Choking On Halos

Armaros knew that she bordering over line rude, and she’s positive that itself is an understatement. She was tired of hiding her identity. She knew that this woman knew what she was as she knew that she is aware of what she is. And the fact that in the war that will soon come, they will be on opposing sides, expected to kill each other off. Or maybe there was some sort of rule upstairs or even from the blood pumping through her brains that tickled her every nerves every time she see’s or even encounters an angel or an arc. Maybe it wasn’t even the war. Maybe it is because it just truly shows how far off she is from them. How far off she was from what she was. How far off she had become.

The ink that adorned the brunette’s arms picked her curiosity. She wonders if she was that artist some of the people she knew and talked to were raving about. Thinking back, she was glad she backed out of getting a tattoo she was planning on getting not too long ago. An angel with pointy objects directed at her skin, piercing over and over again? No, thank you. That just seems like the very embodiment of the nightmares that wake her at night. And she was glad this is as near as she would ever get to her skin. The sore spot the woman had caused still hurts..

Her eyebrows scrunched together, annoyed that the angel is still blocking her way as though she was on a mission to get on more of her nerves. “My fault?” She asked, laughing a bit at how incredulous the woman was being. “We just both agreed, not too long ago, that accidents happen.” The whole argument was not helping her headache. She just want to get this over with but the brunette obviously has some other ideas. “It’s a piece of crap, that’s what it is.” She said, eyeing the material in her hands. “And I don’t owe you and I’m definitely not paying for anything.” She was almost tempted to throw the silver and make a run for it. She was that hung over. But she stood ground. For it is no longer about whose fault is it. The war maybe still far but it had already started in little street corners just like the one she’s standing in. Angels and fallens were never meant to breathe the same air. This right here is a perfect example.

Although what did she expect from a fallen?

That realization hit Sariel harder than she might have expected but suddenly it all made sense. Why she was being so rude, why she was acting as if she was a queen on this dirty street and Sariel had made the mistake of falling into her. That thought almost offended her in a way she did not expect. She was being disrespected by a creature who had sold off a part of her very being because she thought it would give her a better lot in life and from what Sariel could see...It hadn't. It annoyed her that one of her own kind could get rid of her grace so easily, discard it like an old jacket and walk around with such an attitude, while Sariel had fought for and saved her own grace every moment she had been in this awful city. It offended her remaining stores of Heavenly grace that she had to hide what she was, while this offender could strut around and run into people, ruining purchases and days in one misstep.

“This isn’t a piece of crap-- -“ she insisted, gripping the slightly bent and seriously scraped candelabra a little tighter in her well inked hand, “This was expensive. Its sliver and you basically ruined it.” She gestured with the piece and looked at the brunette with a frown, her expression going cool as her dark eyes narrowed slightly. “But I guess you wouldn’t know what something as quality as this looked like would you? You are a bottom feeder.” she half snarled, unsure of where the anger in her voice was coming from but for the moment, Sariel was embracing it. It wasn’t often that the angel was mad. Or at least pushed far enough to go into a place that wasn’t nice or accommodating and this woman was shoving her roughly towards that place.  

All of his power, admired and coveted by others, and he’d give it all up.

How could he make anyone understand that, he isn’t even sure why himself. He just knows, for as long as he has held his obligations, he has wished he hasn’t had to.  

"And a pretty decent conman," he adds quickly enough, hoping to disguise the hesitancy that was there only moments ago. "Enough to sweet talk my way into a year’s worth of sugar packets. Whatever else I might come across of interest. There’s a lot of hidden treasure in this city. I’ll try to get back to you by the end of the week though. I have things to take care of up this end anyway."

He settles back into the chair as she talks about how she likes coloring in the rings. He frowns deeply, glad she cannot see his face and the sorrow it would betray. She doesn’t know the reason behind them, why he’s accumulated so many of the years since they’ve known each other. And it’s a story he’ll never tell her. But her word -mindless- rings true. Hits close to home. Two bodies. No consciousness. Two people. DEAD.  Persons he is responsible for killing. Mindlessly taking lives in some sorry attempt to protect his own. 

Maybe it would have been easier… better… to have let himself fade into obscurity. To be nothing. To mean nothing. To not exist as anything other than a far flung memory forged in stars and abandoned by heaven. Not whatever it is he is now. 

"What?"

There was something easy and familiar about this dynamic, tattoo artist and client, that could almost lull Sariel into a sense of calm. Remiel laid out, while the angel let her creativity flow through the hammering of a few hundred ink drenched needles. If she focused on the work, this almost felt like any other appointment with the arc, with her friend. But then there was that slight edge she sensed in his voice and that ever so slight tremor in her own hand, as if nerves were threatening to get the better of her, as if she had not done this…thousands of times already.

She looked up at him, stilling her needle for a refill of ink, as she sensed something in his tone when he said the word ‘priest.’ Odd. She frowned but didn’t comment on it, instead she nodded and turned back to her work, smiling as he promised sugar packets and ‘treasure’. “I will hold you to that. You know I don’t work for free,” she chided over the buzz of the needle, “Find me something I can use though. Either in my shop or…even better, in a new art piece. Something…that will inspire me…” she trailed off at the thought, “I haven’t been inspired much lately.”

Sariel cleared her throat and hoped that the tone of regret and that hint of frustration in her voice didn't come through too strongly. Given all that had been going on outside the warehouse, the angel had had very little time to focus on her art, and that left the her feeling off kilter. It was like going for too long without food while still drinking water. You were alive, but only barely. Sariel could only survive in this place for so long without that spark of inspiration. The light that her art cast over a dark life.

She could feel him drifting away, even as she worked and fell into that familiar rhythm. Sariel looked up and nodded as Remiel promised he was ‘fine’. “I wanted to check. You looked concerned there for a minute. I didn’t want to hurt you-- -” she hesitated, “With the needle, I mean.” That had never been there before. That…carefulness with her words, stepping around what was the elephant in the room. She rubbed her lips together and went back to work, allowing herself to be distracted by the pattern she was diligently pressing into his skin.

