LOG; some sweet violent urge ; DESTINY + SAMAIL
who: Samail and Destiny
what: the delivery of the Lance
when: following her post
It had taken longer than she had preferred to get the weapons out of the house. More than a week, and she was on the edge of screaming at anyone who spoke to her, but then again, the rest of the Guardinals were acting almost the same way. Even Father Peter, who had always been that collected, was more reclusive than usual, and the only reason it had taken them this long was that nobody wanted go about what they had to.
At least Samail had been cooperative and given her the address without a lot of questions. She supposed he didn't have anything to fear, being who he was, but she rather favoured not having to explain just what had happened. At least not over text.
Destiny rang the doorbell of the Hyme household an hour after logging off, the Lance wrapped and strapped to her back.
His father was gone again, work or something with the community, or just avoiding the house. Samail didn't particularly care which, he was somewhat glad he was alone. He didn't relish the idea of having to explain to his father about the end of the world, and why strange people would want to visit.
He was sitting at the computer in his room when he heard the doorbell. He turned off the monitor and walked to the living room. Samail paused in front of the door, but didn't bother to check who it was before he unlocked it and swung it open.
He was taller than her, and it surprised her a little. Not taller than Fate, though, but that was a feat in any case, and especially in Jerusalem.
Destiny shook it off after a second though, and smiled easily. "You must be Samail."
Samail couldn't keep himself from eyeing whatever was on her back. It was a weird shape to be carrying around. Not that he expected the usual out of anyone involved in this, not anymore.
"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
He wasn't one for pleasantries, was he. Just as well, she had no need for them right now either.
"Something that belongs to you. But I don't think you want all the neighbours to see this one."
Something that belonged to him? He couldn't help but be intruiged by that. He took a few steps back, out of the doorway.
"Come in." He thought of asking her if she wanted a drink or something, but that might invite her to stay, and he didn't exactly feel like playing host to one of those strange people from the internet.
Her smile widened slightly and Destiny thanked him before stepping inside. Once in the hallway and with the door safely locked, she unclasped the strap holding the lance to her back and swung it around to hold the wrapped weapon in both of her hands, presenting it to him.
"The Lance of Longinus." The name should hold weight in itself. They had decided Chance would've wanted hers to go to the Seals. This was more fitting, in any case. "Each Kamui has their own weapon. This is yours. Your Seal counterpart is being presented with a replica as we speak."
It was a speech she knew by heart, and finally getting it off her chest was nothing less than relieving.
A replica? Did that mean he had the original? The Holy Spear. If the end of the world was happening, he supposed it didn't stretch credibility that much more. Tenatively, he reached out for it.
"So Michael gets one too." He muttered, more to himself than for her.
"Yes." She shifted, a little uncomfortably. There was no need to tell him where that one had come from, but a part of her still wanted to state that her foster-sister had died for it.
But odds were he wasn't interested. Fate and Coincidence might tell Michael, however, and that was really where it mattered.
He didn't take his eyes off the thing. What was he supposed to do with the weapon that had stabbed someone he didn't even think existed? Did it have magical properties of some sort? Perhaps that nebulous force that had preordained all this had something in mind for it, and him. He couldn't really feel the thing through the wrappings. What exactly was he supposed to do with something that had significance only for stabbing a defenseless dead man?
It came to him all at once that perhaps it was intended for Michael. And perhaps the one that they were delivering to Michael was intended to kill him. The thought made him sick, and suddenly he was struck with the need to see the goddamned thing. His voice was surprisingly steady when he spoke.
"Can I take the wrappings off?"
"Go ahead." Destiny motioned for him to feel free, leaning against the nearest piece of furniture while she watched him. She didn't have to stick around, but she was curious, to say the least. Although she'd never spoken much with Samail before, he had always seemed... well, not like an Angel.
The fact that he made a good one right now was intriguing, to say the least. "It's yours, you don't have to ask."
He wanted to argue that it wasn't his, that he would take it but only as a temporary holder, but some part of him was too enamored of the his ownership of the thing to let the rest of him speak. It was a little unwieldy, and he wasn't particularly certain how one even would fight with a spear, but there was something a little fearsome about a weapon with such a name and history. He wasn't unfond of fearsome at the moment.
He fumbled a little with the length of it as he unwrapped it. Carelessly he let the wrappings fall to the floor, eyes only for the Lance. He supposed, idly, that the controversy-inducing weapons scattered around europe were all fakes, then. Even in the warm yellow lighting of his father's living room, there was something intoxicating about the way the metal reflected the light. He tried not to imagine what it would look like covered in blood, if the light would play off it the same way if it were buried in Michael's side. If blood and water would come out of it like in the Christian story. He tried not to, but his mind didn't obey him. Sam hardly noticed that he was staring at it, ignoring Destiny as he wrestled with his own thoughts.
