Moon Stalkers

On the roof he lays, a dying man with sunken cheeks and pale, pale skin. He can feel his life slipping out of his hands, not quickly, but slowly, torturous. It torments him and leaves him feeling helpless, alone in this vast, unending world. His eyes close weakly, the only parts of his body he can move anymore are his lips, eyelids, and neck, only enough to see and speak, but his voice is small and fragile. He lets the breeze of the night brush against his skin and pretends it's the caress of a woman he cares about, a woman who has been forced out of his life, much like the one before, by a man who only cares for his own life and not those of others.

He closes his eyes, the light of the moon bathing him in memories long suppressed. He allows them to come to him when Smiley lets him surface. He thinks of the beautiful woman in the bathtub, her skin as pure and smooth as the white porcelain that surrounded their bodies as they made love. He considers it making love, Smiley doesn't. He knew in that water, touching her that way, feeling that soft dampened hair, exactly how he felt for her. She was something he had been longing for since he could remember, but Smiley was taking that from him too.

He couldn't think too many ill thoughts of the man occupying his body, for Smiley would surface and he would lose this precious time when the wind and moon could comfort him. He is a prisoner inside himself, jailed behind the frigid bars of insanity. He bows his neck, his messy brow hair hanging in his dying lavender eyes and feels sadness and pain overcome him. Sometimes he just wants to die... But even Smiley won't allow that.

The silence embraces him in reply.

The woman sighed softly as she ascended the stairs out onto the roof.

She had been spending many a sleepless night out on the roof, stretching her wings. Thinking. Staring.

Jean shorts adorned her form. No stockings. No shoes. No shirt.

Sprouting from the milky pale skin of her bare back were four large white wings.

Her golden eyes turned to the figure already on the roof as she pushed open the door. She hadn't seen anyone up here at this time of the night before.

"Evening," she called out pleasantly. Her voice was soft, pleasantly girly. A surprise considering she stood over six feet tall

The man's eyes flicker open lazily, it's a struggle for him to focus, and he waits for Smiley to overcome him... But he does not. The man is left to communicate with another for the first time in decades. This is all most likely a way to torture the dying soul, another scheme of Smiley's to push his dying counterpart to the edge, break his spirit. The man would blush at the sight of the magnificent, winged, shirtless woman before him, but he is too weak to even muster that up. She could tell even in this moonlight something is severely wrong with his health.

"...Evening..." he says quietly, his voice near a whisper, a sick rasp to the quality of it. The breeze makes his hair dance loosely, his hands and legs stay still, as if dead and sewn to his body. His eyes dip down as not to stare at her glorious figure, he can only look up enough to meet the view of her bare chest.

Her hair, tied in a loose braid starting at the backs of her knees, swayed as she cocked her head to the side.

He sounded terrible. And now, on a close inspection from her current distance, she discerned that he looked just as bad as he sounded.

She stepped forwards slowly, her bare feet slapping against the stone as she neared him.

"What ails you?" she asked in a soft voice, dropping to her knees at his shoulder, looking down at him worriedly as she reached forwards to brush his hair from his face gently.

Achi didn't like seeing people ill. It worried her. She wasn't a healer. She was a Power. She couldn't help him. That scared her more than his ailment. She couldn't help him overcome his illness because she had no medical training.

As if by pure instinct the weak man before her leans his head against her hand, resting it in her palm as he looks up into her eyes. The corner of his mouth turns up to give her an extremely weakened smile, his eyelids drooping because he can't keep them up all the way.

He appreciates the concerned look on her face, but he knows she cannot help him. He's come to accept the fact that it will be a miracle that saves him... If it saves him at all.

"A curse..." he speaks quietly, using all his strength to murmur out the words, "...A bad one." He closes his eyes to rest them, though he would much rather enjoy looking into her stunning eyes.

She stroked his cheek gently with the backs of her fingers, frowning softly, her brows drawing together a little.

A curse.

Again, she knew she couldn't help him. She knew a fair amount of magic, but her skills in magic were of elemental influences and offensive spells. Her brother was better than her for knowledge on curses.

"How did it happen?"

She was curious. How had he gotten a curse?

Very weakly, barely moving at all, the dying man shakes his head no. He can't speak of it, not because the curse binds him, but because he doesn't have the energy to talk so much. He opens his eyes once more and looks up at her sadly, like a puppy dying of some unreachable disease, the level of innocence in him is startlingly high.

He could almost pass for a boy trapped in the body of an old, decrepit man. The life in him is slipping away slowly by the second and it is hurting him more than anything... Almost anything.

"...I'm dying... But..." he coughs, the pain of speaking getting to his lungs. He can't finish his sentence because of the pain.

