Inky ^beta

Pure had never felt so rejuvenated, not even a prayer could refresh his spirit like this. Part of him dared to question how humans led such exhausting lives if they could rest like this every day; speaking of which, he was beginning to appreciate the quiet living so far from the humans he’d once carried the burdens of granted him. It felt like a privilege to keep enough freedom for dreams of his own.

He should’ve known that freedom was a sin. He should’ve remembered, for though he felt stronger his body weighed him down like an anchor. He should’ve worried when he stood to follow the sound of Brutal sharpening his favorite kukri outside, for his wings wouldn’t allow him to float off the ground.

Instead he stumbled- he’d always hated walking, after all- rubbing his still sleepy eyes as he mindlessly wandered towards the sound of the freak’s work.

“Gah!” Brutal winced, nearly swinging his weapon before he realized it was Pure emanating the blinding glow approaching him. “Do ya gotta be so bright, angel?”

“My apologies,” the angel murmured through a yawn, wary eyes tracing the tip of the kukri. “Is it not dangerous enough?”

Brutal made sure to sharpen it again before he spoke. “Nah, gotta keep it perfect. It ain’t easy slicin’ a guy in two, y’know.” Still he seemed to take the hint, sheathing it and almost forcibly taking Pure’s hand to lead him through the desert. “I don’t know ‘bout you, but I’m starvin’.”

“I have no desire to eat,” he responded truthfully, though Brutal still gave him a strange look. “Do not worry about me. Like I said, I am immortal, I was not designed to worry about the same needs you have.”

Suddenly, Brutal had tugged him closer. “Ya really expect me ta buy that, when ya slept like a baby last night?”

“You suggested it.” Pure huffed, nudging the freak back with one wing. “Would you prefer it if I kept watching you sleep?”

“Nah. I was damn near rippin’ those pre’y blue eyes right out,” Brutal teased back, as if he hadn’t singlehandedly horrified the angel he was tugging along.

The desert seemed endless; Pure couldn’t fathom how anyone traversed this far on a daily basis. He’d never been so unwillingly aware of his own two feet, unable to set them free no matter how hard he flapped his wings. Shameful and powerless as it was to admit, he’d rather be carried than walk on his own. At some point even his wings started to drag, drawing a peculiar trail in the sand. When civilization started to dot the horizon, his wings perked up again.

“I’m gonna do a little.. shoppin’.” Brutal, mighty full of himself, expected the angel not to question him. “Ya don’t mind waitin’ outside, do ya?”

“Non, but I-”

The freak had already kicked his way through the back door of the closest convenience store, clearly expecting Pure to do as he was told; once again he didn’t interfere, though he listened intently to the sounds of obvious wreckage as the scene inside played out. Brutal’s actions went against every instinct the angel had, to protect the innocent and keep the peace; fascinating as he was, Pure still wondered why he needed protection at all. He could barely hear his own thoughts above the shrieks of the clerk being threatened inside- perhaps even more proof that Brutal could fend for himself.

The eventual silence was somehow more chilling than endless screams. Whatever the freak had planned, his job was done; he emerged from the door that was torn off its hinges with a sack of food as if nothing had occurred there at all.

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Are.. you alright?” If he wasn't so dedicated to his job, Pure would’ve exorcized the monster where he stood and sent him back to where he came from. Instead, he was struggling to tune out the sea of red behind him for his own peace of mind.

Pure’s constant concern made the freak feel pretty important. “Yeah. Get a move on, angel, I’m starvin!”

The suddenly debilitated angel had forgotten he needed to walk back; surely, this was divine punishment for something.

“I got these for a steal,” Brutal grinned wide, patting the enormous bag for an extra brag. “We’re eatin’ fancy tonight.”

“Are you sure that was not a robbery?” Pure chimed in softly, much too exhausted by the heat to protest and fanning himself with his wings. “You could not have paid for those..”

“Course I didn’t. What kinda man would I be, payin’ for groceries?” Though he found the angel’s appearance- disheveled, covered in sweat, and slouching- amusing for a moment, his feet dragging across the sand struck Brutal as odd. “Why’re ya walkin’?”

“..I don’t-“ Some late response it was, Pure started to panic at the thought of losing the powers specially granted to him by their lord and savior. “I don’t know, I suppose I cannot.”

The freak beside him, always full of surprises, stopped in his desert tracks to give the angel a dumbfounded look. “Well, why didn’t ya say so?” With his free hand, Brutal scooped the angel off the ground as if he was as light as his pristine white feathers. He wasn’t anywhere near as aggravated as he was before, carrying Pure rather delicately and, this time, giving him the chance to wrap his arms around the brute’s neck for stability. “Wouldn’t want the prissy princess gettin’ all dirty, would we?”

It was astonishing how nonchalant Brutal remained, every single time he made the angel’s heart drum to an unholy beat. Pure wondered if he was even aware at all; he had to be, right? The feeling of flight he felt in Brutal’s arms couldn’t be replicated, even by his own wings.

