Categories > Original > Fantasy > One Hell of an Angel

Chapter II, Part ii: Contact

by Fallendire 1 review

"Claude, it's not like that. Nobody speaks ill of you," Grey murmured soothingly. "So that means nobody talks about me at all," Claude muttered.

Category: Fantasy - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Fantasy,Romance - Published: 2008-11-11 - Updated: 2010-05-14 - 1377 words

0Unrated
"Well." Grey turned his strange, pale eyes to his brother, still frowning slightly. "You've broken several regulations, Claude. There's miles of red tape, books worth of paperwork . . . you know how tight everything is."

"Paperwork?" Claude snorted, chuckling darkly. "Right."

"It's a figure of speech." Despite how uncooperative his twin was being, Grey's patience never faltered for a moment. "Perhaps we should go out and see your young guest."

"Yeah . . ." Claude started to get up, then paused. "Um . . . hey, how's . . ." He trailed off midsentence and shook his head. "Never mind."

Grey stood up and touched Claude's shoulder, his interest piqued. Normally he would have just red his brother's mind, but because he was in human form as well, he couldn't make use of his full abilities. "What is it?"

Claude sighed and turned around, a sheepish expression halfway between a grin and a grimace planted on his face. He knew Grey would get it out of him eventually, so he decided to just get it over with. "Er, how's . . . how's Gabriel doing? I mean, is he, uh, y'know . . . is he mad at me or anything?"

"Gabriel?" Grey hid his mouth behind his hand, coughing slightly. "He's, ah - oh, Claude, honestly. Gabriel?"

"I'm just curious!" the dark-eyed angel snapped defensively. "You know, for, uh . . . old time's sake."

"Gabriel has been promoted," Grey informed him, still seeming amused.

"Promoted? How do you get promoted from Archangel? He can't go any higher, can he?" Claude asked curiously.

"Well, they've made up some ridiculous new title. Technically, he's now CEO of the Afterlife," Grey murmured, making no attempt to hide his smile now.

"What are you smirking about?" Claude demanded. "Good for him, I say. And, uh . . . has his opinion of me changed at all?" he added, staring at the ground in an uncharacteristic display of doubt.

"Well . . ." The calmer of the two twins hesitated. "You know how Gabriel was very serious about what we do, Claude," he began slowly. His gaze flickered to his brother's face frequently, watching for any sign of distress. "And . . . well, that could make him very, ah, judgmental . . ."

"He hates me," Claude supplied, his lips twisting in an expression that couldn't quite be described as a scowl.

"No!" Grey said hurriedly. "He just - well, as Archangel -"

"- or whatever he is now," Claude interrupted dryly.

"- Gabriel is required to see things in a sort of . . . black-and-white way." Grey laid his hand on Claude's shoulder comfortingly, but Claude brushed his hand away.

"Yeah, I get it. I'll bet he holds me up as an example for the newbies, right? 'Be careful, or you might end up like Claude Cordon, screw-up extraordinaire!' . . . or, 'Hey, if you want an example of what not to do, we'll just give you Claude's assignment transcripts!'" he hissed bitterly.

"Claude, it's not like that. Nobody speaks ill of you," Grey murmured soothingly.

"So that means nobody talks about me at all," Claude muttered.

Grey didn't have an answer for that. Claude brushed past him back out into the main room, where Joan had taken out her small sketchbook and was currently bent over it, biting her lip as she concentrated. Grey followed after him, concern written all over his flawless features.

Joan was absorbed enough in her drawing that Claude could sneak up behind her and watch. Without warning, he snatched it and jerked it out of her grip, holding it up so he could get a better look. "Yo, Grey, get a load of this!"

Joan said nothing, turning bright scarlet as Grey walked over to look at the artwork. A pencil sketch was lovingly inscribed on the page, perfectly and meticulously delineating a man's face. A very familiar man's face.

