Third in the "Garbage on Random" series. Can be read as a one-shot. (Since I haven't written them in any sort of order, anyway)
"Please, my Holy Father, please send me an angel to love."
My lover's charms
Are in a box
Beneath my bed
Muraki found himself at the chapel by the sea again. The late morning sun was peeking through the top of the east window, shadowing the Savior on the Cross. He looked up into the face, full of suffering and grace, and gracefully fell to his knees. He bowed his head and prayed, as his mother had taught him to do a long time before. The picture burned a hole in his breast pocket. He felt his skin tingle as he thought about him, unashamed. He thought about soft hair, lips and sighs, of jewel-bright eyes, looking penitent, sad, hopeless.
All for him.
And piece by piece I'll cherish them Until the end
"My father, who art in Heaven,
Hallowed be thy name.
In Kingdom come, thy will be done
on Earth, as in Heaven...
Muraki paused, still caught in the gaze of violet eyes.
"and give us this day our daily bread,
and forgiveness for our trespasses
and those who trespass against us...
Muraki heard the doors creak open, and tentative footsteps on hard stone. His prayers had been answered. God had sent an angel to him. One of his very own.
To love and torture.
Send me an angel to love I need to feel a little piece of heaven
"For thou is the power and the glory, forever. Amen."
As the footsteps approached, Muraki got to his feet, brushing dust and ash from his knees.
"Excuse me, but have you seen a woman..."
The gentle voice trailed off into nothingness, lifted into the dark eaves of the church as Muraki turned to face him. His angel stood before him, bathed in rose light.
Overwhelmed with emotion, Muraki could do nothing but cry.
Send me an angel to love
I'm afraid I'll never get to heaven
"How embarrassing," Muraki thought to wipe at the tear trail across his cheek with the back of his hand, but instead touched his brow, not quite willing to destroy the proof of his gratitude.
To have his angel see him cry; it was indeed a shame. But angels are creatures of mercy. If anything, his silver tears drew his angel closer.
"Not at all...um... have you seen a woman with long hair?"
"No, I haven't seen anyone."
It was true enough, he hadn't seen anyone but the priest since he had arrived. He knew, however, where Maria should be at the moment, but he bit his tongue and bided his time. Instead, he admired the glow of his angel's pale cheeks. The rose light enhanced his ethereal face and his jewel-bright eyes, and sparkled in the highlights of his hair.
They burn my hands
Scar my face
And blind my eyes
"Oh, I see. Thank you."
And like that, his angel had turned away from him and walked towards the light pouring into the doorway. A dark cloud seemed to pass over the apse windows, but it might have only been in Muraki's imagination, and his features too, darkened as his angel turned his back on him, and abandoned him to the outside world of the hateful unbelievers, who had torn his angel down from Heaven long before his birth. Muraki thought of the picture burning a hole in his breast pocket, of the sad eye peering out through heavy bandages, and the perfect cupid's bow mouth open and begging for salvation.
I'll steal your breath
And throw away
What I despise
Muraki stood in the shadow of the cross, feeling at a crossroads himself. Would his angel be his to keep or would his angel be a sacrifice to what he really wanted? What was it that he really wanted, anyway?
Perhaps the answer would be apparent to him later. Many possibilities stood before him, colored by ambivalence. He would take away his sad-eyed angel's grief, and kiss away the pain. He would take all the angel had to give, suck him bare of emotions, and keep the shell as a memento.
The church seemed to brighten again as the passing cloud of Muraki's indecision passed, and a cold smile returned to his face, hearing tear-filled pleas and breathy sighs in his mind.
Send me an angel to love
"Is something the matter?"
Muraki stepped through the gathering throng, he feet and his heart light.
His angel turned to him, slowly, his eyes wide with unguarded surprise. Muraki looked down at his kneeling angel of mercy, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with the fallen girl's mother. The light was behind him, shining into the angel's face, lighting his inhuman eyes with a radiance that was almost painful to look at. Wide-eyed surprise faded into confused and wary recognition. Muraki kept his gaze steady.
"Let me take a look."
The mother stepped aside to allow Muraki access. His angel stood too, the look of wariness fading back into youthful innocence.
"You..." the angel's word was half-formed and personal. Such a deferential tone made the powder-white hair on the back to Muraki's neck stand to attention. Muraki kneeled down to take the child into his arms, while his coat billowed around him on the cobblestones. The little girl had such tiny, brittle bones, and smelled of sweet dough and strawberries. She looked like such a sweet little plaything, and as Muraki checked her breathing and pulse, he imagined a little white lace dress and gloves, lace-frilled bobby-socks and tiny vinyl Mary Jane shoes.
