oh, death

“Isn’t that what friends do?” She inquired with traces innocence before it morphed into a wicked smile, dropping only at the sight of her previous conversational partner. Friends were never a concept that she placed much stock into beyond Kaan. “Leave us.” The woman huffed before departing, but Ana paid her little mind except to gesture for Orion to now occupy her emptied seat. “And why would I ever do that? Are you asking for me to break your brother’s poor heart? I’m afraid he wouldn’t survive the news.” Hues skirted their surroundings for a moment. “I know the owner, fun little gig isn’t it?”

“Is that what we are? Friends?” It wasn’t something that he ever really sought out once death had caught him within his grasp - even before, the prospect of friends merely transpired from what Orion could gain; attention, admiration... little more than that. Though he didn’t pay mind to her previous company departing, the smug look that remained simply grew to more than amusement. “He’ll survive a broken heart once he comes to the realization that you were’t worth it in the first place.” He peaked, taking up the offered seat and setting his glass against his knee. “A rough blow, but since he’s set his sights elsewhere apparently.. I have high hopes.” Orion was never all that fond of Ana - but so long as she offered up the dead, he held no real complaints. “Absolutely riveting, I don’t think I expected anything less. How many witless assholes have you found in here to do away with exactly?”

Orion was difficult to talk to. Angel felt like he couldn’t quite express most of what he wanted to when it came to his brother for the simple fact that they were very different in how they expressed emotion. The two of them had been pretty similar once upon a time. However, where one was the brains, the other was the brawn. It was how they had always dealt with everything. Now, Angel wasn’t so sure what kind of relationship he had with his brother. It felt like it had changed so much from what it was when they were alive and only he knew why. It would be better to tell Rion why, but he always felt like changing the subject whenever it was brought up. As his brother walked out of the room, he ran his hands down his face. This was going to be more difficult than it seemed, but it was something they needed to talk about. Even if his brother was mostly a stone wall when it came to emotions. There was no breaking down that barrier unless he wanted you to. Grabbing the bottle, he immediately gulped most of it down. This was going to be one hell of a talk, but it needed to be done. He let Orion say what he needed to say before he spoke. “I honestly don’t think it’s something I can talk to Beau about. It’s really only something I can talk about with you.” His eyes glanced quickly at the scar across his brother’s neck, the one that kept reminding him of that night no matter how many times he blinked his eyes. “Remember that night. I’m sure you do. You were there. It was dark and I couldn’t really figure out what was going on until it was too late, you know. I kept telling myself that you would be fine and I was just hearing things. Or seeing things.” He took another drink as he looked at anything but his brother. “I wanted so badly to help you. And I couldn’t. Everything just happened so fast and…” He felt his eyes welling up and he stopped talking. If anyone would see him cry, it would be his brother, but he didn’t want that. He didn’t want any weakness to be seen. Yet here he was. “I think I gave up after I saw what happened to you. There was so much blood and they took you away from me right in front of me. Over some bullshit with our fucking parents.”

Although he was thankful that his brother didn’t ask him what was wrong, a part of him wished he had. Maybe then, Angel could have gotten it all off of his chest. The more they were here and the more he had to think of their limited time left, the more it made him think of that night. The memory was seared into his brain, never leaving lest he forget why he was here in the first place. He was supposed to make it easier for people when they died, right? Yet he couldn’t help but feel like they didn’t deserve it if he couldn’t be granted that same luxury. No, he would do what Atropos asked of him and make sure the people that needed to be brought to the afterlife were going there and that he got what She wanted from those shapeshifters. His own thoughts would have to take a backseat at some point. “Uh…yeah. We can stay in. I don’t know if a vamp bar is exactly my kind of scene. Anymore, at least.” A lot of things had changed since his death. He wasn’t sure if it would push Orion and him apart or if it would bring them closer. It was another thing he wished he wasn’t thinking about. Angel had been so hyper-fixated on this one thing that he wasn’t sure he would be able to focus on anything else until he talked about it. Well, no time like the present, huh? “I’ve gotta talk to you about something and, I don’t know, maybe it’ll help you understand why I’m not the same as I was before.”

Pete watched as Orion all but blinked from the entryway to the staircase, the taunting tone that fell from the reaper’s lips set Petrichor’s jaw on edge. He did not want to believe that the reaper was right, Orion was not the first person to tell Petrichor that he was no better than the monster he hoped to save humanity from, but that did not mean Petrichor would believe him. The phoenix watched as the reaper reappeared and attempted to taunt him further, he knew still that Orion was biding his time, but Petrichor only kept walking as his boots hit the stairs. A sigh fell easily from the man’s lips as he tossed Orion a casual glance, “I’m sure you have to think that.” Petrichor breezed, “I save all that I can save, and I certainly help more than I hurt. You can not say the same.” Though the coin Orion left behind was still heavy in Petrichor’s pocket.  