“Its nice isn’t it?” she said after a moment, over the very sound she was referring to, that rattling buzz of the needle. She loved the way it roared against her ears and rumbled up her arm. “I’d love to see what you could come up with next. Its been a while since I’ve done anything new. Although I think you are starting to run out of space,” she looked up at him briefly as she adjusted herself and continued on the ring, already a little more than half way done. She was right of course. The fated roses had been an addition to an old piece and this too was a continuation of a pattern Remiel had already established.

Not for the first time since leaving the office earlier, Kelly thinks that this might all be a mistake. He’s not ready for this, for the commitment of putting all of this somewhere that it can be seen, for making it permanent. There’s a big difference between four little lines and the project he and Sariel are about to embark on.

Mostly he’s not prepared for what Sariel has to say. Her casual assessment that he “has a thing for Apadiel” hits him like a swift kick to the ribs, the steam from his coffee fluttering away into the room when he forces a laugh out after she says it. 

He directs his attention away from her, pale eyes moving back towards the books in front of them. He hadn’t had a lot of concrete ideas, more abstract thoughts, just sort of looking for things he liked. That was what it was about, he’d figured, making art out of things he liked and then putting it on his skin. Kelly can’t help but wonder if it would’ve been possible for his mind to put together a collection of images that didn’t broadcast what it was he really wanted.

"Well, I had hoped that you’d be able to help me make some sense of this," he admits, scratching at the salt-and-pepper stubble on his jaw and glancing up at her again. "I don’t know what ideas I have that are good, and what’s just stupid, y’know? I mean, if you—"

He pulls one book closer, open to an image of a column covered in ivy, and sets a torn strip of sheet music alongside it on the page.

"If you give the column five stripes, like it’s been carved like that, and then with the ivy, you can have that as the notes. So it’s there, but not really."

His fingers move over the photograph as he talks, the paper deceptively smooth compared to the pillar under it. He turns the books again, so that the column is vertical as they’re looking at it.

"And wh—" He tilts his head to the side, caught mid-word as he thinks, tries to see what he wants in front of him so that he can attempt to describe it to Sariel. He points at the statue again, lifting up his own arm and turning it.

"What if it was framed by columns, would that work?"

He shrugs out of his jacket and lets it fall over the back of the chair. Then he unbuttons the cuff of his shirt, pushing the sleeve up out of the way to expose his forearm.

"Like if you had columns, like that, and then something else on the inside? Or is it better to have the statue on the inside?" He continues, turning his arm and brushing his fingers from the inside of his elbow to his wrist.

"And can you give her, y’know, wings with feathers instead? And if there’s roses then they don’t have to be big, and the text could be between the columns, above, so it’s a frame."

For a moment his embarrassment is lost in a burst of creativity and he catches himself almost rambling. He hasn’t given a lot of conscious thought to how the components could be put together, but now that she’s asked, he’s surprised at how easy it comes, and how clearly he can see it in his mind. In a way he’s relieved; he’s letting the pressure out in a slow, controlled stream.

Well, semi-controlled.

But this is a step away from the situation, and he can talk about this without talking about that, and that’s what he thinks he might need right now, this outlet that lets him organize his scattered thoughts and emotions by solving a jigsaw puzzle and projecting it onto his skin.

He wants to be bothered by her excitement, or find it distasteful, the way her eyes light up when she looks over what he’s brought. But he can’t. Her enthusiasm is comforting. It makes him feel like he’s not as strange or desperate as he feels, looking at what he’s brought with him. It doesn’t frighten her or make her question him at all. She isn’t reluctant to help him, in fact quite the opposite. 

He points to the apple lying at the statue’s feet. “And maybe that doesn’t have to be an apple, if that could work? Is that too small to make it one of these instead?”

Kelly flips through the other book, back to the pile of faceted jewels.

He sighs and leans back in his chair, waving a hand over the books and papers scattered over the table.

"Does any of this make sense?" He asks with an exasperated laugh. 

He stills at her question about Apadiel, hands sliding down off the table top and meeting in his lap. He looks down at them, feeling for the first time a little guilty that he didn’t explain to her before, or ask her to come along.

"She knows I’m here," he fills in. He raises his head and meets Sariel’s dark eyes with a no-nonsense expression. "Which means she knows I’ve been here, and she didn’t try to stop me."

He lets the words speak for themselves. He knows, about their evening at the Ultra Luxe, about the Arc that she poisoned. It was his choice to come and see Sariel again after that. If Apadiel had had any doubt that Kelly was in safe hands in the warehouse, she wouldn’t have let him go. No matter what else might have transpired, Kelly still trusts the Prince to put his safety first.

It occurs to him that he is, in his way, a living, breathing show of trust between the two. She knows you won’t hurt me.

"But she doesn’t know what I want." He nods towards the books. "She hasn’t seen these, but she knows I’ve been looking at them. Why, you want to call and get her permission?"

Still, even as she gestured over the books and felt that challenge and excitement running through her veins she noticed a shift in the man. A kind of shadow passed over his face that she wasn’t sure how to interpret. Surely he wasn’t doubting her or her skill? And surely he wasn’t…backing out? Not after all this work had been put in? Sariel wasn’t sure if she would let Kelly back out at his point…Even if he wanted to. Someone would be getting the tattoo that was already starting to sketch itself into her mind. And she wanted it to be him.

That moment however, seemed to pass rather quickly, and Sariel found herself exhaling as Kelly turned the conversation back to the piece, to the ideas that he had. She nodded and looked down to the image of the column, her brow knitting as she considered his words, and the ideas that he is literally spreading on the table before her. “Music notes…Yeah, that would be perfect,” she mumbled with a nod, her fingers itching, “The columns around the statue would give it a great frame, and a sense of space you know? I can give it some depth too if you want, play with the shadows so it looks like the statue is a little bit behind the columns. It will still stand out but…It won’t look so flat….” She nodded in agreement of her own words, pushing her coffee cup away, suddenly no longer feeling the effects of her hang over as sharply as before.

