An Old Soul

---------------------------------------- My name's Henry Jayer and I live in New York City with my dog and occasionally my grandkids. -------------------------------------------------- [47|Caterer|Capricorn|Single]

[acalculatedinferno]

If looks could growl, Wrath’s would manage it- a grim fury rested in each crease of his vessel’s face. “Then we strike back.”

He rises from the chair suddenly, violently. “Give me a moment.”

A boom of air fills the room, contained enough that the worst damage is an overturned book and some flying papers. Just as fast as he’d left, Wrath returns, some clothes in hand. Pulled off the hanger it seems like, clutched in a bundle in his left.

He casts aside the ripped remains of his clothing, burning each scrap as it falls, and the ash it turns to, until all that remains is a brief heat that seems to shriek back to it’s master immediately. He pulls on pants and shrugs a shirt over his broad shoulders, speaking to his brother all the while. 

"Where have our brethren been struck? Have you noted any patterns?"

He buttons the sleeves with a practiced motion, and turns to look at Gluttony. “It might be a good idea to visit Beelzebub. The hierarchy should be made aware if they haven’t been already. An offense should be mounted, at the very least to send the churls back to their false God tails tucked.”

His furious rush halts, and the look on his face is a man feeling inertia. He turns back to Gluttony, confusion naked on his face, anger and the smallest spark of worry battling in his eyes. 

"Luxuria’s missing?"

[giventodebauchery]

"Naturally," was Gluttony's dry, emotionless response.

He only nodded as his brother vanished, knowing well that he wouldn't be wasting time anymore. In the few seconds Wrath was gone, the younger Sin had replaced everything that had fallen or been cast aside by the controlled force... Hell forbid he got into old habits again. When the older man appeared again, a loud, booming bark came from upstairs, but the Watcher mostly ignore it. Of course; only now had the beast been disturbed.

Gluttony considered Wrath's words as the latter dressed himself. Neither was embarrassed by the nudity, but a pregnant silence--save for the rustling of clothes and a certain thudding as a slow creature made its way downstairs--still buzzed annoyingly in the room. Mostly this was due to Arakiel trying to figure out what he could possibly say that wouldn't piss his brother the fuck off further. 

"Patterns... Beaches, shorelines, all major cities near oceans. As if they expect to drown us. You're not the first from Chile. Most have been in places below the equator, though a few were ambushed in Israel, amazingly."

He caught Wrath's brass gaze and held it with his own silver before taking a deep breath and exhaling just as slowly and heavily. "It's punishment, Wrath; they're doing it again." Vassago appears in the doorway behind the brothers and sits patiently, like he knew something but wouldn't share it unless asked. Gluttony senses his presence, but says nothing about him.

"They know already, or... Beelzebub knows. They've been sending others out. They're half of those that were caught on the shores. The best were neglected to be sent out, and you're proof of why." He huffed. "They're either getting stronger, or we're all getting weaker. Do you realize that? It's not enough anymore."

Gluttony clenched his teeth and bit back a snort and a snide comment. He didn't miss that look in his brother's eyes, that twinge of... concern. Not for just a sibling, but for someone even dearer to one's heart.

Arakiel cracked his knuckles loudly.

"Well, either that or somewhere ignoring every psychic signal I've sent her for even longer than usual. Either is quite possible."

[acalculatedinferno]

Wrath let himself be led without resistance, focusing to internalize the pain and sift through excruciating memory. He closed his eyes at his brother’s touch and opened them as I felt the pain, bit by smallest bit, begin to subside. 

He manages to cough out “Angels”, his throat, dry as the desert’s sands, savaging the sound.

He forced himself to swallow, his throat slowly repairing from inhaled gravel and other disastrous grit. “Heaven’s hackles are rising..they struck at me off the coast of Chile. Start of April. With all the force they mustered, mortals likely blinded themselves and called it an earthquake.”

Scabs began to swallow in on themselves, and a few deafening crunches were heard as his vessel’s body mended itself. Once Gluttony’s magics had made their way through the vessel, horrendous echoes of unearthly chaos sounded through the room. Each called to mind primal fears of claws glistening with blood, a fierce and doomed chase for your life, and every other ancestral memory of all that had haunted humanity’s past.

