Meteora
Word Count: 240
Notes: As I plug through my rewrite of Treason I find myself surprised by how the characters have developed. I suppose I always just assumed that Azazel would be okay with his transformation, or that he would have at least come to terms with it in the six years that had passed. Apparently not, though.
He was waiting for her when she reached the surface, leaning against the scarred and bullet-riddled wall at the city’s entrance with a cigarette pinched between his lips and his face lit by the pale blue glow of his palmtop. After only being in each other’s company during dispatches it was strange to see him in street clothes, fitted indigo jeans and a form-hugging black t-shirt. It caught her off guard a little, just how human he looked, his tapered ears mostly hidden under the tousled mop of his hair, his feet nearly obscured by the cuff of his jeans. Even some of the Meteorans who filed past on their way into Level 31 cast sidelong glances at him, trying to place him as one of their own or perhaps attempting to discern his species before catching sight of the subtle inhuman qualities that were just enough to separate him from the normals.
She pitied him for it, just a little, the way he would cling so tenaciously to his humanity after all the time that had passed. She’d gone the way that most Meteorans did, grieving the loss of her normalcy as if it were the passing of a beloved family member and then moving on, but Azazel, he seemed to think that his old life was not only still alive, but able to be reclaimed. Admirable in its own way, she supposed, but dangerous, too.
Notes: As I plug through my rewrite of Treason I find myself surprised by how the characters have developed. I suppose I always just assumed that Azazel would be okay with his transformation, or that he would have at least come to terms with it in the six years that had passed. Apparently not, though.
He was waiting for her when she reached the surface, leaning against the scarred and bullet-riddled wall at the city’s entrance with a cigarette pinched between his lips and his face lit by the pale blue glow of his palmtop. After only being in each other’s company during dispatches it was strange to see him in street clothes, fitted indigo jeans and a form-hugging black t-shirt. It caught her off guard a little, just how human he looked, his tapered ears mostly hidden under the tousled mop of his hair, his feet nearly obscured by the cuff of his jeans. Even some of the Meteorans who filed past on their way into Level 31 cast sidelong glances at him, trying to place him as one of their own or perhaps attempting to discern his species before catching sight of the subtle inhuman qualities that were just enough to separate him from the normals.
She pitied him for it, just a little, the way he would cling so tenaciously to his humanity after all the time that had passed. She’d gone the way that most Meteorans did, grieving the loss of her normalcy as if it were the passing of a beloved family member and then moving on, but Azazel, he seemed to think that his old life was not only still alive, but able to be reclaimed. Admirable in its own way, she supposed, but dangerous, too.