[closed/complete]
Characters: Death (nonespared), Metatron (usiah), and Mordred (modraed)
Date/Time: 10/23, time unknown
Location: 9th floor
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language
Summary: Metatron and Mordred meet up with Death
Mordred was not an easy man to work with. He knew this, he accepted this, he even warned people about it. However, desperate times called for desperate measures, and whenever their fiendish overlords decided to start playing silly buggers with their lives he counted that as desperate times. So far, he'd managed to find one other person all by their lonesome, Metatron, and he was finding getting along with the Voice of God wasn't all that difficult once he got over trying to watch his mouth. He swore quite a bit, and there was no official word as to whether God tolerated that kind of behavior or not.
Having taken advantage of the extended period of light to stock up on food and supplies, leaving a tip where he could (since he had his wallet on him and he had the oddest feeling Metatron was judging him), Mordred knew that the light wouldn't last. Soon enough they'd be scrambling for a safe place to avoid whatever creatures decided to maraud about, and he was in no mood to have his evening disturbed by someone trying to dismember him - or worse.
Glancing back over his shoulder at Metatron, he offered a slight smirk. "We should find a place to settle in for now, don't you think?" They were surrounded by hotel rooms, and he could have easily started trying doors, but he figured he'd give the other man a chance to chime in if he wanted to.
~*~
For all intents and purposes, Metatron was judging Mordred now and again. "Very well." To be honest, his observations were kept to himself for the moment. There were a lot of things that Metatron kept judging- or kept in mind all the time. His brain sometimes couldn't keep up with all of it, voices, people- everything. It all blended in together and he could look rather absent.
However, he was never completely absent from anything.
Pulling himself upright, he gestured for Mordred to lead the way, "I'll trust you to pick the safest place, Black Knight."
~*~
Death had found tea and it had been weak. The slightly stale bread had also not really done it for her but she had nibbled away without any complaint (never mind there wasn't a soul around her). But she was rested and that, above all, was something she was grateful for. Another sudden darkness period and Death wouldn't have been shocked to end up being reported by those odd and very nameless beings.
A pair of shoes has been discovered. They were clearly men's shoes but they fit alright enough and she was content with them for the time being. Better to wear them than step on something unpleasant. Little could be done about the minor tears and rips in her clothing but she was far more decent that some who had been pulled from their sleep, she suspects (benefits in her line of work). Death had stepped out, then, with the intention to find individuals, weapons, food - or all of the above.
Between the time she had left her room and now, she had only found a couple of knives and a bent spoon (it was abandoned). A bottle of scotch was happily taken, though, when it was found. Rounding the corner, both brows lifted just a tad.
An archangel and a knight. "I found everything," she murmured to herself, lips curving into a faint smile. How fortunate, especially for someone learning to value outside help. Slowly.
~*~
While he was waiting for Metatron to chime in Mordred had been studying the hallway, trying to determine what was causing it to seem longer than it had any right to be. When the archangel did speak, the knight felt his forehead furrow and his eyebrows raise at the comment. He found it amusing that the other man insisted on calling him 'Black Knight', as opposed to using his name. It made him feel vaguely like he was at the opposing end of someones' chess game, or like he was the villain in some cheesy gothic horror tale. Either way, he wasn't going to complain.
Walking a few feet, he stopped and tried a doorknob, jiggling it before backing away with an odd expression on his face. Something about that room didn't feel right, though he couldn't put into words exactly what the feeling was strong enough that he decided it would be best to move on. He glanced up and down the hallway, tilting his head to one side when he thought he heard footsteps coming from that direction. He held up one hand indicating that Metatron should get back behind him just in case whatever was causing the noise happened to be dangerous.
Pulling the Smith and Wesson M&P that he had stashed in the waistband of his sweats, he cocked it and held it out, waiting to see who - or what - appeared around the corner. He had no problems shooting a creature, and he doubted God would punish him to harshly if it meant their lives.
When he saw who it was he lowered the gun, pointing it at the ground just in case. "Well, look what we have here. A Horseman, with a fine looking bottle of scotch." He kept his gaze on Death, wondering how the Voice would feel about her joining them.
~*~
What Mordred had said almost sounded like a line from a Western. And she could admire the image that made only because she didn't feel threatened (death scaring Death - really?). However, she did not dismiss the harm that a bullet could do should the archangel at his side prove to have a particularly sadistic streak all of a sudden and encourage the knight. She did not need a bullet hole not when her right hand was still not good.
