Dumat: The Dragon of Silence (nearestvessel) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-09-01 14:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, abigail hobbs, samandriel |
Who: Samandriel, Abigail Lecter
What: Driven to a life of crime
When: Saturday - 8/31
Where: Some rich asshole’s pool.
Rating: Medium - talk of their respective relationships, petty larceny, trespassing, etc
Status: Complete
It was only that his mother was continuing to upset him so deeply that had Samandriel bringing out the wine. Only that and not at all having dreams where he simply sits in heaven and pouts because none of the other angels will let him go down and do things. He didn’t think he’d be going anywhere any time soon. It was frustrating to say the least.
His mother helped nothing.
That was normal.
He’d sent the texts to Abigail not 10 minutes before the cab arrived that read “Done with work. swimming at the neighbor’s. Cab coming to pick you up. Frivolous and Irresponsible. You have 10 minutes. I already paid for it.”
He lounged on an inflatable raft while he looked up at the stars and drank. The back gate was open and a little lantern let her know where he was. “Neighbor” was a loose term. Where he really was happened to be in the rather ritzy estate of someone he didn’t even know, but knew they were out of town and that the pool was not visible from anywhere else. The wine he’d gotten from elsewhere.
He heard the cab pulling up to the gate and had it open for her. He didn’t know whose house this was. He didn’t care. He just needed to be away from home.
Well, hell, when he put it like that. She put on a bikini and some jean shorts over it, kissed her father goodbye for three of those minutes, then giggled at the fresh bite mark on her shoulder during her ride to the neighbor’s.
When she made her way to the pool, she blinked at her friend. He really was changing, but she couldn’t help but hurt for him. Few of the changes seemed like they were wanted, and she bit her lip as she walked closer. Wiggling out of her shorts, she tested the pool water with a toe and put up her hair. She didn’t have to ask if he was all right; Abigail had eyes. “What sort of wine is that?”
“The alcoholic kind,” Samandriel said, offering her the bottle. “I think this is Robert DeNiro’s brother’s house or something.” He wasn’t drunk and he was kind of annoyed about not being drunk.
“Red or white?” Suddenly she realized she suddenly cared about what kind of wine they were drinking. “Well, as long as he won’t come out with a bat.” Disappearing under the water for a few moments, she reemerged at the other end, smiling when she was closer to the wine.
“Red,” he said, taking another swig from the bottle before passing it to her. “Expensive red. I stole it from Gordon Ramsay.” What? The angry guy wasn’t looking.
“You uncouth bastard,” Abigail teased. She sighed, wishing there was a glass so she could properly arate her sip, but alas. Taking a swig, she was pleased to discover it was a rather nice vintage of pinot noir.
“Angel wings apparently lead to a life of crime,” Samandriel replied still staring upwards. “Do you think she’d notice if I actually ran away?”
“Don’t tell that to your brother.” Abigail sat on the steps, letting her legs trail ahead of her in the water. “Honestly? Yes, but only in the way you’d notice if your favorite pen was missing.”
“Which one?” he asked and then, “I think Lucifer might actually be more upset than Castiel. As far as pens go, I’d be devastated if my favourite pen went missing.”
“Which goes to show you, you love things more than most people. And that your mother loves things less than anyone I’ve ever met.” She sighed a little, handing him the bottle and treading water next to him. “Why would Lucifer be upset?”
“At me leading a life of crime?” He looked over at Abigail, brow arched. “The same reasons the good doctor would be upset to know that you were technically trespassing and underage drinking stolen goods.”
“Because they’re attracted to us for our innocence and relative inexperience?” She smiled and shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll just tell Daddy I didn’t know what I was doing.” She batted her eyelashes in a way that was entirely too practiced.
“Yeah, that’s only going to get you so far,” Samandriel said dryly, still drinking. Still not drunk or even tipsy. He’d made it most of the way through the bottle. This was, by far, the most frustrating beverage induced experience he’d had so far in his life.