A figure appeared at the top of the stairs, the cubi. With a flick of his wrist, heated force and flame thrust the incubus backwards. Scorched but not seriously injured, the burns began to heal themselves almost immediately as Petrichor pushed past the cubi and entered the room. The smell of sex permeated the air still, on the bed lay the quivering figure of a man, an empty vessel that had been reduced to nothing more than a hollowed shell. Warmth flooded Petrichor’s tone as he approached the broken mortal. “You’re hurt, and you can feel it, can’t you? Lately there’s been an emptiness inside, a dull beating that’s left you feeling cold. Things that once gave you pleasure makes you feel nothing at all. I can help you, if you’ll let me.” 

Petrichor’s fingers reached out in tie with the other man’s, the tips touched and soft gold light flooded between them as it crawled beneath the mortal’s skin. They took a breath, and light returned to their eyes once more. A smile, they looked at Petrichor as if they were about to ask what happened but the phoenix was already pulling away, his attention drawn towards Orion. “Where’s the cubi?”

He didn’t seek to argue, Orion certainly couldn’t say the same - though, he never made much of an effort to save anyone, in any instance. Why should he? Nobody was there to save him or his brother, and even in death, the revival they were offered was one just as hollow as one might assume. Hinged on the memories of people who, as they spoke, were withering away beneath the weight of old age. Limited. It left the reaper with a bitter taste on his tongue - a taste that even forty years later, he wasn’t certain was real. Perhaps just a memory of his own bitterness in life. As Petrichor pushed beyond the stairs and into the room, Orion vanished, lingering just beyond the dim light of the room as he watched the incubus reel in the temporary flash of the Phoenix’s flames. He didn’t react, much like Orion hadn’t when the alley weeks before had been consumed by it, only tried to draw upon a memory in which - he knew what flame felt like against his skin. Beyond the warmth.  His counterparts voice drew him back to reality. You’re hurt... It pulled a silent sneer to his features as he tried not to listen to the hook of the Phoenix’s gift. A noble venture, he imagined, if one could find it in them to believe there was anything worth living for in a world that was poisoned with a darkness that would never be treated - no matter how many Petrichor’s there were fighting it. There’s been an emptiness inside.. Inwardly, he flinched, blinking back the rising anger that he knew wouldn’t stop regardless of where he put such energy. Hues sought out the Cubi, wasting time pulling at his previously discarded clothes when Orion decided that he didn’t need another soul, not if this creature was willing to do his work for him. Flashing across the room, the reaper tipped the toe of his shoe against the door nearest the cubi, a risen brow and slight tip of his head enough to give the man a head start. Things that once gave you pleasure make you feel nothing at all....  Beneath the flex of his jaw, Orion bit his tongue as the glowing light filled the room. The once wilting mortal reverting from their near soulless state twisted something in his stomach, an acidity that he couldn’t wish away had he tried. Envy. Yet - as Petrichor found him in the dim light of the room again, Orion felt nothing but disgust as it bloomed on his features. “Cubi?” Brows knit together and dark hues scanned the room in a near animated sweep -- “What Cubi?” The question lingered a little longer until the corner of his mouth lifted in unholy defiance.

His approach hardly went unnoticed, though Ana deemed it less worthy of her attention than the mindless conversation ensuing now. If Orion wished to chat then he merely needed to find his opening. And find it he did. “Has your brother always been such a little liar?” Features canted upwards to meet the once young man as she produced her most venomous grin, bewildered company nearly forgotten in the wake of true entertainment. “Maybe I did ask, just the once. All of this time since Monaco and you didn’t even care to come see me. I’ve been so devastated and heartbroken.”

His laden attention fell more to his drink than the woman he’d sought out - as was usually the way, the idea of the chaotic woman was far more interesting than the sight itself. Curiosity had brought him here - hers, to be more specific. Why she’d felt the need to question what was always true; Orion and Angel were a package deal. “And why, exactly, would I have ever felt the need to do such a thing?” Hues surveyed the room slowly, brought back to her only when time had prolonged a momentary silence. “I’d hoped you might have finally combusted to ash so, when Angel mentioned you were here, this is not what I imagined.”

wraith: how does your muse connect to the afterlife?

already answered

pixie: how does your muse tend to get into trouble?

