Small, tired feet encased in roomy yet heavy armored boots wander along the forest's tall grass. Revitalized legs hit against an olden shotgun holstered to her side with each step. The golden amulet glowing excitedly at her neck. Her tangled locks sway incessantly as she walks meters ahead of Death with her head in all directions. Pointing mainly to the trees that shadow the soil. Small splotches of sunlight boring though holes among their leaves. She had never seen trees so dominant and full in nature and her soft eyes sparkle brightly to the foreignness above.
"I am losing my patience, girl!" Death growls out to her from more than several meters away. "You frolic as if you welcome your demise to come closer."
"Oh hush up!" Genevieve calls back. "That river I saw at the mountain has to be around here somewhere."
"Why are you so excited about mere forestry, Genevieve?" Death asks irritably. He grouses under his breath barely low enough for the girl to hear. "I swear, you have an attention span worse a brain dead prowler."
"There isn't a reason for me not to get excited!" Genevieve turns, trotting backwards chiming, "Trees're rare enough on Earth and I'm not even counting the size of these buggers! Now come on, slow poke, we're almost there!" She turns away and her eyes float to the skies once again. Momentarily slowing her pace to get a better grip of her surroundings. A smile behind a threatening mask stretches when it catches a glimpse of hers. The horseman had never seen it before, never like this. Her two straight, full rows of baring teeth. Brightly white and her plump lips hug them smoothly. Her dirty, long hair waltzes and her freckled cheeks flush a washed tint. His eyes lower and he chuckles softly at her, not feeling the effort to keep up. Of her scathed and rosy lips, he ponders pleasantly. He wonders how soft they must be. How the feel of her glowing pale skin would feel against his calloused fingertips. In what way would she react if he pulled her in at this very second, taking her into his large, burly arms. Holding her close to his silent and still heart.
Thankfully, he tugs himself back into reality and quickly shrugs off the notion. Redressing his features with a stoic yet, almost platonic looks of protection of his now even farther astray, Genevieve. Though, platonic could be too strong a word for a hardhearted being such as he.
The land seems silent enough to allow the star stricken woman to frolic as she wishes. Nothing stirs other than the chirping birds and cicadas latched to the skyscraping trees, but concern lingers in his senses. Besides those sounds, it is far too quiet, but he continues his calm pace after her. Catching glimpses and shadows of her jogging through the trees, thick bushes and draping vines.
"I think this is it!" Genevieve calls light enough to scarcely echo the forest. She jogs followed by an out bursting swear when she takes a wrong turn. "Wait-wait-wait!" She paces, her eyes quickly contacting Death's for a swift second between two skinny birch trunks. "I think it's over here…!"
Death's eyes and nose crinkle thankfully to the back of the girl's hair as she disappears into a brush. But a familiar frozen breeze blows, a similar color darkens the wind and his silent merriment depletes. Death grips harvester at his hip and turns to a voice unheard of since the epidemic on the ship.
"You…" Death growls with eyes agape.
The hooded demon puts a rusted claw to the metal on his withering face. "Why not put a name to the mask, friend?" The demon dashes to the horseman's face and stops far too close for comfort. The demon holds out a hand between the barely availing space between them as he finally shares his name. ". . . Erasule." The Nephillim doesn't dare himself to move his hands away from his holsters. Nor does he take a single step back.
"What is wrong, pale rider?" He mocks Death's rather surprised and deeply threatening look. "You look as if you have perceived a ghost."
"With how you haunt my trail, you might as well be," Death counters. "Now why are you my ghost? Are you yet another that I am indebted to?"
"Perish your thought, Horseman." He orders with an eerie generosity and finally receding back a few feet. "You owe me nothing that you could give me by hand. I am only here to see if you and the woman are well, nothing much more." Death holds an unbreakable gawk at Erasule. Seeing right though the fake kindness spewing profusely from his steel shielded mouth. Erasule looks over to the thicket of trees where Genevieve wandered, "And I see that she has met a full recovery."
"She is fine." Death assures him shortly, his eyes remaining on the demon and his dominant hand never leaving Harvester. The nameless creature gives a look of catching the sudden protectiveness.
"She's softhearted for you, can you not tell?" The wraith asks. "She sold her soul for you."
"It was a kind gesture indeed, but a fool's task all the same." Death answers defensively with traces of subtle guilt. He turns from the hood. Following the girl's trail deeper into the forest. "Now you know of her wellbeing, leave us."
