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Sep. 28th, 2004 11:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrAll right. A few revisions made, and new stuff added. And I wrote a fuckload of it on the bus this morning, so once I get a chance I'll have the rest of two and most of chapter three up.
I really should be working on other stories, but this is giving me my motivation back so I really find it hard to feel too awful...I swear I'll Treaure et al. up soon.
Sixpence
Sing 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?
Prologue
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 red-brown 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.
Chapter One
Court of 13
Nakir and Munkar made their way across the sky, over the Silver City and toward the crystal and silver spire that dominated its center. The two stark shadows were hard to miss amidst the glitter and light of the breathtaking home of the angels, but the sight of angels of death visiting the Metatron and his fellows of the Spire was so normal, none thought anything of it.
The black twins landed soundlessly on the highest balcony. Munkar pressed close to the glass, tapping lightly with his fingernails. Inside an angel with four snow-white wings sat at a large desk, and even at a distance the silver rims of his spectacles glinted. His frown cleared as he realized who was tapping, and the man rose to let them in.
He tilted his head, waiting for the twins to speak. "Pocket," Nakir said. "We've come to see if you've new information."
The bespectacled angel shook his head, silver-gold hair swishing across his back. "None. We're still utterly confounded. Even the--King is confounded. And he's distraught. How does one kidnap one of our strongest? It isn't like Sixpence to just vanish...I wish I could just blame this on demons." Pushing up his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose." He blinked silver-gray eyes at them, "What of you, Blackbirds? Anything at all? And Pie?"
Munkar shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of defeat. "Nothing. He's still searching Earth with 4 & 20. If Sixpence isn't anywhere in Heaven, then the entire Court of 13 may wind up searching Earth. Pie has already said he'll drag us down there after we complete our second search here."
"Should we investigate Hell anyway?" Nakir asked. "It can't hurt."
"King doesn't want to do that until absolutely necessary." Pocket smiled, "Though Rye and Dainty Dish have already volunteered for the task, should it prove necessary."
"Figures. Those three always steal the fun jobs." Nakir and Munkar both looked highly annoyed. Nakir looked around the office, "Where are Sing a Song?"
"Conducting interviews, as best they can without arousing suspicion." The white-winged angel bit at his bottom lip. "We need clues. But no one seems to have any idea where he was the day he vanished. None! How is that possible?" His agitation twisted his face, "One of our mightiest and none of us has any clue!"
Nakir and Munkar were silent, keeping to themselves the opinion that it would not be the first time Gabriel had snuck off to do something that he probably should not have been doing. The puzzle was that usually they knew what misdeed he was up to. This time they did not.
Munkar was hesitant, "Maybe we should go speak with--"
"Don't even say it," Pocket said sharply. "We dare not drag him into this until we have no other choice. Do you know the havoc it would cause? No, it is simply out of the question." He turned away, "I've got to get back to work. You two looked exhausted. Get some rest, then continue your search. And that's an order."
"Yes, oh wise and mighty Raziel." Nakir said with a snicker.
Raziel glared at him.
"Going, going. Say Hello to the Met for us."
"I shall." Raziel waited until they were in the air before once more locking his balcony door. With a tired sigh he moved back to his desk and set again to perusing every bit of Gabriel's past schedules that they had been able to locate.
But the Archangel Gabriel had always had very good reasons for being vague as to his whereabouts. Those reasons now seemed to be working against him.
*~*~*~*
At the edge of the silver city, not quite into the shadows, was the home that even most angels feared to approach. Neither Fallen nor completely Righteous, the only angels to bear black wings - the Angels of Death.
Something was wrong. Black-winged angels milled around the house, as if loath to go inside. Light flared where normally at such a late hour the house was predominantly dark. Shouts and cries broke the silence.
The twins landed rapidly, sacrificing grace for expediency. Barely glancing at the dark angels gathered outside, they rushed inside to see what was wrong.
"Nakir! Munkar!" Abaddon, a fellow Angel of Death, rushed to their side. "Azrael's study! Ruman!"
