Herald
09.01.10
When you come upon the scene, it is a weak and dying Herald that you find, unable even to stand. A few scattered feathers on the ground are the only remnants of the wings it once possessed. It has come to this place to die...or be saved? That, of course, is up to you.
You are alone when you find the angel. The Heralds have long gone unsaved, and though it appears to you, it does not hold much hope of living on. Near to where the two of you meet rests a grey stone slab that the angel seems desperate to reach. With your help, the Herald climbs upon it, needing something from you to save its life. What will you choose to give it? And what significance does that item hold for you? Is it a family heirloom? Something you happened to have on hand? Something you'd purchased earlier that day? A lucky charm?
You may have noticed that many details have been left off. This is because we want you to have plenty of freedom to develop the scene yourself. Consider time of day, weather, season, etc. when you post.
When you come upon the scene, it is a weak and dying Herald that you find, unable even to stand. A few scattered feathers on the ground are the only remnants of the wings it once possessed. It has come to this place to die...or be saved? That, of course, is up to you.
You are alone when you find the angel. The Heralds have long gone unsaved, and though it appears to you, it does not hold much hope of living on. Near to where the two of you meet rests a grey stone slab that the angel seems desperate to reach. With your help, the Herald climbs upon it, needing something from you to save its life. What will you choose to give it? And what significance does that item hold for you? Is it a family heirloom? Something you happened to have on hand? Something you'd purchased earlier that day? A lucky charm?
You may have noticed that many details have been left off. This is because we want you to have plenty of freedom to develop the scene yourself. Consider time of day, weather, season, etc. when you post.
“I’m scared to know,” An unenthused voice drawled from beside him, “just how many of those you’ve had.”
Cale lifted his head, instant regret filling his mind. It felt like an iron ball was rolling back and forth where his brain should have been, placing dents in the walls and heavy as hell. His companion pressed a recently manicured nail across the sleek black counter, fingering a shot glass with her pale hands.
“Honestly, you’re no better than a drunk.” She said, her voice an octave too high. Cale groaned and dropped his head, making a note that on nights like these, it was just better not to move at all.
“I’m not even drunk, so you can shut up.” He frowned at her, keeping his head dipped between his bony elbows. The grown man looked no better then a sulking teen who’d jumped two feet in height and didn’t have enough skin to stretch over all of the bone. The woman grunted, a rather unwomanly sort of thing to do, and waved a hand distractedly. A bartender was instantly at her side, stuck between admiring her curves and actually keeping up with her well rehearsed order.
Cale couldn’t cut back a snicker at the choice of beverage as the flustered man sped off.
“Wuss.”
“You have no taste.”
Cale snickered again.
“You jus’ cant hold your liquor.”
The pretty blond elbowed him sharply in the side, and Cale keeled, ready to heave his stomach contents. The night had only gotten worse since she’d come to meet him. It had gotten quite difficult too, as Cale had to pay attention to both the persistent pain in his abdomen and the trouble of talking too. “Honestly,” She drawled from beside him, flipping a perfect curl over her shoulder and taking a sip from her lime colored appletini, “don’t you have any dignity left? Perhaps a sense of morals, or I don’t know, self-worth?”
Cale chuckled, his mind swimming. His stomach was a mess of fiery pain, a very real reminder of a very real fight. “Stop talkin’ like I’m some sorta half-assed drunk with no future.” He paused, tasting vodka on his lips and feeling a wave of nausea. Maybe drinking whilst in the middle of suffering didn’t really make the very short list of smart decisions in Cale’s life.
“You are a half-assed drunk,” His companion sniffed, eyeing a chipped nail with disdain. “Only difference is you’re actually making an income.”
“Why d’ you sound like you’re so surprised over that?”
“I am surprised over that.”
The two fell into a rather dreary silence, and within moments, Cale lowered his head, letting the counter reach up and meet his aching skin. He’d never been much of a drunk, nor had he been much of a bar fight enthusiast, but damn had tonight given him a good look into the life he could have led.