“I think Lucifer’s attracted to the innocent exterior I play so well, but really likes my devious as fuck undertones.” He offered her the bottle. It was only polite to share after all. “He just sort of watched and smirked while I convinced Castiel that making out with me was a great way to pass the time while he and Cas’ husband were talking. I probably could’ve gotten him to make things a bit more interesting, but then Dean showed him that damn video and well...I had to talk about it.” More specifically, he had to talk about why Lucifer hadn’t known about it.
“I think Daddy’s a bit more lenient than Lucifer is.” She’d noticed from meeting Lucifer that the man held Samandriel on a bit of a leash, a true dominant/submissive relationship. Abigail and Hannibal enjoyed playacting, but it wasn’t really serious; it was just something they did to test the boundaries of something that was already a bit on the taboo side.
But Samandriel and Lucifer - that was an entirely different kettle of fish. She sighed, taking the bottle and taking a swig. “How’d that go?”
“Well enough,” Samandriel said. “I explained my reasons for silence and he accepted those and there was the general air of understanding that I wouldn’t hide things like that from him again.” He looked over at her. “Drink more, you’re behind.” He nodded to the already empty bottle sitting just set aside from the others.
“You’re not drunk,” she murmured. But she obeyed, especially since it was a really great vintage and the sweet raspberry taste on the back of her tongue was welcome. “Well, he really cares about you. You two love each other, that much is obvious.”
Hopping out of the pool to sit on the side, she let her fingers trail in the water. Why couldn’t things be easier for them?
“He’s paying for my therapy,” Samandriel said quietly, staring up at the stars. “Mom saw the missing money in my account before I could replace it so I had to lie to her.” This is why he paid in cash. No paper trail. Hannibal couldn’t be held culpable for something that didn’t exist, right?
She wondered why her father wouldn’t do it for free, but figured that Samandriel wouldn’t allow something like that. “How does she have access to your account? Ugh, I can’t wait for you to turn eighteen so you can just cut her off.” If she could’ve swapped birthdays with him, she would have.
“I can’t wait to turn eighteen so I can just move my crap into Lucifer’s without them noticing and then tell them flat out that I’m leaving. Figure I’m not going to need my bed anyway so that can stay, and Lucifer’ll want to match all the furniture so I can leave most of that too. But the actual things can be moved under the table.” He looked over at her. “Bonus to flight, apparently. And no, I wouldn’t allow your father to treat me for free.”
“You’ll probably just need your clothes and your important things.” She smiled lopsidedly, looking back down at her feet in the water. “Sorry, I must’ve thought that loudly. Is Daddy helping at all?” She had faith in her father’s abilities, but thought she’d check.
“Clothes and creative tools,” Samandriel said. He floated the raft over towards her. “A little. I don’t think it’s really a situation where much is going to help. I mean, it’s a textbook existential crisis, but the content of the crisis is what’s not normal.” He looked over at her. “I don’t think I could manage talking to anyone else about it.”
“It’s not something any of us deserve,” she murmured. Sometimes, she dreamed of stabbing that boy again, over and over, the slick feeling of blood on her hands, the sound of skin and viscera splitting still in her ears when she woke up. She couldn’t understand Samandriel’s situation, not all the way, but she could maybe see a tiny bit of it out of the corner of her eye if she squinted. “Still. Talking about it at all must help. Burying things hurts.”
“I’ve been burying things for so long that I’m still learning how to talk. That’s what happens, I guess, when you’ve turned the other cheek to the point where you’ve broken your neck.” He took the bottle from her and had another swig even though he knew it was going to do nothing at all. “She spent an hour screaming at me before I left for work this evening. An hour. My dad was just sitting there trying to make himself as small as possible like he was the one who could fucking teleport. All I hope you don’t spend your life spending money this frivolously and that they had no intention of paying for college because their parents didn’t help them and blah blah bullshit. It’s not like we couldn’t afford to pay for it. She wouldn’t even blink at the money, but no. Just screaming.”