"What of Ruman?!" Munkar half snarled, dragging Abaddon close even as the angel tried to back away.
Nakir didn't wait to hear the answer, rushing toward the largest room in their home - the study where Azrael kept every record pertinent to Death.
Several black-winged angels were gathered around one laying flat on the floor, and Nakir fought his way past them to drop down beside the injured Ruman.
Munkar appeared at his side a few moments later and took in the mostly-unconscious angel. "He caught the intruder...Ruman..." his voice turned hoarse, filled with dismay as he and Nakir took in the sight of their badly wounded lover.
Ruman was as pale as the twins were dark, save for his black wings - which were currently sticky with blood and short a great many feathers. His normally bright, lime-green eyes were dulled with pain. Nakir lifted him gingerly into his arms, "Ruman, Ruman. What happened?"
But the injured angel could only just manage a weak shake of his head, breaths short and sharp. Nakir could feel more blood on his hands and arms, where they cradled Ruman's shoulders and back.
His face tightened. "We'll get you help, beloved." He looked at the other angels, "When did this happen? Why were we not summoned immediately?"
"Be-because..." Araqiel spoke up, clearly shaken by something. "Because of who he says attacked him. We...thought it best no one knew, until the Archangels could be informed. And it happened recently enough, we hadn't had a chance to contact you."
"Who? Who attacked him?" Munkar demanded.
It was Ruman who answered, voice barely audible. "Az..za.." he fell unconscious.
The twins froze at the softly spoken name, and looked up to exchange hard glances. Munkar turned to Araqiel. "Take care of Ruman. We will inform the Archangels." He dropped a soft kiss to Ruman's cheek, then reluctantly pulled away. Equally reluctant, Nakir let other angels to see to Ruman. Faces full of the fury that had them so feared by the deceased, they flew off back to the spire.
Nakir examined the blood on his arms and hands as they flew, frown deep. "Whoever did this will pay. I'll kill Azza myself for this."
"Careful, brother." Munkar cautioned. "Don't say things you might live to regret."
"I won't regret vowing to kill the man who harmed our Ruman."
"Wait until we better understand the situation. And also remember that he is ours to punish, not yours."
Nakir looked over at Munkar, and nodded. "Of course, my brother. Never do I think to do anything alone."
Munkar looked satisfied as they alighted once more on Raziel's balcony. His taps this time were sharper, louder, his hand rather than simply his nails. Raziel looked up and frowned, rising from his seat. He threw the balcony door open. "What are you doing here?"
"Azza is free and attacked Ruman."
Raziel looked as if he was going to fall over, as Munkar's words registered. "That…that's impossible."
"Clearly not," Nakir said sharply. "We should talk inside."
"Yes," his twin agreed. "This could relate to the 13."
Both Nakir and Raziel gaped at him. Nakir glared, blue eyes wide and bright. "What do you mean?"
Raziel ushered them both inside, closing and locking his balcony doors. He frowned as he noticed the blood that still covered Nakir. "What happened?" his voice turned sharp, brisk.
"We barely heard the story before we rushed back to you," Munkar began.
Nakir continued, "All we know is that Ruman interrupted an intruder in Azrael's study, and came out the worse for it. He passed out right after giving us the name."
"I see."
"There's more to it," Munkar said in a granite voice. "I spoke briefly with Abbadon…Azza apparently was going through the desk…the only things Azrael keeps in the desk are basic supplies, and the hidden drawer containing--"
"Information on the Court of 13." Raziel cursed colorfully beneath his breath. "It could just be a coincidence…"
"I doubt it," Nakir said grimly. "Gabriel vanishes and now one of the Punished is loose and creeping around the office of an Archangel? And attacked an Angel of Death?"
"We need to summon the Court. If this whole disaster is tied to it, and not simply Gabriel, we have a larger problem."
Munkar shook his head, "But if Gabriel was taken because of the court…then it isn't safe simply to call them all here."