Sighing, the woman clicked her nails against the finely polished counter, eyeing the man and his fast growing bruises. Cale tried to ignore the pressing green eyes and strawberry blond tresses, the curved figure and the heels that had him thinking hot damn. Because he’d been there, he’d touched that, and he’d come back burned.
“You’re such a mess, you know,” The woman finally sniffed, brushing invisible dust from a tan leg. “I don’t know why I bother. You ruin my reputation.”
Cale grinned loosely, lifting his head against another wave of nausea. “You don’t have a reputation.” He spat lazily, putting up his best smile. He was only saved from a manicured slap by the fact that he’d already been beaten enough today. Cale didn’t know whether he was lucky, or truly cursed. Instead of dwelling much on it, the man dug into his pockets, his fingers searching with a nervous edge. Finally, they grazed smooth metal, and he retracted his hand, palm upturned to show the silver-gold shine of a small mechanism. As close as he listened, Cale couldn’t hear the mechanical whir-hum of what had once
been a beautiful pocket watch, instead simply grasping it in his fingers. The soft whisper of the past and cool surface soothed his mind, chasing away the aches and pains to the back of his conscious.Of course, it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Why do you keep that thing?” His companion snatched it from its resting place, painted nails tracing its rim with a delicate, dangerous pressure. Cale didn’t bother to grab it back, knowing it would only do more harm than it would do good. The woman shot him a rueful look, knowing better than to play around with the precious treasure. “Honestly, one would think that something as useless as this would already be thrown away by you.” Sniffing, she dropped it back on the counter and let Cale snatch it back up, twisting her fingers against her blond curls.
Cale wanted to snap at her, but they’d been through this old routine before. It wasn’t as if they were strangers. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know. Pocketing the old mechanism again, the brunette shook his head, spiky tresses sticking at odd angles, his head pounding and the feel of dry blood crusting on his lip and the back of his head. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, no, not at all. But at least Cale could still feel his heart hammering against his chest, a pulse in his wrist that crossly told him You’re still alive.
“I’ll get rid of it later.” He said without meaning it. His words were heavy and weighted with undertones that he didn’t bother to explain.
His companion knew that he was lying, and her sharp eyes narrowed ever slightly. Putting on the pretense of being insulted – stupid, Cale thought, since he hadn’t anything to twist her panties in a knot – the woman snatched her purse and clicked her tongue, stiletto’s biting into the ground as she stood. They made a harsh noise, just as harsh as her words.
“Keep saying that,” She said dubiously, sniffing again, “And come to me when you finally let go of that thing.” She twisted on her heel and began to stalk off, knowing that her words wouldn’t pierce Cale’s thick skull. Let go of that thing? He would never. It was the past; it was his treasure. It was the only thing that had a meaning, an importance to him now, and how could he let it go? Cale’s head throbbed, making him groan and stare ruefully at the shot glasses. How could he let go of the ghosts of the only things that had ever mattered to him?
The man slid away from the bar, leaving a fat wad of cash – he would make sure to steal back the money he’d ended up using to pay for that damn woman – and stumbled blindly for the door. The bar was quite fancy, but the late hour of the night left it sparsely filled. Men and women were out enjoying the night life, not drinking themselves senseless in a classy, stuck up bar somewhere out of the way of their night clubs and wild parties. For a moment, Cale wondered if he was missing out, but then he laughed and escaped into the dark. No, what they had he would never want. What they had, he would never care for.
The chilled air bit into his skin and made Cale far too aware of the cuts and bruises that now decorated his body. His lip was swollen and split, pinpricked red marks twisting up his arms and fingers. He could feel his ribs, the tender skin now vivid and painful in his mind. He should have known better than to open his mouth. After all, five against one had never been fair. But Cale had never known self control, and damn if he didn’t miss the familiar taste of brutality and the bared nature of all creatures underneath their lying surfaces.
