.
The man on the left shook his head, long pitch-black hair spilling over his shoulder. Irritably he brushed it back. "What should we do with the stones that don't feel like cooperating? Cause I can tell you, they're already pissed enough as is."
"I. Don't. Care." The man finished his cigarette. "Sixpence must be found. Every day he's missing lessens our chances of finding him." Frustrated, he shoved up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, "Four and Twenty are helping me look down here. If you guys don't find anything on your second search, then I'll probably put you down here as well."
The twin grimaced, "Shit. Things are worse than I thought. What in the hell is going on?"
"What in the hell indeed. If the problem were that simple, we wouldn't be having this meeting. Now get going, the sooner we figure out what's going on, the better."
"Right, boss." The twins nodded, then stepped back and with a flash of shadowy, muted light wings sprouted from their backs, the feathers as dark as the rest of them.
"Be careful, Nakir, Munkar," the man whispered in a voice full of the worry he had until then hidden. "Above all else, be careful."
"Don't worry about us, boss." Nakir smiled.
Munkar nodded, "Yeah, we'll be fine."
Unconvinced, Azrael nodded and watched them until they vanished.