As Kelly removed his jacket, Sariel stood and, still listening, opened a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a pencil and a large leather bound notebook. It seemed that the angel found better uses for the silverware drawer. She sat back down and flipped the notebook over, blurred charcoal images (faces, buildings, praying hands could be seen) flipping as Sariel moved to find a blank page, making room for the notebook on the table.

She nibbled on the edge of her pencil as she looked up from the blank page to Kellys semi blank arm. “We will make sure its all framed, and roses are my specialty actually so…I would love to work them in somewhere. But you said ‘she’?” she said with an arch of her raven eyebrow. The statue looked like a man to Sariel. She leaned forward to get a better look at the statue, “So you want me to uhm…make some changes here?” she asked with another gesture, a slight smile creeping onto her lips as she looked up at Kelly.

It was almost cute, how serious he was about all of this…The angel sensed however that all of this was an outlet for something deeper. Something so obvious that Sariel had seen it the very first day she had met prince and pet. But now that she had met them both, she knew better than to pry. After all, she wanted this tattoo almost worse than Kelly did now, and she didn’t want her curiosity to scare him away.

She looked down to the sketch pad and hummed in agreement with his question, does any of this make sense? “Of course it does…Its great…” she murmured her pencil already starting to make strokes against the shockingly white paper, outlining a rough idea of the columns first and the winged, sitting creature between them. Her pencil continues to move as he responded to her question about the prince.

Sariel looked up in time to catch his expression and she smirked with a slow shake of her head, “No, you don’t have to call her. You don’t have to say anything to her. Its your body, ultimately, you can do whatever the fuck you want with it…I mean, well you know,” she hesitated only because she was still fuzzy about how the whole ‘pet’ thing worked, but she assumed he was still his own man in this respect. “You are a grown man, I was just wondering if she knew. It’s a fair question to ask.” She murmured, although not defensively.

The angel was quiet for a few seconds as her dark gaze fell again to the paper, “So is this will be a...surprise for her," she said not looking up to Kelly for fear that his expression might burn the skin right off of her face. She frowned and continued to sketch, "You should tell me because if I see you again she might ask me about what we are doing. And if I can tell her about it, if you says its okay, I will. If not though...I won't."

She’s beautiful, unlike Apadiel in so many ways. Dark hair, dark eyes, dramatic makeup. All this without taking into account the art on her skin, and now this incredible thing she’s done. 

Not even Apadiel can claim to have killed an Arc.

She catches herself watching Sariel’s mouth while she talks, her gaze flitting from the angel’s eyes to her ruby lips and back. Apadiel is not good at comfort; she knows only one way to give it, and even then it is more of a distraction for both parties involved. She could distract Sariel, and indeed, in this moment, when they’re so close together.

Apadiel leans in closer, lips parted and her hand still holding Sariel’s jaw. Uncertainty sits in her throat, constricting her breathing and speeding up her heart. She wants to do the right thing, now; this moment is important, and there is the possibility of getting it wrong.

"Things will get better." She’s so close that she feels the heat of her own breath reflected back onto her skin when she speaks, a barely audible whisper meant for no one but Sariel. "You do have me now, and you have whatever you want from me. You don’t have to be alone. Not tonight, not ever."

She curls her fingers against Sariel’s skin before letting her hand fall away, before leaning back and putting space between them again. She leaves the offer of more there for Sariel to take or leave. She’s not sure if it’s the right choice, but she knows that going any further in the other direction would have been the wrong one, a misrepresentation of what she wants from the angel. She would not deny Sariel if she wanted her, but Apadiel will not pursue her.

"You don’t need to lay a body at my feet to gain my trust. This is enough, Sariel. I will be there for you when you need me. Or even if you just want me there. I will be your friend, but not only because of this. This is—"

Apadiel looks away as she searches for the words. She wants to avoid hubris or apparent joy at what’s happened.

"I would be lying if I said that this was unimportant. This is a victory for us, and we will show you our gratitude in whatever way you wish. But you, Sariel, are more than this act, and I see more in you than this one thing."

The waitress’ arrival is beyond poorly timed, and Apadiel’s look reflects that. She barely has time to inhale before she begins to back away, but it provides a much-needed break in the atmosphere between the two of them.

That closeness and snap of electricity that lingered between them as Apadiel closed the space was partially the fault of the whiskey (most of a bottle) that they both had consumed and that trembling kind of ache in Sariel’s chest. A sensation that was a wicked combination of heart break and guilt. It burned. It ached. It hurt. But it hurt less when she looked in the clear, lovely eyes of the prince, when she felt her hot breath on her skin. It hurt less knowing that she had someone on her side.

Apadiel’s fingers weighed heavily on her pale skin, as if Sariel could feel every ridge and valley in her finger prints, and knowing, even after Apadiel pulled away, the pattern would linger, seared into her skin. Yes, the feel of her finger prints and the weight of the words ‘you have me now’ would weigh heavily on the angel after this.

For a moment Sariel considered kissing the prince.

She considered burying that ache and emotional burden under something that would feel good, something she could lose herself in. Someone she could lose herself in, someone that felt good. Essentially the same effects of the whiskey, in human form.

Sariel waited a few seconds after the other woman finished speaking, until Apadiel pulled back and left a gap of space between them, before she made her move. Slowly, Sariel leaned forward and brushed her fingers over the arch of Apadiel’s cheek bone, brushing back a strand of golden hair that fell across her soft skin. The motion was followed by a brush of her lips against that same cheekbone, a soft pressure that was something between a kiss and a whisper, “Thank you, Apadiel.” She allowed her fingers to trail softly over her hair, virtually no space left between the two of them.

Perhaps it was the wrong move, but then again perhaps all of this was wrong. And if that was the case, what did Sariel have to lose?

After a few lingering moments, Sariel pulled back, breaking the connection, although something lingered between them. Something heavier, something that blurred the line between friendship and something else. Something that was, for the moment, left unsaid. But it was the kind of moment that felt blurred at the edges, softened in an amber hue.  