"No, we'll have to gather the thirteen one by one." Raziel propped his chin on a bent index finger, other arm on his hip. "I will fetch Sing a Song, King, Rye and Dainty Dish. Return to Earth and fetch Pie and Four and Twenty. Do it immediately - I will see that Ruman is cared for.
The twins nodded. Rather than heading for the balcony, they closed their eyes. Their wings vanished, as on their foreheads a many-pointed silver star flared briefly into visibility. They vanished.
Chapter Two
Star Stopper
Azrael resisted the urge to light a cigarette. He was an Archangel; he had better ways to soothe his nerves.
Mostly he was just pissed that his nerves needed soothing.
No clues anywhere. It was as if Gabriel had vanished. He really wished he could blame Hell for it…but Hell was the least likely. For reasons no one wanted to discuss. Yet. If they didn't find Gabriel soon, they wouldn't have a choice.
Something was off. The night was too quiet, too calm, too still. He was in the middle of a large city, it shouldn't be this quiet. Obeying his sense of forboding, Azrael dropped from human sight and took to the skies. He resumed visibility several minutes later, as far into the middle of nowhere as he could go. It looked like the fields had once been a farm - a rickety old barn still stood just a few yards behind him. This would do…for whatever was coming.
Everything was so still. Something was strange about it, but he couldn't place what. Fuck it. Reaching into the inner pocket of his long, dark blue coat Azrael pulled out a cigarette. Light flared as he willed the tip to light, a spark of orange in the night-dark field. Blowing smoke into the cool air, he titled his head back to look at the stars.
And froze.
Azrael swore, loudly and colorfully. Dropping his head, he swiveled his midnight eyes around the field. "It can't be…"
Someone chuckled. The sound of it was warm and rich and deep, a swallow of brandy on a cold night.
More cursed filled the field. "How! How is it possible! You shouldn't be here, Star Stopper." Azrael spun around even as too hands reached out to shove him hard in a childish gesture of anger. He was being taunted.
The Archangel recovered his balance as he finished spinning, and glared darkly at the Fallen who had shoved him. "Star Stopper."
"That's a name I haven't heard in ages," the Fallen sneered. His hair was the color of metal that had lost it's sheen, the cut choppy where it lay against the sides of his angular face. His eyes were hard and flat, like stars that had lost shine and become only fallen bits of rock. But the jagged edges suited him; he looked much like a sword that was both beautiful and deadly.
He lunged forward, but Azrael lept away, his four blue-black wings flaring. "Stand down, Rabdos!"
"Never!"
Azrael again avoided his assault, holding out his hand and summoning a sword of bright silver, the hilt a stark black in comparison. He held it pointed down, and from seemingly nowhere something that looked like water trickled down the edges of the double blade and hissed in the grass.
Rabdos sneered, "Are you going to hurt me with that?" He again lunged, the knives in his hand flashing dark silver as he made a swipe at Azrael's face.
"How are you on Earth?" Azrael blocked the daggers, the tip of his sword nicking the Fallen's cheek.
Idly Rabdos reached up and touched fingers to his cheek. They came away wet with blood and the clear, but oddly shimmering liquid that came from Azrael's sword. Looking the Archangel, he licked his fingers. "Think you to hurt me with your silly poison, Az? You should know better than that."
"How!"
"Tsk, tsk. Isn't it obvious?" In a sudden flash of movement, Rabdos vanished and then reappeared behind Azrael. He hit the Archangel hard in the head, using the chance to knock the poisonous sword from his hand. Spinning him around, Rabdos pressed him against the crumbling barn. "I took the Star of Passage from Gabriel - he never could take a beating quite as nicely as you, Az." Rabdos licked his lips, "Would you like to try to poison me, again? I do like the way it tastes."
"Go back to Hell, Fallen." Azrael's eyes flashed blue lightning for an instant. "Where is Gabriel?"
"With some friends. And he'll stay there until we see fit to release him. I might be persuaded to make that sooner rather than later if you'll give up your star. Though to be honest, I wouldn't mind if you refused." His gray eyes glinted, "It would be the greatest of pleasures to beat you into submission."
"Rabdos," Azrael hissed, "I wouldn't submit to you even if the Lord commanded it."
