Posts Tagged ‘Writing’

Previous Episode # You are at the most recent episode

He didn’t know how long they sat huddled there before he drifted off, but the next thing he knew he was jolted awake by Church’s tongue laving across his closed eyelids. He grunted and shoved the dog’s head away, blinking open tired eyes.

“The kitchen floor isn’t generally seen as a good place to spend the night.”

Turin started, twisting his head to see Azarel standing in the doorway, bathed in the sunlight streaming through the window above the sink. The angel offered a small smile.

It didn’t last long, and after a moment he frowned. “You have blood on your face.”

Turin brought a hand up to his cheek and stood, pulling a rag off the counter and running it under the faucet. He glanced around for anything reflective, but Azarel stepped forward and took the rag from him. He wiped it across the Fallen’s left cheek and glanced down at Church, seated calmly at his feet, muzzle held up.

“…What did he kill?” the angel asked, dropping to his knees to wipe the blood off the dog’s lips.

“Nothing,” Turin said, turning back to the counter to pull the coffee out of the cabinet beside the sink. He scooped the grounds into coffee maker and filled it with water before flicking it on. “Jezebel paid me a visit last night. Church doesn’t like her. He bit her.”

Azarel frowned and gave the dog a pat on the head before dropping the bloodied rag into the sink and running cold water over it. “Does anybody like her?”

Turin shook his head and pulled down two coffee mugs. “Apparently, Lucifer does, or so she says. But I don’t think Lucifer actually likes anybody. I don’t know that he’s capable of positive feelings towards anyone.”

“It’s doubtful,” the angel said, pulling the creamer out of the fridge. “He betrayed the Father. It makes me wonder if he ever really possessed any Lumen at all.”

“He did,” Turin said, pulling out a couple of spoons and a jar or sugar. “Otherwise there would have been nothing for the Atra to poison.”

“No, I suppose you’re right.” Azarel leaned back against the counter. “But that doesn’t really matter now, I guess. What’s done is done, and we can’t change it now.” He flashed a small smile.

Turin froze. The moment the thought came into his head, he wondered how it was that he hadn’t thought of it sooner. It was brilliant, and it was foolproof, and it would pull Azarel closer to him and away from the other angels enough that he could do what was required of him and get it over with.

He swallowed hard and gripped the edge of the countertop so hard that his fingers were white. “…Azarel?”

The angel glanced up from where he was scratching Church behind the ears. “Yes?”

He took in a deep, shuddering breath. “I want to attempt one of the Impossibles.”

Azarel blinked hard several times, letting the unexpected statement sink in before he took in an unsteady breath of his own. “…You’re serious?” At the slow nod from the Fallen, he tried to suppress a smile. “But I thought all of you Fallen just considered them to be a tease.”

Turin gave an uneasy bark of laughter. “Just salt in the wound,” he said. “Why else would they be called the Impossibles?” He watched the coffee drip into the pot. “But I don’t know what else to do. I have to do something.” He finally lifted his eyes to Azarel’s. “I just want to go home.”

The angel stopped trying to hold back the grin that spread across his lips. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.”

Turin forced a smile and tried to ignore the ache in his chest that grew a little more at this further betrayal. “Would you help me?”

Azarel nodded. “Of course I will. As much as I’m able. Nothing would make me happier.”

The Fallen wanted to scream at him, to tell him not to be ridiculous, and to just walk away from him and cut his losses before he could end his life, but the same thing that had stopped him from saying anything at the angels’ home stopped him from speaking now. The darkness in him seemed to seize him by the throat and choke off the warnings that wanted so badly to escape his lips. You are loyal only to Lucifer, a voice chimed in the back of his mind. You can never escape that. He is your master for the rest of all time. Turin tried to tamp down on it, to shut it out, and ignore what it had to say. But he knew that it was right.

“We should tell the others,” Azarel went on, unable to contain his excitement, and unable or unwilling to read the thinly veiled anguish on his friend’s face. “They’ll be so glad to hear it.”

