Elizabeth hoped there would be more of a break between 99 and 100, but they came right after each other. It was a domestic fight gone bad. He killed his wife and then shot himself. The blood is on her hands and shoes and clothes, specks on her face too. It's nothing new to her, and it doesn't even bother her anymore.
100. It doesn't feel any different than the rest, but at the same time, it does. It's like it always is. Heavy. But it's more. She remembers them all, some were harder than others. Maybe it would be easier if she forgot, but she doesn't want to forget. She does and she doesn't, and she
( ... )
Josef is starting to lose count on how many people he's used to assuage his own Calling. Some of them were important projects but most of the time, they've been practice. Entertainment. Validation. Lately, just necessity.
Some end in death and others don't. Some consist entirely of nightmares and others are far more tangible, leading to roof tops and railings and open balconies. He's stood at the other end of Death and laughed in its face, because what is there to fear?
It's an end. An end that he has taken so many to, and now he's starting to lose count.
He's always been so detail-oriented. He's never forgotten a name, a face, a last word before it all goes black but now--they all blur and muddle and blend together, and he wonders what that means.
Probably nothing. Probably something important. There isn't the desire to figure it out, and then the door is opening and his whole being slides into awareness. "Hey," he replies, remaining at the window. He studies her, tired and beautiful and young but...never quite young at moments
( ... )
Elizabeth doesn't pause when she sees his hand outstretched to her. The key is tossed on to the counter. Her backpack is deposited on the floor. She walks to him, reaches for his hand (the heat and the strength of it against her cold, smooth palm), and pulls in close, resting her head against his chest. He's warm and strong, and sometimes she feels like she gets lost in all that cold
( ... )
The tightness in his chest that made it constrict lessens once she's close enough to touch. Josef worries, but never to the point of hovering. He's still relieved she's back home, in one piece.
His hands drift toward her waist, shifting her in place so that she's looking out the window, too. His chin rests on her shoulder and he finally shakes his head against it. "I'm not sure," he says, and he's not. There wasn't anything in particular he was looking at.
Two drunk girls were walking past their window a few minutes ago, their heels in their hands, zigzagging their way across the street. Before that, a man was running. Josef doesn't know what he was running from.
There's always something.
He presses an absent kiss right under her earlobe. She is cold. She's colder than anything he's ever touched, and she's never frozen. "What's wrong?"
Point blank. Quietly spoken, but determined. He knows there's something, because he knows her.
Elizabeth closes her eyes when he rests his chin on her shoulder. She's quiet, and her hands drift over his, sliding along his knuckles to his wrists.
She nods at the answer. When she looks out the window, she doesn't know what she sees. A different world, it feels like. This place here is protected. It's theirs. The place out there is a different world that needs the angel, and it's taking time and effort to remind herself she's not in that other world.
It's his question that reminds her. There's blood on her clothes, on her shoes. She cleaned off the blood on her hands, she thinks. Some of it. It's the details after the deaths that muddle together. Sometimes she cleans herself there. Sometimes she waits. Sometimes--
He asked her a question, and she winces because she knows why he asks but the truth is...
"Nothing really." She helped someone die. She did her duty, her destiny. It's right. It should all be right, but she knows why he asks so she elaborates. "100. Today, the second one, he was... number one hundred
( ... )
It's right about now he notices the blood on her clothing. It's not hers, he knows right off the bat it's not hers or his reaction would be far different, but he notices and the tightening in his chest returns. Death, in some form or another, is always something that he's used to; blood, there's always blood
( ... )
Elizabeth follows where he tugs. Right now, she'd go anywhere he led her without question. She trusts him with her life, with everything, and there's no fight in her. The angel is leaving. Elizabeth is trying to find her way back, trying to hold on again. It's easier with him holding her.
Her hands go under the water, and she closes her eyes as the water washes over the blood. Blood is so easy to wash away. The deaths aren't. The heaviness isn't.
