January 16 - Original: Descantverse- "(Not) A Model of Decorum and Tranquility"
I should be sleeping, buuut prompts beckon. And writing Izzy is filling me with glee, as is repeatedly abusing Tabris.
He hadn’t seen Israfel in more millennia than he could count, and the fact that his first image of his ex-lover after such a long separation was her laying across a hotel bed was almost painfully ironic. (Or at least it would have been if he could actually see her, all his blind eyes could manage was the familiar pulse of her aura against dim shapes, one of which was vaguely bed-shaped.)
"‘Zazel," she said in a voice that belied all of the hatred that was probably bubbling up inside of her at the sight of him. You didn’t date The Angel of Judgement and then break up with her just for the sake of turning Falling into an extreme sport and expect her to forgive you easily. As congenial as the familiar pet name sounded on her lips, he could sense that she was contemplating pinning him to the wall and using him for archery practice. Who needed to see into someone’s eyes when you could feel the throb of an aura, which could give away even the most poker-faced individuals true emotions?
"Hi, Izzy," he said, trying and failing to keep the anxiety out of his voice. He didn’t crumble in front of people easily, but Israfel... Well, she was different. She knew how to make a man her personal bitch, especially men who made her angry. Hell, if she and Gabriel hadn’t of completely hated each other back when Gabriel was still in charge of the Archangels, she would have been her right-hand, given their mutual fondness for meaningless violence. Then again, with Izzy the violence was very rarely meaningless.
Israfel straightened up and slipped off of the bed, while Azazel tried to avoid imagining how little she might be wearing. His libido never did know when was not the right time for it to kick in, especially when it had been ignored for an excruciatingly long time due to his intense failure when it came to relationships.
"Stupid move of Tabris to send you to meet me," she muttered. There was a clink of glass- she was pouring herself a drink. "Didn’t I tell you that I’d kill you if I ever saw you again?"
"I’ve slept since then," he smiled sheepishly. "And, actually, Tabris and Mathias were right behind me, but, unfortunately, they’re both sadistic bastards."
Several millennia ago, she would have laughed at that, now she just fixed him with a stare he was glad he couldn’t see. It had its intended effect, of course, either way. "What did you do piss Tabris off?" She asked after a moment.
Azazel shifted uncomfortably. "Exist, more than likely. It seems reason enough for me to earn the world’s ire."
"Yeah, well you were always fond of pissing people off," Israfel grumbled.
"Still judgemental as always, I see."
"Angel of Judgement, need I spell it out for you?" She snapped. The moment was starting to grow awkward (well more awkward than it was when it started, which was saying something) and Azazel silently vowed to tear Tabris’s other wing off when he showed up for dallying just for the sake of seeing him sweat.
"So what have you been doing with yourself?" He asked.
"What do you think? It’s Heaven. It hasn’t changed since you Fell. I do nothing all day, which is what I did before you Fell, only with less sex now."
"And you still don’t sing?"
"No," she responded, her voice suddenly a little bit more morose than it had been. "I still don’t sing."
"Gabriel’s not..."
"I know Gabriel’s not in control," she snapped. Something shattered and her sudden gasp of pain suggested that she’d gotten irritated enough to crush the glass in her hands. She swore in a manner that wasn’t befitting an angel, but then again, very little Israfel had ever done in her life was befitting an angel (besides sing- she certainly did that like an angel, back when she actually did it).
Keeping his distance would have been better, but the smell of blood and spilled whiskey clinging to his nostrils made him approach her, reaching out for her injured hand. She tugged it out of his reach. "It’s fine. It’ll heal on its own."
"Not if there’s glass in it," he chided. "And you’ve never had delicate hands, Izzy."
"Don’t call me that," she muttered, relinquishing her hand to him. She winced as he started to pick the tiny shards of glass out with his nimble figures, all while trying to avoid getting too close to him as if touching him any more than she had to would cause something horrible to happen.
"Everyone calls you that," he muttered, running his fingers along her injured hand, checking for any glass he might have missed.
"Not you. Not anymore," she scowled, tugging her hand away from so that she could wipe the blood off- the wounds themselves were already closing. Another awkward silence passed between them and she finally looked up at him again, a little stunned that he hadn’t moved farther away from her yet. "So what about you, Azazel? What have you been doing?"
"I just got out of prison a few decades ago. If I thought Heaven was boring, it was nothing compared to that pit, but at least I had free will down there."
"You couldn’t do anything with it," Israfel pointed out.
"But I had it, which is more than you’ll ever have."
"Fuck you and your self-righteous Grigori bullshit," Israfel snarled, tossing the cloth she had been using to wipe the blood off her hand down and moving back to the bed. She didn’t speak for a long time, merely sat on the bed, haughty as ever.