Making his way in the general direction of home, Cale drew his jacket closer to himself, swearing soundly when he remember it was his own idea not to bring the car. Night time was fast closing in around him, and even though the sky was split open and showered in star shine, the chill of fall and the breath of winter still stung at the mans cheeks. For a moment, Cale drifted, falling away into his own world. His feet began to wander, and alley after alley, street after street became blurred and twisted. At times he looked up and listened to the deep hum of the distant city life, at times he wondered if it would be better if he were there, forgetting, as usual. But he couldn’t bring himself to find an interest in that sort of thing, and so his attention drifted again.
When Cale woke up and out of his reverie, the scene around him was cold and desolate. The concrete gymnasium of the city and the high, intimidating walls of downtown disappeared into the blurred backdrop of lights. The sound of waves and an overwhelming brush of salt tang woke the brunette’s senses, callously greeting him the piers and docks at the far side of the city. Inhaling deeply, Cale gave a sharp cough, his head spinning in slow dizziness as he stumbled his way down the thin maze of boardwalks, all crossing in between large warehouses, the smell of smog and industrialism causing chaos on the mechanic’s mind.
Running a hand though his messy spikes, Cale stepped out into a wide, long stretch of boardwalk, iron railings leading down to a cluttered labyrinth of docks and ships. The wind pressed against him, its chilly breath sending shivers down the young adults spine. Cale’s stomach belly-flopped, and with an groan, the man slumped over the railings and tried not to retch.
It was only then that he realized he wasn’t alone. The whistle of the wind drew his head in the direction of the barest scratch of skin against cold wood. Stepping away from the railing, Cale peered into the ebbing darkness, his nerves suddenly itching and an edge of anticipation crawling up his spine. What was there? Had it been his imagination? Cale took a step forward, the boardwalk creaking under his weight. And then the shadows moved, and the mechanic’s suspicions ebbed into slight shock.
Under the shattered beams of moonlight, the angel looked so frail. Marble skin seemed to gleam white in the radiant dark, long hair tossed and matted against a skinny body. The eyes that tore into him were unnerving, driving Cale instinctively to take a step back. The action did not go unnoticed though,
and the angel whimpered under its breath softly, its fingers and arms draped listlessly against a dark stone slab that Cale could guess had only been there as what was once a bench. With an exhausted heave, the angel pressed its upper body to the stone slap and then fell into silence, eyes shutting, chest heaving with shallow breath. Something in Cale felt tight, almost sickeningly so. He wanted to say something, but his voice wouldn’t work. He wanted to do something, but he couldn’t even think of one single idea as to what. So instead, he moved closer, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and the creature within the shadows. There were no wings, only a broken plumage of feathers.
“You shouldn’t be moving so much,” He finally said, breaking the silence. The angel opened its eyes, and Cale bit back flinching. As if reminded of his earlier attempts, it gave another soft sound and tried to heave itself further. But its legs seemed to have given out, and silver hair tangled and yanked in careless, scrawny fingers. Without thinking, the mechanic moved forward, playing his hands under the angels arms like that of a kids and lifting onto the slab. “If you’re so determined, you should have asked for help.” He muttered, if only to break the unnerving silence, and the bite of discomfort within. The brunette was surprised by the lack of weight on the angel, his hands quickly curling against his sides again.
The angel uttered something soft and exhausted, curling in on itself on the slap, a shiver pressing into its broken body. Feeling as though he’d be doing something wrong if he left, Cale sat uneasily at the edge of the slab, just within reach of the angel’s hands. The silence wrapped around them once again. Cale knew that he would take another few hours with his companion from earlier than such an awkward situation like this any day. Dropping his head between his shoulders, the brunette fished through his pockets, trying to ignore the pair of blank blue eyes watching through a half lidded, hazy gaze.