What was without comparison and indescribable to any mortal, Gluttony would know as all the twisted demons of Hell, and the fearsome beasts that had been chained there after their roaming on Earth’s plane became too dangerous. Within Wrath laid their essence, and others, that had been consumed and stolen by the patriarch of all hellish demons that lay entwined with his soul. 

"They underestimated my abilities. Enough of their number lay dead that whatever plans they attempted to begin must have been dampened. An Archangel came, to free the attackers that lived from their coming justice. I was too weak from their peppered shots, burning from their heavenly cuts. He crushed me into the nearest city’s heart, and shot me with some Heaven-forged firearm. Barachiel always did have a taste for humanity’s creations."

As the words kept flowing, his voice regained it’s strength, it’s edge steeling to ward away it’s past shaking. The quiet cacophony ceased with eerie suddenness, like a piece of the world had vanished and left a discordant void. Only now does he look down at himself, scraps of a suit ruined beyond recognition stained with blood and dusted with crushed cement. His belt had mostly survived the onslaught, and from it hung a tattered scrap of pants no larger than a handkerchief, laying across his right side.The rest had been torn and fallen away long ago, leaving bare leg until the hem of his shirt at mid-thigh, and of his jacket there was no trace, his shirt clinging on by the tight knot of his tie, slit in many places but mostly intact. 

"Have they made any other moves? Are any of our brethren murdered?" His gaze bores into Gluttony, demanding out of brevity rather than anger. Anger is there, clear and raging in his narrowed eyes and clenched jaw, and in an aura of uncomfortable heat around him. It’s like the expectant air outside of lightning in a bottle about to burst, more manifest and tempestuous than it had been in centuries.

[giventodebauchery]

Angels.

Internally, Gluttony's sense of dread increased tenfold. So this was what it had come to? As if the Higher Order hadn't fucked Arakiel and his brethren up enough as it was, they had to take another swing at them. He wasn't surprised; he felt nothing but antipathy for his former home, for Heaven, for the angels that dwell there like there's nothing wrong. As if they hadn't betrayed their own so long ago.

There was only so much the Watcher could take nowadays. All of his lines? Crossed. His loyalty? Stronger than ever. Now he had the fires of Hell itself living within him, that deep-seated hatred that he had once cast off, but now knew once more. It was back. All of the bitterness, all the revulsion. In this anger, he was born again.

But he still felt this certain protectiveness over his ailing brother, which was quite honestly the only sympathy he was capable of at the moment. Shared agonies and venom on the tongue--that's how they did things, wasn't it?

"Not a bad place to frame such an idea," he muttered. He had felt it in him months ago, felt the danger. And yet he had ignored it and had gotten Wrath into a tight situation. He wasn't about to admit his failure, however. He just shook his head as he pulled his hands away from the healing mass that was his brother. His own hands began to heal slowly.

The room boomed with the most horrifying noises a human could be capable of understanding, but Gluttony didn't even flinch. He wasn't human. He had seen and heard so much worse; most of it from the man in front of him. Despite their recent differences, the Watcher so readily forgave him in light of the current situation.

He expressed no verbal sympathy for his brother's undoing, for his pain and suffering, but inclined his head in a nod before standing up again. Gluttony looked down on his brother, his eyebrows knit together in something reminiscent of concern.

"Barachiel," he murmured to himself, "Of course." 

It had been an eternity since he had felt the blinding pain of a blessed weapon in his flesh. Atonement in Hell was harsh and beyond one's greatest fears, but as an opponent of Heaven, well... God's greatest gift was truly the power of destruction.

The younger of the two would have offered him something, a rag to clean up with or new clothes, but he feared that this would only provoke his brother further. And that was... not a good idea. It never was. Not with Wrath showing this side of him. Not with all the agony and simmering animosity the other exuded from his very being.

Gluttony caught his glare and matched it, only raising a ginger eyebrow at the question. They stay like this for a moment, tension between them rising just as quickly as it possibly could. And the Watcher hesitates. He licks his lips before answering truthfully.

"Yes," he replied, his voice still and calm, as if there was nothing bad about this answer. "I have seen a great many of them in my time with Beelzebub, all aching with holy wounds from blades that had torn them apart in the same way as you appeared to me." He takes a steadying breath before looking his brother in the eye again.