Yet the knight had never appeared to be foolish. Plus, even if he had somehow found a grievance against her, would he waste a bullet? Well, that would depend on the depth of the problem. It could be rationalized and there were other weapons to be found...
Ah, over-thinking. A glance was offered at the scotch and she jiggled it between fingers. "Why, indeed. And it's still sealed." It ceased to be jiggled as she directed her gaze to the two men. "You both make for an odd pair, for the record."
~*~
The smile - actual smile and not just a smirk - that he offered to Death was possibly the first one that had graced his face since arriving at the hotel, and had he known she was comparing his statement to that of a character in a Western it probably would have been wider. He was a fan of that genre. Still, all knew was that banding together was good, and his survival was of the utmost concern to him.
Since a few moments had passed and Metatron chose not to chime in Mordred thought nothing wrong with making an offer to the Horseman, figuring he'd leave it up to her whether or not turning the odd pair into an even odder trio might be within her best interests.
"Still sealed, eh? Well, if we find a safe place we should remedy that problem." He knew his comment could be considered presumptuous, but that never stopped him in the past. "Your observation is noted. And what might your thoughts be on joining us?"
~*~
"Joining you both?" She could imagine how un-Horsemen like that would have seemed some time ago. But, long story short, things had to change to some degree and if she was doing this she supposed she could do worse. Although thrown in Kokabiel into the whole matter and it might have even gotten a little cheerful.
Head inclining slightly, Death moved in closer. "I'm of the opinion that is more than acceptable."
~*~
Metatron tilted his head slightly surveying Death as he did so. Of the Horsemen she was the youngest and the final one before the End. He had a certain measure of respect for all the Horsemen, who in a way were neutral creatures set on a single task. They didn't seem to have forgotten that either, which made Metatron almost like them.
Admittedly, he was glad that Death had accepted the offer, if only for the pleasure of observing her alongside the Black Knight (and no power on this Earth would make him change his mind about that name. It was what Mordred was. A misguided figure- and yet not- so much more. Yet nothing compared to the King).
~*~
Subtly studying Metatron's expression, though it wasn't really revealing much of anything at all, Mordred took a few steps closer to Death. "Then it seems we share a similar opinion on this. Perhaps three heads will prove better than two in getting us all out of here in one piece." While it might seem a bit odd that Mordred was more willing to work with the archangel and the horseman than reveal himself to Lancelot and Percival, anyone who knew their history would understand why in his assumption.
"Was there anything worth noting in the direction you came from, or would it be best for us to pick a different direction entirely?" Now that they'd agreed to work together Mordred was back to being all (or mostly) business about things. "Since we don't know how much longer we'll be kept here we should probably work out a game plan. I'm open to suggestions."
~*~
Death was skeptically about leaving in one piece. Somewhere in the hotel, she had left her blood, bits of skin and her glasses. But who was she to burst any hopeful bubbles? ...never mind.
"Just room after room after room," she admitted. "And suggestions I may be short on. Even if we wanted to get somewhere, it may take hours but we don't know which rooms are better stocked than others, getting down to other floors may take longer but it could be worth it until darkness comes.
"Reasonably, we'd be better soon stocking up in one room while also carrying supplies now since we don't know how long we may be here or if we'll be able to get back to that room later."
~*~
Mordred knew after he said it that 'one piece' was probably not the best way to put it. It would have made more sense if he'd said 'alive', since it was somewhat obvious nobody was getting out of this unscathed. They were all lucky to not look worse.
"We've found the same, and have been taking whatever useful items we've run across," he responded, leaving out the fact that the hotel was now in possession of more of his money that he ever would have intended. "I can't think getting to another floor would be useful, it would only be more of the same. And getting lost someplace new still means you're lost."
He nodded, walking over to the nearest room and pushing it open. "We could use this room, we just need to all make sure we remember the room number." He'd chosen 922, and waited to see if either Death or Metatron would object.
~*~
The Pale Horseman would have laughed openly if she knew Mordred had been leaving money although who knew? Maybe in some way it did please the things that roamed about here. Maybe. To some degree. "I'm perfectly happy staying here. My siblings are more than capable to be on their own." A concern for Pestilence existed but she trusted his good sense. He would manage fine.
There wouldn't be any objection about the room, at least not from Death who even bothered to poke her head in (with care). "It'll do. It appears not tossed about at the very least. We can call it home for now and see what happens later."