She shifted again, observing him. It was a rather curious reaction, but then again, it was a rather curious situation. Destiny didn't know how she would've handled it, and the fact that both weapons had been nearly humming since the second one was born couldn't be less than off-putting either.
"It was kept in Glastonbury," she commented after a bit, standing up straight again. "Take good care of it." They had.
The words held no meaning for him. He wasn't going to play babysitter or curator to a weapon that sang like this. This thing was like him; it had been brought here to participate in the end of this rotten city. He couldn't deny it it's part in the bloodbath that was to come. He wondered if it yearned for the end.
The thought of killing Michael, of running him through, spitting him on this dreadful thing turned his stomach and reminded him of their conversation. He looked up at Destiny.
"I'm sorry, but he was wrong about me. I'm not a good person at all." It felt right in his hand as he lunged. The length of it meant it didn't take much movement to sate the godforsaken thing.
She had no warning.
Destiny looked down a second after he lunged and saw the lance through her own abdomen, blood appearing on her shirt before spilling down the rest of her clothing.
One came out of famine's womb, one pierced war's. She almost wanted to laugh.
"... I guess you aren't." It was all she could think of to say, the colour draining from her face as the blood loss proceeded. At least Glory was back in England. At least she wouldn't have to deal with this first hand.
At least... at least she still had Fate.
Samail stared at her for a second there, bleeding on the floor. It felt like he was frozen there, but he knew time was progressing as usual. He shook it off, and set the bloody thing down on the floor. He was sure he was going to regret this, but he walked over to the door and unlocked it, opening it a crack. He bent down, and trying to keep her blood as far away from him as he could, he picked up her in his arms. Definitely making a pattern here that he was going to regret.
He walked outside, glancing around to make sure that no one was looking, before he headed out. He knew he wasn't supposed to move someone stabbed like that, but given that he was the one who had done it, he supposed that he was also not supposed to care about whether or not she died. He wasn't sure he did, but he also wasn't sure what else he was supposed to do in this sort of situation. He set her down, gently, in the middle of the sidewalk, and reached into his pocket as he straightened. He called an ambulance, trying to put some sort of hysterical note into his tone, but he doubted it sounded anything other than fake. Would people notice? And right outside his house, too. He was definitely going to regret this.
There was blood all over his shirt, and a little on his trousers. His hands probably had some too. Scowling, he threw a glance down at Destiny. Her fate was out of his hands now, for what that would count. He wondered if the ambulance would get there before he could change his clothes and wash his hands, and doubted it. He left her, running back into the house for a change.
what: the delivery of the Lance
when: following her post
It had taken longer than she had preferred to get the weapons out of the house. More than a week, and she was on the edge of screaming at anyone who spoke to her, but then again, the rest of the Guardinals were acting almost the same way. Even Father Peter, who had always been that collected, was more reclusive than usual, and the only reason it had taken them this long was that nobody wanted go about what they had to.
At least Samail had been cooperative and given her the address without a lot of questions. She supposed he didn't have anything to fear, being who he was, but she rather favoured not having to explain just what had happened. At least not over text.
Destiny rang the doorbell of the Hyme household an hour after logging off, the Lance wrapped and strapped to her back.
His father was gone again, work or something with the community, or just avoiding the house. Samail didn't particularly care which, he was somewhat glad he was alone. He didn't relish the idea of having to explain to his father about the end of the world, and why strange people would want to visit.
He was sitting at the computer in his room when he heard the doorbell. He turned off the monitor and walked to the living room. Samail paused in front of the door, but didn't bother to check who it was before he unlocked it and swung it open.
He was taller than her, and it surprised her a little. Not taller than Fate, though, but that was a feat in any case, and especially in Jerusalem.
Destiny shook it off after a second though, and smiled easily. "You must be Samail."
Samail couldn't keep himself from eyeing whatever was on her back. It was a weird shape to be carrying around. Not that he expected the usual out of anyone involved in this, not anymore.
"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"
He wasn't one for pleasantries, was he. Just as well, she had no need for them right now either.
"Something that belongs to you. But I don't think you want all the neighbours to see this one."
Something that belonged to him? He couldn't help but be intruiged by that. He took a few steps back, out of the doorway.
"Come in." He thought of asking her if she wanted a drink or something, but that might invite her to stay, and he didn't exactly feel like playing host to one of those strange people from the internet.
Her smile widened slightly and Destiny thanked him before stepping inside. Once in the hallway and with the door safely locked, she unclasped the strap holding the lance to her back and swung it around to hold the wrapped weapon in both of her hands, presenting it to him.
"The Lance of Longinus." The name should hold weight in itself. They had decided Chance would've wanted hers to go to the Seals. This was more fitting, in any case. "Each Kamui has their own weapon. This is yours. Your Seal counterpart is being presented with a replica as we speak."
It was a speech she knew by heart, and finally getting it off her chest was nothing less than relieving.
