AU Mini-Meme
I am nothing if not open to peer pressure. At least as long as it's telling me to do something I already wanted to do anyway.
Stealing a mini-meme idea from the lovely suzukiblu: AU mini-meme! Pick a character or characters, an accompanying mood or lyric, and an alternate setting/genre, and I'll scribble you something. Pharoahs, Green Lanterns, high school ( Read more... )
Stealing a mini-meme idea from the lovely suzukiblu: AU mini-meme! Pick a character or characters, an accompanying mood or lyric, and an alternate setting/genre, and I'll scribble you something. Pharoahs, Green Lanterns, high school ( Read more... )
He could still fight for the Lord. His swords could still protect humans, even if the hands that wielded them were tainted and corrupted.
His feathers were falling out. A little at a time, ones and twos, the bronze-sheened white feathers lying in the road behind him. He didn't look back. He couldn't bear to look back.
***
A moss-covered rock shelf in the middle of a stream provided a place to rest. Jet knelt, hands on his knees, and spread his wings to the sunlight that made its way through the trees. Little bits of feather-fluff ran past him down the stream, and he sat there for a long time staring at the water.
A gasp jerked him from his reverie. Jet glanced up sharply, wings flaring to make himself appear more dangerous.
The young woman wavered, but her dark eyes were alight with concern instead of fear. The dark habit of a woman vowed to the Lord was hiked up so she could wade through the water without getting it wet. Respectful, yes, but oh, it showed shockingly much of her legs.
It showed the fine pattern of hellfire scars rising from her ankle and up her leg out of sight underneath the habit.
"You're hurt," she said before he could.
Jet stared at her, his wings drooping. He didn't know how to answer that, because he wasn't hurt, not really, he was just- Oh, he was hurt beyond the reckoning of anything because he was lost, lost to the light of the Lord.
She held out her hand to him, one side of her habit slipping down to trail hems in the stream. "Come with me. Let me help. I've tea and warm food, at least."
He didn't need to eat or drink, but he nodded anyway and rose to his feet.
***
"My name is Song," she said as she crossed the threshold into the ancient nunnery.
"Jet." He looked around, taking in the slow creep of weeds and crumbling stones. This place was not merely ancient but also empty. But still it had a holiness about it, something a little too chill for Jet to find comfortable. He wrapped his wings about himself.
"What happened here?" He asked as she led him into a kitchen that looked well-kept.
She stirred up the fire in the great hearth before answering him. "There's a relic here, somewhere. I don't know where. It's better for it to be lost with the war so close.
"The war is very close, but my family lives near here," she continued as she went to bring in water from the well. He helped her bring it up, his own strength incomparably more than that of a daughter of Eve's. "My mother taught me to be a doctor, and the chapel needs tending, so-"
"You stay here," Jet finished.
She nodded and made him jasmine tea.
***
He told himself he would leave in the morning. Jet told himself that every morning, but somehow he always found something that he ought to do to make the nunnery a little bit safer for Song to live in by herself.
His feathers stopped falling out.
He didn't notice for weeks. He didn't notice until his wings itched abominably, and he twisted all around until he could see what was wrong.
What was right, rather. Tiny feathers were growing back in.
His hands shook, and awe rose in him at the Lord's mercy. Truly, truly, this was a miracle on the level of feeding the multitudes. Song- he needed to show Song, show what help she had given him.
He found her in the ancient chapel, prostrate before the symbol of the Lord. Her fingers moved over a simple wooden rosary, each bead drawing her to repeat her prayer.
"Lord, grant forgiveness and mercy to your servant Jet. I do not know what he had done before he came here, but I know what he has done here. Lord, in your mercy, hear my prayer."
His spirit leapt, and his wings flared around him in glory as he looked on this lovely, amazing young woman. She was not part of the Plan, he knew, for that was the gift of God to men. Free will to decide their own path, and she chose to pray for his forgiveness.
She was lovely, lovelier than even Katara's blue-eyed glory.
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The war was near. Jet smelled smoke, both normal and brimstone-tinged. People were fleeing along the roads, seeking refuge.
Song offered what aid she could, and she brought comfort to the sick and weary. She gave warm food and tea to everyone who passed through, though Jet knew she was stinting herself.
He stayed out of sight, his swords at the ready, as he watched for danger. Song would not leave this place, no matter how much he urged her to seek safety herself, and he would not leave her.
One night, the men who came to the entrance of the nunnery smelled faintly of smoke.
