I was Thursday's child.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

Revelation can be more perilous than Revolution.
- Vladimir Nabokov

Wednesday's child is full of woe;
Thursday's child has far to go.
- Proverb

Friday afternoon, the Miskatonic cafe

The hours have slipped away like sand through fingers (am I a falcon), and in the great space of myself I watch things tumble outward and outward, ripples without end (a storm). Without flesh I hear the notes more clearly (a great song), a more perfect echoing as I unfold. I can hear it resonate within me, and it is too much. I put on a body, one I have not worn before, because it gives some relief, to keep cramped and still in a small place, even to be caught up in the minutiae of bodily experience, the pumping grossness of vein and bowel. There's an elegance to this body that I like, clean lines of it, its dark skin and long limbs stepping out of the desert and folded into bright cloth, hair wrapped with a scarf. I take it into the daylight, watching the shadow move across the greening grass near the tower and then the sunbright asphalt of the town, and I sit in the cafe with its fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee, hot and black, steam rising. I will endure all things I must.

[CLOSED]

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[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

The pain's just a twinge now. Feels almost like the old wound's healed, in spirit if not flesh. I can seem him now, and not cringe away. I don't think of him as Him, anymore. I think some of the gloss on my brother has tarnished. He's still great, still terrible and beautiful.

But he's petty, too. Sulking, stewing in his jealousy. He's human, on a scale that makes it more. Always saw him as something fundamental, atomic, indivisible from everything in Creation.

But he's inside it, too. Like the rest of us.

"Brother," I say, sipping from my coffee. "The coffee's hot, yeah?"

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

Azrael comes in. He is now so welded to that form that it is hard to see where Simon ends and he begins. What a thing he has become. But I am too tired for disgust, and I find part of me is glad to see him.

"Brother. The coffee's hot, yeah?"

"Aweh, ʿIzrāʾīl," I say by way of greeting, lilt to the voice of this body out of a lost continent. "Don't call me that, ou balie. I never was male." Or female, either. No brother daughter I. "Ja, it's hot." I lift my cup and look into the coffee, then set it back down. "Howzit going?"

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

He seems... defeated, almost. Weary. "Aweh, ʿIzrāʾīl," he says, the voice of his new body high and clear. "Don't call me that, ou balie. I never was male." I shrug. "It's as good a term as any in English. And we - they - saw you that way."

Should feel angry. I know what he is, what he wants. A little, anyways. But it's hard sometimes to hate someone all the time. The thought, since it's him, makes me chuckle.

"Ja, it's hot. Howzit going?"

I shrug. "Been better. Have some things that I've been putting off. Should get around to them, soon." I take another sip. "And you? Enjoying the taste?" I nod to his drink. "People are like a door," I tell him. "A body opens you up."

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"It's as good a term as any in English. And we - they - saw you that way."

I raise an eyebrow.

"That I find hard to believe, chine. You're forgetting how wide our thoughts were, then. Been in here too long," I say, and I reach out and touch his chin with one long fine fingertip.

"Been better. Have some things that I've been putting off. Should get around to them, soon. And you? Enjoying the taste? People are like a door. A body opens you up."

I laugh.

"They're the fabric of the door, domkop," I say, but there is no heat to the insult. "Who, do you think, is the negative space?" I cradle the cup in my hands. "It tastes different." It does for each body. There is such variation in their misery. "I cursed Zann," I say, because he will find out soon enough. I am sure he will see the mark of me on her. "Yoh, she wanted to fix me."

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

It's a good reminder, as she touches my face. "That I find hard to believe, chine. You're forgetting how wide our thoughts were, then. Been in here too long." Always feel less than him. Eternally the younger brother scrambling to catch up. It's not correct, entirely. I was always a bit apart. The hard-hearted angel, and I draw that name around me as we speak.

"They're the fabric of the door, domkop," she says. "Who, do you think, is the negative space?" My lips quirk at that. There's an easy answer to that, one that would throw salt in his open wounds. "It tastes different. I cursed Zann. Yoh, she wanted to fix me."

Feels like my heart's beating in my mouth. "I'm not surprised. At either." Have to see what I can do, to help her. Can't take what she's done away, but I can change it. Or curse or bless, to twist what he's done. "That shows pride, in Zann." Not sure if I'm throwing that at her, or just stating the facts. Not sure if I'm proud of her for trying, or sad that she thought he'd accept it.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

He is hurt by Zann's misfortune. I take little satisfaction from his misery, but nor do I wish to diminish it. It simply is.

"That shows pride, in Zann."

"Yes," I say. "Always my favourite sin." I smile a little, graze my fingertips against his scar, remember the making of it. Azrael's pride, and mine. "Do you miss the others?" I ask. What he would call our brothers. The מלאך.

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

"Yes. Always my favourite sin." She smiles and touches my face, trailing her fingers along the scar, under my eyes. Suppose it says something, that I challenged him that time. I think for the first time I'm starting to understand how pride brought the morning star down. Not pride, in thinking to overthrow the heavens. But pride in the insult, that it hurt her so much. Everything followed after.

"Do you miss the others?"