"Oh good, I get to beat you then."
"Never!" Azrael roared.
I really should be working on other stories, but this is giving me my motivation back so I really find it hard to feel too awful...I swear I'll Treaure et al. up soon.
Sing 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 red-brown 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.
Nakir and Munkar made their way across the sky, over the Silver City and toward the crystal and silver spire that dominated its center. The two stark shadows were hard to miss amidst the glitter and light of the breathtaking home of the angels, but the sight of angels of death visiting the Metatron and his fellows of the Spire was so normal, none thought anything of it.
The black twins landed soundlessly on the highest balcony. Munkar pressed close to the glass, tapping lightly with his fingernails. Inside an angel with four snow-white wings sat at a large desk, and even at a distance the silver rims of his spectacles glinted. His frown cleared as he realized who was tapping, and the man rose to let them in.
He tilted his head, waiting for the twins to speak. "Pocket," Nakir said. "We've come to see if you've new information."
The bespectacled angel shook his head, silver-gold hair swishing across his back. "None. We're still utterly confounded. Even the--King is confounded. And he's distraught. How does one kidnap one of our strongest? It isn't like Sixpence to just vanish...I wish I could just blame this on demons." Pushing up his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose." He blinked silver-gray eyes at them, "What of you, Blackbirds? Anything at all? And Pie?"
Munkar shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of defeat. "Nothing. He's still searching Earth with 4 & 20. If Sixpence isn't anywhere in Heaven, then the entire Court of 13 may wind up searching Earth. Pie has already said he'll drag us down there after we complete our second search here."
"Should we investigate Hell anyway?" Nakir asked. "It can't hurt."
"King doesn't want to do that until absolutely necessary." Pocket smiled, "Though Rye and Dainty Dish have already volunteered for the task, should it prove necessary."
"Figures. Those three always steal the fun jobs." Nakir and Munkar both looked highly annoyed. Nakir looked around the office, "Where are Sing a Song?"
"Conducting interviews, as best they can without arousing suspicion." The white-winged angel bit at his bottom lip. "We need clues. But no one seems to have any idea where he was the day he vanished. None! How is that possible?" His agitation twisted his face, "One of our mightiest and none of us has any clue!"
Nakir and Munkar were silent, keeping to themselves the opinion that it would not be the first time Gabriel had snuck off to do something that he probably should not have been doing. The puzzle was that usually they knew what misdeed he was up to. This time they did not.
Munkar was hesitant, "Maybe we should go speak with--"
"Don't even say it," Pocket said sharply. "We dare not drag him into this until we have no other choice. Do you know the havoc it would cause? No, it is simply out of the question." He turned away, "I've got to get back to work. You two looked exhausted. Get some rest, then continue your search. And that's an order."
"Yes, oh wise and mighty Raziel." Nakir said with a snicker.
Raziel glared at him.
"Going, going. Say Hello to the Met for us."
"I shall." Raziel waited until they were in the air before once more locking his balcony door. With a tired sigh he moved back to his desk and set again to perusing every bit of Gabriel's past schedules that they had been able to locate.
But the Archangel Gabriel had always had very good reasons for being vague as to his whereabouts. Those reasons now seemed to be working against him.
At the edge of the silver city, not quite into the shadows, was the home that even most angels feared to approach. Neither Fallen nor completely Righteous, the only angels to bear black wings - the Angels of Death.
Something was wrong. Black-winged angels milled around the house, as if loath to go inside. Light flared where normally at such a late hour the house was predominantly dark. Shouts and cries broke the silence.
The twins landed rapidly, sacrificing grace for expediency. Barely glancing at the dark angels gathered outside, they rushed inside to see what was wrong.
"Nakir! Munkar!" Abaddon, a fellow Angel of Death, rushed to their side. "Azrael's study! Ruman!"
"What of Ruman?!" Munkar half snarled, dragging Abaddon close even as the angel tried to back away.
Nakir didn't wait to hear the answer, rushing toward the largest room in their home - the study where Azrael kept every record pertinent to Death.
