|Azrael (azraa_eel) wrote in nevermore_logs,|
@ 2012-09-26 18:38:00
|Current music:||Bon Jovi - Blaze of Glory|
|Entry tags:||azrael, thanatos|
Who: Azrael & OPEN
What: The angel of death, just doing what he's told
When: Wednesday evening
Where: A street in Manhattan
Warnings: TBD, but likely none. (Also, this one won't shut up in my head. :|)
Azrael was tired. He had had a long shift with the police, and he just wanted to pick up some dinner and go home. But just as he was leaving, he felt the familiar sparking sensation at the base of his skull, followed by an image and a name, then just one word. Go.
So he went.
His scythe appeared in his hand as he walked, invisible to mortals, so as not to start a screaming panic. It would have been quicker to fly, but that would attract too much attention. So he took a cab instead. He found the man lying just inside an alleyway, curled up in an old coat with a hat in front of him. He could see the gleam of coins within, and as he got closer, he could hear the rattling coughs that shook the man's body. He shifted in his sleep, and Azrael could see a medal depicting Saint Elizabeth of Hungary, one of the patron saints of the homeless.
Another deep, hacking cough shook the poor man's thin frame, and Azrael stepped forward, reaching into his body and wrapping one hand around the soul. The scythe blade slipped between his ribs without leaving a mark, and one quick cut left Azrael holding it firmly. He dug out what looked like a small leather pouch and slipped the shining ball into it, then stood up and said a prayer for the man and his family. Then he vanished, taking the soul with him to Heaven. He reappeared some time later, eyes glazed over and looking a bit disoriented. But the confused look disappeared soon enough as he remembered where he was.
He shook his head to clear it and started walking toward the subway. At least he was pretty sure this was the right way.
God, he was tired.