It's just a number."I know," she says, and she does. She forces her eyes to open. "I'm... okay. I just-- I remember... every single one, and it's
( ... )
He remembers having to pick her up that day of the plagues. She'd helped so many die, she couldn't stand on her own two feet. The day of the Conrad's destruction, it had been similar. It's why he was so hellbent on that not happening at the fair, no matter how infuriated she may be for it.
Josef sees the toll every death takes on her
( ... )
Elizabeth watches as he works on her hands. She has to wonder why it's always her hands, how it's come that he's taking care of them so often, how good he is at taking care of them. There are those burns that remain. She slammed them to the wall after her father took her to juvie. Even the super glued banana, he's had to time and again take her hands, gently get them clean
( ... )
I... despair of her.pplrunincirclesJuly 20 2010, 08:38:30 UTC
It's nothing that she wants either. A life with him, how ever short it may be, is all that she wants at this point. She doesn't think very far into the future. There's no career that she wants to pursue. There isn't really anything that she feels she's missing in her life. It's strange to feel that her life's complete at seventeen, but she can't think of what more to add to it. Friends. She can always have more friends, but she doesn't need anything more than what she currently has.
He cleans her cheek, and she manages another smile. "Okay." Another deep, solid breath, and she slips her hands into her curls, closing her eyes for a moment.
nuuuu /snuggles her :>destroytheotherJuly 20 2010, 17:56:01 UTC
Josef barely takes notice of the faint scars that remain from the burns. It isn't that he doesn't notice, because he'll never forget that day and he'll never forget the way she looked when he found her. And God, they always do find each other in those moments, don't they? It's just a part of her now, those hands with those scars, and with time they've faded.
It doesn't make her hands any less beautiful in his eyes.
If anyone can understand there's more to scars than the marks they leave, it's Josef.
He's quiet while she fumbles for the words. He's quiet because he can't really say anything. What he may want to say is glued to his throat. He can deny it as much as he wants, but it's something he's wondered about, too. He's wondered who he'd be without the Calling, how much of him would change, what kind of life he may have led if he'd just been normal. How many lives would have been spared because of that difference
( ... )
._____- :/ *emoticonal response*pplrunincirclesJuly 21 2010, 00:22:02 UTC
It's highly unlikely that there is any logic to it. There aren't always reasons for love. For why two people who are so different can be friends, let alone what they are to each other. It makes no sense, but Elizabeth has never tried to understand the world around her. For the most part, she accepts everything as it is
( ... )
He notes the exhaustion. Josef may be starting to lose count of the people he inflicts his Calling on, but there will never be a detail that goes amiss when it comes to her. He catalogs each and every one in his mind. There are different levels of exhaustion, and considering the occasion it could be worse
( ... )
[ ;____; ] *clings back*pplrunincirclesJuly 21 2010, 03:45:36 UTC
Elizabeth doesn't have words at all. None come to mind as she closes her eyes, loses herself to the feel of his hands against her skin as he pulls the clothes from her too. She's too tired to think of sex even, to let the touch of his hands fill her with anything other than warmth, love, and safety, which is what she needs now, in the face of all that cold, in the frozen weight pressing deep within her chest
( ... )
Josef doesn't lose the calmness, not in his features and not in his movements, until he's out the door. It's only then he stops, in the middle of the hallway, at somewhat of a loss. He turns back a fraction, staring at the open doorway, feeling heavier than he did an hour ago. Two hours ago
( ... )
Elizabeth notices the lack of feeling that first time that he smiles. She can't really blame him for it. They both got whacked in the head (for lack of better terms) with the truth that they already knew, but now it's here. Now it's at the forefront of this, and it can't be shoved to the side. They may embrace their callings, but that means snapping. Someday.
It means there will be a time when it's too much, and she hopes she dies before that happens. She doesn't want to lose her mind. She doesn't want him to lose his either. But someone has to lose their mind first. Someone has to die first, and it's not fair.