"Furthermore, I have reason to suspect that Luxuria's most recent disappearance is due to the same angels that have wrecked you so thoroughly."

[acalculatedinferno]

“Fuck!”

The words escape from me in a sudden gasp, my back springing up from the harsh rubble beneath, stony debris rolling and scattering off my chest.

Wherever I was, light had long since fled. And yet my eyes felt seared with the brilliance of a thousand floodlights. My gut throbbed like a frantic heart, and looking down, the cracked and crusted blood told it’s own story. I remembered the light, the rush of wind, the shot sounding with all the fury of Heaven.

I plunged a hand into my innards, ripping at the mess that kept trying to heal but couldn’t. Fragments of a blessed shell burned my fingertips as I tore them away, throwing them to the side and shifting away. I couldn’t focus on any syllable, and so all that came was a groan, and the pitter patter of blood dripping on stone.

There I laid for hours, eventually gaining the strength to gather my wits and call on my own misgiven blessings, ripping apart my vessel atom by atom and reassembling it in the home of my only comrade. 

After months of unannounced absence, the world hadn’t even needed me to keep the agony rolling, ensuring it’s own suffering. But there was, to those who might look for it, an obvious lack of life as they went through the bloody motions.

My voice is hoarse and strained as I call for my brother, leaning heavily on the back of a couch and near-collapse.

"Arakiel! Are you here? There’s danger."

[giventodebauchery]

From upstairs I heard the fizzle of someone materializing to life, then stumbling. The crackle of fire usually associated with my brother joined it in its cacophony of sound, but was noticeably fainter. But I had my doubts about the identity of the intruder--Wrath didn't falter. He was perfect and calculated in everything he did, no matter how tired or inebriated. Something was wrong.

There were no words spoken as I descended the stairs. I heard no movements, no click of a lighter or an opening of doors or candy bars or anything to indicate that it really was my brother. The scent of blood, both young and old, and charred flesh clouded my mind, not because it was overpowering, but because it wasn't human.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I started to call out to the unseen stranger, only to be startled when I heard the most familiar voice speak. --It was quiet, forced. Spoken through an injured vessel.

I saw him when I focused on the origin of the sound. Wrath. Bloodied and battered and struggling in a way that I'd never seen him before. I couldn't help but feel both amused and fearful at the same time. Fearful for obvious reasons, but amused...

No.

The things he had done I despised him for, but how could I turn away my own brother? How could I deny him when he had sought me out while wrestling with agony? No matter how much some pompous, malevolence-inspired part of me wanted to stand there and watch him suffer, there was a bigger part of me that felt only sympathy for my dearest brother. 

I came to him and crouched down to help him up. I took him into my arms, not minding the burning of my own flesh or his blood as I laid him down in the couch he had been clinging to moments before. I had no snide remarks or vicious comments for him. Instead I just feigned a smile in an attempt to ease his tension.

My hand was gently laid upon his gut, my focus on healing him to the best of my ability. White fire burned my hands, but I didn't let myself feel it. I owed him more than that.

"I'm here," I finally said, "It's the same that did this to you?"

[giventodebauchery]

Mm.

I suppose it would be 'nice' of me to drop by and say hello to all the companions I have left behind while making a name for myself once again. I have paid off my debt to my Dearest Master and his own and have accomplished feats I had forgotten I was capable of. Many things have happened since I was gone, for a day on Earth is an eternity in Hell.

That said, I'm back for now.

Awrite.

[daily-ewan]

[thelurewithluxuria]

|| Gluttony

[thelurewithluxuria]

The swift opening of his door causes a forgotten scent of familiarity, which lacks a noticeable presence throughout her daily life, to rush towards her, paired with the warm, moistened air of Gluttony’s apartment. In addition to the sickly breeze, the significant change of his features, unmistakably catering to his determination for complete life-transformation, hushes her. His smile, arranged a little more imperfectly, is one that she hadn’t had the pleasure of poking out from his frustration for some time; genuinely encouraging a kind conversation, rid of begrudging aggression. The stark contrast between her expectations for this encounter and the unimaginable reality she’s presented with is enough to make Luxuria’s head tilt in unison with the other Sin.