Her brows drew together.

The more time she spent in his presence the more worried she got for him.

This curse was killing him. He was in so much pain that he couldn't even speak. She hated that such dangerous magic circulated the Earth. She'd have thought that Father would have put a stop to it when he realised how dangerous it could be to people. People like him.

She lifted the man slightly, stroking at his face as she rested his head in her lap. It was a little comfort but it was all she could give him at the moment.

"Can you tell me your name?"

She wanted to be able to keep some conversation with him. Even if it was just nods and shakes of his head.

His expression is pained weakly as she shifts the man to her lap, but he relaxes as she pets him. The feeling of her lap and fingers is comforting to him, something about the touch of a woman makes him feel just a little better and he appreciates her kindness. He is still stunned Smiley hasn't taken over.

"...B..." the letter of his name represents what is left of him, he cannot even speak his entire name, just the broken off end that he refuses to let go. His breathing becomes weezy, weak from all of the conversing. He doesn't want to be rude, but he knows that he can't speak anymore even if he wants to. He lays like a dying animal in her lap.

"B," she repeated in a soft hum.

"I'm Achinoam." Ah-he-no-ham. An old name. One that was rarely used in this time. "But in this form I go by Achi."

A nickname of sorts. It was common for Angel's to have different names for their different forms. Not even Angel did so but most did. She did merely because she thought Noam was too masculine for a female.

Her fingers continued to stroke his face and neck, brushing through his dark hair.

A soft hum sounded from her. She began singing a soft song, forgotten in this realm over time.

A small comfort; a song from an Angel.

He nods his weak head slightly in understanding that he has heard her name, that he won't forget it, or he'll try not to so long as he is alive. He wishes badly he could smile up at her, at the sound of her voice and the comfort of her song. Her voice is like ice on his frohead, soothing, comforting, even though it won't make him better, it makes him feel better.

It makes him feel like someone cares, that someone can see him in this endless pit of darkness he has been engulfed in. The moon in the darkness.

He wonders why Smiley is letting him have this moment after all of the torment he has been through... Could it be because Smiley has given up on trying to save him?

...Could this be his time to go?

"...Are..." he wheezes in a breath, "...You here...To take me?" his chest is on fire by the end of his question, his face contorts into a weakened expression of pain. He hopes it will be fast.

She shook her head gently, her song fading to silence.

"No." It wasn't her job to take souls to Heaven or cast them to Hell.

There was a certain type of Angel that did that job and never did they do it when their target was still living. When he died, his soul would be ferried to either Heaven or Hell. She had no influence on that at all.

"Your time hasn't come yet."

Not yet.

Her finger's traced his lips slowly.

He closes his eyes and lets it sink in that it is not his time yet. He doesn't know whether to feel revealed or disappointed... He supposes he feels both. He takes in the feeling of her finger against his lips. He wants to kiss her finger, in thanks and in compassion, but all he can do is purse them weakly against her finger. Perhaps she will know what he is trying to mean.

He recalls the fingers of a woman he once knew and how much he misses them.

Her fingers continued to stroke over his lips.

She knew what he had attempted to do. Such a gentle action.

It saddened her that someone so sweet in her opinion had been cursed. Why would someone want to curse someone like B?

Her gentle touches stroked down over his throat, touching and stroking tenderly.

She felt useless. This was all she could do to bring him any form of comfort.

The sound of his raspy breaths can be felt in his throat, wheezy and weak, the breaths of a dying man so close yet so far to his final destination.

He appreciates her fingers against her skin, how comforting it is, how tender. He wishes to one day feel these from the woman he wants to be with, but he knows that will most likely never happen. For now he pretends the woman comforting him in this moment loves him more than life itself, that perhaps he has asked her to marry him, that they had been thinking about where they would say their vows.

That's something he had always wanted, to get married to someone stunning and genuine, someone who would comfort him when he needed it. Someone he could take care of and in turn would take care of him. A relaxed expression comes to his weakened face.

Achinoam had never even thought about marriage.

It was an entirely human gesture of materialistic affections. A ring on the finger meant undying love. She didn't like the idea of human marriage. It was something she'd be happy to go without.

She could, however, be the person that comforted him.

It was as close as she could get to any form of helping B as she could get.

She sighed his name softly.

His head turns slightly in her lap, feeling how warm she is against him. He feels so comforted by her, by her touches and words. When she says his name he feels a small sense of relief, as though she is only talking to him. Him alone. No Smiley.

He breathes a small sigh out through his nose, weak, but relaxed. He looks like he may fall asleep, but in reality his mind is teeming with thoughts of the woman, of the other woman, and of the man lurking in his mind.