The Angel of Thursday (Cookie)
Oct. 3rd, 2008 03:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesade"Why." His tone, even and level as it (almost) always was, made no question of the question word. Ruby, for once, didn't seem to have anything to say to that. She just stared at him as though she didn't understand the question, at least in this context. It was the first time he had caught her off guard since she came in.
He should have taken the opportunity to step back, but he didn't.
Hubris? Overconfidence or angelic arrogance? Or simply the awareness that they were most likely evenly matched, and stepping back would only result in her stepping forward and would accomplish nothing. They could circle around each other or smash all the furniture in the room to pieces with fighting and it would accomplish nothing. They were in stalemate, and had been for some time now.
"I don't know," Ruby said, looking off to the side. Her dark hair fell over the side of her face, obscuring his view and whatever chance he might have had at reading her face. "Pride?" That echoed. "Curiosity. Sheer dumb stubbornness." She laughed, tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling with a wide-eyed and blank expression on her face. "Maybe I have a death wish."
His head canted to one side. "Why would you say that?"
"Oh, come on. Don't pull that act with me, you..." But whatever it was she saw in his face stopped her words in her mouth, made her lips shape further noises without giving them breath to sound them out and finally turned her to look away again. He wasn't sure what it was. She had been a good person, once. She was a creature of hell but once, she had been human.
They stood there, awkwardness and empty space between them big enough to encompass all the host of heaven and all the hordes of hell between the molecules of their borrowed bodies. He turned his palm up to her, arm still relaxed against his body, no extending towards her but it was a gesture of peace if she would take it.
"Don't you be sad for me, angel. Don't you dare."
Her breath was hot on his mouth and tasted, predictably, of brimstone. Sweat and miniscule particles of grit between his human lips. It was a contrast that jarred him, the physical and tangible with the spiritual bliss. Demons were far closer to the physical; it was simpler and coarser and easier for the mortals to understand. Perhaps that was why they were winning.
It surprised him, a little, that a demon could cry. Would cry, except for the gain of preying on the sympathies of others. What was to be gained here? Was there anything? Was he thinking clearly, her lips pressed against his through the wet and her fingers clutching at his shoulders? What was he doing here?
She did stop, at least, when he withdrew inside himself, fleeing towards some kind of serenity he might have possessed before doubts and demons worked their way in. Stopped and pulled back far enough to look at him from between the wings of her hair. He simply looked at her, a puzzled non-frown, slightly upturned beetled brow and hair all windwhipped. Hands gentle on her back, for there was really no need for otherwise yet. She was so close. Neither of them seemed to feel it necessary to harm the other. Whether or not there would be hurt yet remained to be seen.
By the look of her it was too late for that already, and perhaps for him as well. He didn't feel... No, he simply didn't feel. Empty. He had had such hope.
He should have taken the opportunity to step back, but he didn't.
Hubris? Overconfidence or angelic arrogance? Or simply the awareness that they were most likely evenly matched, and stepping back would only result in her stepping forward and would accomplish nothing. They could circle around each other or smash all the furniture in the room to pieces with fighting and it would accomplish nothing. They were in stalemate, and had been for some time now.
"I don't know," Ruby said, looking off to the side. Her dark hair fell over the side of her face, obscuring his view and whatever chance he might have had at reading her face. "Pride?" That echoed. "Curiosity. Sheer dumb stubbornness." She laughed, tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling with a wide-eyed and blank expression on her face. "Maybe I have a death wish."
His head canted to one side. "Why would you say that?"
"Oh, come on. Don't pull that act with me, you..." But whatever it was she saw in his face stopped her words in her mouth, made her lips shape further noises without giving them breath to sound them out and finally turned her to look away again. He wasn't sure what it was. She had been a good person, once. She was a creature of hell but once, she had been human.
They stood there, awkwardness and empty space between them big enough to encompass all the host of heaven and all the hordes of hell between the molecules of their borrowed bodies. He turned his palm up to her, arm still relaxed against his body, no extending towards her but it was a gesture of peace if she would take it.
"Don't you be sad for me, angel. Don't you dare."
Her breath was hot on his mouth and tasted, predictably, of brimstone. Sweat and miniscule particles of grit between his human lips. It was a contrast that jarred him, the physical and tangible with the spiritual bliss. Demons were far closer to the physical; it was simpler and coarser and easier for the mortals to understand. Perhaps that was why they were winning.
It surprised him, a little, that a demon could cry. Would cry, except for the gain of preying on the sympathies of others. What was to be gained here? Was there anything? Was he thinking clearly, her lips pressed against his through the wet and her fingers clutching at his shoulders? What was he doing here?
She did stop, at least, when he withdrew inside himself, fleeing towards some kind of serenity he might have possessed before doubts and demons worked their way in. Stopped and pulled back far enough to look at him from between the wings of her hair. He simply looked at her, a puzzled non-frown, slightly upturned beetled brow and hair all windwhipped. Hands gentle on her back, for there was really no need for otherwise yet. She was so close. Neither of them seemed to feel it necessary to harm the other. Whether or not there would be hurt yet remained to be seen.
By the look of her it was too late for that already, and perhaps for him as well. He didn't feel... No, he simply didn't feel. Empty. He had had such hope.