Chapter Text
The audacity.
Watching the little dove flit around, a dazzling visage amongst the dull, rusted, wretched souls that had filled the once-vacant lobby. The wounds in his arm throbbed as his attention kept darting to the golden wing, the brilliant sheen flashing light wherever she went.
How dare she?
What made her think that he had been so weak he needed her assistance? He had it all under control. It was just a teeny bit hard to think while Vox’s oversized hunting dog was bearing down on him and a sight was locked on his forehead-
He dug his claws into the banister, eye-twitching as a burst of static momentarily- just a second really- hardly any time at all- tore through the air around him. Quickly he reined it in, but he couldn’t it out of his head. Very much reliving the condition of his death, the laws of cosmic irony all but demanded he died (again) in that instance. Everything was perfectly aligned, everything set up to be a perfect mockery of his mortal death to reprise for a damned one. It was so cruel it was hilarious, if it had been anyone but him.
So when a part of him- just a small, small part- felt that- just for a second- that his fate had been sealed….
She showed up.
Much like she did now as he watched her, she had swooped in as a radiant light amongst all the darkness, pulling him from the hunting hound and the crosshairs. Almost like the old tales of ‘guardian angels’ he had laughed at all his life. No angel had ever cared enough to save any of his victims, or his mother anyone else.
It was for only that reason, he was certain, that when she had thrown him from harm’s way and taken the full blunt of Lucifer’s power to her wing, sizzling an ethereal limb to naught but bone, a fresh coat of blood and a stubborn feather or two, that his heart had seized up. It could in no way have been fear, or Heaven’s forbid, concern, but it was merely shock. What else could it have been?
Or perhaps it was this…other, feeling, that had begun to torment him ever since right after Lucifer had emerged from his second pit of hell. When everyone dispersed from the shameful display of camaraderie and rightfully agreed to never speak of it again. He had began to calculate his next moves, when that speckled-face dove had looked at him. The bright lavender eyes met his and he was aware of the pained look in them, her heaving breaths, the spasms of her eroded limb. She looked like one of the birds he’d hunt while alive that was just waiting to be put down. He grit his teeth a bit, eyes narrowed, bracing himself for whatever blame or demand for recompense she’d present him.
Then she had smiled and asked if he was alright.
He had been absolutely baffled. What kind of idiocy was that? As much as he loathe to admit it, she now had the most powerful sinner in hell indebted to her. It was irritating to say the least, since he had just gotten out of his debts only to rush right into a new one. He had been saved from that awkward interaction as Charlotte rushed forward to check on him as well. Charlotte he was used to, Charlotte he could brush off and seize control of the situation again.
And now that feeling had not left. He knew anger, rage, irritation, annoyance, offense…those should have been the proper reaction, but none of them seemed to be what this was. What was this nagging feeling, then? He was certain he’d felt it before, way back in his childhood, when he would accidentally break one of Mama’s plates or soil a good tablecloth. What was it? Certainly not fear, he never feared his mama. Then what…
His eye-twitched.
Guilt?
Of course not! That implied that he cared about the other party’s ‘feelings’ and opinions, which was the most ridiculous thing. Guilt was not something that applied to him anymore.
So what was it?
The more he thought about it the more he felt like a rat scampering on a wheel. He ran and ran but did nothing but continue circling. No. This was pointless. It had to have been that he was irked by the new debt he had incurred. He’d simply settle it and then wash his hands of the whole thing, be about his business and pretend he’d never heard of the little dove. Simple. Hah, dove, it made sense for a nickname of the winged fool. Giving of herself to foster peace, becoming a symbol for Heaven and the deluded Sinners of hope for the future and solace for their pitiful existences. Doves were symbols of peace, and it made sense for her. He did find himself oddly contented around her-
What?
He must be delirious from exhaustion. It would have to be an urgent priority to get this debt and her off his mind for good. No one got to live in his head. No one.
Not that he was thinking off her much.