“This…all of this, everything you have offered and said it all means…More to me than I think you might realize,” she said softly, referring not just to the booth and the free drinks but the support, friendship and whatever else Apadiel was offering. “It almost feels too good to be true. But living for so long in this…city does that to you, doesn’t it?” she asked, not expecting an answer. Instead, Sariel leaned forward just enough to pick up her cut crystal glass and drain the rest of the liquid from it.

“You deserve a victory, I think,” She said in soft agreement, “I hope that I can continue to bring you…good luck. I-- -“ she opened her red stained lips to speak more when the waitress arrived and Sariel shrank back slightly into herself, studying the simmering rim of her glass as the girl backed away without so much as an attempt at refilling their glasses.

“I didn’t tell you all of this for a reward. I think you know that already. I will be happy to wait and see how that gratitude manifests itself,” The angel said as tactfully as possible. She looked up at Apadiel, her dark eyes shining in the low, warm light, reflecting the influence of both the drink and the prince herself. “Or save it for the day that I truly need it, I you don’t mind.”

She laughed softly as she leaned back a little further against the well cushioned back of the booth, shrugging as she let her head fall back slightly so that she looked up at the dark ceiling. “You probably would have gotten considerably less drunk. Or…had your way with that nice dancer that entertained me but only had eyes for you, I think,” she joked, eyes sliding down to look at the other woman as she took a breath, “I don’t think I will ever be able to go to another bar in the city after being spoiled like this. And believe me, this is not how I imagined my night going either but…I’m glad you invited me. I’m glad we…talked.” That however felt like an understatement for what had happened between the angel and the prince.

Listening closely to Sariel as she worked, he began to take in what she said. He wondered then if he was happy back in his life on Earth. Id he lived his life to it’s full capacity, or if he just sat there. He must have been driven or happy about something. He wasn’t sure, but he could feel as though something good must have happened to him back then. Something that made and kept him happy. 

He winced a bit as the needle hit a sensitive spot of flesh, but after it was fine again. Numb, once more. “Happy… we had to be at sometime…”

He let out a smile as she went on about how some prince’s had the ability to be good. Even a little. “See? I’m not the only one on the good side of a prince. Now I can call you out on your judgement if you make that judge-y face at me again. And yes. You have a judge-y face. I assume you made it a lot in Heaven when you looked down to see what us human folk were up to.” He teased before looking down at the tattoo again. It was coming in quite nicely, and he loved it already. Letting out a slight yawn, he didn’t realize that he was getting sleepy as the time went on. “Who knew that pain would make me drowsy?”

She picked up her needle and continued, despite how she felt Bryant squirm, if only for a moment. She would be more concerned if he didn’t fllich at least a little. Nothing about this was comfortable and no one was more aware of that than Sariel.

“Yeah, I mean I like to think that we were all happy. Even if we did shit that…doomed us to be in this place forever.” She mused, keeping her dark haired head down as she worked, the rabbit was entirely outlined and despite the raw and bloodied skin, it looked as if it could hop off of Bryant’s arm at any moment.

Sariel’s head snapped up and she frowned, stilling her needle, “Judge-y face?” she repeated with a frown, but it cracked as he mentioned the idea it was a ‘holier than thou’ angel judge-y face. She rolled her dark eyes, “Fine, you know what you are probably right actually. Especially if I was watching you,” she teased, adding a little white ink to her needle, “But that means I get a pass for having a judge-y face because I’ve had it on for centuries.” She stuck out her tongue at him before she turned her needle back on and gently worked the white highlight into the glint of the rabbits eye. She wanted it to look…curious, intelligent and quick, and perhaps just a little mischievous.

“But you are right, I won’t judge you. I can’t, not after the past couple of days I have had. I finally realized that my life would be a hell of a lot easier if…I had some friends in high places, you know?” she shrugged, almost to herself as she added a final few brushes of the needle against his skin, highlights, before she sat back, stilling the needle completely.

He was half tempted to make some joke about her being on her knees but thought better of it and just as he did, she was mentioning Gabriel. His eyes widened for a moment. He had recalled seeing the tattoo. Knew. Of course he knew. But it was still stranger. At least to hear her say out loud, that she knows of the intimacy of the bond between him and Gabe. At least she knows about it to some depth. Enough to refer to him as his brother. He gave an amused smirk, despite the nervousness he felt pinging in his gut. He trusted Sariel, even with the lead weights he had dropped between them, but he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of his closeness to Gabriel being common knowledge. Especially when the younger arc still had so much left to learn about surviving and navigating Purgatory. 

"Oh yeah," it comes out as a question, but they both no it’s a statement. "Always trouble that one. I saw it though. It was lovely Sariel. Really. I’m impressed he sat still that long… but good… good work," he leaned forward, lifting each leg in turn to study the lines she had made. He smiled at her softly, a hint of something else in his eyes that would remain unsaid. A story he wasn’t inclined to tell anyone. He let out a breath, "looks great. I’m at your mercy!" He exclaimed with an upward pitch to his voice, masking that sad faraway look in his eye and settling back into the chair, a little less rigid than before. He forces a smile, and it’s not unkindly it’s just unsettled. Like he’s not sure his face is supposed to be doing it. 

She sat back and watched as he both inspected the lines that she had made and spoke of her other work, the angel finding herself watching his expression more carefully than she should have, studying the timbre of his voice. She cleared her throat and nodded at his compliment, “Thanks, it was a fun piece to do. It turned out pretty rad…Maybe he will give you a run for your money in being the ‘inked rouge of Purgatory.” Again, with the humor. It made it easier. All of it. The conversation with the man she still loved. The fact that with each tattoo session with Gabriel she was sending him closer to the threat of death. Yes, humor made it so much easier.

“Okay,” she said softly with a slow smile as he sat back, approving of the outlines and ready it seemed for the real work to begin.

Sariel rose to her feet and pulled her tools closer, she frowned slightly as she realized the task would be easier if she stayed sitting on the floor, given the location of the tattoos. She picked the tray off of the rolling table and set it down on the floor, pulling the machine and foot pedal closer, before she sat back down, arranging herself so that she could rest her foot on the pedal with one leg bent slightly. It wasn’t the most comfortable position of all time but it would be easier for both of them. This way he could recline and she, hidden slightly from sight, could work without unnecessarily holding his leg or resting it against her own. “You know, I’m always kind of relieved when you ask for these,” she said, dipping her needle into the black ink, “The rings are the simplest of your tattoos. Straight forward…Mindless, really. But you know I do love a challenge.”

