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Aug. 12th, 2003 04:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
person4Well, I was going through my files and found the prologue of a Good Omens fic I was planning on writing once I had less things to finish up. Of course, being me, I never have less things to finish up with. So, since I felt bad about just leaving it to molder on my hard drive for god knows how long, I decided to put it up here.
If I ever get around to writing more it will eventually be Aziraphale/War. I suppose it could also be considered Adam/War, though it's not focused on. Oh, and past War/Athena. Very, very rough.
Of Cabbages and Kings
Chapter One
I own nothing, I’m just playing for awhile.
--------
It was twenty years after the averted apocplypse that she finally was reborn, if rebirth was even the right word for it. Reborn implied that she’d been born to begin with, that she was again, when in truth she had sprung fully formed from her father’s.... No. No, that hadn’t been her, that had been one of the little godlings who had swarmed the world in the distant past, one much like her and in whom’s company she’d passed many long years before the godling's temples had fallen and she’d crumbled to dust.
Twenty years she’d slept quietly within the heart of her sword, and it had been a period of peace the likes of which the world had never known. Weapons had been melted down to slag, treaties signed, third world countries had flourished and thrived under the care of richer nations, and for the most part people were happy despite the fact that a startlingly high number of new diseases had popped up in recent decades. Then an archeologist had had the misfortune of stumbling onto the sword within the ancient ruins where the angel had hidden it. He’d made the mistake of lightly touching the blade for little more then an instant, but that instant had been more then enough. A new body had formed from the dust around them, coloured in by the scarlet pool of the archologist’s blood as she tore him the pieces, by the tattered streamers of his skin and the off white of his bones as the flesh was striped away. Then, the sharpest bite of her long denied bloodlust satisfied, she lurked in the shadows around the camp he was with, relearning her craft as she fed the shadows that lurked in their hearts and caused them to turn against one another, fighting with tooth and nail like dogs until none were left standing.
She had walked through the blood drenched camp and laughed cruelly, then the laughter had died in her throat as she realized how hollow it rang. She had found no joy in this slaughter as she had in all those past, other then in those first brief moments after she'd been freed. Her laughter had been reflexive, something she was supposed to do rather then something generated by sheer unadulterated elation at a job done well.
She put it out of her head for the moment, having assumed that it was just the result of being out of practise and getting back into the old arms dealer trade. War soon raged in the world again, but as bodies fell before her and nations crumbled the emptiness within her grew.
A year and a half after her re-emergence she found Pestilence in a bar in Rwanda. He had smiled at her kindly and told her that with everyone but Death out of commission he’d taken up his old job temporarily. She’d asked him what it was like to retire, for the first time considering that her current job dissatisfaction might be a sign that it was time to give up. He laughed and told her life was pretty much the same, except people didn’t start dying whenever he came to town unless someone really pissed him off.
She’d dumped her hoard of weapons and left the country the next day. She wasn’t planning to actually quit, at least not then. She just wanted to a quiet place to think. She flew to England, and within a few days found herself driving into Tadfield, although if you’d asked her before then she’d have sworn it was the last place in the world she’d ever set foot in again.
When she discovered Adam Young still lived there she thought that perhaps she’d made a phenomenal mistake. Then his eye caught hers and he smiled and she reassessed that thought as he invited her out for drinks. In Tadfield’s only bar they got piss drunk and reminisced about the old times. Well, the old fifteen minutes or so, during which she’d fought to destroy the world and he to save it.
He fumbled like a virgin in the darkness of his room that night. Almost as if plucking the thought from her head, or rather by plucking the thoughts from her head, he told her that that was actually the case, and revealed to her the terror he felt at the thought of what he might do to any human woman he took to his bed if he lost control of his powers during climax. In reply she whispered into the flesh of shoulder the secret passion of her heart, of flashing grey eyes, soft tawny hair, and pale skin that tasted of honey and warm summer days beneath her lips while he moved within her. When she shuddered and sighed, passion spent, it wasn’t his name on her lips, anymore then it was her’s on his.
She woke before him and slipped from his small apartment, feeling some strange and stomach-turning mixture of filthy and absolved. The touch of his powers on her soul, or whatever passed for one, had left her feeling whole again, but in gaining so she’d betrayed the one she loved, who she’d been loyal to in all the long millennia since her death. She walked until she reached the next town, then rented a hotel room and scrubbed herself in it’s dingy shower to the point of bleeding, if she’d had blood to spill. Then she sat on the corner of the small bed and stared blankly at the black plastic cover of the bible lying on the bedside table and wondered what to do.