“I wish I could be as sure of that as you are, Az,” he said, finally prying his hands from the edge of the counter, attempting to rub some feeling back into them. “They don’t like or trust me. Half of them won’t even turn their backs on me for fear that I’m going to attack them or something else ridiculous like that.”

The angel waved a hand dismissively. “They’ve never believed that you regretted what you’d done, or that you wanted nothing more than to fix it. I could tell them until I was blue in the face, and they wouldn’t believe it. But now… Now they’ll have no choice but to believe you.”

If only that were true, Turin thought. If only all of that were true. He did regret doubting the Father. He regretted it every moment of every day. And yes, he did want nothing more to fix it, but too large a part of him wanted, at the same time, to destroy what of Heaven was left within him, to destroy Azarel, to destroy anything and everything that he as an angel had held dear. It was enough to drive him mad with the contradictions.

I apologize wholeheartedly for the late posting of this episode. I just started a new job, and it’s kept me busy. Add to that the rescue puppy that I am responsible for keeping an eye on just about 24/7, and I don’t have a whole lot of free time that isn’t spent sleeping. I’m off all weekend and tomorrow evening, so I’ll do my best to get episode six up sometime before Monday.

Previous Episode # Next Episode

The night found no reprieve from the heat. The air was thick with humidity, and the scent of rain and lilacs wafted up to him on the hot breeze that barely had the strength to lift the hair from his sweaty forehead.

Turin stood on the roof of his apartment building, perilously close to the edge, and stared out over the city. The lit windows on the other side of town looked like fireflies suspended in the muggy air, and the streetlights blinked red almost in time to his heartbeat. With a heavy sigh, he glanced down at the street, and swayed on his feet. He took a step back.

“I hope you’re not thinking about doing something stupid,” Jezebel said from behind him.

He whipped around, nearly losing his footing, and her hand shot out to grasp his arm to steady him.

“You’re a fool, Turin. Come down from there.”

He pulled his arm from her grip and hopped down off the wide ledge. “What do you want?” he growled, returning to the roof access and descending into his apartment. She followed.

“Luci wanted me to check up on you and make sure you weren’t planning on betraying his orders,” she said, following him into the kitchen and leaning back against the counter to look up at the mural on the ceiling. For a moment he thought he saw pity on her face, but as soon as he blinked, her face was once more a mask of apathy.

Turin frowned and dug in the fridge for something to drink. Church appeared in the doorway, growling at Jezebel, his hackles raised. “You really shouldn’t call him that. One of these days, you’re going to slip up, and he’s going to get rid of you then and there.”

She glanced down at the dog, a matching frown pulling down the corners of her mouth. “I suppose it’s a good thing he likes me as much as he does.” She lifted her lips in a sort of snarl. “Call off your animal.”

“He’s not mine. I just feed him.” Turin pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and let it fall shut, leaning back against it. He sighed and glanced over at the dog. “Church, heel.” The pit bull huffed and did as he was told, settling himself on his haunches at the Fallen’s left side, still snarling. Turin dropped his hand on top of the dog’s head and lifted his eyes back to Jezebel. “I’m not going to go against his orders. Tell him to relax. I can’t just go over there and kill him. I need to get him alone.”

“He won’t like being told to relax, worm,” she scoffed. “You had better watch your tongue.”

“Then tell him whatever you’d like. It doesn’t matter to me. Just tell him I’m going to need more than a few days to get this done. And it will be done.”

Jezebel snorted. “I’ll believe it when I see the angel’s body.”

Turin glared at her, and Church lurched to his feet. “Calm, boy,” he said without taking his eyes off the demon. “She’s not worth it. Sit.” The dog sat slowly, clearly showing his reluctance.

Jezebel paced forward to brush a fingertip across Turin’s cheek with a snicker. “Is that any way to speak to a lady, worm?”