"Have faith in me, Death, I fully have that intension." Erasule vows. "But if you do have longing buried in that locked box of emotions of yours, you should keep it that way when it comes to her."
Death goes dangerously silent, and returns his full focus towards the ghost. "You know something of her." He says lowly.
"Nonsense." The wraith denies sarcastically as he looks away with an impish smile under his metal mask. "I know nothing. Absolutely nothing."
Then harvester swings abruptly just below Erasule's jaw, pinning him to the tree he floats in front of. The pin is tight, his wrinkled Addams apple oozing a bit of dark demon's blood at the scythes' penetration.
"Tell me, old man." Death command. "You will not keep answers from me of that girl or the Sun amulet. I will see you dead first, or worse."
"Quick-tempered," The Wraith comments with a now neutral voice and a dirty look. As if the blade in his neck is never penetrating the outskirts of his jugular. "Just like your brother."
"Demons such as yourself require a bit more forward persuasions." Death explains low. "Do not allow me to forge on." Erasule doesn't feel the need to out-snark the eldest horseman. So he obliges with the threatening nudge to speak the truth.
"I brought her for you."
"Say again?"
"Ugh, you should have seen her before I scooped her up." The demon laughs. "A sunken in shell of a whore. Fucked to expiry and left in a hole to rot. With a few needles in her arms and a few more rats rummaging in her bra-"
Death ticks at the remark, Harvester's "V," shape around Erasule's neck grows smaller and cuts deeper.
"She is no whore, Wraith." Death growls low with his hand on his other scythe. "You will be wise not to speak ill of her again."
"Then I shall remain clever." The demon smiles, raising his phasing hands in the air in a sarcastic submission. "Though, I fear that you may not have enough time to answer your inquiries." Erasule points a finger to the thicket of forest Genevieve wandered into. Her call for the rider echoing about the trees. "But why must it matter? These pains of hers are over, horseman. She is safe." The demon assures. Death suspiciously narrows his eyes at him. "Do you not hear her beckon to you?"
"Don't change the subject!" Death furies in a half whisper, half growl, "You brought this human from the Well of Souls for me?"
"Not human." Erasule corrects, keeping his tone of voice. "The Amulet doesn't accept the scum of the human race such as her. So I made her into something different."
"What is she then?"
The only noise between them is Genevieve's now closer call. Abruptly, his face crinkles again, booming with laughter. "You shall know soon enough, lad!"
"By all of Damnation, start making sense!" Death hisses, practically cutting off the specter's head. But Erasule's laugh continues twice as lively as if it were a tickle rather than a blade. Death loses the final scrap of his remaining patience and pulls the scythe's and closes in on his neck. Erasule vanishes in a flurry of smoldering smoke. Only bark and air is cut, but the laughter lingers in the rider's loneliness. Bouncing off the rocks and ringing his ears.
"Cowardly bastard." Death barks, pulling his blades from the tree bark.
". . . Death?"
Death silences himself and turns a bit alerted. He closes Harvester to one blade and puts it behind him, making sure the bloody cutlass is hidden behind his leg. Genevieve appears from the patch of dense forest she disappeared into. Her lovely soft grin long faded and worry already bleeding through in his direction. Genevieve sees the two fresh slits dug deep into the tree's wound. "What happened?"
"I thought I saw something." Death lies as Genevieve forges cautiously towards him, "But it is nothing for you to hold concern over." He hastily changes the subject. "Did you find what you were searching for?"
"Yeah. . ." Genevieve mutters, almost forgetting where she had been for the past moments. Then she looks up with eyes brightening. "Yeah I did!" Genevieve's small palm latches onto Death's forefinger and middle finger. "Come on, it's this way." She tugs moderately hard in contrast to Death's slight reluctance. But he follows her thought the crowding trees and narrow crevices between giant rocks. Turning in and out of the thick bushes and tall flower beds until they finally reach a wall of floral vines curtaining a mysterious entrance.
The waterfall is only a mere scratch in the domain's natural beauty. Beginning an epic roaring fall at the top of the mountain, flowing heavily at its peak into a pool of larger current. Two barriers engraved with ancient symbols and moss are open to let the small percentage of the larger river in. Cascading to a thinner, more appeasing stone rimmed canal with a much softer current.
"Can…" Genevieve asks stammering slightly in her inquiry, "Can I just jump in that right quick."
"Absolutely not." Death denies her.
"Oh come on!" Genevieve whines back, throwing her hands down to her sides as her body slacks in disappointment.
