(Post by FizzGig and NotAFlyingToy)
'I am not a hero, I am not an angel...I am just a man. A man who's trying to love her, unlike any other....in her eyes I am.'
The center lawn of campus was just about deserted this time of night, nearly midnight according to the giant clock that towered over the lawn. Moonlight cast long, silvery shadows over the landscape, dotted here and there with stone structures, benches, statues, and a small collection of students gathered in the shadows of one of the picnic overhangs.
She was off to one side, her back resting against a pillar, one ear bud barely clinging to her left ear as the sounds of Josh Groban serenaded her. She wasn't aware of the other students, friends of hers, only of the lightness she was experiencing, the nub of a well-used joint resting limply between her fingers.
She nodded her head, chin bobbing against her chest as she slowly drew her knees up to her chest. This was easy. This was nice. She could forget everything this way, even if it was only temporary, it was a reprieve.
Gabby DiStefano was nothing, if not in absolute, unwavering control of her own life.
Gabby was nothing.
The only thing he noted that night was the cold that nipped his bones. Matthias delighted in cold; found it ever so fascinating that his breath would crystalize in front of him, took so much joy in the numbness of fingers that left him feeling like he had to rub them against each other rapidly to rid them of the bone-seeking chill. Part of the reason that Matthias made such a good mentor on the ground was his willingness to soak in information and enjoy it - from pain (on a basic level - he didn't like too much pain, but he often cried out in delight if he stubbed a toe) to pleasure (who knew that the crunch of toast could be so delightful?). He was a near perfect guinea pig, and could defend himself. The perfect agent.
The sound of a too-loud bass and a roaring car drew him towards the College campus, night after night. In his head, he was writing a book of sorts; an in-depth study of why young adults, and specifically college students, fought more and more than your average high school student. The study had take him all over the united states in search of various campuses and his results were largely the same. The only difference he could really spy was the fact that the College kids had more freedom.
In short? They partied because they could.
His usual attire of a white suit and black tie caught an errant lamp stream of weak, yellow-bathed light, casting a small reflection on the walls that he passed. In his right hand was a briefcase, where he kept his weapon and laptop, in case of need. As he walked, he noted the ghost-like appearance of the campus park, nothing but the rosebud glow of a used joint glimmering in the night as it dangled from a girl’s hands.
Now was a good a place to start as ever, he supposed.
Walking towards the girl, he smiled at her, his radiant teeth contrasting with his jet black hair and tanned skin. “Hello there, babe.” He said, his accent light and northern, using the vernacular he’d picked up.
“I was just wondering where I could find a good time tonight. You know where I could find some?”
She lifted her head slowly, peering at the man before her through squinted eyes. Her long, black hair partially obscurred her face, the crease in her brow a manifestation of her confusion. White suite. Briefcase. Was she hallucinating?
Where had Lexi gotten her shit from anyway?
At the man's words, she huffed a laugh, a wry smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. Letting the joint fall from her hand, she tilted her head back, the ridge of her throat lifting and falling as she swallowed.
"Party's right here," she rasped, spreading her hands out nonchalantly. The earbud had fallen away, music blaring from her iPod somewhere near her right hip. She didn't care. Sniffing hard, she lowered her chin slightly, staring at the man's breifcase.
"Nice suit."
"Thank you!" He chirped, all cheeriness and sunshine. He tilted his head, momentarily saddened at the state of her, but he promptly pushed the thought from his mind. He was not one to interfere in the affairs of humans unless it went against one of the Fundamentals. And while distasteful, pumping yourself up with hallucinogens wasn't against Fundamental.
He watched her throat with interest, curious about her. "Well, I was hoping you'd accompany me towards where the party is located, you know? I'm new here - don't know my way around too well."
He shot her what he hoped was a nervous smile.
She shot a look back. She wasn't oriented enough to know what kind of look she gave him.
"Sorry, but...I'm not in the mood to go walking." She lifted her shoulders in a dramatic shrug. "This..is a party of one." She reached for the bench of the picnic table, her foot scraping along the pavement as she brought her ankle around, folding her leg underneath her and trying to pull herself to her feet. "I, um.."
Shit. Totally forgot what I was going to say.