Trouble once meant anything from breaking curfew to... committing minor criminal offences and getting away with it because of his rich parents... Now? It’s cutting the lives of those around him short to make up for what was taken from him. It’s doing what Atropos asked him to, in the most chaotic way possible and offering no apologies in the meantime.

basilisk: has your muse been responsible for the death of another?

Too many to count. Although Orion has only been a reaper for roughly four decades and has only been topside a small handful of times, he’s made it worth the trip. Orion also carries the weight of feeling responsible for Angel’s death. Though he certainly didn’t kill his brother, he knows that if he hadn’t been caught off guard, hadn’t been dragged from his own bed to his own death, that Angel might have lived. 

Say something nice about Pete..... @petrichorxathanasios

elf: does your muse value appearance?

Undoubtely, Orion is vain and it’s never been something that he’s ever tried to hide about himself. He finds that there’s no point taking anyone seriously if they can’t present themselves in a way that people can respect. In his mind, if you can’t be bothered, you might as well throw yourself off the nearest cliff.

phoenix: who was your muse in their past life?

An arrogant, aggressive, charming and all around narcissistic orphan adopted by a rich couple in Morocco who gave him and his brother everything they ever wanted. In his past life, he was a college kid with a whole life ahead of him, murdered over petty human altercations.

chimera: does your muse tend to be aggressive?

centaur: has your muse experienced a physical altercations?

All the time, at least.. he did when he was alive. He was known for his physicality in most instances, altercations were certainly not left out of that equation. Orion enjoyed it, really.. his strength and physicality was his schtick.  Now? it’s still not unheard of in this state, however, he finds them a little less exciting, since... physical touch with the wrong intentions does little more than grant him another soul to guide through to the afterlife.. it’s not nearly as much fun when you can’t bleed or bruise or feel the satisfaction of bone beneath hardened knuckles.

mermaid: how does your muse connect to water?

griffin: does your muse have any priceless possessions? 

No, he doesn’t. He wasn’t able to bring anything with him to the afterlife. However, the scar left behind in the wake of his death, the same one that he refused to allow Atropos to take from him, is something he keeps as a reminder of everything he had - among other things to be reminded of.

manticorn: what does your muse fear?

Easy answer, the same thing most reapers fear, being forgotten. Complicated answer, never taking back the life that he did deserve.

wraith: how does your muse connect to the afterlife?

location: Hypnos

Spotting her was easy enough. Ana Cavallero had always stood out in a crowd, for all the right reasons - much like himself. Just as surely, the signature smirk that so readily settled itself against his features grew in the dim lighting of the bar as he carved his way through the crowd. Plucking a drink from the tray of a waitress intent on delivering to a table in the far corner, her objection promptly ignored as Orion sought to perch the arm of the plush velvet chair Ana made herself comfortable in. Her company ignored easily as he drew the glass of..-- cognac to his lips, “Heard you’ve been asking about me, Ana,” his smirk lifted and he took a drink.

location: middle of a busy street yo’ tw: car accident, heart attack

It didn’t surprise him any to find out that Astraea was in Corinth Bay too, no doubt latched to her brother as he might have remembered from the past. Orion had rarely shown himself in the past, Atlas had seen him regardless and as such, the reaper found himself a little more interested in toying with the witch for as long as he very well could. So, it was almost natural that he kept the loosest of tabs on his sister. The woman that now waited at the pedestrian crossing for the light to gleam green, impatiently almost, fidgety and entirely off in her own mind. Something told him that it certainly wasn’t because he’d yet to take his eyes off of her, masked by the crowd around him as he held a place somewhere between his corporeal form and a place that he could teleport easily enough. Death had been what he’d promised Atlas, without so many words and undoubtedly not meant for the oracle himself.. the very least he could do was dance on the very edge of it with his twin sister.  As the light turned green, signaling the few passing moments that would allow those awaiting on the pavement a chance to safely cross, Orion moved. Invisible to the eye, he reached through the open window of the leading car stopped at the red light. The mere press of his fingertips against the mans temple enough to elicit the man’s heart to stammer within his chest and just as the Reaper had hoped - the uncontrollable jolt drew the mans foot to the accelerator, driving the car towards the throng of civilians trying to cross. Despite the energy it took, Orion traveled through the street, unseen again until he could feasibly infiltrate the crowd - his hand curling around the witches arm to pull her back from the path of the hurtling vehicle. “Look out!” His rough timbre unwavering even as the inwardly horrible sound of metal colliding with metal erupted, “Jesus Christ, I called out for you like three times.. Are you deaf or something? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Exasperation filled his lungs and yet, even that quietened as he looked between her and the crumpled car - a soul waiting for him, without doubt. Sighing heavily, he pulled a hand through his hair, “-- Are you okay?”   