The other Princes pets were different. They were like Beth in a way, they could be loyal willingly,or just because their lives were dependent on the fate of their Princes, just like her. Kale she trusted..end of. Kelly, she was becoming good friends with and shared some interesting pastimes too.

Yet Sariel. Now this friendship Beth thought was quite unusual. Such a shot amount of time and a trust the brunette very rarely found in others. It was an unlikely combination. She could throw many questions into it and analyse as much as she wanted, but sometimes things just happened and there was no rhyme or reason for it.

“Do a lot of guys and girls hit on you at work though? Is that an occupational hazard?”

Beth grinned at the question and dropped back on the bed to join Sariel, her head cocking to one side as she said she didn’t have to answer. “Nah…I don’t mind answering..and yeah, some do. There are two kinds though. There’s those who aint really interested in me but think it’s their god given right to lay their hands on me…and some of the fallen are the fuckin’ worst. Then there’s others who I swear with how leery they are—they have mistaken the Luxe for Gomorrahs…cause maybe I give off the wrong vibe—but I sure as hell aint no fuckin’ hooker.”  Beth didn’t even realise how she had fitted both God and hell into the same statement, if she had, there would be clear amusement etched on her facial features right now. This was why she seemed to get into trouble with her unruly mouth because the brunette was oblivious to watching her words half the time. “Do you get hit on alot?..cause the job ya do..tattooin’  it’s like close contact and shit…so do any try it on with you?”

Beths dark hues shot a glance to the book when Sariel mentioned it had no author. “Hm.” Her lips turned down into a contemplative frown before smirking. “Could be some batshit crazy old woman like you say…or what if…I dunno…” Would she sound crazy for what she was about to say next?—she sighed and said it anyway. “What if it’s something more?—like if it was written by some higher power and that’s why they can get this kind shit spot on?—Anything’s possible aint it?” Beth shook her head and blinked a couple of times like she was dispelling any stupid thoughts. “I think I am a little more cuckoo than I first imagined.”

The bartender did let her line of vision linger on Sariels for a moment or two and the angel didn’t seem to look away either. There was no awkwardness at all though, not that Beth found many things awkward anyway, unless she was apologising—yeah, that was something she never relished with her stubborn attitude. But looking at Sariel, Beth just smiled warmly before letting her gaze drift off when booze was mentioned. “Hell yessss.”

She followed Sariel down the metal stairs and into the small kitchen. It had been a weird day, there was nothing physically tiring about it at all, but mentally…Beth felt like she had undergone some interrogation and her mind could think of little else other than liquor.

Hearing her reel off the different kinds of alcohol, Beth rubbed her hands together. “Like a proper little mini bar!” She walked over to where the fridge was located with the shelf nearby. Glancing over her shoulder at Sariel, she smirked jokingly. “Yeah, you’re being a lazy fuckin’ hostess..but I forgive ya…cause I am drinkin’ your booze” She shot her a wink and picked up a couple of beers, a bottle of vodka and two glasses. “Can I ask you something?—And I swear you can say if you’re not comfortable at answering.”  Beth looked sideward’s at Sariel and opened the beers, handing one to her and placing her own on the side. She followed her actions by pouring some vodka into the glasses and again, passing one over. “Thought we could mix it up a bit.”

“Uhm, yeah, I do get hit on a lot, actually,” she started slowly, after a moment of consideration, still unsure of how much she wanted to say, “Most of the time people start asking about my tattoos. Stupid lines like ‘how far do those go down?’” she rolled her eyes with a chuckle at the memory of Kale posing such a question, “I have a few choice words for those that start off there. But some like to try and catch me when I’m close. It doesn’t usually go far though, after all I have them at a disadvantage, if they move, they fuck up the art and I rip into their skin so…Most don’t try to get too handsy.” She was aware of that word ‘most’ and she wondered if Beth would too. Sariel cleared her throat, “There was uhm, like one guy I let myself be uhm…less than professional with.” She said stiffly, a blush spreading across her pale cheeks, “It was stupid and it was a mistake but I mean…I couldn’t help myself and I guess neither could he.” She chewed on her bottom lip and instantly regretted saying so much but she felt relieved that she had said as much as she had.

 Sariel twisted the dark tips of her hair as she allowed the seconds to tick by and she was relieved to have the tension broken by Beth’s question about the author of the book. Her eyes went wide and she was, genuinely impressed. “Wow, I mean…It could happen. It’s clear that some kind of higher power exists somewhere I mean…I’m the proof of that. And this place is too. I’m just not sure if they would have the time to write something like this but,” she shrugged, “Maybe. I mean, there is that other book that was written what a thousand years ago so maybe they moved on from that and thought dreams were more interesting.”

She smirked and dismissed the idea that Beth was ‘cuckoo’ with a wave of her inked hand and an expression like she just sucked on a lemon. “All the best people are crazy, look at me…” she grinned and as she settled herself down into the rickety kitchen chair and she was immensely glad that she had befriended a bartender and she seemed to hoard alcohol.  

The angel leaned back in the chair and stretched as Beth made her selections from Sariel’s collection and moved towards the table. She rolled her shoulders and hummed in agreement as the other woman asked about a question, curious as Beth added on the part about not having to answer if she didn’t feel comfortable. She felt her dark eyebrows rise and she tiled her head slightly, “Well now you have my attention…” she purred shifting herself forward in the chair as she rested her hands on the table, her fingers curling around the beer, setting the glass of vodka beside her right hand, ready for easy access. Sariel watched Beth for a moment as she prepared her question, taking a sip of liquid courage before she began to speak, while the angel meanwhile left her alcohol untouched. She wanted a clear mind to hear whatever Beth was about to ask, and then her response could be lubed by the beer, and she could go from there.

And after hearing the question, Sariel knew she would need not just a shot of vodka but probably the entire bottle.