“You did something independent. That’s what she’s mad at.” Abigail took another sip of wine, feeling her pale skin starting to flush from all the wine. “You and I both don’t talk much about ... feelings. Not with other people.” She remembered after he biological parents had died, everyone had expected her to be broken and sobbing. She’d simply squared her shoulders and lost herself in habit, in ritual.
“There’s no point in it sometimes,” Samandriel said calmly. “Sometimes shit happens and you have to move on, that’s life. Sometimes you just don’t want some crazy cunt screaming at you for no reason. I don’t see why we should bear the responsibility of a world that’s taught us it’s bad to have emotions.” Granted, Abigail had her righteous anger and Samandriel was more prone to forgiving and moving on, but such was life.
“Exactly.” She sat up and looked at him, shaking her head. “It’s just not fucking fair that we both know that.” Running her fingers through her damp hair, she smiled lopsidedly. “But it’s looking up, you know. You’ve got your job now, your music, your angels. I don’t know, you just seem more comfortable in your own body now.”
“That’s a mask,” Samandriel said, looking at his fingers. “It’s hard to be comfortable in my own body when it keeps changing. It wasn’t even this bad when suddenly I was sprouting hair and growing an inch a month and my voice kept cracking and we’re not even going to go into all the laundry I ended up doing so Julia wouldn’t have to.”
Abigail laughed a little at that. “You guys get wet dreams, we get periods. Either way, being a teenager sucks. Anything I can do to help you out?” She’d buy him things if she had to, so his bitch of a mother wouldn’t see any sort of paper trail.
“I just remember being so offended that my body had dared make this mess,” Samandriel said softly, laughing to himself. “And no, nothing more than you have been.” He looked fondly at her. “Keep being you, Abs.”
She smiled at him, the same bright grin that she’d given him when they’d first met, back when she thought she’d end up marrying him someday. That seemed like thousands of years ago, but she supposed that wasn’t really that far in the past. “Yeah, I know that feeling too. I wonder which one’s harder to clean out.”
Moving back into the pool, she reached out to squeeze his hand. “Well, I’ll always be here for you. I love you.”
Samandriel leaned over on the raft to kiss her forehead. “Love you too, scrappy.” He leaned back again, letting go of her hand to boop her nose. “Wonder what she’s going to say when she realizes I’ve gone and whom I’ve gone with.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Abigail smiled, scrunching her nose once it had been booped. “Nothing she’s ever thought does. It’s not like she knows you.”
“No, but I’m looking forward to the expression on her face when I tell her that not even she gets to sell Lucifer Morningstar something that’s already his.” He sighed. “I wish I had a case to apply for emancipation, but I just have to keep telling myself that it’s four more months and I’ll survive. I may not like it, but I’ll survive.”
“Yeah, I’m the same way. I just keep saying that all I have to do is make it until October, then I can tell everyone that I’ve been lying to that my boyfriend really doesn’t go to school upstate. I hate lying. It’s complicated and for no reason.” It wasn’t like she couldn’t make her own decisions, wasn’t like Samandriel couldn’t either. Hell, he was far more qualified than most - he had all of history as his guide.
Samandriel was quiet for a very long moment before saying, “I think Julia thinks I’m dating Castiel.”
“He does seem more like your type, if someone were going to venture a guess. Do you think you can trust her?” She cocked her head to the side, wondering if Samandriel could get away with telling her the truth.
“She saw us talking after the concert,” Samandriel said softly. “Saw my wings too which I wasn’t expecting, but there it is. I suppose we did look like we were having a bit of a session of comfort after mom lost her shit.” He looked over at Abigail. “She’s glad I’m happy. I don’t think she cares much who it’s with just so long as I’m happy. She’d like to meet him one day and I’m not sure how to tell her that no, Castiel is just my brother and I’m actually dating Lucifer. I’m okay with being angelsito though.”
Abigail’s eyes lit up. “She saw them? That’s fantastic!” Abigail kind of wished that she could too, but she supposed that would require a calmness, a oneness with the universe or something that she simply wouldn’t be capable of for as long as she was dreaming. At least not for a long time.