With a further snarl, Church hurled himself at Jezebel and sank his teeth into her hand. She shrieked and shoved him off, delivering a harsh kick to his chest. The dog yelped. As she drew the blade at her waist, Turin stepped between demon and dog. His face was all hard lines, his mouth pressed thin. “It’s time that you left, demon,” he ground out. “It’s one thing to hurt me, but another entirely to hurt the dog.”

Jezebel glared at him and cradled her bleeding hand to her chest. “Next time, I won’t just hurt him,” she snapped. “Next time I’ll be sure to kill him.” She dropped her eyes to where the dog stood behind Turin and a vicious smirk crossed her face. “You’d better keep an eye on him, worm. After all, you don’t want anything to happen to the poor thing.”

“Out!” Turin shouted. “Get out!”

The demon gave a demure sort of wave, and in the space of a breath, she was gone.

Turin sagged to the floor and pulled Church into his lap. “You all right, boy?” he asked softly, stroking a hand over his bloody muzzle. The dog shifted and whimpered, trying to crane his head to lick his own chest. The Fallen sighed and rubbed the visibly bruised spot gently and Church nuzzled his cheek. “Should have stayed put like I told you to.” He bent his head to press a kiss to the wide, white head. “Stupid dog.”

Previous Episode # Next Episode

It seemed an odd thing that the angels stationed in the city would take up residence in an abandoned warehouse in the industrial district. Every time that Azarel invited Turin there, he would stare up at the dingy brick building with it’s suffocating, soot-smeared windows, and he always found the place more fitting of a group of Fallen or demons than a group of angels. He wondered if that was the point.

He hated coming here. There was no where else he felt so completely out of place as among the angels that had, at one time, been his friends and allies. But Azarel had invited him, and had insisted that he come for dinner in order to repay him for the tense meal they’d shared upon his arrival. Turin didn’t really expect this dinner to be any less uncomfortable.

The narrow steel door at the side of the building, lit by a dim, bare bulb, opened before he even lifted his hand to knock. He was met with a wide smile from a thin, petite redhead, who reached out to take hold of his arm and pull him in. “Turin, it’s so good to see you,” she said, and as with every time before, he couldn’t tell if she was just being nice because Azarel had asked her to be, or if it was genuine.

He forced a small smile. “It’s good to see you too, Hael. How have you been?”

“We’ve been all right. No different than usual,” she replied brightly, her cheerful demeanor grating on his frayed nerves. She led him up the narrow stairs just inside the door, leaving the open, empty first level behind. “And you?”

Turin opened his mouth to speak as they reached the top of the steps, but he froze when he heard the two angels on the couch just inside arguing, their backs to the door. His heart fell when he heard his name.

“You know he makes me uneasy, Azarel. Turin is not one of us, and he shouldn’t be brought here.”

“He was your friend, once, Caelum, your ally, and still, you find it so easy to write him off and to lose faith that, deep down, he still is one of us?” Azarel snapped, his voice sounding thin and tired, as if he’d had the same argument too many times; the conviction was still there, but the hope of convincing the other angels had long ago dried up.

“He betrayed us all. He made his decisions, and he’s being punished for them. Part of that punishment includes having no intimate contact with any of us. Why must you insist on bending the rules for him? Do you really feel so guilty for something that you neither had control over or a part in?” Caelum gave an irritated sigh. “He takes his orders from Lucifer, now,” he said, dropping his voice. “He may have once been our friend, but he is no longer. You’re exposing all of us to a dangerous, uncontrollable being simply because you feel guilty.”

There was silence, and Turin could almost picture the familiar look of pain crossing Azarel’s face.

Caelum sighed again, but this time he simply sounded tired. “Azarel, I pity him as much as you do. We all do. But this can’t continue.”

Turin wasn’t sure how much more he could listen to. He started to turn to leave, but behind him, Hael cleared her throat loudly. Both angels on the couch spun to face them in surprise. Azarel looked mortified when he caught the hurt look on Turin’s face, but Caelum simply frowned and rose from the couch.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, brushing past two of the other angels as they entered the main room, and he disappeared down the hallway.