She was whole again, but the ancient bloodlust had not returned. In fact, she suddenly realized she found the whole job distasteful, and wondered how she’d ever thought it otherwise. Then she felt a moment of overpowering rage toward Adam, certain he must have done something to her while she slept. The anger died when she remember his whispers in the night, anxiously making sure that he hadn’t somehow harmed her as he’d always feared he would, even knowing full well that she was all but immortal. She knew that he wouldn’t have done anything to her, that somehow she must have done it to herself. It almost made sense in a way, the purpose of her entire existence had failed so why bother to keep working for the old goal?
She began traveling again, hitchhiking with anyone who’d stop for her. It’s not as though she had to worry about crazy murderers. She traveled to London, suddenly craving a big city atmosphere and found herself a flat and a job with a new tabloid. It was several months before she tasted eternity on the wind and with a sudden shock realized that that was why she was there, that she desperately desired the company of anyone who could remember the world as it had been in her prime, and who wouldn’t be as depressing to be around as Pestilence was.
So it was that one dreary fall day she pushed open the door to an equally dreary bookshop from which the scent of divinity wafted, unperceivable to the humans who passed it but making the store shine like a beacon to her as soon as she got within two blocks of it.
The angel looked up from where he sat reading a book behind the counter, mouth opening to say something, then snapping shut when he saw who it was. He fumbled for anything that could be used to defend himself if needed and she laughed, truly amused for the first time in years at the thought of this frumpled excuse for an angel trying to harm her. “Relax,” she purred in a tone almost, but not quite, like the dangerous one she had once always spoken in. “I’m not here for a fight. I just want to have a little chat.”
He didn’t look convinced of her good intentions, but since he was an angel he was too polite to toss her out like she was sure he wanted to. That was the whole reason she’d chosen him to seek out rather then the demon, even though she was sure Crowley would have been more interesting company. He did look as though he was seriously considering ignoring his angelic manners for a long moment, before he sighed and, in a defeated tone, asked, “Tea?”
She smiled and sat down in a chair that suddenly appeared across the table from him. “I’d be delighted,” she said, and was startled to realize that that was true.
I also came across a document that only contained the following:
"
We ha"
and nothing else. It's named lot1.rtf and I have no idea what the hell it's from. Admitedly I tend to make up rather cryptic file names (for example, there's one file named "sfsfsgd") but I know the code to understand them, so it's frustrating to find something like this.
Also, I now have a drawing journal at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cassie_doodles. It's completely empty right now, but should get it's first entry pretty soon now that I've finally figured out where the CD that goes to my tablet went.
If I ever get around to writing more it will eventually be Aziraphale/War. I suppose it could also be considered Adam/War, though it's not focused on. Oh, and past War/Athena. Very, very rough.
Of Cabbages and Kings
Chapter One
I own nothing, I’m just playing for awhile.
--------
It was twenty years after the averted apocplypse that she finally was reborn, if rebirth was even the right word for it. Reborn implied that she’d been born to begin with, that she was again, when in truth she had sprung fully formed from her father’s.... No. No, that hadn’t been her, that had been one of the little godlings who had swarmed the world in the distant past, one much like her and in whom’s company she’d passed many long years before the godling's temples had fallen and she’d crumbled to dust.
Twenty years she’d slept quietly within the heart of her sword, and it had been a period of peace the likes of which the world had never known. Weapons had been melted down to slag, treaties signed, third world countries had flourished and thrived under the care of richer nations, and for the most part people were happy despite the fact that a startlingly high number of new diseases had popped up in recent decades. Then an archeologist had had the misfortune of stumbling onto the sword within the ancient ruins where the angel had hidden it. He’d made the mistake of lightly touching the blade for little more then an instant, but that instant had been more then enough. A new body had formed from the dust around them, coloured in by the scarlet pool of the archologist’s blood as she tore him the pieces, by the tattered streamers of his skin and the off white of his bones as the flesh was striped away. Then, the sharpest bite of her long denied bloodlust satisfied, she lurked in the shadows around the camp he was with, relearning her craft as she fed the shadows that lurked in their hearts and caused them to turn against one another, fighting with tooth and nail like dogs until none were left standing.
She had walked through the blood drenched camp and laughed cruelly, then the laughter had died in her throat as she realized how hollow it rang. She had found no joy in this slaughter as she had in all those past, other then in those first brief moments after she'd been freed. Her laughter had been reflexive, something she was supposed to do rather then something generated by sheer unadulterated elation at a job done well.
She put it out of her head for the moment, having assumed that it was just the result of being out of practise and getting back into the old arms dealer trade. War soon raged in the world again, but as bodies fell before her and nations crumbled the emptiness within her grew.