"No. we must keep moving. We've wasted enough time already." Death says, closing the flower vines and turning back to the trail. Before he could gain five steps away, Genevieve cuts him off and stands before him.
"Death." She orders. Motioning her arms animatedly to herself. "Look at me."
"No-"
"Look. At. Me." She stresses, her dirty palms motioning to her grimy form once again. Death finally obliges at the nudge.
Deathly POV
It isn't as if I can deny Genevieve. She doesn't look quite presentable to begin with. She still packs on the dirt, ash, blood and whatever other impurities we have come across in our travels. I don't wish to present her to the makers in her current state. So I agree. At the response, she bares her blunt, over jubilant smile at me. Seeing her happiness irritates me so. Because when I see it, the only thing I want to do is smile back at her.
"Watch my stuff." She orders, taking a strange small packaged block from her bag that smells rather pleasant. She turns away from me quick enough for her hair to whip across the amulet embedded into my chest. But it's so soft, it may have well be a heightening in the breeze. As she opened the entrances of thick flower vines, she looks over her shoulder to me and warns, "I won't be long. No peeking, okay?"
"I simply cannot promise that," I warn back, "I must see if you get into that pool without breaking that flimsy little neck of yours."
She makes a small "tsk," at me and her golden cobalt eyes roll. Strange, I was expecting her to be insulted, or even blush. All I have gotten is a response apparent she cared not if I see her stripped. Weren't most human women self-conscious of others seeing their bare skin? I guess that Genevieve is one of few.
I open the flower vines wide enough for only the corner of my eye to gander. I remain only that I make sure that clumsy girl won't trip over and hurt herself. She looks like she would've from how she stumbles about from trying to walk and undress at the same time. Genevieve has difficulty kicking off the boots, being too impatient to undo the laces. After barely achieving that, she shimmies her out of her chaps so gravity could pull them to her ankles. She hops with one leg as she kicks them off completely, but almost falls face first into the stone outline of the river. Having less trouble with her sweater, she zips it down and it falls very easily. I couldn't help but watch it fall as it slumps to her ankles. My eyes were prepared to leave her skin, but then her sky blue undergarments softly met the ground.
I follow up her calves, her widening shape of her hourglass. The inward bow of her back, untouched skin of her lowered shoulders and her tousles of hair. Which suddenly sway to the side and I look back up, I saw the corner of her face with her eye on mine.
I swiftly release the vines and leave the entrance. Cursing myself for carelessly letting Genevieve capture my spying. I'm expecting a call from her, or yell, even an insult of three. I hold in hiding for a moment. There is no response. I look though a small slit in the drapery, she's still cautiously cocking her head back and forth. It was a false alarm and my self-respect is secure. Just barely.
I don't risk gazing anymore and sit on a rock near the exit. Before I could even get comfortable, I hear a nerve racking scream and then a heavy splash. I practically jump back to my feet at the sound and speed to the drapes, opening them with my arms fully spread. I see no one. Nothing but ripples of water where something dense used to be. Then a sudden emergence from the pool, followed by a familiar laughter. Relief washes over for its only Genevieve, spluttering water and rubbing her eyes. Having preferred to hurdle into the waters other than ease in. I take advantage of her blindness and close the vines and quickly resume my position on the boulder, as if I had never moved.
I'm becoming upset and agitated, greater than usual. The circumstance that I even wince to the smallest note of her being in danger infuriates me. The fact of me having any type of feeling for the girl. Caring, worry, even longing. Makes me grow even colder rather than a warmth that I entirely deny than welcome. Why should I? This woman nearly killed me for the balance's sake!
"Longing," I rebuke myself virtually in silence. "Such a putrid and mortal emotion."
I would have kept that thought for the entire time she bathed, perhaps forever. However something sounded. It wasn't alarming, not loud or nerve racking. It was a song, only one note to be specific. It's a light, long note that shifts beautifully through the air.
"Let's start over again . . ."
Then silent, giving me time to realize who it was. No. I cannot consider that something so pure could come from someone so unpolished. Alas, the second note croons and I pull to open the blinds. I have to prove to myself that nothing that perfect could come from something so inadequate. But to my beliefs, it's none other than Genevieve more than several meters away, lathering herself in the waterfall, bubbles and river water running over her foamy hair and slide down the inward and outward curves of her form as she sung gracefully amid nature.
"Why can't we start over again. .?
Just let us start it over again,
And we'll be good."