Several black-winged angels were gathered around one laying flat on the floor, and Nakir fought his way past them to drop down beside the injured Ruman.
Munkar appeared at his side a few moments later and took in the mostly-unconscious angel. "He caught the intruder...Ruman..." his voice turned hoarse, filled with dismay as he and Nakir took in the sight of their badly wounded lover.
Ruman was as pale as the twins were dark, save for his black wings - which were currently sticky with blood and short a great many feathers. His normally bright, lime-green eyes were dulled with pain. Nakir lifted him gingerly into his arms, "Ruman, Ruman. What happened?"
But the injured angel could only just manage a weak shake of his head, breaths short and sharp. Nakir could feel more blood on his hands and arms, where they cradled Ruman's shoulders and back.
His face tightened. "We'll get you help, beloved." He looked at the other angels, "When did this happen? Why were we not summoned immediately?"
"Be-because..." Araqiel spoke up, clearly shaken by something. "Because of who he says attacked him. We...thought it best no one knew, until the Archangels could be informed. And it happened recently enough, we hadn't had a chance to contact you."
"Who? Who attacked him?" Munkar demanded.
It was Ruman who answered, voice barely audible. "Az..za.." he fell unconscious.
The twins froze at the softly spoken name, and looked up to exchange hard glances. Munkar turned to Araqiel. "Take care of Ruman. We will inform the Archangels." He dropped a soft kiss to Ruman's cheek, then reluctantly pulled away. Equally reluctant, Nakir let other angels to see to Ruman. Faces full of the fury that had them so feared by the deceased, they flew off back to the spire.
Nakir examined the blood on his arms and hands as they flew, frown deep. "Whoever did this will pay. I'll kill Azza myself for this."
"Careful, brother." Munkar cautioned. "Don't say things you might live to regret."
"I won't regret vowing to kill the man who harmed our Ruman."
"Wait until we better understand the situation. And also remember that he is ours to punish, not yours."
Nakir looked over at Munkar, and nodded. "Of course, my brother. Never do I think to do anything alone."
Munkar looked satisfied as they alighted once more on Raziel's balcony. His taps this time were sharper, louder, his hand rather than simply his nails. Raziel looked up and frowned, rising from his seat. He threw the balcony door open. "What are you doing here?"
"Azza is free and attacked Ruman."
Raziel looked as if he was going to fall over, as Munkar's words registered. "That…that's impossible."
"Clearly not," Nakir said sharply. "We should talk inside."
"Yes," his twin agreed. "This could relate to the 13."
Both Nakir and Raziel gaped at him. Nakir glared, blue eyes wide and bright. "What do you mean?"
Raziel ushered them both inside, closing and locking his balcony doors. He frowned as he noticed the blood that still covered Nakir. "What happened?" his voice turned sharp, brisk.
"We barely heard the story before we rushed back to you," Munkar began.
Nakir continued, "All we know is that Ruman interrupted an intruder in Azrael's study, and came out the worse for it. He passed out right after giving us the name."
"I see."
"There's more to it," Munkar said in a granite voice. "I spoke briefly with Abbadon…Azza apparently was going through the desk…the only things Azrael keeps in the desk are basic supplies, and the hidden drawer containing--"
"Information on the Court of 13." Raziel cursed colorfully beneath his breath. "It could just be a coincidence…"
"I doubt it," Nakir said grimly. "Gabriel vanishes and now one of the Punished is loose and creeping around the office of an Archangel? And attacked an Angel of Death?"
"We need to summon the Court. If this whole disaster is tied to it, and not simply Gabriel, we have a larger problem."
Munkar shook his head, "But if Gabriel was taken because of the court…then it isn't safe simply to call them all here."
"No, we'll have to gather the thirteen one by one." Raziel propped his chin on a bent index finger, other arm on his hip. "I will fetch Sing a Song, King, Rye and Dainty Dish. Return to Earth and fetch Pie and Four and Twenty. Do it immediately - I will see that Ruman is cared for.