The wooden frame of his home’s entrance creaks under his weight, also different and evidently slimmer. “You look… remarkably well,” she comments, eyes finishing their languid graze of him. “Better for your condition, at least, considering certain pressures and tensions.”

She closes her lips, noting that they must’ve parted in subtle surprise. He moves aide, allowing the woman to drop her long arms to her sides, fingers curling, relaxed, in tune with her small steps into the newly decorated living space. The nail of a clear-coated pinky is covered in thick saliva, moving Luxuria’s focus from the front of Gluttony’s woolen robe to the more-than-probable, just-as-bulky fur of his beloved animal companion. Stepping around the man, she rests a hand on Vassago’s back, letting him lead her inside, a quiet moment of appreciation surrounding her further in the distinctive ambiance.

"That couldn’t have been the only way you celebrated your birthday."

Stopping before a small leather chair, Luxuria looks over a slender shoulder, hand patting, still occupied with satisfying the hound at her knees, answering, “I was going to make an inquiry, but that will wait until later. For now, you’re going to explain—inform me as to how you’ve been living recently.” She neither made a request out of curiosity nor care, but rather out of the strange feeling he brought to her; as if she was no longer a source of dependency… or even enjoyment.

[giventodebauchery]

His actions are somewhat slowed, deliberate as he slowly comes out of his hangover. The smell of beer and vomit lingers on his breath, a sickly aroma that chokes the otherwise crisp freshness of his home. And he knows this, so he's a few steps behind his colleague, his hand grabbing for a few of the candies in a constantly-depleting bowl near the front door. He crunches them loudly as Vassago enters the room, immediately heading towards his favorite non-Stranger.

Gluttony puts his free hand on the sash keeping his robe closed, his other stuffing chocolates into his mouth. He nods, his faintly-green eyes shining behind thick frames.

"Thank ye," he chirps in his new, thick Scottish accent. The green in his face is replaced now by the subtlest blush, and he looks down at his feet, his fingers twiddling behind his back. Slimmer he was, and much healthier-looking than he probably ever had been, and though he wasn't sculpted like a Renaissance masterpiece like his older brother, his shorter-than-average stature and slight build fit him better than anything else could. And he was a bit proud of that. "Certainly," he drawls, "Feel better, too."

As Vassago leads her into the home, Gluttony himself gazes around the living room as if looking upon it the first time. His photography of New York (and some of Columbia, Afghanistan, and a few other choice places) hangs on the wall proudly, the frames neat and unbroken unlike how they had been a month or two prior. Awful, threadbare furniture has been replaced by comfortable leather and soft suede chairs, and his books are on their respective shelves instead of scattered about. The only things really out of place were some of his clothes from the night prior, thrown over the back of one of the chairs. He occupies himself with dressing in them while Luxuria is preoccupied by the hellhound and his excessive need for attention.

The fireplace crackles. His clothes rustle. Vassago whines quietly and licks at Luxuria's face. And she speaks, still looking at the hound, while Gluttony jumps a bit to get into his pants and buttons them, his belt coming next. 

He shrugs, "Aye, that was it, unless you count why I had to change vessels in the first place. Scotland, if you can imagine it, rainy and snowy and bitter cold. Was with a couple of my friends," he snorts as he pulls a white t-shirt over his head and fixes his hair. "Apparently somebody got my Master's attention, and the rest, as they say, is history."

The younger Sin turns to face his sister, a curious look on his face. 

"Inquiry?" She continues before he does, and Glutz nods absently, thinking about it. "Oh, but you should continue now before you forget," he suggests. He pulls the heavy robe back over his shoulders, but doesn't close it, instead just snuggling into the soft navy fabric. His brow furrows at her continuation, genuinely confused.

"How I've been living? As in, what I've been doing, or my lifestyle? I mean," he begins, walking towards the front of the couch, "Just the same old same old--Maybe not. I talked with Wrath and made sure of what I had to get done, and then did it or began working on it. Finished my re-entry back into the SO, in case you didn't hear. Master and a few of our close friends are helping me, physically. But for now I'm taking a little bit of a break to help rest myself before we go on."