Yanking out a pack of cigarettes, Cale bit into the edge of one with his teeth, inhaling the ghost of its intoxicating scent. Dropping the now empty packet to the ground, the brunette felt something clatter out of his jeans, dislodged by his nervous, nimble fingers. The pocket watch lay on the stone slab, staring back at him with frozen eyes. The glassy cover over the roman numerals refracted the shards of the sky above, the golden scratched hood open and the chain swirling around in a dizzying pattern.
Cale scoffed slightly, picking it up and twisting the unlit cigarette between his lips. He chanced a look over at the angel, and was surprised to find it staring intently at him, its shallow breaths barely making noise anymore. Something ached in Cale. He didn’t want to watch an angel die, and he certainly didn’t want to be around when it happened, knowing that he couldn’t do anything to help. Instead, he focused on what the angel was focusing on; the pocket watch.
Its hands were frozen in place, the same place they had been for years. They stared back at Cale as if accusingly, and the man fought the need to retch. The mixture of smoke tang in his mouth and alcohol meddling with the pain in his head and the bruises and cuts only made it worse. Somehow he felt like he was committing some sort of subtle sin by keeping the pocket watch from ticking. Something made him feel guilt at the idea that one thing had made him break a long forgotten promise from a long forgotten past.
Staring down at the angel, Cale’s hands almost shook. The creature had let its head fall to the cold stone slab, lying on its side, barely breathing anymore. Its hand was outstretched, fingers limp and pale in the moonlight. It seemed to be begging for one thing, just one little thing. Cale’s head swam dizzily. Was he stupid, was he imagining this? Was it all a dream, would he wake up in just a few seconds, or as soon as the angel died?
Suddenly, the man laughed sharply, alerting the angel of his normal, biting tongue. Cale glanced over at his ‘companion’, his eyes flickering into something somber. “If this a dream,” He murmured, his eyes hazed, “than what the hell am I supposed to do?” The mechanic glanced back down at the fingers and then to the pocket watch in his hands.
Don’t let it stop.
Cale’s fingers worked in a clumsy, rusted pattern, twisting the back of the small mechanism open, his mind a muted whirlwind of emotion. Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew this wasn’t a dream. But somewhere in the back of his head, he knew that he didn’t care anymore. Maybe it was the alcohol, but that mere idea roused a bitter laugh in the back of his throat. Alcohol. He wasn’t drunk. Cale had always been known for his high tolerance, and the shot glasses that his companion had fingered earlier… well half of them weren’t even his.
Suddenly, a sharp whir-hum filtered through the air, breaking the silence. It startled Cale, eyes flickering down to the mechanism in his hand. It gave a soft shudder, aged and almost rusted from years and years of use. The hands quivered gently, and Cale watched as the first one slowly inched forward, lurching into motion.
He suddenly felt like laughing.
Looking over at the angel, its breath almost nonexistent, Cale’s felt a bitter taste in his mouth. Guilt that overrode the strange, queasy elation in his gut from watching the mechanical creature live on after years and years asleep. But now, what use was it to him? The sleek pocket watch, just what was it to him anymore but ghosts and memories?
The mechanic felt a sharp tang in his mouth; blood from where he’d bit too hard. Shocked out of his reverie, Cale shook his head and stood, unlit cigarette
dangling from his lips. Fighting the urge to lurch and the heavy weight of emotion on his shoulders, Cale moved forward and dropped the pocket watch into the outstretched fingers of the angels limp hand. “You seemed so transfixed on it,” He said, as if the angel needed an explanation. “Its useless to me, so you can have it.”
For a moment, the angel was still, and Cale thought that he was dead. A sharp pain ran through him, something intimate and cruel. The mechanic was not unfamiliar with death, but that of an angel seemed even more potent. But then limp fingers began to curl around the gift. Its eyes flickered, and Cale swore he almost caught a smile.
Without looking back, the man turned and fled. His feet took him towards the end of the pier in unsteady steps before he broke into a run. Cale ran until his lungs burned and his senses begged for him to stop. And even then he continued to run, until the chill of the air and the burning in his gut muted his thoughts and drove him home with a heavy conscience and a pain in his chest that was not physical.