Date/Time: 10/23, time unknown
Location: 9th floor
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language
Summary: Metatron and Mordred meet up with Death
Mordred was not an easy man to work with. He knew this, he accepted this, he even warned people about it. However, desperate times called for desperate measures, and whenever their fiendish overlords decided to start playing silly buggers with their lives he counted that as desperate times. So far, he'd managed to find one other person all by their lonesome, Metatron, and he was finding getting along with the Voice of God wasn't all that difficult once he got over trying to watch his mouth. He swore quite a bit, and there was no official word as to whether God tolerated that kind of behavior or not.
Having taken advantage of the extended period of light to stock up on food and supplies, leaving a tip where he could (since he had his wallet on him and he had the oddest feeling Metatron was judging him), Mordred knew that the light wouldn't last. Soon enough they'd be scrambling for a safe place to avoid whatever creatures decided to maraud about, and he was in no mood to have his evening disturbed by someone trying to dismember him - or worse.
Glancing back over his shoulder at Metatron, he offered a slight smirk. "We should find a place to settle in for now, don't you think?" They were surrounded by hotel rooms, and he could have easily started trying doors, but he figured he'd give the other man a chance to chime in if he wanted to.
~*~
For all intents and purposes, Metatron was judging Mordred now and again. "Very well." To be honest, his observations were kept to himself for the moment. There were a lot of things that Metatron kept judging- or kept in mind all the time. His brain sometimes couldn't keep up with all of it, voices, people- everything. It all blended in together and he could look rather absent.
However, he was never completely absent from anything.
Pulling himself upright, he gestured for Mordred to lead the way, "I'll trust you to pick the safest place, Black Knight."
~*~
Death had found tea and it had been weak. The slightly stale bread had also not really done it for her but she had nibbled away without any complaint (never mind there wasn't a soul around her). But she was rested and that, above all, was something she was grateful for. Another sudden darkness period and Death wouldn't have been shocked to end up being reported by those odd and very nameless beings.
A pair of shoes has been discovered. They were clearly men's shoes but they fit alright enough and she was content with them for the time being. Better to wear them than step on something unpleasant. Little could be done about the minor tears and rips in her clothing but she was far more decent that some who had been pulled from their sleep, she suspects (benefits in her line of work). Death had stepped out, then, with the intention to find individuals, weapons, food - or all of the above.
Between the time she had left her room and now, she had only found a couple of knives and a bent spoon (it was abandoned). A bottle of scotch was happily taken, though, when it was found. Rounding the corner, both brows lifted just a tad.
An archangel and a knight. "I found everything," she murmured to herself, lips curving into a faint smile. How fortunate, especially for someone learning to value outside help. Slowly.
~*~
While he was waiting for Metatron to chime in Mordred had been studying the hallway, trying to determine what was causing it to seem longer than it had any right to be. When the archangel did speak, the knight felt his forehead furrow and his eyebrows raise at the comment. He found it amusing that the other man insisted on calling him 'Black Knight', as opposed to using his name. It made him feel vaguely like he was at the opposing end of someones' chess game, or like he was the villain in some cheesy gothic horror tale. Either way, he wasn't going to complain.
Walking a few feet, he stopped and tried a doorknob, jiggling it before backing away with an odd expression on his face. Something about that room didn't feel right, though he couldn't put into words exactly what the feeling was strong enough that he decided it would be best to move on. He glanced up and down the hallway, tilting his head to one side when he thought he heard footsteps coming from that direction. He held up one hand indicating that Metatron should get back behind him just in case whatever was causing the noise happened to be dangerous.
Pulling the Smith and Wesson M&P that he had stashed in the waistband of his sweats, he cocked it and held it out, waiting to see who - or what - appeared around the corner. He had no problems shooting a creature, and he doubted God would punish him to harshly if it meant their lives.
When he saw who it was he lowered the gun, pointing it at the ground just in case. "Well, look what we have here. A Horseman, with a fine looking bottle of scotch." He kept his gaze on Death, wondering how the Voice would feel about her joining them.
~*~
What Mordred had said almost sounded like a line from a Western. And she could admire the image that made only because she didn't feel threatened (death scaring Death - really?). However, she did not dismiss the harm that a bullet could do should the archangel at his side prove to have a particularly sadistic streak all of a sudden and encourage the knight. She did not need a bullet hole not when her right hand was still not good.