"The, er, frat halls usually have something fun going on. I woulda gone but, uh, not feelin' toooooo sociable at the moment." She smacked her lips with an audible 'pop', standing for a moment before abruptly plopping herself down on the bench. She tilted her head sideways and gave him a squinty-eyed look.
"M'name's Gabby if you care." she slurred.
"And I, am Matthias." He said, setting his briefcase down as he plopped down on the bench beside her. He looked her over, questioning her decision to be out this late, alone, and clearly intoxicated. Self destructive, his brain thought without consulting him. She means for something bad. Or Naivety. Or both.
"So, Gabby." He didn't think the name suited her. She should have something longer, darker and more poignant. "Why are you out here all alone? The un-sociable behavior from before?"
"Because I can," she drawled. "And before you, and your...fancy suit," she gestured at him, her nose wrinkled. "...get all uppity about my....current situation. I'm fine. Just. Fine. So you may go. Away."
She leaned back on the table, arms flopping out to either side as she stared at the roof of the pavilion. There was a moment's pause.
"Really. The frat house is more fun than I am. Pinky promise."
He quirked an eyebrow at that, not knowing how to respond to something that only children seemed to understand. "Ah, but you said that you're your own party. So, we can either sit here in a silence so awkward that it's pleasurable, or we can get to know each other better."
He crossed one long leg over his knee, leaning back against the bench. "Now, personally, I prefer the second option. But I'm okay with either."
She rolled her head to the side, her hair spilling out around her face like someone had taken an ink bottle and dumped it over. She blinked lazily at him, her lower lip tucking in between her teeth before she relaxed. Sitting up, she rested her elbows on her knees and let her head hang, that voluminous curtain obscuring her face from his view momentarily.
"Probably think I'm some...dirty frat-whore..." she said, though, it wasn't clear as to whether or not she was speaking to him..or to herself. "I don't do this all the time, just...sometimes. When it hurts."
She didn't look at him.
He leaned to his left, trying to maintain eye contact for as long as he could with her. When the attempt proved futile, he leaned back again, tapping his fingers against the back of the bench, a frown on his face. He was more than concerned, now. This woman seemed a broken soul, and it was a Fundamental that Angels do what they must to make the lives of the humans better. Perhaps it was not meant on an individual scale, but something about this girl throbbed, and he wanted to take away some of that pain.
He allowed some of his healing power into the tips of his fingers, warming the palm and making it glow slightly. With a soft hand, he placed it on her back, allowing the pleasant sensation to spread on her.
"I don't think that, Gabby." He said, softly. "What hurts?"
An audible sigh left her when his hand touched her back. She seemed to relax for a moment, pausing as she listened to him speak. She slipped her hands up to her face, cupping her cheeks and sitting back. Eyeliner and mascara stained her lower lid, smudged by her fingertips.
"My heart." she finally whispered.
He pressed his palm more firmly against her back, allowing the warmth to spread into her more as he channeled the warmth into her. It was a healing ray, normally, but he liked to use it to influence the humans in subtle ways, take away their cares, give them pleasant memories of human contact. As he sought inside her, his stomach clenched with her emotions, making him tremble slightly.
"There are cures for an aching heart, Gabby." The name sounded foreign on his tongue, so he tried again.
"Gabriella."
There. Just right.
"Why does your heart ache so? Talk to me. Maybe I can help."
"How could you?" she replied, the drugs that fogged up her system making her emotions flip at a dizzying speed. She was angry now, irate, in fact. She didn't want this man near her. She didn't want his pity. She was, and had always been, better off on her own.
With a muttered curse, she shoved herself to her feet, walking away from him, crossing her arms firmly over her chest and going to lean on the pillar. She would walk home, but she didn't know where she'd left the keys to her apartment, and she especially didn't want to beg her goody-two-shoes roomate to open up for her. It was likely that the girl was asleep with her earplugs in. Gabby was kind of stuck.
"S'none of your business." she added, stubbornly, turning her face away from him. "M'fine. I'll deal with it."
He stood then, towering over her. When she walked away, he followed, the healing glow vanishing from his arm as she dissappeared from his grasp. Following behind her with his longer strides, he stopped as she leaned against the wall, his height enabling him to see the top of her head and nothing more. Her face was turned stubbornly away from him, so his hand went over her shoulder, fingers spread against the concrete piller.
