Inky ^beta

“Care to show me where you reside..?”

Brutal visibly took offense to Pure’s request, though the angel was quickly growing accustomed to his near constant expressions of pure hatred. Though he was vehemently opposed to allowing someone into his walls- quite literally- so easily, he seemed to simultaneously recognize that fighting the angel over his shoulder any more than he already had did him no good. With a grunt, probably a threat that couldn’t come to fruition, he turned to follow a trail of bloody boot prints further into the desert.

It was hard to gauge the size of the shed in the distance once it came into view, but Pure imagined it couldn’t have been so uninhabitable for the man to live there.. oh, how wrong he was.

The first detail he noticed was that the makeshift home was no larger than an outhouse. Pas terrible, he convinced himself, at least until the boarded up windows appeared through the desert haze. If the ‘KEEP OUT’ sign wasn’t enough of a deterrent, the ‘FUCK OFF’ not only etched but burned into the welcome mat surely was- for anyone besides his devoted guardian angel, of course. The picture grew bleaker with every inch he floated closer, until they reached an abrupt halt at the front door.

“Well, this is..” The angel held back judgement, tapping the wood planks as if the door would magically open. “How do we enter?”

“Not like that, that’s for sure." Lifting one of the boards with ease, he gave a sly grin. "This one’s a fake.. here, one sec.” Leading him to one side of what could barely be considered a building- shack would suit it better- the unphased killer tossed the corpse leaning rather unceremoniously against the wall to Pure’s feet. “Just.. throw ‘im over there, the vultures’ll love it.”

Brutal didn’t seem to notice when the angel nearly gagged, only weakly prodding the body with his foot before lowering to close eyes that were left wide open in terror in their last moments of life. With all of his years facing the sins of the masses, nothing could’ve prepared him for a man that used the bodies of his victims as house decor; in fact, he wasn’t even sure there was a way to repent for such sins. Clearly, it was his duty to find one.

Shoving against jammed planks until the trapdoor was forced open the cold blooded killer beamed, leaned against the entrance to a probable death trap as if it was nothing. “‘Ere we are. Don’t mind the mess.”

The entrance was far too small for him- not his body, but his magnificent wingspan that he’d considered a blessing until that moment. Eventually settling to shove his way in with his wings pressed flat together, he hoped for.. well, at least not the worst he could conjure. Though he wouldn’t put any sort of mess past a man so insane, he was relieved that the aforementioned clutter consisted of only weapons strewn about above jars of waste and dry pools of blood; if he was forced to reside in such a confined space surrounded by bodies, not even the divine orders of his god could contain him.

“C’est..” He took a deep breath- one that would’ve sucked the soul out of him with layers of unimaginable stench if he wasn’t immortal- and held back his disgust even when Brutal seemed prepared for it. “It could use some renovations.”

“Don’t even think about it,” the other immediately snapped back with a warning glare as he collapsed into his paper thin spring mattress.

Pure looked around- though there wasn’t much to see in such a tiny room, after all- until he set his sights on the table occupying the opposite half of the shack; under the clutter of misplaced weaponry was the only place for him to sit. “Je vais me faire de la place.” When he received nothing but another warning growl he got to work, fixing the pile of swords, axes and sharp objects that were surely made for some deadly use back in their rightful places on the wall rack to make his own space beside the killer’s single practical appliance: a small silver toaster, or at least he’d seen some glimmer of silver beyond the rust.

“Parfait,” the angel hummed, content with his work, and floated into his designated spot to ensure it was comfortable. He was at least thankful he’d kept his gloves on for such an occasion, though he was not so happy about awkwardly folding his wings to fit. Still, so long as he was serving the lord he would not make a fuss, instead returning to his most sacred duties.

Pure’s table seat was an excellent vantage point after all, the perfect place to watch over the monster he was now in charge of while he slept. Even so, it was not fit for an angel just yet; filthiness, he could manage by cleaning up on his own. It was the weight of Brutal’s sins that made the place so off putting- the horrible amalgamation of them that Pure could feel like the pressure that perpetually drew him closer; if he was going to get anywhere in his quest to absolve the man of his endless sins, he’d need sanctity of his own. He raised both hands from his lap and over the floor below, which he imagined looked more like a summoning ritual to the uninitiated man across from him.

“Fuck’re ya doin’?” Brutal grumbled, halfway between curious and disturbed. He hardly moved to grab one of the blades from the rack beside him- practically everything in the shack was within reach- and began to carve idly into a spare plank while he watched the ordeal.

“Blessing your-“ His hands faltered for a moment as he considered what to call what was practically a renovated outhouse. “..home.”

“Won’t do shit,” Brutal gruffed back, keeping a watchful eye on the angel as he pouted and stubbornly continued, sprinkling holy water across the floor seemingly out of thin air.

Prayers commanded all of his focus, and cleansing his new assignment’s home was no exception to said fortitude. Blinded by the glow blanketing his vision, Pure couldn’t be bothered to notice the grimace on the other’s face as his shack was defiled by the purity.

“Je-“ Just as Brutal attempted to exclaim his trepidation, the thought of using the lord’s name in such a circumstance left a sour taste in his mouth, instead silencing him completely. He sank back with a huff, tossing the knife that had only just been reorganized and turning to stare at the much less disturbing blood stained wall. “‘m goin’ ‘ta bed, don’t do any more o’ that bullshit. I sleep wit’ one eye open.”

“Bien sûr,” The angel murmured between the ends of prayers and an amen before winding down and lowering his stretched arms. “Votre souhait est mon ordre.”

“That a yes, or a threat?”

“Yes, I will not bother you.” Though his chipper tune was rather convincing, Brutal’s skeptical glare still burned him one more time for good measure before he kicked his shoes off to the now glistening floor and grumbled to himself about the unbearable angel imposed upon him.