The twins nodded. Rather than heading for the balcony, they closed their eyes. Their wings vanished, as on their foreheads a many-pointed silver star flared briefly into visibility. They vanished.
Azrael resisted the urge to light a cigarette. He was an Archangel; he had better ways to soothe his nerves.
Mostly he was just pissed that his nerves needed soothing.
No clues anywhere. It was as if Gabriel had vanished. He really wished he could blame Hell for it…but Hell was the least likely. For reasons no one wanted to discuss. Yet. If they didn't find Gabriel soon, they wouldn't have a choice.
Something was off. The night was too quiet, too calm, too still. He was in the middle of a large city, it shouldn't be this quiet. Obeying his sense of forboding, Azrael dropped from human sight and took to the skies. He resumed visibility several minutes later, as far into the middle of nowhere as he could go. It looked like the fields had once been a farm - a rickety old barn still stood just a few yards behind him. This would do…for whatever was coming.
Everything was so still. Something was strange about it, but he couldn't place what. Fuck it. Reaching into the inner pocket of his long, dark blue coat Azrael pulled out a cigarette. Light flared as he willed the tip to light, a spark of orange in the night-dark field. Blowing smoke into the cool air, he titled his head back to look at the stars.
And froze.
Azrael swore, loudly and colorfully. Dropping his head, he swiveled his midnight eyes around the field. "It can't be…"
Someone chuckled. The sound of it was warm and rich and deep, a swallow of brandy on a cold night.
More cursed filled the field. "How! How is it possible! You shouldn't be here, Star Stopper." Azrael spun around even as too hands reached out to shove him hard in a childish gesture of anger. He was being taunted.
The Archangel recovered his balance as he finished spinning, and glared darkly at the Fallen who had shoved him. "Star Stopper."
"That's a name I haven't heard in ages," the Fallen sneered. His hair was the color of metal that had lost it's sheen, the cut choppy where it lay against the sides of his angular face. His eyes were hard and flat, like stars that had lost shine and become only fallen bits of rock. But the jagged edges suited him; he looked much like a sword that was both beautiful and deadly.
He lunged forward, but Azrael lept away, his four blue-black wings flaring. "Stand down, Rabdos!"
"Never!"
Azrael again avoided his assault, holding out his hand and summoning a sword of bright silver, the hilt a stark black in comparison. He held it pointed down, and from seemingly nowhere something that looked like water trickled down the edges of the double blade and hissed in the grass.
Rabdos sneered, "Are you going to hurt me with that?" He again lunged, the knives in his hand flashing dark silver as he made a swipe at Azrael's face.
"How are you on Earth?" Azrael blocked the daggers, the tip of his sword nicking the Fallen's cheek.
Idly Rabdos reached up and touched fingers to his cheek. They came away wet with blood and the clear, but oddly shimmering liquid that came from Azrael's sword. Looking the Archangel, he licked his fingers. "Think you to hurt me with your silly poison, Az? You should know better than that."
"How!"
"Tsk, tsk. Isn't it obvious?" In a sudden flash of movement, Rabdos vanished and then reappeared behind Azrael. He hit the Archangel hard in the head, using the chance to knock the poisonous sword from his hand. Spinning him around, Rabdos pressed him against the crumbling barn. "I took the Star of Passage from Gabriel - he never could take a beating quite as nicely as you, Az." Rabdos licked his lips, "Would you like to try to poison me, again? I do like the way it tastes."
"Go back to Hell, Fallen." Azrael's eyes flashed blue lightning for an instant. "Where is Gabriel?"
"With some friends. And he'll stay there until we see fit to release him. I might be persuaded to make that sooner rather than later if you'll give up your star. Though to be honest, I wouldn't mind if you refused." His gray eyes glinted, "It would be the greatest of pleasures to beat you into submission."
"Rabdos," Azrael hissed, "I wouldn't submit to you even if the Lord commanded it."
"Oh good, I get to beat you then."
"Never!" Azrael roared.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-28 11:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-28 01:06 pm (UTC)^_^ High praise indeed. Thankee muchly, darling sister.