He instantly had an image of kissing her, bringing her down on that bed, and making love to her the way he used to, but he quelled the desire quickly enough, wincing at how quickly the desire had set upon him. Israfel would be more likely to stab him with something than have sex with him at the moment, which was enough to put a lid on his overactive, desperate libido.
"So what happened after you got out?" She finally asked.
He dared to join her on the bed, if only because there didn’t seem to be any threats of violence hidden in her tone of voice... Just a certain reluctance, as if she were talking to him because she had to, not because she wanted to. It harkened back to his old Izzy, who couldn’t stand the thought of silence and used to sing it away when she didn’t think Gabriel would hear. Now she just filled the void with chatter, apparently, and anyone would do- even him.
"Why are you so interested?" He asked casually.
"Just answer the question, Azazel, and stop being so irritating," she snapped.
He pouted. "Now, Izzy..."
"Dammit, Azazel, I swear I’ll kill you..."
"If you were really going to kill me, you would have done it already. As it were, Israfel, you seem to be just full of hot air, as usual."
She slapped him so hard he fell off the bed in response.
"I deserved that," he noted, his face now quite familiar with the paisley-patterned carpet.
"Yes, you did," Israfel responded indignantly.
He straightened up, considered getting back up on the bed, and then decided that the floor was probably better for his health. "I worked with Gagiel, keeping track on all the other Grigori, and when he was killed, I took over his position. Now I’m the godforsaken partner and sidekick to Mathias’s sad attempts to keep Descant’s PI firm alive."
"Any girlfriends I should know of?" There was a tiny trace of humor in her voice. Apparently, getting the chance to hit him had lifted her spirits significantly. It wouldn’t be the first time violence inflicted on his person would have helped a situation.
"You mean besides all the human women I slept with before Gabriel clipped my wings?" He asked, somewhat cocky. He was quickly struck down by a pillow in response. "Just one. Her name was Arista."
"Was?"
"We both agreed our relationship was unhealthy. I was just a surrogate for Descant for her and I... I don’t even know why I fell for her. I just did, really. Hard." He didn’t say that there were aspects of Arista that had reminded of him of her once upon a time, because those were the sorts of things that would invite more pain into his life. The last thing Israfel wanted to hear was that he had never quite given up on loving her, even after everything that had happened between them. She wanted to hate him and it was easier to hate someone when you thought they cared nothing for you. He was surprised his obvious show of concern for her well-being hadn’t tipped her off to the truth, however. That was his Izzy. She wasn’t blind, but her eyes rarely saw anything she didn’t want them to see.
"The sad thing is we never told anyone we were having problems," he continued. "We lied to everyone about it, and about when we decided to go our separate ways and let everyone know the truth, Arista realized she was pregnant. Luckily for us, I had already promised my next child to Ceirdowyn, so we were both spared the awkwardness of that situation." There was a twinge of regret in his voice that he wasn’t able to hide. He shouldn’t have been so willing to hand over a child to Ceirdowyn, but that’s exactly what had happened. Out of everyone who had paid the price for Ceirdowyn’s aide that fateful night, he probably paid his penance with the most relief, and he never quite forgave himself for it. "Arista and I parted ways after that. Complications from losing the baby, we told everyone. That was really just the final nail in the coffin for us."
"I see," Israfel murmured.
They were spared more awkward conversation by Tabris and Mathias finally arriving. Azazel fixed them both with a glower as he got to his feet. "How long have you been standing out there?"
"Long enough," Tabris smirked.
"I’m going to kill you," he snarled through gritted teeth.
Tabris lowered his voice so that Israfel couldn't hear. "Don’t ever say I didn’t try to help out a relationship."
"You don’t want to know the sorts of things I’m planning to do to you," Azazel went on. "You are going to wish Gabriel finished you off in that alley."
"Sticks and stones, Az," Tabris shrugged.
"Quit goading him, you little bastard," Mathias snapped. "We have business to attend to."
Azazel grimaced and pushed past the two, moving towards the door. "I’ll wait in the car. I'm sure you two can manage your business without me, since obviously just a vehicle for your petty amusement."
Israfel turned to look at Tabris and rolled her eyes. "You really don’t like it when people like you, do you?"
"Neither does your boyfriend."
In a lot of ways, Tabris lived up to his nickname "The Angel of Free Will," because he believed that he could say whatever he wanted and get away with it, because free will dictated that he could.
Free will also dictated that whoever he directed his smarmy attitude towards could reciprocate in whatever means they felt necessary when he said something that irked them, which was precisely why Israfel punched him in the face not a second after the words left his mouth.
"All right, boys," she growled, crossing her arms over her chest and glowering down at Tabris, who was currently lying face down on the carpet, nursing a bloody nose. "Let’s talk business."