“Has she seen you with Lucifer? Alone, that is?” Those boys and their eyefucks.
“No,” Samandriel said. “She saw him come over with the job offer and heard most of the conversation, but I think she bought the same story my parents did. I hadn’t met him at all before that moment and he he only wants me for his music.” Which, well, was true, but he made music with more than his instruments.
“You’re a good actor, then. I know I’m not selling my story half the time, but thank goodness most people are too polite to press it.” She dipped under the water again, feeling how warm the water was, how smooth.
He smiled and rolled off the raft to join her in the water. Hey, as long as they were both there, why not? He’d splash her, but it made no sense to try to do under the water.
Beaming, she laughed when he splashed him just by merit of his rolling off of the raft. “This was a good idea, you had.” Sometimes they just needed to do stupid things to get their minds off of everything else.
“Of course it was,” he teased, surfacing only to splash her again. “I’m full of good ideas. It goes with the job description.”
“I wonder if Daddy will paint more often now that he’s having sessions with you.” She loved watching Hannibal draw or paint or play piano; those were the moments she felt most connected to him.
“I’m not trying to exert any angelic influence while I’m there,” Samandriel said. It couldn’t always be avoided, but he could still actively try not to. “Imagination is a dangerous thing sometimes.” And if her dreams were bad, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Hannibal’s were.
“Daddy doesn’t tell me what he dreams. But he wakes up crying, calling out for his sister.” She bit her lower lip, knowing it had to be terrible, wanting to share his burden. “Maybe he could use an escape sometimes, drawing or whatnot.” She knew that she’d been playing the piano a bit more often of late.
“Perhaps, but if what he paints is more pain for him then it might not be worth it.” He looked over at her. “You see why I hesitate?”
“I do. You can’t control the source of inspiration, and it could be a shitty one.” She looked over at him. “I’m sorry. For all the things you can’t control.”
Samandriel’s response to that was to splash her. “Stop it. I’ll figure things out.”
Shrieking, she splashed him back, laughing loudly. “I believe in you. I may not believe in God, but I believe in you, you know.” She was being serious in a moment of playfulness, if only to keep him from worrying too much about himself or her. But it didn’t mean that she meant her words any less.
He swam away from her, slipping elegantly under the water only to surface near the stairs. “I’m only slightly annoyed that I’ve made it through the dark ages and they still haven’t let me down to give some of those people light. They need it. It’s not all plague and pestilence, but there’s so much that it feels like it. Much easier to look at Asia and Africa than it is Europe for the time being.”
“Do you feel the need to go correct history books?” Abigail grinned at him, pushing herself out of the pool to sit on the side again.
“I felt that need long before I started dreaming,” Samandriel said calmly. “History is written by the victors, sadly. They cover up their own atrocities with wheat paste and lies.”
“Don’t you mean white paste?” She couldn’t help the quip. She’d never felt that need, if only because she’d never seen the point. People would believe what they wanted to anyway - there was loads of information, more than ever before, and yet people seemed stupider than ever.
“Wheat paste is harder to get off,” Samandriel pointed out. “There’s stuff from the Romans that was wheat pasted up and it’s still there.” He took a few steps back and then dove smoothly back into the pool.
Abigail laughed, applauding his dive. When he surfaced, she let her legs trail into the water again. “So. Are you moving in with him? Or just going over a lot?”
“That’s...a complicated question to answer when teleportation is involved,” Samandriel said thoughtfully. “I haven’t slept in my room since I got my wings if that clears things up.”
“Good.” Abigail smiled at him, glad that he was with Lucifer more often than not. “Have you danced with him? He’s a great dancer.”
Samandriel arched a brow. “What are you doing dancing with my boyfriend before I do?”
“I was at his club giving him the speech, and a good song came on.” She shrugged. “It was fun, I got to wear my new Prada that Daddy picked out.”
“You should see my new Armani,” he teased, winking at her. Hey, she’d been bugging him to get better clothes. It just so happened that his employer provided.