I watch her as she continues with her talent I never knew she had. My skin grows hot and everything blurs around me as she sharpens in the far center. She pauses my thoughts, then breaks them entirely.
"This time, we'll get it
And get it right." She sings softly as if it is only for me to hear.
My thoughts wander, imagining the look on her if he pulled her in at this very second. Envisioning the confusion, desire, embarrassment, even fear. Bearing a lust for the unknown chattels of love and sex. I wish to show her what she had missed in life. To wreak havoc on her beckoning warmth that Vulgrim spoke so highly of in my favor.
The more she sings, the more my mind sways and grows numb, deepening the trance. There was no balance to save. I have no council to answer to, no brothers, and no qualms. Only her. That is all that I desire. All that I will ever need. I know what she is, something shunned by angels and barely sufficing enough sinfulness to be demon. A deadly breed floating aimlessly in between, just like mine.
A siren. My siren. And I will have her above all.
"It's our last chance,
To forgive ourselves."
End POV
"Cease your singing!" Death powerfully roars as he opens the blinds. Genevieve hopped high enough for the waters to splash about her.
"Wha- What?" Genevieve stutters, jolted half to death at both the intrusion and the outburst.
"You have bathed long enough." Death snaps at her. He grabs the cloak out of her knapsack near the river's shore. "Make yourself decent for Creation's sake." He throws it to the edge of the river in the soaking human's direction.
"What did I do?" She barks, quickly picking up the cloak from the ground and wrapping her drenched body tightly.
"Just remain soundless, agreed?"
"Yes, I heard you!" The girl hisses. "Just tell me what I did that was so wrong. You don't need to scream at me, I have ears-"
"Do you want to wake all of corruption with your noise, Genevieve?" The Grim reaper asks harshly, catching the mortal girl off guard. "So that they can follow that ever so enticing voice of yours and gut your throat so you may never make another sound? Of course you don't! So silence! Silence, you fucking pain in my side!"
The Kinslayer catches his temper, he is breathing rather hard and a lump swelling his throat. He opens his fists, balled to the point that he bent the clawed metal sheathing them. It doesn't take long for him to realize Genevieve's shock freezing her dewy face. It finally softens to shame and gloom as her eyes wander down to the clothing and armor splayed along the grass. His eyes angle as well, then furrow again when he puts his protruding back to the girl He rushes to the cave leading to the main roads not daring to look back. With him gone, Genevieve's dampened hand emerges from beneath the layers as she bends over, plucking her garments slowly from the ground one by one.
Death conjures Despair and he comes forth with a powerful neigh. Though it's slightly difficult to sit for his chaps have grown tight underneath the plated armor. The effects of his conflicting fantasies barely wearing off. As he hunches over with a fist tightly clenching the front of his hair, his thoughts are thick with self-disgust. The once proud horseman of the Apocalypse ponders of what he has become. He had believed that these carnal tastes of his had long been extinguished. But Erasule's siren accidentally rekindled a long dead flame and proved him gravely wrong. To believe that he had thought to do what the Wraith had told and even Vulgrim. Nearly falling for his trap. But in the back of his mind he knew. In his beatless heart, there is a spot for her. Death let go of the tightening stress on his hair. Letting it fall back to the side of his mask. He wants to apologize. Tell her everything was not of her fault. Make her know of her kindness in selling her soul to whom she calls the devil. Tell her of her beautiful gift and how he adored every bit of it. To his misfortune of course, this isn't the right time. To him, it will never be. Not with someone like the Bringer of Death, The Slayer of Kin. There is danger where she treads, and ten times more goes for him.
Genevieve, dripping wet but fully clothed, walks through the trail alone and finds Death on the end of the tunnel. Sputtering Despair is beneath him and ready to ride. Death holds out his hand to her. Emotionlessly, even hopelessly, she takes it and is hoisted up and is seated in front of him. With a whinny and font hooves kicking the soil and rocks, Despair dashes down the overgrown trail. With Tri-Stone no more than a mile away.
Death warns once and once only. "Never sing around me again."
Suddenly, foreign hands take you by the back of your shoulders and a tiny woman's voice whispers into the shell of your ear.
"*pssst* The song she's singing is Exogenesis Symphony Part 3:Redemption.
Thankyouforeadingandfeedbackokaybyeeee..."
You turn your head swiftly to the voice, only seeing a strange Spanish woman leave your room right when she closes your door. Having first left your house keys on your nightstand of course.