I shrug, uncomfortably. "Sometimes. But I've grown apart, since we met that time. And if I haven't sought them out, well. They haven't looked too much for me, either." Doesn't rankle, that. Think we all had to step aside, and look at things differently.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"Sometimes. But I've grown apart, since we met that time. And if I haven't sought them out, well. They haven't looked too much for me, either."

"You and me were always different, ou balie. Set apart. Even in the first days, ja." I touch his scar again. "What did it feel like, when I did that?"

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

"You and me were always different, ou balie. Set apart. Even in the first days, ja." I wonder. I was, where I did what was asked after the first two could not. But her? Was he really set so far apart from us? Or did she set herself apart, knowing his glory? Could we have known, if we'd noticed it?

She sets her hand to the scar on my face, again. "What did it feel like, when I did that?"

For a moment I think he means just now, but then realize. "It hurt," I say quietly. "A lot. Like fire, like falling, like salt in a wound." I set my mouth. "Like betrayal."

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"It hurt. A lot. Like fire, like falling, like salt in a wound. Like betrayal."

I smile a little, fingers following the line of the scar.

"Not a very subtle betrayal," I say, thinking of Tez. (A storm; or a great song.) "Why this body?" I ask. "You could have had any, mos. Why this?"

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

"Not a very subtle betrayal," she says, his hand still on me. I grimace, the gesture twisting the scar and pulling at my face. "We weren't much into subtle, then. Armies and legions and cohorts. Not the interplay of individuals, of emotions." Shake my head lightly. I always get too flowery, around her.

"Why this body? You could have had any, mos. Why this?"

I chuckle, low. "I could never just pull something out of nothing, like you. Creation doesn't fit me as well." Remember what you were? "Simon - I - was close by when you struck me. Close by and close to, the nearest thing to what I am. It was an easy fit." Never sure who I am when I speak like thing. No good words or perspective for this thing I've become.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

His scar twists as he scowls. What a strange thing you are, Azrael, man and angel twisted together, flesh and spirit knotted painfully into something new.

"We weren't much into subtle, then. Armies and legions and cohorts. Not the interplay of individuals, of emotions."

I smile.

"I do enjoy set pieces from time to time, ou balie, and I was gunning for a fight. Just for a change, you know." I sit back, sip my coffee. This mouth likes the bitterness of it, no need for sugar.

"I could never just pull something out of nothing, like you. Creation doesn't fit me as well."

(A great song.) I will not think of that now.

"Simon - I - was close by when you struck me. Close by and close to, the nearest thing to what I am. It was an easy fit."

"A butcher's got a certain poetry to it. Though you pretend not to care about that." I smile again, quite gently. Azrael. I am sure he thinks he does good clean honest work like a butcher. "So I never told you," I add conversationally, "that I steeked your girlfriend. You still seeing Syl?" I rest my chin on my hand.

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

We all wanted the fight. Just to have it out after all this time, just to see if we could end it once and for ever. And now, well. I don't know if any of us have figured out what we have, now. Maybe a few more breaths before the end. But then, that's always been sort of true.

"A butcher's got a certain poetry to it. Though you pretend not to care about that," she says with a smile. I shrug. "It's worked out so far." I smile thinly. "Should remember, though. I'm not a butcher by trade. A butcher's like a cobbler. Builds things from parts after the cow's dead. A slaughterman, he sees the cow as it dies, and it's his hand that brings it over."

He's petty, and he says "So I never told you that I steeked your girlfriend. You still seeing Syl?"

I laugh out loud in surprise, that he did, and that he's cruel even on such a level as that. Iblis, kin, your pride brings you so low. And then I stop, because I realize something else. "She'd never have done it, if she'd known it was you," I tell him. "Not after what occurred between her and the night wind. What form did you take?"

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"Should remember, though. I'm not a butcher by trade. A butcher's like a cobbler. Builds things from parts after the cow's dead. A slaughterman, he sees the cow as it dies, and it's his hand that brings it over."

"They are often like cows when they die," I agree. "Reflection of the hammer in their eyes, ou balie. Sometimes I wonder what death would be like for them if I had managed to end you." That is not something I seek now. Not yet.

He laughs when I mention Syl, and it surprises me enough that I smile, fingers steepled together on the table.

"She'd never have done it, if she'd known it was you. Not after what occurred between her and the night wind. What form did you take?"

"Where's the jol in telling you that? But I was a woman, I'll tell you that." I tap my fingers together. "Maybe I should have tricked you into bed, one of these years. For the joke of it. Give death his own little death, ja?" A quick smile, sharp sliver of teeth, and my hands go back to my cup.

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

"They are often like cows when they die," she says, twisting my metaphor to his own thought. I wonder if she knows she's doing it, or if it's just how he sees things, now. "Reflection of the hammer in their eyes, ou balie. Sometimes I wonder what death would be like for them if I had managed to end you."

Shake my head. "I have things to do, yet. You could try, but I think..." It would break something fundamental, if she did. I don't finish the sentence. "It'd be harder than you think. Might leave you vulnerable." And there's an idea. Frightening, yeah. But if there was someone else, strong enough or deep enough, to come close to matching him, well. If I hurt her badly enough, could be someone else could finish things.