Pure’s staring was not only blatantly obvious, but bound to be called out.

“Somethin’ on yer mind, angel?”

“Non!” He shrieked back, nearly falling from Brutal’s arms if not for his safe grip. “Non, it’s nothing. Comme j’ai dit, do not worry about me.” Why were his cheeks burning again? At this point, hell itself was just taunting him. “I was just wondering.. how do you do it? You harbor so much hatred, just to kill the innocent,” he lifted one arm to brush a messy strand of the brute’s hair from his eyes, so naturally that he didn’t process the decision until it was too late to regret it.

“They’re not-” the freak seemed to forget his defense as soon as Pure reached for his hair. “..I do what I hafta do, alright?”

The angel doubted that. “Well, that’s no way to live… Ce n’est pas grave. I must teach you faith, the lord can forgive after all-”

“Ya want me ta drop ya?” Pure yelped, and held on for dear life as Brutal broke into a laughing fit that could’ve very well caused him to drop the angel on accident.

“Non, non! T'as pas intérêt!” In his panic, the angel’s now useless wings started to frantically flap, inadvertently whacking some sense into the one carrying him.

“Alright, quit it!” Brutal accepted his defeat, placing Pure down gently to kick the shoddy panels from his shack’s entrance and determine how he’d manage to shove his loot bag inside.

The exhausted angel, on the other hand, took the initiative to claim the lackluster bed for himself. He was just about ready to drift back into those coveted dreams when Brutal managed to fit the bag inside, nearly tearing the wall in half in the process.

“How ‘bout I make it up to ya?” Before Pure could decline, the freak had reached one arm into the depth of the bag to retrieve a handful of tiny white chocolates. “Betcha these ‘re real good.”

“I’m alright, but thank you.. I do not need to eat.” It was a redundant reminder, though even then Brutal didn’t seem to take no for an answer. The insistence made him reconsider; he’d trusted the freak once before, and gained the invaluable experience of his very own dream. So long as Brutal was opening up to him, his work felt like progress; and, after all, what could go wrong if he tried only one? “But, if you insist..” The angel twirled the candy in his hand to inspect it first, a nervous delay until Brutal lifted his hand to hurry him up.

What he felt was much more than sustenance. A taste, once he’d recalled the word, then multiple: the first layer of chocolate, so decadently sweet, then the tart red cherry filling that oozed from the inside. Taste.. It was fascinating, so confusing that he’d left the flavors swirling over his tongue until it all melted away. Then, he spotted the rest still in the brute’s hand; he leapt at it like a ravenous fiend, like he couldn’t survive without the sugar rush and the cherry red dripping down his chin.

“C’est délicieux.. Je n’ai jamais-” Pure could hardly speak with so much candy shoveled into his mouth like a graveyard for his overwhelmed taste buds. He could only break free from his trance when Brutal’s hand shifted forward to wipe the filling from his chin in one swift motion, instead locking his dazed, dilated blue eyes on the very freak to blame for his sin.

“Ya like that, don’tcha?”

“Oui!” The angel chirped in an instant, desperate for more sugar and- notably- starving. If not for whatever decency he held onto, he would’ve licked what remained of the cherry flavor from Brutal’s thumb. “Je n'aurais jamais cru que le goût pouvait être aussi excitant… Is there more?”

“Nah, sorry angel..” It was somehow natural for Pure to hinge on the freak’s every movement, complying in hopes of receiving more sugar nonetheless as Brutal forced his mouth open. “That cherry filling suits ya, maybe we could get our hands on more.”

As soon as excitement took precedent from the glow in the angel’s eyes, the implications of stealing even more candy shook him back to his purity. “Non, we cannot steal more.. It is fine, I shouldn’t- ..I should not have indulged like this in the first place. Forgive me.”

“For what? ‘M glad ya liked it so much, nothin’ wrong wit ‘at.” From the enamored grin on the freak’s face, he truly did seem proud. Still, the gut feeling that everything Pure did under Brutal’s influence was terribly wrong festered, a nausea inducing mixture of fear, regret, and the addictive taste of sugar on his tongue.

“..Non, I do not want more.”

Unfortunately, Brutal hadn’t asked, and was quick to substitute the chocolate with a bright red cherry. “Aw, don’t ruin the fun.” The angel was still so malleable in his hands, practically allowing the freak to place the fruit in his mouth and clasp it shut with his palm. “How ‘bout that?”

Even muffled by the brute’s hand he made an attempt to argue, though the taste on his tongue made him too curious to pass it up. As soon as he bit into it, his newfound fascination with sweets was swiftly satiated, only this time to be interrupted by the cherry’s stem.

“Spit the pit out,” Brutal offered, finally uncovering the angel’s mouth long after he’d stopped protesting. This didn’t impress Pure, who complied with a rather comical spit and a scowl as cherry juice dripped from his lips. Brutal found that even more amusing. It looked so similar to blood, and sadistic as he was, he savored the idea of defiling one of the lord’s purest beings with the makings of a monster.

He could take on that challenge, after all.