They stared after him a moment before turning to take in the Fallen, still in the doorway at the top of the stairs. He was gripping the doorframe, his knuckles white, and his face ashen. He stared at the spot on the couch that Caelum had vacated, and it wasn’t until Hael’s hand settled on his arm that he looked away from it.

The look of pity on her delicate features made him want to turn away again, but she flashed him a genuine smile and motioned towards the two newcomers. “Turin, this is Ramiel,” she said, pointing at the thin, sinewy brunette, then at the short blonde beside her, “and this is Sofiel. They’ve just arrived this past week.”

Turin could barely take in what she was saying. Even when the two new angels gave him a quiet greeting, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Hael. Beneath the layers of pity, sorrow, and kindness, there was discomfort and unease. He finally glanced over at the other two, and saw much the same thing. He swallowed hard.

“…I shouldn’t come here anymore,” he said to no one in particular.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Azarel insisted, moving awkwardly around the couch to stand in front of the Fallen.

“The last thing I want is to cause trouble for you here,” Turin said. “I’ve far overstayed my welcome.” He turned to go, but Hael’s soft hand once more caught his arm and drew him to a stop. His pale blue eyes lifted to hers, and the discomfort was gone, replaced completely by a sort of sad, smiling kindness that made him ache even more for the acceptance that he’d never find there.

“Please stay,” she said softly, giving his arm a squeeze. “You must forgive Caelum for his behavior. He’s been very homesick recently, and it makes him irritable. You’ve just caught him on a bad day.”

He wanted to know what the angel’s excuse was for all the other times he’d been so cold to him, but the gentleness on Hael’s face stopped him. She was trying, and even if it was only for Azarel’s sake, he did appreciate it. With a soft sigh, he slumped and nodded.

“Okay,” he said softly. “But I won’t stay for long.”

Hael gave a bright smile and ushered him further into the converted warehouse, steering him towards the kitchen. “Good. Now, come and sit down. Tell me what you’ve been up to since I saw you last.”

He followed her, eyes roving around the bright, cheerfully decorated loft. The pale yellow walls made the space seem endless, and the light from the overhead lamps reflected off of them like sunlight. The bare wood floor was stained a deep mahogany, and was covered intermittently with throw rugs from all across the world. The walls were studded every few feet with photos of delegates past and present, and paintings of Heaven. It looked just how he remembered it, and if he closed his eyes, he could just barely imagine himself there.

As they entered the kitchen, the delicious and overpowering smells of food banished all other thoughts from his mind. He moved away from Hael to peek into the pots on the stove.

“I’ve always wondered where you learned to cook,” he said absently.

Hael smiled and moved around him to stir some sort of sauce. “Quite a few places. I’ve been stationed just about everywhere over the last few thousand years. Greece, Japan, Italy…” She motioned him towards a chair at the breakfast bar and turned to the fridge. “What can I get you to drink?”

Turin settled into the chair, and Azarel awkwardly sat down in the one beside him. “Just water would be good. Thank you.” He refused to look over at his friend, not wanting to see the pity and sorrow that he knew he’d find on his face. Instead, he found a tiny crack in the countertop completely fascinating until Hael set a glass of water in front of him.

“So. What sort of things have you been up to lately?” she asked, turning back to the stove to stir the sauce again. “It’s been years.”

“Lonely ones,” he said without thinking. Azarel flinched, but he ignored him. “And I haven’t really been up to anything. Painting, mostly, when Church isn’t demanding long, tiresome walks.” He swirled his fingertip in his water. “Jezebel’s made a pest of herself more often than not. I’m surprised Lucifer hasn’t gotten rid of her yet. She seems like just the type he’d tire of easily.”

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He wanted to tell them what Jezebel had told him that half a week before, wanted to admit that he’d been ordered to kill Azarel, in hopes that maybe they’d do something to stop him, but he couldn’t make his mouth form the words. The darkness in him demanded a deep loyalty to Lucifer, and he wasn’t sure he possessed the strength to go against it.