"Are you a doctor?"
His angel stood, his worry for the child barely contained.
"I work in a Hospital in Tokyo," Muraki felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck, "the sun here is very bright," he put a hand to his face, shielding his eyes, "we should take her to that rest station down there." He scooped the little child into his arms, and lovingly as he would his own, carried her to shelter.
I need to feel a little piece of heaven.
"Your daughter is fine. It was just the heat."
His angel looked surprised, then embarrassed, "no, no. You have the wrong idea..."
"Oh, I see. Let me introduce myself, as I meant to earlier. I am Muraki Kazutaka."
Muraki put his hand out, a friendly gesture that he hoped his angel would return.
"Tsuzuki Asato..." His angel took his hand and gave a professional-feeling handshake. As his angel pulled his hand away, Muraki continued to hold it gently, savoring the contact as one savors a rare treat, and it was a rare treat. How often does one touch something so divine as an angel of mercy? How often is one even aware of an angel's presence among the hateful unbelievers?
Send me an angel to love
His angel looked at the hand with surprise. Not wanting to startle his wide-eyed angel, Muraki turned away towards the door of the rest house, hiding his private smile. His angel stood so close, he could feel victory and the burning of expectation in his breast pocket.
I'm afraid I'll never get to heaven.
The sky burned orange as Muraki and the angel bid their farewells to the little plaything and her mother. He felt a tingle in his gut, realizing that he was again alone with his angel.
"I'm sorry that you had to work on your vacation," the angel's voice was soft. Muraki let the words wash over him, feeling his angel's beautiful voice resonate through him.
"Not at all," he said, not turning around, "it is the fate of a doctor."
The little child turned, almost out of sight and cried out happily to them, "Bye Bye!"
Her enthusiasm made his angel laugh. The sound was beautiful to Muraki's ears, but still... Muraki felt that breathy cries were more at home on his angel's lips.
"Children are so cute. It's great that the will to live is so strong within humanity."
Muraki gave pause to this thought. His angel was one of mercy, a bringer of sweet, merciful death. Muraki thought back to all of the blood that had been shed before his eyes in his life. His father had died in his sleep of kidney failure. His mother had barely struggled when forced to commit suicide by her husband's little "indiscretion." Human souls were weak. Human shells were weak, easily broken.
Between these walls
And darkened halls
I've done my time
Muraki told his angel so. His angel watched in confusion as he watched from the corner of his good eye and lit up a cigarette, to have something to do with his hands as much as anything else.
"I've noticed lately that there is a limit to what medicine and doctors can do. We cannot escape death.
Muraki turned, whipping back a couple errant strands of hair.
"Don't you want it," he whispered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks, " a perfect body..." Muraki's eyes raked across the perfect body of his angel. His question to his angel had been philosophical, but Muraki knew a practical, physical answer to his own question.
Hungry for contact with his angel, who stood butt against the table like a confused and cornered rabbit, Muraki walked in close, his body almost touching the angel. He reached out and grasped his psalter on the table, his arm almost wrapping itself around the slender waist. His angel reared back to accommodate him, his head turned in glorious submission. The scent from his skin was intoxicating, and Muraki breathed it in like air. His angel smelled of spring flowers and open air and apple pie. Muraki resisted raking his teeth against the unnaturally warm skin against the dead heartbeat which raced at his approach.
If I should die
Before I wake
Then you'll know why
Muraki stepped back, holding his angel's eyes captive as he turned away. His glasses irritated him, so he took them off as he spun to face Tsuzuki again,
"You should be careful, so that you don't lose anyone special to you."
The sky bled above them, and his angel quaked under it, afraid of the intent behind Muraki's words. It was all a carefully laid trap, to bring the angel to his door and keep him locked away safe, so that he could kiss away the angel's fears.
Even if he was the cause of them.
Muraki turned to the pathway, his back to the angel, and walked off into the bleeding sun. He opened his psalter, seeking his favorite one.
It was not a real psalter, not in sense that it belonged to the Christian dogma. He found the psalms uninspiring. These psalms, however, strengthened his resolve, and allowed the sun-fueled fires within his heart to burn.
"Voluptuousness: to the rabble, a slow fire at which it is burnt; to all wormy wood, to all stinking rags, the prepared heat and stew furnace..."
Send me an angel to love
I need to feel a little piece of heaven
"I will meet you in the place where we first met."
Muraki kneeled at the spot he had before, smiling to himself. He would not have to rely on prayer to bring his angel within his grasp. His angel would arrive, righteous wrath the guiding beacon.
But wrath was a sin...
Muraki's smile widened at the thought of corrupting his angel so.