She spent so long-- She spent so much time unable to understand why angels of death never last very long, why she's never met another one, why people were surprised that someone like her could be one. She used to get offended by it. She used to feel like maybe people thought someone like her was wrong for the part
( ... )
100. It doesn't feel any different than the rest, but at the same time, it does. It's like it always is. Heavy. But it's more. She remembers them all, some were harder than others. Maybe it would be easier if she forgot, but she doesn't want to forget. She does and she doesn't, and she ( ... )
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Some end in death and others don't. Some consist entirely of nightmares and others are far more tangible, leading to roof tops and railings and open balconies. He's stood at the other end of Death and laughed in its face, because what is there to fear?
It's an end. An end that he has taken so many to, and now he's starting to lose count.
He's always been so detail-oriented. He's never forgotten a name, a face, a last word before it all goes black but now--they all blur and muddle and blend together, and he wonders what that means.
Probably nothing. Probably something important. There isn't the desire to figure it out, and then the door is opening and his whole being slides into awareness. "Hey," he replies, remaining at the window. He studies her, tired and beautiful and young but...never quite young at moments ( ... )
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His hands drift toward her waist, shifting her in place so that she's looking out the window, too. His chin rests on her shoulder and he finally shakes his head against it. "I'm not sure," he says, and he's not. There wasn't anything in particular he was looking at.
Two drunk girls were walking past their window a few minutes ago, their heels in their hands, zigzagging their way across the street. Before that, a man was running. Josef doesn't know what he was running from.
There's always something.
He presses an absent kiss right under her earlobe. She is cold. She's colder than anything he's ever touched, and she's never frozen. "What's wrong?"
Point blank. Quietly spoken, but determined. He knows there's something, because he knows her.
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She nods at the answer. When she looks out the window, she doesn't know what she sees. A different world, it feels like. This place here is protected. It's theirs. The place out there is a different world that needs the angel, and it's taking time and effort to remind herself she's not in that other world.
It's his question that reminds her. There's blood on her clothes, on her shoes. She cleaned off the blood on her hands, she thinks. Some of it. It's the details after the deaths that muddle together. Sometimes she cleans herself there. Sometimes she waits. Sometimes--
He asked her a question, and she winces because she knows why he asks but the truth is...
"Nothing really." She helped someone die. She did her duty, her destiny. It's right. It should all be right, but she knows why he asks so she elaborates. "100. Today, the second one, he was... number one hundred ( ... )
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Her hands go under the water, and she closes her eyes as the water washes over the blood. Blood is so easy to wash away. The deaths aren't. The heaviness isn't.
It's just a number."I know," she says, and she does. She forces her eyes to open. "I'm... okay. I just-- I remember... every single one, and it's ( ... )
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Josef sees the toll every death takes on her ( ... )
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It's nothing that she wants either. A life with him, how ever short it may be, is all that she wants at this point. She doesn't think very far into the future. There's no career that she wants to pursue. There isn't really anything that she feels she's missing in her life. It's strange to feel that her life's complete at seventeen, but she can't think of what more to add to it. Friends. She can always have more friends, but she doesn't need anything more than what she currently has.
He cleans her cheek, and she manages another smile. "Okay." Another deep, solid breath, and she slips her hands into her curls, closing her eyes for a moment.
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It doesn't make her hands any less beautiful in his eyes.
If anyone can understand there's more to scars than the marks they leave, it's Josef.
He's quiet while she fumbles for the words. He's quiet because he can't really say anything. What he may want to say is glued to his throat. He can deny it as much as he wants, but it's something he's wondered about, too. He's wondered who he'd be without the Calling, how much of him would change, what kind of life he may have led if he'd just been normal. How many lives would have been spared because of that difference ( ... )
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It means there will be a time when it's too much, and she hopes she dies before that happens. She doesn't want to lose her mind. She doesn't want him to lose his either. But someone has to lose their mind first. Someone has to die first, and it's not fair.
She spent so long-- She spent so much time unable to understand why angels of death never last very long, why she's never met another one, why people were surprised that someone like her could be one. She used to get offended by it. She used to feel like maybe people thought someone like her was wrong for the part ( ... )
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