“Well, I…I’m going to be honest with you okay? Even though the honest answer sucks, but I don’t think you would be asking me if you wanted some…fluffy fake response,” she took a breath and looked down to the bottle of beer, carefully selecting her words as she began to speak, “Things are going to get worse, I can feel it. They can’t stay in limbo like this forever. Shit is going to get bad…for all of us. This is war and I get the feeling that everything that has happened up until this point has just been the opening ceremonies. Posturing, you know?” she looked up at Beth, to make sure she was following, “But the main event is coming. And it isn’t going to be pretty. All of us are going to have to…pick sides. Make sacrifices,” she picked up her beer and took a sip as a pained expression rippled across her face, “Like I said, it can’t stay like this forever…This stillness…” she wasn’t sure if what she was saying was making sense and Sariel felt as if she was on the brink of saying more than she was supposed to, about her own involvement especially, so she took another swig from her beer and set it down on the cracked but mostly clean kitchen table with a shrug.

“They don’t tell me a lot. I guess they…don’t think I’m important enough, the arcs, those that matter. But, I can sense that things are changing, that people are…stepping up and making decisions that will change the way this city works. Change it for all of us.”

Niko Inko - Archangel Saint Michel  tattrx.com/artists/niko-inko

As she talks, Kelly feels calmer, less anxious about what he’s come to do. He wonders if this is how she calms down nervous clients, with this same patient, instructive tone of voice. Even as hung over as she is, she’s still in full command of her mind, and it’s not unimpressive. 

He’s surprised when she drops down into the chair beside him. It’s closer than he’s used to, and he can’t help but lean away, only to catch himself and straighten out again. 

"That smells fantastic," he says, nodding towards the coffee she sets down on the table in front of both of them. "Thanks."

He almost wants to contradict her, when she says she doesn’t judge people’s tattoos. He cocks an eyebrow and feels the corners of his mouth pull down in quiet suspicion of her motives. He doesn’t understand how she can’t. It seems like it would be unavoidable, a professional hazard. Kelly judges every musician he meets: the quality of their playing, level of showmanship, even how they maintain their instrument.

Perhaps the ability to look at not judge comes from her nature, but at the same time he can’t help remembering her reaction to what he’d wanted tattooed on his wrist.

He pulls the offered mug towards him, forgoing milk and sugar, things he’d learned to live without when he’d been on his own in Purgatory. Now that he had free access to it, it was still rare that he bothered.

"You judged my tattoo," he remarks, looking at her over the edge of his coffee mug. "You thought all kinds of things when I said I wanted it."

"And you weren’t as wrong as I might have led you to believe, though… I’d love to know how you knew."

He sighs and shakes his head, thinking back on that first meeting, how defensive he’d been about the idea that such a small thing could have the kind of significance she’s ascribed to it.

But now that he’s here, knowing what he does, and what’s in his bag, he feels more than a little silly getting as worked up as he had then.

Kelly is grateful for the distraction, when she asks about what she’s supposed to talk him out of. He chuckles at the comment, but nods, setting the mug down on the table and turning away from her briefly.

He leans down to his bag and pulls out two books. They’re big, expensive coffee table books, one filled with glossy images of angels, as depicted by artists Kelly’s never heard of, and some he has. The other contains more diverse images, and there are scraps of paper sticking out at odd angles, marking anything that had caught Kelly’s eye when he’d looked through it.

He opens the second book to a dramatic image of a pile of jewels, like something from a dragon’s hoard, all glittering facets and carefully cut edges, light shattered into rainbows that set fire to diamonds, rubies, sapphires.

He takes another sip of his coffee, glancing from Sariel’s face to the page and back, trying to gauge her reaction. 

"Remember, you said you don’t judge," he mutters as he opens the other book to a page marked by a torn piece of sheet music, covered with Kelly’s own notes, scribbled dots and slashes of lines denoting a theme.

"I figure since we’re starting with an angelic sigil, I might as well continue on the theme."

He turns the book to face her, showing her the statue pictured there.

"I have, umm, let’s see." He pulls the first book closer, pushing the other one over the worn wood surface until it’s closer to Sariel. He flips from marked page to marked page, showing her images of blown roses, black and white images of churches, columns covered with creeping ivy. Even the bookmarks have text scrawled on them in Latin, German, English.

In paradisum deducant me Angelum

Verzweiflung, Wut und Schrecken Begleiten ihren Sturz

Resolv’d on conquest, or a glorious fall

"I have a lot of ideas, is what I have. The other one’s got Rubens, Doré, and that," he says, pointing at the page he’d left open.

“It’s the best coffee I’ve had down here. A new…friend of mine suggested it and picked me up a pound. I'm glad I have company to share it with.” She wasn’t sure if Gage was completely a friend but the title seemed to fit. After all isn’t that what one considered someone who did something kind for you twice over? Sariel was still trying to figure out a way to repay him…

She laughed, a short punch of a sound, as Kelly pointed out that she ‘judged’ his tattoo. Helping herself to the milk and sugar, the angel shook her head slowly.

“No, that wasn’t me judging you. Not really. That was me just being…curious. There is a difference,” she pointed out as she brought the steaming cup to her lips and took a sip. “Although knowing me I’m sure that it might have come off as judgment. I’m not always so…smooth with my delivery.”

His question though, although wasn't even really a question, caught Sariel more off guard than she might have thought. Even though Kelly let it slide off of his tongue in such a non-nonchalant way, it still struck the angel. So she was right? It took her a moment to catch up to what he meant. Then slowly the memory of that first meaning came back and Sariel nodded, taking a deep inhalation of the scent of coffee as her dark brows rose, “You mean how did I know that you…You and Apadiel had a thing? Or that you…had a thing for her?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as if she was waiting for confirmation from him. He shook his head but she knew that was not in response to her question. Sariel waited a moment, watching as he turned away towards his bag. “I guess I just sensed it,” she started slowly, watching as he pulled out the books, her brows still raised in surprise at the appearance of them on her kitchen table, “Uhm, yeah I sensed it between the two of you. My angel senses were tingling I guess you could say. But there was something in the way you looked at her, the way you moved when she did and watched her face. And honestly,” Sariel was distracted by the books and eager to explore them but she needed to finish this thought, “You don’t get someone’s name or sigil or whatever because you are…roommates with them. You make a commitment like that because they mean something to you. Something…important and deep.”

