all my past and futures
Sep. 19th, 2005 09:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
un_fallenRaguel wisely gives up on going anywhere besides his rented room when he leaves the bar. It's bare and ugly, much like the one he had before, which was much like the one before that. It makes a stark contrast to Coyote's comfortable home, but then, this was never meant to be a home.
Despite his exhaustion, he's certain he'll be too wound up to sleep, but it's only moments after he leans back into the mattress that he drops into unconsciousness.
He finds himself in his cell in the City.
His window looks out onto familiar silver spires and a rose-colored sky, but the room feels larger than he remembers. Or colder. The outer edge of the City is closer, as well, trailing away into a black nothingness that makes him shudder. Nevertheless, he sits and waits, patient and compliant, for something to happen.
He doesn't have to wait long. A tall, imposing figure fills the window of his cell. He doesn't see the angel approach; he's just there all at once, blocking out the reddening glow of the sky. Raguel is hampered by his bad leg and scrambles to his feet with difficulty. The angel's eyes are black and bottomless.
"You are Raguel," he says. "The Vengeance of the Lord."
"Saraquael?" Raguel replies, staring at him. "Why are you here? Isn't the Captain--"
"Lucifer has Fallen," Saraquael says, unblinking. Raguel tries not to look him in the face. The pupilless eyes are unnerving, and anyway wasn't there something about Saraquael and a fire...
"He's waiting for you," the angel continues, and as he turns back to the window Raguel sees the City behind him, smaller now, as though his own tower is drifting further away from its center. An iron band of panic wraps around his heart as he follows Saraquael to the window. In the fading light he can see terrible scars on the angel's arms and chest, twisting and distorted on his skin.
"What happened?" he asks in a whisper, but he thinks he's supposed to know.
"You'd better hurry," Saraquael says, looking at him again, and Raguel turns away from his expression. "You're late."
"Late for what?"
"For taking your revenge," Saraquael calls, raising his voice because he's already taken off into the dark sky, almost entirely blackness now, and the color is seeping into his wings, and Raguel yells after him to wait because of all things he doesn't want to be left alone in this place - even if the alternative is the company of a black-winged, scarred monster - and so he steps out to follow and
plummets
toward the ground.
He has no wings, any longer.
Darkness rushes to meet him.
A flash of Zephkiel's ancient face, his eyes closed, and Raguel begs him not to open them because he'll see only the--
He wakes suddenly in darkness, and turns the light on without touching it. The cracked alarm clock on the table tells him it's after eleven. A few deep, uneven breaths and he stands up, ready to walk, to investigate, to burn the whole damned city down but he has got to get out of this room. He reaches for his coat at the foot of the bed and freezes in his tracks. Lying on the stained mattress is a crumpled, greyish feather.
After a moment's debate (it's just a feather, you idiot), he grabs it, and flees.
Despite his exhaustion, he's certain he'll be too wound up to sleep, but it's only moments after he leans back into the mattress that he drops into unconsciousness.
He finds himself in his cell in the City.
His window looks out onto familiar silver spires and a rose-colored sky, but the room feels larger than he remembers. Or colder. The outer edge of the City is closer, as well, trailing away into a black nothingness that makes him shudder. Nevertheless, he sits and waits, patient and compliant, for something to happen.
He doesn't have to wait long. A tall, imposing figure fills the window of his cell. He doesn't see the angel approach; he's just there all at once, blocking out the reddening glow of the sky. Raguel is hampered by his bad leg and scrambles to his feet with difficulty. The angel's eyes are black and bottomless.
"You are Raguel," he says. "The Vengeance of the Lord."
"Saraquael?" Raguel replies, staring at him. "Why are you here? Isn't the Captain--"
"Lucifer has Fallen," Saraquael says, unblinking. Raguel tries not to look him in the face. The pupilless eyes are unnerving, and anyway wasn't there something about Saraquael and a fire...
"He's waiting for you," the angel continues, and as he turns back to the window Raguel sees the City behind him, smaller now, as though his own tower is drifting further away from its center. An iron band of panic wraps around his heart as he follows Saraquael to the window. In the fading light he can see terrible scars on the angel's arms and chest, twisting and distorted on his skin.
"What happened?" he asks in a whisper, but he thinks he's supposed to know.
"You'd better hurry," Saraquael says, looking at him again, and Raguel turns away from his expression. "You're late."
"Late for what?"
"For taking your revenge," Saraquael calls, raising his voice because he's already taken off into the dark sky, almost entirely blackness now, and the color is seeping into his wings, and Raguel yells after him to wait because of all things he doesn't want to be left alone in this place - even if the alternative is the company of a black-winged, scarred monster - and so he steps out to follow and
plummets
toward the ground.
He has no wings, any longer.
Darkness rushes to meet him.
A flash of Zephkiel's ancient face, his eyes closed, and Raguel begs him not to open them because he'll see only the--
He wakes suddenly in darkness, and turns the light on without touching it. The cracked alarm clock on the table tells him it's after eleven. A few deep, uneven breaths and he stands up, ready to walk, to investigate, to burn the whole damned city down but he has got to get out of this room. He reaches for his coat at the foot of the bed and freezes in his tracks. Lying on the stained mattress is a crumpled, greyish feather.
After a moment's debate (it's just a feather, you idiot), he grabs it, and flees.