A replica? Did that mean he had the original? The Holy Spear. If the end of the world was happening, he supposed it didn't stretch credibility that much more. Tenatively, he reached out for it.
"So Michael gets one too." He muttered, more to himself than for her.
"Yes." She shifted, a little uncomfortably. There was no need to tell him where that one had come from, but a part of her still wanted to state that her foster-sister had died for it.
But odds were he wasn't interested. Fate and Coincidence might tell Michael, however, and that was really where it mattered.
He didn't take his eyes off the thing. What was he supposed to do with the weapon that had stabbed someone he didn't even think existed? Did it have magical properties of some sort? Perhaps that nebulous force that had preordained all this had something in mind for it, and him. He couldn't really feel the thing through the wrappings. What exactly was he supposed to do with something that had significance only for stabbing a defenseless dead man?
It came to him all at once that perhaps it was intended for Michael. And perhaps the one that they were delivering to Michael was intended to kill him. The thought made him sick, and suddenly he was struck with the need to see the goddamned thing. His voice was surprisingly steady when he spoke.
"Can I take the wrappings off?"
"Go ahead." Destiny motioned for him to feel free, leaning against the nearest piece of furniture while she watched him. She didn't have to stick around, but she was curious, to say the least. Although she'd never spoken much with Samail before, he had always seemed... well, not like an Angel.
The fact that he made a good one right now was intriguing, to say the least. "It's yours, you don't have to ask."
He wanted to argue that it wasn't his, that he would take it but only as a temporary holder, but some part of him was too enamored of the his ownership of the thing to let the rest of him speak. It was a little unwieldy, and he wasn't particularly certain how one even would fight with a spear, but there was something a little fearsome about a weapon with such a name and history. He wasn't unfond of fearsome at the moment.
He fumbled a little with the length of it as he unwrapped it. Carelessly he let the wrappings fall to the floor, eyes only for the Lance. He supposed, idly, that the controversy-inducing weapons scattered around europe were all fakes, then. Even in the warm yellow lighting of his father's living room, there was something intoxicating about the way the metal reflected the light. He tried not to imagine what it would look like covered in blood, if the light would play off it the same way if it were buried in Michael's side. If blood and water would come out of it like in the Christian story. He tried not to, but his mind didn't obey him. Sam hardly noticed that he was staring at it, ignoring Destiny as he wrestled with his own thoughts.
She shifted again, observing him. It was a rather curious reaction, but then again, it was a rather curious situation. Destiny didn't know how she would've handled it, and the fact that both weapons had been nearly humming since the second one was born couldn't be less than off-putting either.
"It was kept in Glastonbury," she commented after a bit, standing up straight again. "Take good care of it." They had.
The words held no meaning for him. He wasn't going to play babysitter or curator to a weapon that sang like this. This thing was like him; it had been brought here to participate in the end of this rotten city. He couldn't deny it it's part in the bloodbath that was to come. He wondered if it yearned for the end.
The thought of killing Michael, of running him through, spitting him on this dreadful thing turned his stomach and reminded him of their conversation. He looked up at Destiny.
"I'm sorry, but he was wrong about me. I'm not a good person at all." It felt right in his hand as he lunged. The length of it meant it didn't take much movement to sate the godforsaken thing.
She had no warning.
Destiny looked down a second after he lunged and saw the lance through her own abdomen, blood appearing on her shirt before spilling down the rest of her clothing.
One came out of famine's womb, one pierced war's. She almost wanted to laugh.
"... I guess you aren't." It was all she could think of to say, the colour draining from her face as the blood loss proceeded. At least Glory was back in England. At least she wouldn't have to deal with this first hand.
At least... at least she still had Fate.
Samail stared at her for a second there, bleeding on the floor. It felt like he was frozen there, but he knew time was progressing as usual. He shook it off, and set the bloody thing down on the floor. He was sure he was going to regret this, but he walked over to the door and unlocked it, opening it a crack. He bent down, and trying to keep her blood as far away from him as he could, he picked up her in his arms. Definitely making a pattern here that he was going to regret.
He walked outside, glancing around to make sure that no one was looking, before he headed out. He knew he wasn't supposed to move someone stabbed like that, but given that he was the one who had done it, he supposed that he was also not supposed to care about whether or not she died. He wasn't sure he did, but he also wasn't sure what else he was supposed to do in this sort of situation. He set her down, gently, in the middle of the sidewalk, and reached into his pocket as he straightened. He called an ambulance, trying to put some sort of hysterical note into his tone, but he doubted it sounded anything other than fake. Would people notice? And right outside his house, too. He was definitely going to regret this.
There was blood all over his shirt, and a little on his trousers. His hands probably had some too. Scowling, he threw a glance down at Destiny. Her fate was out of his hands now, for what that would count. He wondered if the ambulance would get there before he could change his clothes and wash his hands, and doubted it. He left her, running back into the house for a change.