He sits down and pats the spot next to him, though Vassago is the first to reach the seat, and he jumps onto the couch, putting his tail-end in Gluttony's face before plopping down, also waiting for Luxuria to take her seat. The Scot offers her a glass of wine by having it appear on the coffee table, and he smiles pleasantly, showing white teeth to her.

"I was also, ahh, recommended for therapy, so I've been working on that, too. It helps, darling, it really does." He sighs and takes a glass of wine for himself and sips it thoughtfully. "I've just been working on self-improvement quite a bit, building my relationship with my grandkids and Dev, trying to make things better between me and Wrath, which goes just about as well as you'd expect..." He chuckles, though sadly, and he looks her dead in the eye, his smile falling from his face.

"I'm sorry about, y'know..."

[giventodebauchery]

How was Valentine's Day for you?

Fuckin’ miserable, to be honest.

I went down to Afghanistan with a couple of friends, and it was blistering hot out. Smoked some opium, got really sick. Wasn’t too romantic.

[thelurewithluxuria]

|| Gluttony

By the final, passing days of a bitter December, Luxuria had failed to recognize another sense of foreboding within her; the first felt upon the disastrous calling to Gluttony’s home leading, unsurprisingly, to many consequences and thinned relationships. Her promise to never blur the paths of her kin remains, stored compliantly in mind, giving her reason to separate from the Sins for just a while longer. After all, the only reminder she needed to bring her original duties back into focus was a visit back home, walks in the impoverished streets lived in by Malaysian whores, dinner alongside Venice’s luccioles, and impromptu arrangements with unforgiving men and merciless women. Even with years having spaced her connection with a certain Sin, the time since their ultimate encounter undid the work she had made such a valiant effort to establish.

Damn that motherfucking motherfucker-bitch-dick, ass—the door opens.

Her hands immediately raise to express some half-witted form of casualty, beginning, “First of all, I apologize for not ringing in before…” 

and pausing, fingers clasping together suddenly, “…when did you shift?”

[giventodebauchery]

When he opens the door and sees her again, for the first time in many, many years, he doesn't feel anger towards her. Instead, he is pleasantly surprised--and he smiles, ever so slightly, and inclines his head in acknowledgement. The weak smile comes with a pale green complexion, the rusty-haired gent looking as if he were sick. His leaning against the doorway comes with a heavy gait, genuinely slouching against the wooden frame.

"My birthday, actually," he croaks, the same weak smile on his face. Straightening up, he steps out of her way and invites her into his newly refurbished home. Vassago pads towards her and greets her with a sloppy kiss to her hand, his tail wagging happily behind him. Gluttony shuts the door behind him by leaning against it. Now that he's not hiding behind the door, it's obvious that he's barely clothed, having only thrown a robe around himself before answering the door. His copper hair is tousled and his glasses are just as crooked as his half-grin.

"What," he swallows something back, perhaps bile, "What brings you back so soon? Am-Am I in trouble, or is something wrong, or--?"

[manliestelf]

Send "Little thing" and my character will tell you something as a child.

[the-wicked-green-witch-arch-blog]

Three Mourn The Wicked!

[the-wicked-green-witch-arch-blog]

Elphaba smiled softly at him when he finally caught up with her. She was interested in this deal he wanted. The witch wasn’t all the hungry for lunch but she was suprised when she saw food appear before them. Food she had eaten since Shiz.

She sipped some of the tea, clearing her throat. “Let’s talk about the deal. What is it you have mine, my dear?” She asked.

[giventodebauchery]

The ginger greedily tears apart a sandwich and stuffs it into his mouth a few pieces at a time, his cheeks bloated like a squirrel's. He nods as she talks, forcing down the meal, and takes a hot cup of tea into his hands. Gluttony swallows slowly and then takes a long drink from the delicate cup, continuing to nod as he does so. 

"Yes, well, anything," he says, "I can do just about anything for you. I could get some help for you for your home, if that's what you need. I could make someone... vanish, so to speak. Revenge could be sweet for you if you let me do the deed. But," he warns, wagging a finger, "it doesn't have to be dark stuff like that. Anything, really. Almost. Just no breaking of the Universal Code of Ethics in Magic, not for the knowledge I seek from you." He titters briefly and quickly finishes his first cup of tea. 