"Why are you afraid of me, Gabriella?" He asked in his musical tone. "Why do you not let anyone in? I'm a good listener. All you need to do is talk."
The other hand was placed on the side of the pillar, around her right arm. He was surrounding her; boxing her in.
She shrunk away from him, holding herself more tightly as she tucked her chin to her chest. She seemed to contemplate. She was probably hallucinating anyway. What could be the harm in talking to someone who likely wasn't going to be around in the morning?
She took a breath, glancing sideways and only getting a glimpse of his broad chest.
"It's ... the anniversary of my mom dying." she began, her voice thick. "And...I don't expect stuff from my family. I don't want anything from them...but today, I just...get this phone call from my Dad..." She worked her jaw, lifting her chin. "And he just...doesn't say, a word, about Mom..." She sniffed, hard. "Like...pretending...nothing happened. He talks about my sisters, doesn't ask me ... if ... doesn't even let me talk, and then, at the end..." She was getting worked up. Embarrassing.
"He, ugh, he tells me he's sure Mom's forgiven me. That..that Jesus," she spat the word. "..will forgive me. And, he hung up..."
Matthias took it in, noting her aversion to the jesus-topic with a slight frown. He had heard worse, however, and so nodded as she spun her tale, knowing by the passion with which she spoke that this was a closely related topic to her wounded heart. He didn't smile as she laid her tale out, just listened carefully, hanging onto her every word.
When she finished, he spoke.
"I am sorry for your mother's death, Gabriella." He said, his voice soft and soothing. "And I'm sorry for your fathers selfishness and insensitivity. That kind of conversation isn't the best to have on such a mournful day. But your mother is in a better place. This I know."
He spoke with assurance, more than just a wondrous belief. In his voice, he conveyed a fanatic and final knowledge, an assurance of the subject at hand. He wasn't confident; he was sure. He moved away from her, giving her plenty of space as he backed up.
"I feel confident she wouldn't want you to think of her this way; in a way of defeat and misery. She'd want you to
live. She'd want you..."
He extended a hand; big, warm, strong. "...to move forwards."
Close enough to start a war...
She listened to him speak, unable to deny how, well, how nice his voice was to her ears. It wasn't just a soothing physical sensation, but it was like a balm to her soul, and while with others who had told her similar things over the long weeks and months and years since her mother's death, none of them had stuck with her. His words touched her heart, encircled it, squeezing tight until she felt like she couldn't breath. This wasn't the drugs, either, this was something real, something entirely different from what she'd always felt. Loneliness was replaced with a sudden, achingly bright beacon of hope.
Hope.
She turned to look at him over her shoulder, lips pressed tightly together as tears rolled down her cheeks. With a furrowed brow, she kept her arms firmly crossed, refusing to take his hand.
But I won't let you close enough to hurt me...
He terrified her.
Shaking her head, she glanced down at her feet to make sure she was right in her heels, then sighed. "I have to go."
She didn't wait for his response. She simply began to walk away, shoulders hunched, her heels clicking on the sidewalk as she felt herself get swallowed up in shadow, a prison of her own making.
I'll be my own savior standing on my own two feet...
He paused as she walked away, and sighed loudly, audible to her over the clicking of her heels. He had held out his hand, and she had left. Puzzlement surrounded his mind, buzzing at him like bees. There were very few humans that rejected his hand when he held it; indeed, he had been created so that they
wouldn't reject his offer. So a human that had the will to reject his principles and his physical comfort - twice - was something that was very serious, indeed.
She seemed to like being in the dark.
She fascinated him.
For now, he let her walk away, the click of heels on pavement a dejecting sound to his ears. However, with quick hands, he threw back his coat, his briefcase flying to hide beneath the long fabric. Large, white wings, with long feathers protruding from a single, thick bone came sliding out of his back, folding experimentally before taking off, sending him higher into the air, quickly becoming masked by the night. The coat and the case would dissappear at a word, and he wasn't worried about someone stealing them; they were unopenable to all but his own hands.
He flew through the air, her white escort in the black night, his eyes zeroed in on her figure below him. Until they met again.
And then he'd find out about her.