A year and a half after her re-emergence she found Pestilence in a bar in Rwanda. He had smiled at her kindly and told her that with everyone but Death out of commission he’d taken up his old job temporarily. She’d asked him what it was like to retire, for the first time considering that her current job dissatisfaction might be a sign that it was time to give up. He laughed and told her life was pretty much the same, except people didn’t start dying whenever he came to town unless someone really pissed him off.
She’d dumped her hoard of weapons and left the country the next day. She wasn’t planning to actually quit, at least not then. She just wanted to a quiet place to think. She flew to England, and within a few days found herself driving into Tadfield, although if you’d asked her before then she’d have sworn it was the last place in the world she’d ever set foot in again.
When she discovered Adam Young still lived there she thought that perhaps she’d made a phenomenal mistake. Then his eye caught hers and he smiled and she reassessed that thought as he invited her out for drinks. In Tadfield’s only bar they got piss drunk and reminisced about the old times. Well, the old fifteen minutes or so, during which she’d fought to destroy the world and he to save it.
He fumbled like a virgin in the darkness of his room that night. Almost as if plucking the thought from her head, or rather by plucking the thoughts from her head, he told her that that was actually the case, and revealed to her the terror he felt at the thought of what he might do to any human woman he took to his bed if he lost control of his powers during climax. In reply she whispered into the flesh of shoulder the secret passion of her heart, of flashing grey eyes, soft tawny hair, and pale skin that tasted of honey and warm summer days beneath her lips while he moved within her. When she shuddered and sighed, passion spent, it wasn’t his name on her lips, anymore then it was her’s on his.
She woke before him and slipped from his small apartment, feeling some strange and stomach-turning mixture of filthy and absolved. The touch of his powers on her soul, or whatever passed for one, had left her feeling whole again, but in gaining so she’d betrayed the one she loved, who she’d been loyal to in all the long millennia since her death. She walked until she reached the next town, then rented a hotel room and scrubbed herself in it’s dingy shower to the point of bleeding, if she’d had blood to spill. Then she sat on the corner of the small bed and stared blankly at the black plastic cover of the bible lying on the bedside table and wondered what to do.
She was whole again, but the ancient bloodlust had not returned. In fact, she suddenly realized she found the whole job distasteful, and wondered how she’d ever thought it otherwise. Then she felt a moment of overpowering rage toward Adam, certain he must have done something to her while she slept. The anger died when she remember his whispers in the night, anxiously making sure that he hadn’t somehow harmed her as he’d always feared he would, even knowing full well that she was all but immortal. She knew that he wouldn’t have done anything to her, that somehow she must have done it to herself. It almost made sense in a way, the purpose of her entire existence had failed so why bother to keep working for the old goal?
She began traveling again, hitchhiking with anyone who’d stop for her. It’s not as though she had to worry about crazy murderers. She traveled to London, suddenly craving a big city atmosphere and found herself a flat and a job with a new tabloid. It was several months before she tasted eternity on the wind and with a sudden shock realized that that was why she was there, that she desperately desired the company of anyone who could remember the world as it had been in her prime, and who wouldn’t be as depressing to be around as Pestilence was.
So it was that one dreary fall day she pushed open the door to an equally dreary bookshop from which the scent of divinity wafted, unperceivable to the humans who passed it but making the store shine like a beacon to her as soon as she got within two blocks of it.
The angel looked up from where he sat reading a book behind the counter, mouth opening to say something, then snapping shut when he saw who it was. He fumbled for anything that could be used to defend himself if needed and she laughed, truly amused for the first time in years at the thought of this frumpled excuse for an angel trying to harm her. “Relax,” she purred in a tone almost, but not quite, like the dangerous one she had once always spoken in. “I’m not here for a fight. I just want to have a little chat.”
He didn’t look convinced of her good intentions, but since he was an angel he was too polite to toss her out like she was sure he wanted to. That was the whole reason she’d chosen him to seek out rather then the demon, even though she was sure Crowley would have been more interesting company. He did look as though he was seriously considering ignoring his angelic manners for a long moment, before he sighed and, in a defeated tone, asked, “Tea?”
She smiled and sat down in a chair that suddenly appeared across the table from him. “I’d be delighted,” she said, and was startled to realize that that was true.
I also came across a document that only contained the following:
"
Meow She Says
We ha"
and nothing else. It's named lot1.rtf and I have no idea what the hell it's from. Admitedly I tend to make up rather cryptic file names (for example, there's one file named "sfsfsgd") but I know the code to understand them, so it's frustrating to find something like this.
Also, I now have a drawing journal at
cassie_doodles. It's completely empty right now, but should get it's first entry pretty soon now that I've finally figured out where the CD that goes to my tablet went.