“That is so fucking cool and that-- -!” she leaned forward as he propped open both books, the jewels glittering on the page and making her fingers itch while the second image, the winged and chained statue, caused her breath to catch in her throat as she gently skimmed her pale fingers over the image, as if she was already trying to memorize the feel of it in her fingers, so she could transfer it into his skin. Her dark eyes were wide with something between wonder and inspiration, the previous topic of conversation completely forgotten as she soaked in every detail and hue of the images he presented to her. Sariel took it all greedily in; the roses and the churches, the stately columns and ivy, the words echo against her skull as she read them, her faded red lips mouthing the Latin, a language that was unshakeable from her brain. It all left her breathless in an excited way. She stopped his flipping and gently edged the book closer, turning back to the image of the man-- -of the fallen angel. Sariel kept her gaze down as she followed the slope of the stone wings and the anguish on his face, the delicate links in the chain around his feet and the crown clutched between pale hands.

“Kelly…This is…You want all of this?” she asked after a few moments, looking up at him with a slowly spreading smile, eagerness shining in her dark eyes, “I mean this is a lot, yeah but its so great…It’s the kind of stuff that I have only ever prayed someone would bring me.” She can’t help but laugh at herself for the use of that word but it’s true. Most people come in with half baked ideas and a few vague impressions of what they might want (“Like…a pretty girl. Naked? Yeah naked and like…up my entire arm but like riding a car? That’s on fire…? With a skull somewhere? Like yeah, you can do that…?”) but this felt like she had just hit the tattoo artists jack pot. The source images were not only beautiful but incredibly inspiring and poignant. They made her want to draw and sketch them all together in a thousand different ways. She already wanted to ignite them on his skin in a rainbow of hues…and he had not even told her entirely what he wanted.

“Its-I’m…I’m a little overwhelmed, but in a good way. I mean, you have been busy since the last time I saw you, if you’ve been collecting all of this.” She gestured down to the books with an impressed shrug, “So, tell me what you want, or what you think you might want….I can help you, you know with the placement, figuring what you want and what you don’t, God-- -“ she grinned that word too escaping before she could stop herself, grinning and making a content little sigh, the excitement of such an artistic endeavor making her hang over fade almost entirely, “This is going to be great. I’m excited, I mean already I just know its…amazing-- -“ she hesitated for a  moment, a question blossoming on her tongue.

“Does Apadiel know you are doing this?” she asked, looking up from the books with an arch of her raven brow, curious suddenly, her dark eyes narrowing if only slightly as the pieces started to fall into place .

Apadiel thinks of the Arcs she knows to be in Purgatory, how long they’ve been there. Whether or not they would associate with Sariel is more difficult to say; the angel is fiery and opinionated, but not without a grace that would seem at home beside Rachel’s meek diffidence.

Her drink sits all but forgotten on the table as she gives all her focus over to Sariel and her confession. She wills away the fuzzy edges of her consciousness, now scolding herself for indulging so freely in alcohol.

But she could never have guessed then that this would be where the night would lead. It was just so easy to feel comfortable beside Sariel, and she had wanted just as badly for Sariel to feel at ease with her, to help the angel look past her own preconceived notions and see what Apadiel really wants from her, what she’s willing to offer her. Apadiel’s friendship does not come with a price tag, but it is also not an invitation offered lightly.

"He came to me for a tattoo…"

He, then. Not Rachel, Apadiel notes. Sariel turns away, her dark eyes nervous and unable to settle as she divulges what it is she’s done.

It is not much information, coming from Sariel in broken sentences, statements left unfinished so that the Prince can draw her own conclusions, but also so that Sariel does not have to admit explicitly to what she’s done.

Apadiel tries to remember if she’d struggled with her first act of deception, tries to recall that inner conflict that comes from choosing a side, stepping over a line. She sees it in Sariel’s eyes now, the uncertainty, the risk of falling back into regret, and she wants to help her move forward, to find the same peace with her choice that Apadiel has now.

Sariel’s language is carefully couched, a deliberate verbal dance to explain what she’s done without saying anything directly. Apadiel pieces it together as best she can, and the conclusion that she comes to is shocking. The golden warmth of whiskey in her stomach turns cold and sour, and she pulls her hand away from Sariel’s wrist, letting it fall into her own lap instead.

"You poisoned him," Apadiel whispers. "The tattoo—"

Her mind goes back to Kelly again, instinctively, and her hand curls into a fist at the thought that that could have been him. If Sariel had chosen differently, had wanted the Arcs to succeed and the Princes to fall back to darkness, then it would have been within her power. The idea is chilling, but she reminds herself that Sariel has not hurt Kelly. He is fine, though Apadiel will be checking when she returns to her apartment.

"And he’ll die from this, from the poison."

She nods, more to herself than to Sariel. This is excellent news; she should be excited, thrilled by this unbalancing of the scales. And part of her is; she feels the smile pushing at the corners of her mouth as she looks up again to meet Sariel’s wavering gaze.

Beyond the feeling of victory, she feels a need to reassurance herself, and to reassure Sariel. This confession does not leave her without questions of her own, but it’s nothing that the angel will be able to answer now, not in a way that will convince Apadiel completely. She wants to know that Sariel can be trusted implicitly, that this one act is not an aberration that will be regretted in the future.

Sariel has done this thing, and she has given Apadiel this information. Trust can be built with less concrete foundations than this. Sariel has trusted her now, enough to share this with her in the belief that she will be allowed her freedom afterwards. She did not come to Apadiel looking for a reward, or if she did, then this whole evening was an elaborate display which will yield her nothing more tangible than gratitude and the promise of protection.

"I’m sorry that they pushed you to this by not taking better care of you," Apadiel sighs. She brings her hand up to cup Sariel’s cheek, holding her still so that she can’t look away from the Prince’s gaze.

