[ There's a young man about -- perhaps the son of a distant cousin, the ward of a visitor providing condolences. No one makes much notice of him unless he wants them to and, for the most part, he doesn't. Unlike in the past, he has not come to collect this time.
Simply to watch what comes after. Some things never change. ]
[ The angel. The one that Mary had gone all fawn-eyed over; Mary with her chapped hands still blistered and burnt from where she'd touched it. Even if Blackie is a portent of Death and has served many masters a dozen times over, Hades and Hell and all of the burning circles within still cling to his bones. Those parts of him seethe to see the angel now, though there is no denying the strength of his purpose. The depths of his madness. The Black Dog can practically smell it on him, wafting off the pristine white of his mask in sharp waves.
A sneer of acknowledgment. That's all he offers. ]
[ He knows you, Hound. Beast of the pit. He knows, and for your sneering mouth, the Unknown gives you his buck-toothed smile. Big teeth. White-- white as the rest of him. White as his smooth white eyes. Staring. Watching. Watching.
Mary had a little dog, little dog. It's fur was black as night, and the angel of the Lord wondered how sharp his teeth were. Ha ha.Ha ha. ]
I do love Blackie so...motherof_boneFebruary 5 2010, 03:42:31 UTC
[A young woman with the porcelain face of the coddled rich, fine clothes, fine dress. She presses to his back quietly, watches Azrael around the curve of the black dog's arm, fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket. Her playmate so near and yet, the bad little girl has been chastised by her lord. A shorter leash, he had said, and so she sticks close lest she be tempted.]
she's the weirdest little bff ever :veveryblackdogFebruary 5 2010, 03:46:26 UTC
[ Feeling that press against his back, he turns his head to look at her. Blue eyes -- huge, clear, and mad -- peer out from behind the dark cloth of his shoulder. He stares at her until she looks at him, however long that may be. ]
man killing, baby eating cutie-pie is what she ismotherof_boneFebruary 5 2010, 04:03:47 UTC
[Fair eyelashes dip, attention caught between dog and angel, but she settles on him, focused, at last. She chews her lower lip. There is only one man whose love she has ever wanted, to keep the devil's favor is worth losing her friend...]
blackie is like WHY DO I GET TO BABYSIT HEReveryblackdogFebruary 5 2010, 04:11:27 UTC
[ Blackie's brow lowers dubiously. Although he knows her to be mad (has seen and smelt and practically tasted the shivering insanity inside of her), there are moments when even he cannot comprehend just how her mind works. He looks back at the angel and his staring white eyes, his buck-toothed smile. ]
Do not be ridiculous, Mary. If he intended a Fall, it would have happened long ago.
[Mary's mind hardly works at all, at times, drawn in more directions than her delicate, rotted little spirit can handle since she first lost her virginity and realized the true meaning of men. There is a certain innocence to her now, the child separated from playmate, there is the scheming witch too, selfish above all else. She plucks at the shoulder seam of his jacket. He hadn't believed her about the angel in the first place. Maybe he's wrong now too.]
[ With a hand he reaches for Mary's chin and tugs it a little closer to him, forcing her to lean more steadily against his back in order to follow the pull of the gesture. Speaks with whatever modicum of patience the Black Dog has at its disposal. ]
Madness is not hubris. It takes one, not the other, to Fall.
[She stares up at him balefully, his words penetrating insensible desires, layers of screams and that insistent, maddening angel hum that can spill out of her. She fists her hands into his jacket, focuses all her attention on the hound and not on the angel. Right where she should be, even if her mouth sulks.]
He's not a good angel. Pathetic thing. Even his brothers look at him strangely.
[ He covers her hands with his own -- small white things, thin-boned fingers, delicate enough to crush in his grasp or between his teeth. Blackie holds them tight, keeping her close to him; fingers without claws dig into her skin (the thorns of a crown, the barbs of a wire). He can smell whatever he's incensed coming off of her skin like rot. ]
Such is the way of Death, Mary. He has duties and fulfills them, what would you do to convince him otherwise?
[A better nursemaid than he thinks, that Blackie, she flexes her hands in his grip curiously, and maybe she misses his teeth for a moment, wouldn't be adverse to being bled of her curiosities, but the bleeding had always left her madder than before. She remembers the sick feelings that had gripped her after each child had slid free of her. Gore and pain. Her brow pinches. Azrael watches her kill them. Drinks his tea and applauds and smiles to her what a filthy whore she is and she laughs. Why does she need more? She huffs, voice small and not even particularly convinced of itself.]
[ He shakes his head sharply at her; a low, predatory sound growls in his throat as Blackie pulls his lips back away from his teeth and bares his incisors at her in a way that says heel. ]
No, what you are going to do is stay here with the Black Dog. Where you belong.
[She lowers her chin contritely, slowly convincing the thoughts of blood and entrails back from the foreground. She grits her teeth, resting her temple against his shoulder.]
Such a good dog, Blackie. [Ground out, subdued. Short leash and muzzle, she can be a good girl too.]
We are, the both of us, Mary, [ he says now, finally unwinding his hands around hers as that fetid tide ebbs away from her porcelain surface. There are times when he thinks they are brother and sister -- Hell's hound and the devil's bitch -- but Blackie knows better (though the thought is vaguely satisfying, to have kin). ]
Simply to watch what comes after. Some things never change. ]
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Indeed. Some things never change. ]
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A sneer of acknowledgment. That's all he offers. ]
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Mary had a little dog, little dog. It's fur was black as night, and the angel of the Lord wondered how sharp his teeth were. Ha ha.Ha ha. ]
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Do more than watch and he won't spare the rod.
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Blackie. What if he would fall.
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Do not be ridiculous, Mary. If he intended a Fall, it would have happened long ago.
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[Mary's mind hardly works at all, at times, drawn in more directions than her delicate, rotted little spirit can handle since she first lost her virginity and realized the true meaning of men. There is a certain innocence to her now, the child separated from playmate, there is the scheming witch too, selfish above all else. She plucks at the shoulder seam of his jacket. He hadn't believed her about the angel in the first place. Maybe he's wrong now too.]
Godseat wasn't empty a long time ago.
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Madness is not hubris. It takes one, not the other, to Fall.
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He's not a good angel. Pathetic thing. Even his brothers look at him strangely.
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Such is the way of Death, Mary. He has duties and fulfills them, what would you do to convince him otherwise?
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Bring him presents til it was enough...
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No, what you are going to do is stay here with the Black Dog. Where you belong.
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Such a good dog, Blackie. [Ground out, subdued. Short leash and muzzle, she can be a good girl too.]
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He'll be pleased with you.
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