Song smiled and welcomed them in. Jet's feathers bristled, because he knew they would hurt her, they would rape her, they would-
She made them tea from a jar she had never taken down before, and they fell insensate to the floor after three gulps.
Song looked out in the darkness. "Jet," she called softly, "Can you help me, please?"
He landed in a soft rush of wind and feathers, and for a moment, his wings closed them both in a small space of softness and light together. Her eyes softened with wonder, and he inhaled the pleasant scent of her humanity, the dirt and spice that was so different from the faint incense of his own kind.
He reached up as if to touch her face, then thought better of it and flipped his wings back.
"I need to put them outside the walls," Song said, her voice a little breathier than usual. "It would take some time just by myself."
He nodded and went to help her throw them out. "Don't your vows forbid you from violence?"
She nodded. "We must do no harm. But my vows don't say anything about making men sleep."
***
The men came back the next night, but Jet waited for them then. He smiled and called on the barest hint of God's glory, the glory that surrounded even the simplest of messengers. The glory that required every message to open with 'Be not afraid.'
The men fled into the darkness.
***
One day, one terrible day, a being led a horse to the gates of the nunnery. He looked like a man, but Jet recognized the hellfire scar covering the left side of his face. No art of angels and demons could cover those scars, and once he saw it, Jet recognized Lee.
His spirit cried out with horror, and he leapt to fly, fast, as fast as he could to strike Lee down before he could invade the sanctity of Song's nunnery.
Song reached the gate first.
Jet perched on one of the high minarets of the nunnery, watching. Song's back stiffened as she pulled open the gate, her fists clenched. She trembled, and then her voice rose.
Lee replied softly, eyes lowered as if in contrition. Such as he could never feel true sorrow at their deeds, though. He only made Song angrier.
Jet felt horror choking him as Song raised her hand as if to strike Lee. He was tempting her, tempting her to wrath. To a fall as sure and damning as Jet's own.
Her hand struck Lee's cheek with a sound like a gunshot or a heart breaking, and Jet leapt off the roof. His swords came to his hands with ease, and he dropped between Song and Lee as the demon stumbled back from the force of her blow.
Jet's wings flared, feathers puffing up and spreading as he instinctively made himself appear bigger and more threatening. "Leave this place, foul thing!"
Lee snarled, and the guise of being human vanished though his wings did not unfurl. Swords appeared in his hand as well, and Jet's spirit leapt in exultation. A fight, finally, someone who had earned the wrath of the Lord-!
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"You don't know what he is," Jet growled, trying to ignore the feelings stirring in him at her touch there.
"I do," she said softly, and Lee's eyes widened in shock.
Lee stared and stared, then his swords fell from his hands and burned to ash before they struck the ground. He turned and ran.
Jet had no idea what to make of it, so he turned to wrap Song in his wings. She shivered and rested her cheek against his chest.
"He came months ago, disguised as a refugee," she said softly, her breath fluttering against his skin. "I thought- I saw the scar and thought he was safe. But he stole my horse when he left, even though he spread his wings under the moonlight."
He nodded and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and hearing her heartbeat.
***
That night, he would not leave her side, not even when she lay down in her cell to sleep. He sat up in the cell and listened to all the little signs of life given to humans. The beat of her heart, the rhythm of her breath, the pulse of her blood.
Sometime in the night, she woke and blinked at him. Sleep had tousled her brown hair, and her lips were slightly parted and inviting.
Jet crept forward and cupped her face in his hands. She smiled at him, eyes brightening, and reached for him. Her hands felt warm against his shoulders, and he let her draw him down beside her.
They lay there, looking at each other, then Jet leaned in and kissed her. It started soft and sweet, but desire flared in him and he intensified it. She hesitated at first, but he was persistent, and soon she responded ardently to him.
His hand ran down her habit, pushing it up so he could caress her skin. Her breath hitched, and she pushed at his shoulders.
"We musn't-"
Jet kissed her softly. "Why not, Song? Doesn't the Lord ask us to love?"
"But Jet... Oh!" She gasped as he stroked her. "Oh, please-!"
"Of course," he murmured as he bent to kiss her again. He would give her whatever she desired.
He didn't notice the slow rain of feathers from his wings.
***
The sunlight found them in the morning, and Jet roused and spread his wings. He blinked to see them a bare brown leather, but then Song stirred, and he turned his attention to her.
Some part of him wailed in horror that he had led a faithful, giving nun to break her vow of chastity.
The greater part of him didn't care.
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