Send me an angel to love
I'm afraid I'll never get to heaven
"MURAKI!"
His angel has arrived. Muraki felt his heart flutter, the rage in his angel's voice causing rich strains of excitement to course through his body.
He carefully stood up and turned to face his wrathful angel. Muraki stood in the morning shadows over the apse and smiled wickedly. His angel's features were drawn into a tight mask. His eyes glittered like cursed treasures.
"On that day that we first met, I was praying that I would meet an angel."
"Where is Hisoka?" The angel looked at Muraki hatefully.
Muraki pulled his blood-soaked offering out of the opposite breast pocket, and let it glide in the air to his angel on white wings. Hatred melted away into fear and disgust. The offering fluttered in the dead air and laid itself servile before the angel's feet. The angel stood fixed, unable to see or move. Muraki felt pleased that his offering was accepted. Muraki walked past his angel, nearly catching hands together as he walked towards the light.
"Shall we?"
Piece by piece
"Voluptuousness: to free hearts, a thing innocent and free, the garden-happiness of the earth, to all future's thanks overflow to the present."
Send me an angel to love,
Piece by piece
I need to feel a little piece of heaven,
Piece by piece
Muraki's attempts at conversation were failing. His angel seemed to be a rather straight-forward sort of creature, unwilling to hide his deeper feelings and desires. Muraki found it rather charming. It kept the shine within his wrathful angel's eyes.
"Are you tired all ready?" Muraki reached to touch his angel. His angel refused him.
Send me an angel to love,
Piece by piece
I'm afraid I'll never get to heaven,
Piece by piece
"I wonder what it must have felt like, taking all of those actions of self-suppression to protect their loved ones and beliefs..." For a long time, his statement had been a true one: he hadn't known what it felt like, simply because he had no one he felt was worthy. Ukyo had come the closest, and Oriya had been very close as well. However, neither Ukyo, with her temporary cures, nor Oriya, who had been taking care of himself for a time as long as Muraki had known him, did not need drastic, hidden actions. His angel, with the look of vulnerability that never quite went away no matter what else his angel was feeling, and the untouchable nature of any divine creature, made his secret actions more than worth the effort. At first, looking into the faded eye of the picture that burned in his breast pocket had been enough. Risking punishment from his Father for meddling in his Grandfather's neatly organized files, or punishment from Mother for besmirching his carefully chosen outfit with dust was not enough to deter him. As he grew, he yearned for more. He wanted to see his real angel, moving like a person, but so unlike the hateful masses. Now, gazing into his angel's living, livid eyes was not enough anymore.
He ached to touch.
"What do you think?" Muraki turned to face the angel, his eyes alight. Disgust marred his angel's mask. Muraki reached out a pale hand in offering, and walked closer, aching to sweep the gentle brown fringe of his angel's hair away from jewel-bright eyes.
"Your eyes are so beautiful, like embedded amethysts."
"Just what are you trying to say?" his angel refused him.
"Come now," Muraki stepped around his solid angel nimbly,"let's go."
Piece by piece
"Dolls are superior to humans... " Muraki fingered the fine cracks of the girl's face, "if they break, they can be easily fixed again..." He stroked one fine cheek,"They are so unlike fragile humans."
The girl stared blankly at Muraki's fingers with china blue eyes. They sat fixed.
"No matter the improvements we make in medicine, death always has a way of snatching eternity away from us."
Muraki picked the girl up with loving care to display to his angel like a proud father.
"Which do you prefer, the girl or the lady?"
Muraki had a preference for the lady, himself. The girl reminded him of a more vibrant version of his mother, the pale flower that she was.
His angel did not turn to look at Muraki. He stared blankly at the window, not looking through it.
"Hisoka..."
Muraki scowled, his lips pulling back into a feral snarl. How he wished to bite the little rabbit's throat open and spill his blood! His angel had refused him again. Muraki felt his heart burn inside his chest with rage.
He thought of thorns and purple light, and immediately, his angel hung in the air, held helpless rose thorns of his creation. The arms were pulled high, the legs spread wide to form three points of his star. How he had longed for his angel of submission, not content to simply watch from the moonlit rooftop while the darling poppet Maria danced on her strings.
The feelings had not gone away until the rabbit's vulgar gunplay had shattered his beautiful dream, his angel had cut the gossamer strings of his poppet, and the three had left together.
Piece by piece,
Send me an angel
"How many spoons of sugar would you like in your tea?"
His angel refused to look at Muraki at all. The coat the angel had been wearing was carelessly thrown against the chair beside it, where the angel had thrown the "grim-reaper" like garment in a protest to Muraki's own careful folding of his coat. The angel's petulance was simply another guile among many.
