Let's try this thing
Gonna try a drabble meme, here. I'm not sure what kind of parameters to set, so let's just say I'll write about my character and one of yours (tell me which) in a situation that is ... hmm, let's see. Why don't y'all challenge me? Post-camp, during-camp, angsty, funny, smutty -- tell me which of your characters to drabble on, and what flavor ( Read more... )
"My dear, I just--"
"Not now." A beat of silence followed. "Please."
The angel hesitated a moment, but nodded and turned away. Crowley listened as Aziraphale's footfalls grew softer until they were a bare whisper of sound, like wind through tall grass.
Once he was alone, he let out a deep breath. The circle of bright green enamel hung heavy as lead in his pocket. Even as he reached in and brushed his fingers over the cold enamel, he hated it.
He also hated this place. Despite the fact that it was where she'd made her home, despite the fact that she'd built a life here -- or perhaps it was because of those things -- Crowley despised Gotham. Oh, he would've liked it on principle, surely -- tall buildings, fantastic nightlife, a healthy dose of corruption, but it never seemed to suit her.
Perhaps he hadn't known her as well as he'd always believed. The thought stung him deeply as he looked at the pristine slab of marble bearing her name, age, and the fact that she'd been a beloved wife and mother.
And pet, he thought, but that had not been included on the marble, and he wasn't of a mind to add it himself. It would have made her laugh, he was certain, but the memory of her smile hurt Crowley too deeply. He could only dwell on it for a moment or two before the ache became too much to bear and he pushed the thought aside with a mental shove, burying it until the next time he was inclined to strip bare what remained of his soul.
Such a rich life, such a unique person, summed up in a few mere lines of text on a slab in a cemetery squeezed in to the city. Sophie had never been meant to be "squeezed" anywhere, and something about the situation seemed unjust to him.
Correction: damn near everything about the situation seemed unjust to him. There'd been no news from either side regarding a new arrival, and the idea that nothing remained of his pet stung Crowley to the core. Was it possible that she could be just... gone? He hated to imagine it, hated the thought that the light in her eyes had simply died with her. Most of all, he hated the idea that she'd been right all along, that no one had wanted the soulless girl.
Not true. He'd wanted her.
He'd wanted to keep her close, keep her safe, keep her happy, and he would have done anything -- including repent -- if it had meant keeping her around, if it had meant sending her to Heaven. No sacrifice was too great for Pet; he was coming to realize this now. And he realized it with a force that surprised and discomfited him not a little. He was coming to realize quite a few things, now.
Now, after it was far too late to make any difference.
"I'm sorry, pet." He crouched down and touched the loose dirt. Almost immediately, lavender pushed its way up through the soil until the grave was bathed in that dusky purple hue. He stood, brushing his fingers over the cold, lifeless marble. "I believe I lied to you, my dear," he murmured, "when I insisted I did not, could not, never would love you. More the fool am I, hmm?"
As he turned to rejoin Aziraphale on the far side of the field, he found a tiny slip of a black cat with wide blue eyes sitting in the long shadow he cast. He stood perfectly still, feeling an unfamiliar lump form in his throat. The cat held his gaze for several seconds before starting to groom itself.
It wasn't her. He knew that. He was painfully aware that pet, his pet, was quite gone, and wherever she was, she was definitely beyond his reach. All the same, the cat watched him with familiar dignified tolerance as he crouched down and scooped it up.
"Half-starved little wretch," he muttered, rubbing his thumb across the smooth black head. Blue eyes closed as a soft purr rumbled in the cat's throat. After a moment, he withdrew the bracelet from his pocket, slipping it over the cat's head so it settled neatly on its throat.
It was his imagination, but it almost seemed as if the cat appeared pleased by the addition rather than put-out.
"...Come on, you underfed little beast," he said, lengthening his strides. "Lucky for you I make a habit of feeding strays."
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Francescu reached for the cup she set beside his right hand, swirling the tea-ball idly without looking away from the book. Sophie dislodged his fingers and removed the leaves after a few minutes, leaving her brother's hand hanging gracefully over the steam of the mug. She was halfway through her cup before he looked up.
"...sister." The sigils still burned before his eyes, which scanned over her form with the same precision that they had dissected the tome. "What did you do?"
The mug made a gentle click as she set it down on the table. The fingers of her left hand strayed unconsciously across her sternum.
"I used your wish," she said after a long moment. He had nearly forgotten that first Christmas gift. Camp seemed lifetimes ago, now. Francescu closed the book very gently, took his tea between his hands. The curves of magelight remained burning in Sophie's retinas even when she closed her eyes.
"I was given to understand that your feelings on this matter were rather contrary to that decision."
"They were." Sophie tucked one of her legs beneath her and ran a hand through her hair. "Then. But now..." Crowley's face rose unbidden before her. The flash of utterly stricken expression quickly hidden behind dark lenses was terribly clear in her memory. The things he'd said, the ferosity with which he'd shoved her away when he realized that pet wasn't forever, that pet was fleeting, had nearly cracked her in two. It had been so simple, suddenly. Now that she was free, now that fears were much smaller and fetters had much, much finer chains, now there were reasons to keep living. There were things which required time, people who deserved time, and time was only limited by her body.
She twisted, reached for something in her pocket, and tossed it across the table. Francescu reflexively caught it with his telekenesis, floated it gently to his waiting hand. He recognized the round glass as the container he had created to house a wish, though the contents were quite different now. Instead of a light that shone like a small, cold star, there was warm violet that moved in a way simultaneously reminiscent of lightning, smoke, and water.
"It's a bit showier than I expected," she offered. "But self-mutilation seemed terribly unsubtle and...well."
"You don't intend to make this common knowledge?" Francescu raised an eyebrow.
"Do you really think he'd understand?" Brother and sister considered each other over their teacups.
"...no." Francescu allowed, after a moment. Terry wasn't likely to understand her motivations, or approve of his wife becoming like her brother. "What were your parameters?"
"Agelessness and deathlessness, until I release the spell, or the orb is broken. You warded it well, after all. The language was more complicated, of course." Francescu nodded. He studied the orb with interest. It wasn't like his fingerbone. His soulless sister could not precisely put her life anywhere but where it was. "I was paying a bit of attention, occasionally." Sophie chuckled. His mouth quirked, but he sobered as he looked across the table.
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"I know. But I believe it's worth the effort. There are people who are worth the effort." She smiled. "Many things about it will be hard, of course. But...that's the way of things." She twisted the thin gold band on her left ring finger, her pinky hooked around the bright green enamel of the bracelet she never removed. "It's not as though I haven't spent a great deal of time considering it. I...always expected to bury my husband, I suppose. But I had not thought of...those who would have to bury me." Her hand tightened around the bracelet, leaving go of her wedding band.
"Indeed." Francescu leaned across the table, made to hand the orb back. Sophie shook her head.
"No," she said. "It's either you or angel, and this seems most fair." Two fingers tapped her breastbone. Francescu nearly looked surprised for a moment before nodding and pocketing the orb. He had given his sister half of his life, and she had given him hers.
"Have you told him yet?" A shadow passed across Sophie's face, as though what should have been happy news for the angels might perhaps be difficult to deliver. He reached across the table and took her hand, squeezing gently.
"That's my next stop. You're...you." Francescu smiled, knowing exactly what she meant.
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