The game might be petty, but for all that he doesn't let up. "Where's the jol in telling you that? But I was a woman, I'll tell you that." Wonder if she knows I'm going to tell Syl. Probably. For all he has her blind spots, he doesn't miss much. "Maybe I should have tricked you into bed, one of these years. For the joke of it. Give death his own little death, ja?"

My lips twitch again, at that. "I'm not so easy to fool," I tell her. "For all that lies are you." The thought repels me, sure. But there's something there, that worries me. He always could find the smallest lever inside someone.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"I have things to do, yet. You could try, but I think...It'd be harder than you think. Might leave you vulnerable."

I smile at him.

"You don't think I know it'd be hard to kill death? You must think I'm doff."

"I'm not so easy to fool. For all that lies are you."

Oh, Azrael, that sounds like a challenge. I need some little projects to shake me out of this...temper in which I find myself.

"Do you ever wonder how it would feel? For you to die," I say. "It must tug at you, helping so many through that gate."

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

"You don't think I know it'd be hard to kill death? You must think I'm doff."

I shrug. Knowing her, he's calculated it down as fine as you can. But, well. It felt close, that time when she struck me. The same when we met here, when Glass brought me back the first time. I can't know, since I didn't end then. But it felt like a close thing.

Don't miss the curve of his lips, when I deny her. Lord, he loves a challenge. Hope he doesn't take it up. "Do you ever wonder how it would feel? For you to die. It must tug at you, helping so many through that gate."

Shake my head. "Sometimes. But I was never as curious as you. Never as restless." Small smile, there. "I know my role, and my place, pretty well. Death, that death, isn't for me."

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"Sometimes. But I was never as curious as you. Never as restless." He smiles at me, and I smile back, small bright smile. I was always moving, even in the beginning, even when things were - even then.

"I know my role, and my place, pretty well. Death, that death, isn't for me."

"Do you think it ever will be?" I ask, resting my chin on my hand again, genuinely interested. I know so much of what is to come, and yet so much is hidden from me; a glass darkly through which even I cannot see, timebound as I am.

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

"Do you think it ever will be?" she asks, perching his chin to look close at me.

Shrug. "Maybe. At the end of everything, maybe." I snort. "Or that's a conceit, and I'll die whenever something kills me, or fade away, like some did. I don't know. I like to think I'll know what it's like," I say, looking down, "but not until the time is right."

I look over at her. "You? Any big plans, before the end? Will it all be worth it, then?"

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"I like to think I'll know what it's like, but not until the time is right."

I would like him to have that, I think. Not a happy ending, no. But a sense that things have come to the place that is meant. That much is left of kinship.

"You? Any big plans, before the end? Will it all be worth it, then?"

"I thought the end was a big plan, ou balie," I say, cradling the cup in my hands. "And no," I add, voice all winter, "it won't be worth it. I'm not doff; everything is a disappointment." I sip my coffee, cooled now. "But it will be done, and I want to be the mover. This much is mine."

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

"I thought the end was a big plan, ou balie," she says, holding her cup in both hands. "And no, it won't be worth it. I'm not doff; everything is a disappointment." Of course he'd think that, wouldn't he?

"But it will be done, and I want to be the mover. This much is mine."

I'm almost tempted to ask her to bring it to that now, then. Stop the waiting, let it end, and we'll see what happens. But I'm human now, too. And humans fight against the inevitable, push it back as far as they can. "If it ever gets to that," I tell him, "I'll do my best to steal the death of everything from you. Take it and give it meaning past your tantrum over who liked who best."

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"I'll do my best to steal the death of everything from you. Take it and give it meaning past your tantrum over who liked who best."

I laugh.

"I never thought I owned anyone's death, ou balie." I shake my head. "And it's never been your place to give meaning to anyone's death, just to give it. Pride, remember, comes before a fall." I smile at him. "Don't worry, ou balie. Still many things need to happen before it all comes tumbling down."

[simon-klavec.livejournal.com]

"I never thought I owned anyone's death, ou balie. And it's never been your place to give meaning to anyone's death, just to give it. Pride, remember, comes before a fall." She smiles at me. "Don't worry, ou balie. Still many things need to happen before it all comes tumbling down."

I finish my coffee. It's gone cool, and I hadn't noticed. I grin faintly at him. Bit of an effort. "Not my place, yeah. But, maybe Simon's." Humans give meanings to things, after all. "Should go." Talk to Syl. Zann. Figure out how to twist her curse. If I can.

"Be seeing you, I figure." Can't keep this up, not with this feeling that he's just amused by me. I can't get through the scars she's put on herself. Wonder how Zann thought she could. Wonder if it would have worked. But then, if he wanted to be fixed, she would be.

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

"Not my place, yeah. But, maybe Simon's."

"Still some distinction there, ja?" I smile at him.


"Be seeing you, I figure."

"Aweh, ou balie. Glad we've talked." And I am, in my way. I watch him leave, and then I run my finger through the coffee grounds at the bottom of my cup, spread them across the white china, fine dark stain, and look at the light coming through the window until it begins to pink, like a blood stain in water, and I return to the tower.