That made Abigail laugh, leaning forward excitedly. “Tux or suit?”
“Both,” Samandriel said. “Give him a call sometime and bring Hannibal so you two can watch me play. I’ll text you my schedule. I will say that I look dashing in all black.” He had the complexion for it, which was strange and the lack of color managed to make his eyes even more intense.
Most people looked good in all black, hence its consistent popularity. But she knew that it would make him look all the more older, more distinguished. “I’ll do that. He and I got on. I see why you like him. He’s ... commanding, isn’t he? Not in the sex way. Just in the - he could walk into a room and make people look at him without saying anything way.”
“He’s not commanding in the sex way,” Samandriel said. “Everything is a choice and that choice is always respected.” Samandriel always had the option to say no. It was part of why they didn’t have a safe word between them. He was certain that even in play if he asked Lucifer to stop, he would.
“But yes, he does have that kind of presence. It was...difficult at first, playing at the club and watching people watch him. I managed, of course, and for a while it was through a passive-aggressive attempt to turn the attention over to me by playing more complex things. And then I got over it and just played from the heart instead. No matter who else looks, he’s still mine.” He laughed softly. “I think I stopped when I realized that my wings were out and my feathers were all ruffled. Had to put them away before anyone else who could see showed up.”
“For what it’s worth, when I look at him, I see someone like Daddy, but I see more of him in you. More of ... I don’t know, lines around his eyes that I hope crinkle when he watches you play.” Abigail looked down, feeling suddenly sheepish; her father had brought out a romantic, dramatic streak in her she’d never realized she’d had until he’d kissed her.
Samandriel smiled, soft and genuine. “Sometimes I feel like I’m trying to make up for lost time when I’m with him. Like...like all those thousands of years in Hell being denied anything truly beautiful and he needs to be full up on everything he can get here. I owe him that much. I owe humanity that much. So...so these days when I play, I play for him and I play for all the people in all the ages who never truly heard angel song, not even in heaven.”
“You two deserve each other.” She meant it too, on every level that people meant that platitude, but a bit more as well. “It’s almost like ... I don’t know, the dreams might make me believe in fate or something.”
Samandriel went to go be by her. “If you want to talk destined for each other, you should see my brother and his husband. Even without angelic eyes, those two…”
She hadn’t met either Dean or Castiel, though she’d heard their names enough. “They sound sweet,” she murmured. “I don’t know if that would scare me or calm me, to be in their position.”
“I wouldn’t call them sweet. Castiel is...words aren’t his forte, which isn’t surprising when you sit Thursday and Imagination next to each other. One of us will spin poetry and the other will listen and it’s not at all hard to guess who does which. Dean...if Dean is sweet to anyone, it’s Castiel and only Castiel. He’s...there are things called vessels in my dreams. Human bodies that can contain an angel. It takes much more than what a vessel normally has to contain an archangel. They’ll start falling apart if they’re not truly meant for it.
“Dean is meant to be Michael’s vessel. He’s not a big cuddly teddy bear. In this life, he was a warrior and from what I have heard of their dreams, in the other he did much the same. But they both seem to accept their lives together as though it’s the only thing that matters in the world. You should see the way Castiel looks at him. It’s like the whole world revolves around Dean. Others might call it treason, but it’s beautiful and who am I to judge ill in the face of love?”
Abigail listened carefully. “I’m not religious, but love’s really all we have, isn’t it?” She reached out to take his hand, squeezing it gently. “At least they can comfort each other, you know?”
“At least we all have someone like that.” Samandriel smiled at her, sad and tired.
Wrapping her arms around him, Abigail smiled. “You look tired. Do you want to take a nap?”
Samandriel closed his eyes, forehead against her shoulder. “No,” he said softly. “It’s not the kind of tired that rest can fix.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so she simply ran damp fingers over his hair, his shoulder. She didn’t know how to fix him, and she was scared that somehow, he’d break in an irreparable way. He was too precious to too many people.