closed starter for @orixntaylcr​

There had been a lot going through Angel’s head lately. Most of it had to do with how much time he had left to actually live his undead life. His parents were fairly old now and all he could think about was what would happen when they forgot about Orion and him. They would be free to join Persephone in Elysium, but how was that ever going to be good enough? “I think I need a drink,” was all he said to Orion. He figured he would butter his brother up before he laid all of his thoughts out there for them to unpack.

tw: suicide

Petrichor had lived for so long that he’d come to forget just how long it had been, thousands of years the phoenix had spent in dedication to the cause. In so doing he’d witnessed countless atrocities: massacres, cataclysmic events, and all variety of sickening horrors. There were few things that the phoenix feared, even fewer that managed to get under his skin. But Orion managed to be one of them, the reaper was one in a long line of supernaturals that had challenged the worthiness of his cause. But so long as creatures preyed upon humanity Petrichor would have all the justification he needed to act accordingly. In his heart of hearts the phoenix was no killer, he was a pious and righteous man who’d spent the enormity of his immortal life in service to a cause he believed to be greater than himself. 

Orion challenged him somehow, while truthfully Petrichor had never stopped to get to know one, it still came as a surprise to know their perception towards the event was so attuned. Yet the reaper did nothing to stop it, though Petrichor supposed that’s why Atropos had chosen him. 

Petrichor put his hand to the door, he wasn’t about to take the bait, he’d lived long enough with truths to know when someone was trying to use them to manipulate him. “We both know that’s not true. Until they take their own life their soul might still be healed.” The phoenix breathed, though he could tell that what was left felt like little more than a husk.

There was a small burst of white hot flames as the lock to the door went flying into the home, the frame was scorched in a perfect circle where the lock had been. Petrichor pushed open the door and stepped into the darkness within, certain the reaper wouldn’t be far behind. There was a scuffle from upstairs, Pete’s eyes traced the sound along the upstairs of frantic footsteps  before they shifted back towards Orion, the phoenix’s face contorted into something reminiscent of anger. Though there was pain behind the stoic’s eyes. He felt the weight of the coin still heavy in his pocket. “I am not a murderer.” 

“You would be unnervingly hopeful,” and shockingly enough, Orion wasn’t certain he’d thought to expect anything different from the man. Questionable enough as it were, the reaper didn’t seek to further pry into where such a readying notion might have come from. Having any expectation at all of the other man, seemed almost.. -- unnerving. Shifting slightly, his shoulder pressed tightly into the door frame as the other turned the handle, the warmth that emit the flame barely noticeable beyond that of the man himself. “Now you’re just showing off, Pete,” he’d note quietly as he too, stepped over the threshold of the home, the scuffle upstairs notable and yet, a venture he was not concerned over just yet. The energy emanating the home in itself was dissipating and that was more than enough for him, it was after all, why he was here. The look in Petrichor’s eyes was scathing, perhaps almost enough to make him reconsider for a fleeting moment of false transcendence. However, anger was a penchant that he knew as deeply as death itself, and one that he was no sooner ready to let go of. Anger he could channel, and his intention was just that. I’m not a murderer. It struck him, right through the chest - that something he’d said had stuck, that anything had stuck at all something he might never question despite the turning in his stomach as he moved to stand before the phoenix. “Perhaps not intentionally, but you’re no better.” A conflicting notion, he knew. Petrichor was rebirth, the rekindling of a life in ruin but for all those he sought to repair, two had to suffer to repair the balance. His form flickered slightly, intentional at best, before the place he stood, emptied. The blink of a human eye pulling Orion from his corporeal form until he reappeared some ways up the staircase, “Picking and choosing who you save, who you let die... It’s all the same.” The rough timbre of his voice shifted, allowing for the signature smirk that so often pressed his lips, “In the end it does nothing but prolong the inevitable.” Spoken as he ascended the last few stairs and disappeared into the second floor.

It was clear to Atlas that Orion seemed to be enjoying this, there was a definite smile on the man’s features that put the oracle on edge. The witch could tell when he was simply being toyed with and it was apparent to him that Orion held all the cards. His brow furrowed, if Orion had come for him he would have sour luck today, but somehow if death found his moment Atlas doubted he’d be approached so clearly out in the open. Most people did not see their own deaths, but the oracle was not most people, Isaac would come for him eventually, Atlas knew that much to be true. But if he were fated to die, it was not here, it was on some hill, under the coming blood moon. 

