Chapter IV: Ballad of Fallen Angels II
Part I: Demon's Sonata
Anastasia's ceremony was a prelude to the three yet to be held. The stars bejeweled the dawn in their assortment of faded glory, and the sun crept in dismay over the barren wasteland laying line to the extremity of the horizon. Beyond this graveyard lay the outskirts of the atmospheric dome which encased Tharsis, and as rays of mourning swept across rouge earth they tainted the sunrise with reminiscence of all the blood the city had shed.
No less than blasphemous, could it be considered, how he seemed to find himself in this very same place, on this very same plain of asphalt, within a city that seeps with such a strong sense of irony that it poisons its habitants neither more nor less the likeness of a vindictive venom.
It then occurred to him…
…The fragile youth who roamed a cluttered street with his head hung lest the rain wash away his tears. Tears, which served as the only evidence copulative with actuality while the rest of him threatened to linger within the haven of a dream.
In the grasp of tiny fingers was held a chestnut bear, its once warm fluff becoming matted and chilled by dusk's downpour. He wasn't quite sure how long he became lost in the slowly dwindling crowd that rushed through the dreary streets. He wasn't quite sure he cared, either. With the stuffed toy clutched dear to the boy's chest, he watched through the blur of each occasional tear the fine lines separating sections of pavement and curb alike.
Not having paid any mind to the autumn breeze, it only became apparent to him that he was, in fact, cold when gentle hands laid themselves on the small frame of his shoulders. The tender touch alone more comforting than one would think, the child ceased his wayward steps to seek the face of the stranger. From behind an eclipse of thick and sodden sage locks, a cherubic yet hollow gaze settled upon the woman's amiable smile…
…that he despised this city.
~*~
Paying his respects from afar, Jet stood sullen beneath a broad sable umbrella. A single raindrop greeted its end softly over the woven black vinyl after having descended from the heavens as an averse messenger, and rolled humbly down the arc before meeting to toe of his shoe. His gaze, previously fixated on the magnificent panoply of flowers which decorated the mahogany coffin being cast down into the earth, shifted to his polished wing-tip. He couldn't recall the last time he attended a funeral, or wore a suit for that matter. It was some sort of awkward that he was attending an interment with Spike instead of attending a ceremony for Spike.
Although he had to admit that he would rather be doing the former than participating in the latter of the two, there was no way around the fact that this had been the closest rendezvous Spike could've had with the ether realm and lived to tell such a tale. For Christ's sake, that kid had the most uncanny way of tantalizing Death -- to the point of something on the borderline of godly essence and just plain madness -- and Jet, while baffled by the concept, could almost thank whatever guardian angel might have the arduous task of ensuring that he live through another month's rent. Even if, at another glance, one could assume the re-acclimation of tangibility would hinder his pursuit of 'lese majeste' and everything it entailed, all that one could do would be to hope that sense somehow seeped into his thick skull.
~*~
His head bowed in respect to the evangelist's last hymn to the deceased, Spike's weathered fingers released the belladonna from their gentle grip. Opening his eyes only to behold the fading dawn, he admired the delicate flower as it descended below his level ground.
The few rays of sunlight which pierced the mournful, cryptic blanket of gray that had since their arrival consumed the crystalline arc shone on the fragile white petals, illuminating its path to the underworld and embracing its silhouette. He watched longingly as it made gentle brush with the stone staircase entreating entrance to the tomb beneath the earth before landing soft in the bed of flowers which drowned the top of the coffin. Everlasting as his gaze was, time had lagged on his account, and Paisery had made certain that he notice the subtle ripple among the perfected arrangement his single flower had caused as it found its niche.
…Bounding above the pavement in lou of its fall, a belladonna shed a light dust of pollen as it met the ground a second time unbeknownst to the pair of now far away and beyond boys. Each of them held in their arms an entire bouquet of nothing other than the beautiful flower, some of their stems still smeared with soil from being so hastily plucked from the hillside on the outskirts of town.
Shoulder to shoulder the two stumbled over one another's purposely displaced steps as they darted down the sidewalk and through the few people littering the streets. Spike gave a sable headed boy a hearty shove and left him trying to maintain balance on the brink of the curb. Turning his head to offer a sneer in Lin's direction while running, which was just an added point of boast, he managed to collide with a young woman and her beloved grocery bag. Yes indeed, Spike Spiegel was as smooth as Don Juan even at the tender age of eleven.
The woman, falling flat on her rear from impact among the stock of fruits which tumbled from the brim of the paper bag and dispersed in a rainbow of color over the sidewalk, was apparently shocked once she realized what happened. Half-expectantly, her eyes wandered from the scuffed sneakers of the little boy, upward along the lanky jean clad legs, to meet an armful of soil peppered among blooms. He kneeled apologetically before her and offered his hand, a small figure scurrying from his peripheral vision and towards the street corner.
"Gomenasai!" he blurted in a curt, though kind tone, placing one of the flowers into her palm and dashing after the kid who had waddled passed.
As he waited impatiently beside the luminous pedestrian sign radiating letters of crimson he could not yet read for the current wave of traffic to sedate itself from chaos, Shin too had a bundle of flowers in his arms. Unsettled and quite impatient, he bit his lower lip at the sight of both Spike and his brother dashing with a newfound passion in his direction. The look in their eyes that suggested murderous desire was nothing promising; and since he couldn't decide whether or not they'd rather ram each other into the faces of buildings than pick on the innocent baby of the family, he opted for his recently adopted 'run like hell' technique.
Witnessing the calamity from a window, Annie chuckled breathily, removing her hand and letting the sheer curtain flutter gracefully into place once more. She had expected the police to be dragging the trio home with shackles around their ankles adjacent to the ball and chain after their confounding behavioral sense earlier in the day. Having them return with swollen limbs and bruised cheeks was greatly favored over the reminiscence of their last less-than-pleasant encounter with the moderately bored Tharsis police force.
Home.
She had reminded herself to refrain from the loose usage of that particular word…