Pure watched intently as he settled in, pointed ears trained on the sound of his breaths in anticipation of the telltale snores of slumber; just as he’d always done, though never so far out into the desert and watching over only one madman. He watched in deliberation far longer than he’d planned, though it was clear that Brutal hadn’t fallen asleep when he peeked over his shoulder to see the angel’s wide eyed stare glued to him.

“Holy- what the bloody hell?!”

“Oh my!” Pure jumped, wings flapping in what little space they had. “Is there an issue, mon Seigneur?”

Brutal scowled incredulously, as if the issue should’ve been obvious. “Can’t I get some damn privacy?! Those bulgin’ bug eyes’re burnin’ holes in my back.”

“I must assure your safety..” The guardian angel tried- in vain- to reason with a man that never wanted protection in the first place.

“..Ya don’t sleep?”

“Non, I do not require sleep. You, however..” With that Brutal turned back to create as much distance as he could in such a confined space, this time pulling the covers over his head to shield himself from the other’s watchful gaze. He’d finally given in, it seemed, and before long the man was truly asleep and prepared for Pure to get to work.

This time, he’d take a more direct approach in his protection. Floating across the tiny gap to sit on the edge of the bed he slipped off one of his gloves, dipping them towards the vial of purified water in his suit jacket and lifting the less than secure blanket fortification to trace a cross on the man’s forehead. He didn’t bother retrieving his bible, for his voice could recall every word of the protection prayer he effortlessly recited. It was nothing special, a power he’d granted many times to the most faithful members of his church. It should’ve stuck the first time, as it always had. When it didn’t, the angel faltered. What sort of interference was this? Was the man perhaps.. too unholy? Pure was not a quitter, he’d just need to try again. The blessing was reluctant, though it finally stuck the second time. Satisfied with the glow emanating from the holy water mark- surely, Brutal would flip if he saw it- the angel retrieved his gloves, murmuring a soft “bonne nuit” into the man’s ear before fluttering back to his own side of the shack.

Brutal grumbled a few incoherent threats as the cries of wandering crows stirred him awake, even if he never truly intimidated them enough to shoo them away. Greater than his desire for more sleep, however, was the hope that he’d just experienced a torturously long nightmare about a less than pleasant angel invading his home. What would an angel be doing here, protecting him anyway? He snorted at the thought, burying his face into his pillow to flee from the sunlight. He couldn’t do the same to escape the unsettling feeling of being watched, looked down upon by the eyes of the divine. When he swung around to face the rest of his room, he nearly tumbled off of the bed.

“Dear god!” His hand reached for the stolen vase behind him before he could identify the ethereal figure, swinging it with enough force to do damage only for the angel to effortlessly catch it.

“Ah!” Pure yelped, turning it over in his hand to trace the patterns. “What a lovely design..”

“Damn filthy bugger,” Brutal scrambled, finding nothing within reach to throw again. “Get the fuck outta my shack!”

“Have you forgotten?” The angel frowned, almost insulted- hurt, even. “I have already told you, I cannot. We are tethered, I am your-“

“Guardian angel here ta protect me,” Brutal hissed, barely refraining from throwing the angel out. If he could even do that. “Goddamnit! Heard all your shit alrea’y. I really convinced myself that was a fuckin’ dream..” He held his head in disbelief, the only way to prevent himself from tearing Pure apart with his frustration.

“Please do not use the lord’s name in vain,” the servant of god replied rather monotonously, only fueling the freak’s fiery rage.

“Yeah?” Brutal had reached for the discarded dagger without warning, choking the handle with his strength as he aimlessly waved it. “Why don’t I stab ya in a few veins, priest? Rip off those prissy wing’s while I’m at it.”

Pure, too, had limits; instead of biting back, however, he stayed true to his teachings. Floating off of the table, he loomed closer and above the monster he was in charge of. “May I ask.. why are you so violent? I am here to talk, if you need it. I can provide my company, a prayer-“ He lifted Brutal’s hands into his own as if to prove the point. “I will listen to your every thought.”

Brutal tried to stay mad, he really did. Yet the deity proved with every dig he took that he was nothing but angelic, pure as his name foretold. It didn’t take him much longer to give in. “..Gah, ain’t no gettin’ past ya.” He tore his hands free and got to work, collecting as many weapons as he could strap to his back, much to the angel’s dismay. “C’mon, then.”

Strong as he could muster, the angel gripped his shoulder in protest, unable to pull him away from his weaponry. “There are other ways to deal with your anger than.. This. I assure you!” When Brutal started to glare at him again, he tried to sympathize. “These.. murders, seem to be a daily routine.”

“I don’t give ya shit for starin’ holes in me back wit’ those pretty blue eyes while I sleep, do I?” The beast snarled back, shaking Pure off of his shoulder with little effort. Then, with no time to waste he spun around to hold the angel’s cheek, effectively stunning the deity within the gaze of his sardonic grin. “This is what I do best, love. And you’re comin’ along whether you like it or not, ain’t that right?” With this he patted Pure’s shoulder, not quite shaking him to his senses, and brushed the gesture off to crawl free from the suffocating shack.

The profound effect that Brutal had on him was terrifying. Still frozen in place, his cheeks burned with the rage of the fiery abyss. Was this divine intervention? For all he knew, Brutal was a demon himself. His skepticism remained; why did this man need a guardian angel, anyway? What was Pure meant to protect him from?

“Oui, I suppose,” the angel murmured back much too late as he was snapped back to his current fate by the tugging of the invisible leash around his neck. Folding his wings back once more he scurried off to follow, hoping he’d at least avoid the worst of Brutal’s carnage.