Yet the knight had never appeared to be foolish. Plus, even if he had somehow found a grievance against her, would he waste a bullet? Well, that would depend on the depth of the problem. It could be rationalized and there were other weapons to be found...
Ah, over-thinking. A glance was offered at the scotch and she jiggled it between fingers. "Why, indeed. And it's still sealed." It ceased to be jiggled as she directed her gaze to the two men. "You both make for an odd pair, for the record."
~*~
The smile - actual smile and not just a smirk - that he offered to Death was possibly the first one that had graced his face since arriving at the hotel, and had he known she was comparing his statement to that of a character in a Western it probably would have been wider. He was a fan of that genre. Still, all knew was that banding together was good, and his survival was of the utmost concern to him.
Since a few moments had passed and Metatron chose not to chime in Mordred thought nothing wrong with making an offer to the Horseman, figuring he'd leave it up to her whether or not turning the odd pair into an even odder trio might be within her best interests.
"Still sealed, eh? Well, if we find a safe place we should remedy that problem." He knew his comment could be considered presumptuous, but that never stopped him in the past. "Your observation is noted. And what might your thoughts be on joining us?"
~*~
"Joining you both?" She could imagine how un-Horsemen like that would have seemed some time ago. But, long story short, things had to change to some degree and if she was doing this she supposed she could do worse. Although thrown in Kokabiel into the whole matter and it might have even gotten a little cheerful.
Head inclining slightly, Death moved in closer. "I'm of the opinion that is more than acceptable."
~*~
Metatron tilted his head slightly surveying Death as he did so. Of the Horsemen she was the youngest and the final one before the End. He had a certain measure of respect for all the Horsemen, who in a way were neutral creatures set on a single task. They didn't seem to have forgotten that either, which made Metatron almost like them.
Admittedly, he was glad that Death had accepted the offer, if only for the pleasure of observing her alongside the Black Knight (and no power on this Earth would make him change his mind about that name. It was what Mordred was. A misguided figure- and yet not- so much more. Yet nothing compared to the King).
~*~
Subtly studying Metatron's expression, though it wasn't really revealing much of anything at all, Mordred took a few steps closer to Death. "Then it seems we share a similar opinion on this. Perhaps three heads will prove better than two in getting us all out of here in one piece." While it might seem a bit odd that Mordred was more willing to work with the archangel and the horseman than reveal himself to Lancelot and Percival, anyone who knew their history would understand why in his assumption.
"Was there anything worth noting in the direction you came from, or would it be best for us to pick a different direction entirely?" Now that they'd agreed to work together Mordred was back to being all (or mostly) business about things. "Since we don't know how much longer we'll be kept here we should probably work out a game plan. I'm open to suggestions."
~*~
Death was skeptically about leaving in one piece. Somewhere in the hotel, she had left her blood, bits of skin and her glasses. But who was she to burst any hopeful bubbles? ...never mind.
"Just room after room after room," she admitted. "And suggestions I may be short on. Even if we wanted to get somewhere, it may take hours but we don't know which rooms are better stocked than others, getting down to other floors may take longer but it could be worth it until darkness comes.
"Reasonably, we'd be better soon stocking up in one room while also carrying supplies now since we don't know how long we may be here or if we'll be able to get back to that room later."
~*~
Mordred knew after he said it that 'one piece' was probably not the best way to put it. It would have made more sense if he'd said 'alive', since it was somewhat obvious nobody was getting out of this unscathed. They were all lucky to not look worse.
"We've found the same, and have been taking whatever useful items we've run across," he responded, leaving out the fact that the hotel was now in possession of more of his money that he ever would have intended. "I can't think getting to another floor would be useful, it would only be more of the same. And getting lost someplace new still means you're lost."
He nodded, walking over to the nearest room and pushing it open. "We could use this room, we just need to all make sure we remember the room number." He'd chosen 922, and waited to see if either Death or Metatron would object.
~*~
The Pale Horseman would have laughed openly if she knew Mordred had been leaving money although who knew? Maybe in some way it did please the things that roamed about here. Maybe. To some degree. "I'm perfectly happy staying here. My siblings are more than capable to be on their own." A concern for Pestilence existed but she trusted his good sense. He would manage fine.
There wouldn't be any objection about the room, at least not from Death who even bothered to poke her head in (with care). "It'll do. It appears not tossed about at the very least. We can call it home for now and see what happens later."