Azazel (The Vanishing Man)
It was her laugh that first caught his attention. She had been on his team for three months, but he had hardly noticed the quiet blue girl who spent most of her time hidden in the shadows of their new leader.
The pair was on a mission spying on a potential recruit. They were alone in an abandoned warehouse, positioned in a window that allowed them to view the world in their natural forms, when without warning, she laughed. Her voice was sudden and sweet and melodious, like a bird signing to herald the dawn. Azazel was surprised to hear his own voice, heavy in the foreign tongue, inquire as to what she found so funny. The blue girl giggled and shook her head, her fiery hair tumbling like a halo around her face, and pointed at the man they were watching. Azazel failed to see what amused her, and instead, regarded his teammate with a raised eyebrow. She laughed again, covering her mouth, her golden eyes delighted now from his reaction. The red mutant sighed and turned away, wanting to be annoyed and regard her as a foolish child, but as the sound of her lilting voice echoed in the empty corridors, he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth curved up slightly. When he looked at her again, it was the like the first time he really saw her. Her amber eyes sparkled and her ivory smile was infectious. As he took her hand to leave, he was suddenly struck with the thought that he very badly he wanted to run his fingers across the scales of her skin.
After that mission, she began to seek him out. With everyone coming and going from the headquarters, there were plenty of times when the pair would be alone. Azazel preferred to maintain his solitude, but the blue girl always managed to find him whenever he stepped out of his private quarters. At first her interruptions irritated him, but after that mission, he began to find that part of him hoped to see her turn the corner or take a seat in the same room as him. Not longer after their mission, Azazel was in the main room killing time with a book as he waiting for Emma to summon him for travel. The blue girl found him and wasted no time placing a chessboard on the coffee table by his feet. He acknowledged her presence with an arched eyebrow and secretly stole glances as she carefully arranged the pieces on the board. When she was satisfied, she took a seat across from him and slid a white piece to a new position on the board. He continued to feign reading his book as she watched him patiently. After a few minutes, she sighed and stated, "It's your move."
Regarding at her over the top of the book, he paused for a few breaths before responding. "What?" She nudged the piece she had moved into play.
"Play chess with me?" When he answered with an impassive stare, she sighed and added, "Please? I'm bored." Azazel closed his book and studied the board in silence. After a few moments, he countered her move with a black pawn. They played for hours that night, and returned to the game whenever they found themselves alone. Chess led to conversations, and conversations led to more laughter, whispered secrets, and eventually, to the bedroom where Azazel currently sat on the edge of his bed, polishing a sword in quiet contemplation.
He retreated to his room because he had grown tired Emma complain about the state of the new safe house. Nothing was ever good enough for the White Queen. Azazel never cared for the life of luxury; he had spent the better half of his life sleeping on the ground anyways, so having a mattress alone was a bit of a luxury. None of it – the bed, the roof, any of the items he had collected over the years except for his swords – really meant anything to him. He was always ready to leave his life and all its possessions behind at a second's notice. Azazel couldn't afford the luxury of having attachments, and this was the problem that currently weighed heavily on his mind. Everything had changed so much in the last few months, and for the first time in his life, Azazel was unsure of where to place his loyalties.
The red mutant smirked and contemplated his reflection as it flashed in the shining metal blade. People naturally assumed that his demonic appearance was a handicap. Not true; he always found his appearance to be one of his strongest features. The fear people feel when they see him is astounding; the shock and surprise was enough to give him a distinct advantage in any fight. He's never really had a problem with women either; women like strength and power, and he always managed to find women who had a taste for the exotic. He never really thought about any of this though, until Sebastian Shaw recruited him.
Azazel was Shaw's true confidant. Everyone assumed it was Emma, but Azazel knew that Shaw trusted him the most. By necessity, the red mutant was always confined to the shadows, remaining behind closed doors and secret rooms when Shaw entertained. But it was Azazel with whom Shaw talked to the most, discussed plans of attack and plotted missions. It was Azazel who knew the wild extent of Shaw's visions. There was always a pained look on Shaw when he asked Azazel to leave when entertaining political leaders and heads of state. The red mutant never took offense, knowing that the humans Shaw had to manipulate would never accept his appearance. One of the last times he saw Shaw, the leader put his hand on Azazel's shoulder as the red mutant turned to leave the room.
"One day soon, my friend, I'll never ask you to hide again." The sympathetic look on Shaw's face spoke volumes. Azazel put his hand over Shaw's in solidarity and nodded before disappearing. Shaw was going to change the world, and Azazel was there to help him do this.
Things had changed so very much since Shaw's death. Emma found her way to Azazel's room once. What a stupid girl, acting like she was doing him a favor - as if he had never fucked a beautiful woman before. He remembered her standing in his doorway, swaying back and forth on her plastic platform shoes. He could smell the alcohol on her, and her eyes were sad, begging someone – anyone - to touch her, love her, look at her with the admiration that Shaw once did. Azazel looked at her, and thought about the sound her neck would make if he twisted his hands the right way. The snap, the end of a life. Emma and Riptide made him sick sometimes, with their sex and drugs and constant parties. Shaw knew restraint. Shaw knew how to use the illusion of luxury to get what he wanted, and Azazel both respected and admired him for it. Shaw knew how to work people, to get inside and really tear them to pieces. Azazel often thought Shaw's smiles and promises were far crueler than the blade of his swords.
The blue girl, the once who called herself Mystique…Azazel tail twitched uncomfortably when he thought about her. At first, they were so casual, as if there was nothing to it, but lately, he found himself thinking far too much about her. She felt so good in his arms, so warm in his bed. Too often that he'd lose track of time running his fingers though her hair or tracing the patterns of scales on her skin as they lay in the darkness. He found himself thinking unnatural thoughts; of a quiet life in a house in the country, of children and a settled life built with a lover. These were not the dreams he had with Shaw; these were distractions, dangerous desires. The longer he stayed here, the harder it was going to be to leave. A dull ache throbbed inside his chest, and he put down the sword he was polishing. He knew this. He knew better.
Lying back on his bed, he looking up at the ceiling. Teleporting, his vanishing act, produced such a dramatic effect. It looks so easy, so effortless to just simply disappear and reappear on a whim. But Azazel is quiet, and he likes to keep secrets. What he's never let anyone know is that each time he vanishes, for a split second, it always feels like he's burning alive.
Soon enough, he'd have to leave and find greener pastures. He had respected Shaw for his grand vision and for his honesty. The first time he met Shaw, the man didn't even flinch at Azazel's appearance, and he was not frightened by his abilities with a sword. It was his confidence that convinced Azazel to listen to this man's ideas. The new leader - Magneto - simply was not Shaw, and Mystique was becoming a dangerous addition in his world. She was tearing down the walls he spent a lifetime building, and he wasn't about to let her get inside. There was no place for love in the life of an assassin. He closed his eyes.
Azazel was getting bored.