“So you’re what, the Grim Reaper?” Atlas asked, incredulous as he cocked a brow inquisitively at the man. He could deduce some from what the man had told him, Orion was clearly another variety in magical species, clearly not the Phoenixes that Xander had told him about. But something associated with death, rare, Atlas assumed, because Orion seemed to be the only one of his kind that Atlas had ever met. Orion stepped forward and even more than before Atlas could feel that the other had magic, but it was different, Atlas was certain he’d remember if he’d felt it elsewhere before.  “Come to… Collect the souls of Corinth Bay?” The witch had seen more horrors then he could count, men buried alive, whole corpses drained of blood. “I guess you’ve probably been busy then, huh?”

The grim reaper, he could have rightfully cringed. There were a great many stereotypical images that entangled themselves with a great many facets of the supernatural world and while all too many could be considered true, the comical factor was easily rejected by most. The imagery of a hooded figure with a scythe was undoubtedly amusing, and yet not something that he’d ever actually been likened to it. The laugh that grew in his chest was genuine, though Orion had always been far more receptive to scathing humor and sarcasm and it was perhaps not nearly as out of place as one might have thought. “Sure, if that’s how you wanna’ think of me.” Darkened hues narrowed, a sweeping consideration for the witch before him doing little more than remind him of the anguish cause neither because of his hand and yet, almost entirely as a result of it. Death hadn’t fared well in previous years for the other, and yet - he stood now, looking it directly in the face, and barely blinked.  “You sure do know how to paint a picture huh?” He noted quietly, wondering how vividly Atlas truly remembered the collection, as he so aptly described it. “Maybe not as busy as I’d like but..- I wouldn’t hold my breath on that so quickly.” It was simply a matter of time, the overflowing chaos of Corinth bay would surely drive the shifters to further exert themselves. And in the grand scheme of things, Orion cared less for the souls that needed collecting and far more for standing in the way of whatever good deeds that might arise. “Interesting that you’re here, in the middle of it all..”

@orixntaylcr​

Petrichor had not seen the reaper since Carnivale, when the phoenix had inexplicably lost control and shifted too close to a human and subsequently reduced him to ash. The immortal had not been able to shake the words that had fallen from Orion’s lips, I’ll bet you feel every failure - does knowing make it any easier? Elysium. Petrichor might have been able to forgive himself if it had been the soul of some murderer or degenerate he’d sent to Hades too quickly, but instead, it was the soul of a good man. Someone who deserved better. 

He felt the weight of the coin that had been left behind in the alleyway, heavy in his pocket as the man made equal and long strides through the street. Petrichor walked as a man with resolute and defined purpose, he’d found a soul that was nearly completely devoured and had been keeping tabs for some time. It had led him to a street that appeared inconsequential, outside of a home where the familiar face of death hung just outside. They must have been there for similar reasons, Petrichor assumed, for within the four walls a cubi was presently working to devour what remained of an innocent soul. 

It would be their last meal. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised.” Petrichor said easily, fully prepared to ruin whatever plans Orion had of ushering the drained soul to the other side. The phoenix had other plans. Petrichor climbed the stairs of the stoop and lingered at the door. “Can you feel it?” The phoenix asked, the anguish that the human soul suffered was palpable to him - he wondered what that experience was like for Orion. If he felt it at all. “The soul inside, dying.”

Drawn to it, there was no escaping death for him. Ironic, perhaps - that he’d become death himself in lieu of being unable to outrun his own tragic end. Now, the strings of fate sought to tie themselves tightly around the throat of the man behind the door he now waited at. There was no need to intrude, no matter how silently he could linger. Draped in the darkened corners of rooms that nobody thought could hold such a heavy consequence, Orion was nothing if not an opportunist and be damned if he’d allow one to slip through his fingers by merely announcing his presence a moment too soon. However, the warmth that touched him then, followed by the familiar voice was one that he couldn’t so readily accept the presence of. Irritation clawed it’s way across his spine for merely a fleeting moment before he so surely replaced it with an outward humor that this be so coincidental. “You’re too late, Pete.” A lie, for the time being.. a little more time wasted on this side of the door would undoubtedly bring another soul into his possession before it was released into the underworld. “I’ve gotta’ say, I took you for a far more punctual man.”  He turned then, noting the proximity, or lack of it as the same heat filled the space beside him. An entity in an of itself lapping at the distance between them. “Yeah,” he responded with an incredulity that questioned how exactly Petrichor thought this might have worked if he couldn’t so readily feel the soul dying. “That’s kinda how this works, you know.” Though, he couldn’t rightly -- or simply refused to acknowledge how exactly he felt it, he just knew what he knew, and the anguish was forgotten. “Care to offer up a two for one? This place could do without another cubi, don’t you think?”