[giventodebauchery]

I hate this stupid fuckin' holiday.

[daily-ewan]

Happy Valentine’s Day, followers!

[stupidteenwhore-deactivated2015]

 ↁoes it ᴅᴇᴩʀᴇss you?      ————To know how { аlоиэ }                                    you really are?

[the-wicked-green-witch-arch-blog]

Three Mourn The Wicked!

[the-wicked-green-witch-arch-blog]

Elphaba chuckled lightly at the man’s monologue. “My dear, slow your words. We may speak of this deal of some tea and then you can explain it all to me.” She told him, resting a hand on his arm.

He was right about being good with fire. It was her favorite element. She was quite bored with just walking and practicing spells. She could use a good deal. “Come along.” She told him, walking towards the dining room where they could eat and discuss.

[giventodebauchery]

After a moment of silence, her laughter was reassuring to him. With her hand on his arm, he nods, smiling a bit brighter at the witch. "Oh, yes, I got a bit excited there," he acknowledges, and lets out a deep breath to stop himself from speaking too rapidly again. "That sounds grand."

A sense of security was just what he needed. Though fire didn't harm him in the City, Hell wasn't the only source of flame in the world. Flowers wilted in the presence of scorching heat, and he would, too, if it came from the right source. Her voice is farther away, and Gluttony realizes that she was walking away from him. Quickly, he steps after her and into the dining room.

"Righto," he says, and inclines his head in a sharp nod. He slips into a chair as food appears before the two of them, filling the table as if for a feast. Tea, h'orderves, sandwiches, and pastries cover almost all space on the table. The bespectacled man grins proudly at his work. "Is there anything specifically you'd like to eat? Lunch is only good if you're enjoying yourself, after all."

[the-wicked-green-witch-arch-blog]

Three Mourn The Wicked!

[the-wicked-green-witch-arch-blog]

Elphaba looked the card over without taking it. “Not really.” The witch took his hand, “Elphaba Thropp, Wicked Witch of the West.” She introduced herself, smirking.

She frowned, “Looking for me, why?”

[giventodebauchery]

"Didn't think so," he says with a small smile. "Absolutely pleased--ahh," he clicks his tongue, a vicious wagging of his left index finger soon following. "No, no, nothing bad. I said not to worry! It's, well, I wanted to speak to you about magic. Yes? I'm a practitioner of many different kinds of magic and I've been seeking out magic users with reputation, mostly for my own pleasure, nothing necessary or official."

He cocks an eyebrow. "I was hoping that you could help me--I've heard that you're particularly good with fire...? Well, let me backtrack. It's one of those help-me-and-I'll-help-you sorts of things, nothing like signing your soul away or anything, but more of a favor for a favor deal. --Though I make this too formal, forgive me." He clears his throat. "Bit jumpy, really."

"If.. that's not too much to ask--or even if it is, I'd love to sit back and talk with you about magicky things over a cup of tea and lunch." He stops speaking so quickly and catches his breath, blowing his hair out of his face as he thinks over his offer. "Okay, too much? Yeah, sorry. Bit talkative. Haven't had a civilized chat in ages. I--yes? No? Too creepy, too ginger, too fast?"

[the-wicked-green-witch-arch-blog]

Three Mourn The Wicked!

giventodebauchery

theexposition8ooth

banish-the-tick-tick-tock-tock

Elphaba smiled, “Well, it’s this a pleasure surprise.” She told the guest. “What do I owe this pleasure visit?”

[giventodebauchery]

"Pleasure's mine," the ginger chimes. He holds out a scrap of metal to her that's about the size of a credit card. On its face is scratched foreign names and credentials. His brow furrows when he looks at it and retracts his hand. "Uhh, I suppose it doesn't mean anything to you." 

Instead he offers his empty hand to her. "I'm Arakiel, Gluttony, Henry... whatever you please. This isn't official business, so don't worry about me. I'm actually sort of... bumming around. Looking for you, to be precise." He flashes her a bright grin. 

[careydraws]

Written in the Bones. New comic, written by Christopher M. Jones & illustrated by Carey Pietsch.

I’m hoping to have printed copies of this at MOCCA, ABPCC, and TCAF this spring, and SPX in the fall! More info to come.