"I will never do that to you. I know this is hard, this first step. But I am proud of you for making a choice, and honored that you’ve chosen to stand with me."

She strokes her thumb over Sariel’s cheek, hoping her eyes and her words convey the connection that she feels to her now. Apadiel has been in the dark place that she sees when she looks into Sariel’s eyes, and she wants to be the light that leads her out again.

The force was enough to shatter whatever preconceived notions the Prince had about the other angel, but it also cleared the way for something better to be built in its place. However, the residual spray of debris, in this case the worry that Sariel could do the same trick with poison to Kelly, hits them both and it is Sariel’s job to make sure that the focus remains on what good she has done, not what could have been broken. And although Apadiel doesn’t say a word about Kelly, she can read the worry on her face, in those pretty azure eyes and in the way her hand curls into a protective kind of fist. Sariel watched and couldn’t help but feel the weight of her own power in this moment-- -

I could have gone after him, Apadiel. But I didn’t. And I won’t. But you realize now that I am not just a pretty ink covered angel playing with her needles and paints. I am a player. I am a force. I can take lives. You want me on your team; you want me to like you.

“He will die, as long as the poison does its job now that I have done mine.” She said after a moment, her dark eyes still down cast, watching as the Prince seemed to relax and allow the information to settle over her. “The poison was in the ink. I laid it into his skin over time…It took time to do. But-- -“ she looked up slowly, speaking carefully, “It will work. I won’t have a body to lay at your feet, but you will know.”

It is the first time Sariel has said, out loud, what she has done. And the words taste heavy and bitter on her tongue, but they also flow so much easier than she might have thought. She has deceived and hurt someone that she might have loved. Someone who trusted her, someone who wanted nothing but friendship and trust from her. And she…sacrificed him for what she felt was the greater good-- -no what she knew was the greater good.

After all, with Gabriel ‘dead’, Apadiel and Ba’al wouldn’t be looking for him. He could do his work in the shadows; he would be given the element of surprise when he managed a godlike resurrection. That of course would be the difficult part for Sariel, when the man she killed turned out to be alive. Yes, that is when things would get difficult for her. When the arc was back from the dead with a fire in his belly and a need for revenge. But by then…perhaps she could be shielded by the Prince, after all accidents happen. Angels are not easy to kill. Especially not those that call themselves Apollo on the street and the Messenger of God in Heaven. Perhaps Sariel would be congratulated for trying but sympathized with when she ultimately failed.

But now, in this moment with Apadiel in the Ultra Luxe, the angel needed to be convincing. She needed this woman this-- -friend, to believe that she had the intent to kill. That she had rid the Princes of a particularly difficult arc. That she was useful.

As Apadiel started with an apology Sariel began to look away, but she was caught by the hand cupped gently against her cheek, and the gentle pressure that did not allow her to look away. The angel felt her dark eyes widen and she was sure that Apadiel could see straight to her soul. To the part that has been burned, hurt and flayed through its tribulations in Purgatory. To the heart that is still bruised by the finger prints of an arc. For a moment she couldn't speak. There was too much that Sariel wanted to say, some of it honest and painful and that is what she needs to avoid. She needed to move carefully through these first moments, but she wanted to confide in this woman as a friend. As someone who could understand. And perhaps she can. In shades of the truth.

 “I always thought that things would get better,” she said in a voice that was small and quiet, a voice that was meant only for Apadiel, “I thought that if I gave it time-- -if I gave them time, all of it would be better. But, I got tired of waiting, Apadiel. I got tired of being…tired and hurt and…used. I needed to take a stand, for myself. I needed something better.”

Sariel stopped speaking so that she could appreciate just how true those words were. She took a breath and studied the way that the soft lighting brushed Apadiel’s face in hues of honey and gold, suddenly aware of just how close they were sitting, how her thigh was resting tightly against the Princes, her hand resting gently on her knee. It was a closeness that Sariel would usually shrug away from but in this moment it was…comforting, it was what she needed.

“I am afraid of what might happen to me,” she continued after a few moments of stillness, the club and the music having faded into the background, into a dull thumping that could be easily ignored, “But knowing that I-I have you to help me stand when the fear becomes too much…Means-- -“ her dark brows furrowed and Sariel was unsure of what that meant. Who had ever made an offer like that before this moment? No one. “It means more than you can realize. I have always been so alone. Even when I had those that were once family around me, I always felt so different…”

“You understand that too, don’t you?” she asked, her dark eyes curious and pleading, genuine despite the whiskey she has consumed, despite the soft buzz of inebriation that rattles through her bones.

He frowns when she comments on his appearance. he probably should have showed or made some kind of attempt to get his hair to at least all stick out in the same direction. But she’s seen him in worse condition, with darker circles under his eyes. With a tremor in his hand. She’s seen him worse off than this, or at least as bad as this. There are sets of black rings around his ankles, deaths -murders- he’s had to make piece with, to show this isn’t the first time. Not that he’s ever told her why he adds to them every now and then or what they represent. That is a secret he will keep for himself and himself alone. Tombstones in a place with no graveyard. 

Sariel almost winced as she grabbed the pen from the tray and cleared her throat, "I-I uhm, I don't want your cash," she said before she even realized what she was saying, "I just...Its not hard for me to do this. I've done it before, its just a little shading, keeping my hand straight and..." she trailed off as she leaned back and grabbed a piece of paper off of the desk, it would work as a kind of ruler for the line she wanted to draw. "We can trade, if you want. Or I don't know...I probably owe you for something in the past anyways, something I probably never thanked you for, so we could be officially even after this." she looked up as him holding his gaze for a moment, a thousand other words aching to be said; apologies, curses, promises that would be broken. All of it lingered on her tongue and she felt the weight of each and every one...

"I'll uhm, draw the outline first. Hold still." she said breaking the connection as she slid off of the chair and onto her knees, encircling his ankle in the paper and using the edge. "I saw your brother you know. Your little brother, he came in for a tattoo on his hand..." she said as she finished the left ring and moved on to the right, she needed to fill in the quiet that pooled between them, unsure of what else she might say.