Grey leaned over and smiled kindly at her. "You're very talented. Which one of us is it?" he asked quietly. The hair and eyes hadn't been shaded yet, so there was no way of telling which of the angelic twins it was supposed to portray.

"It . . . it's Claude," Joan admitted, nervously tucking a short strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "If you look at the expression . . ."

Grey straightened up to take another look at the sketch, and an involuntary smile broke across his face. Sure enough, the mouth was twisted in an all-too-familiar scowl, and the eyes seemed to hard and shrewd to be Grey's. Now that she had pointed it out, there was no doubt that the drawing was of Claude.

As jaded as he was, even Claude couldn't help but marvel at the likeness. "It's like looking in a little black-and-white mirror," he remarked, laughing slightly. He handed the sketchpad back to Joan, flashing her a genuine smile - something rarer (and far briefer) than a solar eclipse. Then, predictably, his good mood snuffed out like a candle. "Hey, what the hell are you drawing me for, anyway?"

"Claude," Grey murmured reproachingly, touching his arm in subtle disapproval.

"I . . . well, I mean . . . you're very . . . I-I wanted to," Joan mumbled pathetically. "And . . . I didn't have anything else to do. The icepack was starting to melt," she added in a minuscule whisper.

Grey chuckled quietly and looked Joan up and down, reading her like an open book. She was petite - maybe five-foot-two, or even shorter - and achingly thin. He felt a pang of compassion just looking at her bony frame. Her chin-length blonde hair, darkened with rain, was cut in choppy layers, and her shorter sideswept bangs had a few streaks of pure black dyed in. Her sorrowful, doe-like eyes were unusually big, smeared with black eyeliner, and had purple shadows underneath them. She would have been very pretty (by human standards, at least) if not for the fact that she was so sickly.

"Joan," he said suddenly, causing her to jump in surprise. "Do you have somewhere to stay?"

"N-No," she replied shakily. That's why I was outside. Claude saved me . . ."

"Yes, I know. That's what we were just talking about," he said pleasantly. Claude knew his brother well enough to recognize the slight undertone of discomfort hiding beneath the cheerfulness. "Perhaps you'd be able to find somewhere to stay until you locate another place to live."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting the hints," Claude interrupted grumpily. He glanced at Joan, his black eyes flat and cold. "You can crash here . . . for tonight. But first thing tomorrow morning, I'm booting you straight out the door."

"Claude!" Grey turned around to face his brother, his expression once again strongly disapproving. "Please at least attempt to be civil! Can't you see she needs help?"

"Sure, she needs help. Doesn't mean I have to give it," Claude replied bluntly.

Joan spoke up timidly. "It's okay, really. I can find someplace else to stay. It's nice enough of him to let me stay for tonight . . . please don't fight over something silly like this."

"It's not silly," Grey insisted, not taking his eyes from his twin. "It's of utmost importance to me . . . to both of us," he corrected himself forcefully, glaring at Claude, "that you are well taken care of."

"Ugh! Fine!" Claude stormed over to his small couch and threw himself down on it, crossing his arms angrily over his chest. "The brat can stay here until she finds a new place. But you better not be slacking," he added, frowning at Joan. "This isn't a free ride. You better be earning your keep, and looking for new digs every single day."

Joan nodded obediently, but Grey still looked displeased. "Earning her keep, Claude? What in the world could you mean by that?"

Claude shrugged. "Laundry, dishes, rent -"

"Rent?! Honestly, you have no shame!" Grey fumed. He was coming dangerously close to losing his temper, and Claude balked slightly, Grey was usually flawlessly even-tempered, but on the rare occasion that he did become truly angry . . . Claude shuddered and decided to back off a little. His sense of self-preservation was still strong enough that he wanted to avoid that.

"It's fine, Grey, really," Joan murmured. "I have a job waitressing. I can pay rent."

"Provided Claude feeds you," Grey said stiffly, giving his brother a chilling stare. Claude let his head fall back on the armrest, groaning.

"Jesus frickin' Christ. Fine. Whose side are you on, anyway?!"
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