Muraki smiled, amused despite himself.
"I know that you enjoy sweets..." he carefully spooned in sugar into his angel's tea. Perhaps a little bit of bitterness as well, judging from the expression on his angel's beautiful face.
The beautiful creature would have none of Muraki's conversation: "Where is Hisoka," he hissed viciously.
Muraki ignored the angel, "This place is famous for its custard..."
"Stop messing around!"
The little white teacup jumped in shock and spilled over onto the saucer at the pounding of the angel's furious fists. All of the patrons in the gloomy sunless restaurant turned to stare in shock at the outburst.
"You are beautiful even when angry."
The remark seemed to drain the tension from the other patrons; they returned to their meals in peace.
Piece by piece,
Send me an angel
"Are you having fun," the angel snarled, lips and fists quivering with hatred.
Muraki was pleased that he could inspire such deep feelings in his angel of mercy.
"Yes, because I am here with you."
"Why are you doing all this!"
Muraki continued to smile darkly. As if his angel didn't know already. How could those supernatural eyes not see his desire or his willingness for devotion?
"If there was a crisis, then Ju-oh-cho would send agents. I wanted to see you."
"It was me you were after?" The angel looked incredulous, "then give me back Hisoka!"
Muraki sipped his tea, watching the fading daylight in the reflection of the water, "everything concerning the boy and I will be all right. I know him very well. After all, I am the one who killed him." Muraki looked demurely at his saucer, knowing that it would send his angel into shock.
"What?"
His angel stared, mouth agape. Muraki thought of how the sweet tea must have flavored the angel's lips and tongue, before remembering wistfully that his wrathful little angel had not partaken of any.
If Muraki had any say in the matter, there would be other chances...
Piece by piece,
Send me an angel
Muraki took advantage of the angel's shock, and continued, "the little boy had seen something he shouldn't have. A murder."
Muraki smiled rakishly, "A murderer never leaves witnesses."
The sun burned light onto his angel's porcelain face.
"I could have raped and killed him there, but the boy was a possession too precious. A plaything of his extravagance one must savor and draw out." Muraki could taste the flavor of the rabbit on the back of his tongue, remembering. It was not unlike the sweet tea he held in his hand now, only perhaps with a hint more dried spice... Muraki bit his tongue to bring himself back into the present. He would no longer sully his tongue with the boy's now carrion taste when a flavor much more appealing lay before him.
His angel sat mute, and Muraki continued, speaking playfully.
"A pretty boy deserves a pretty death, don't you think? I caught him, and stripped him... and laid out my curse upon his flesh. I stole his memory of that night, and every night, a little bit of his life force."
The taste surfaced again in his mouth and again, Muraki bit it away, his teeth drawing powerful copper blood to cleanse his palate.
"He died three years later, unable to hold on any longer..."
"Stop it!"
The angel did not know whether to be wrathful or merciful. Before Muraki, the angel bowed in submission, "you wanted me, and you have me. The trade is complete. Let Hisoka go," the words were hissed viciously, riding atop the angel's submission.
Piece by piece,
Send me an angel
Muraki refused the angel's gift.
"That was what I had once planned upon, but I have changed my mind."
The angel was upon him before Muraki had even realized there had been movement. The teacup full of the angel's cold and untouched sweet tea flew up into the air, creating a wide fluid arc, and rolled across the table, empty. Muraki felt fingers clasp around his lapels of his suit-jacket and hoist him out of his seat. His feet were trapped uselessly against the ground, stuck between the chair legs and the table. Unable to gain purchase, Muraki trusted his full weight to the angel, who hauled him forward and dragged their faces together.
"That wasn't the deal!"
"You were the one who broke the deal, thinking only of the boy when you were to be spending time with me. You are guilty."
The angel's face grew harsher, his teeth grinding as though they desired nothing less than to tear Muraki's pale throat open. Muraki continued to smile.
"The boy is indeed precious. I think I can forgive you just this once for your behavior..."
His angel growled in disgust and let Muraki stand on his own. He gently pushed his lapels back into place and turned his back on the angel, gazing into the yellow sunset.
"Even though he is an immortal, the blood loss will assure he will not survive much longer..." Muraki closed his eyes to the light, feeling smug.
The sound of paper wings and ghostly cries broke his focus. A white winged bird fluttered and crowed, feathers beating at the window pane, "A messenger..."
Muraki looked at the magnificent creature sadly, his time with the angel had been forced to an end. He decided to leave quietly. If he could kill off that little rabbit before his angel of mercy arrived to save him... it was a slim hope, but hopes are like faith: one disregards doubts and criticism, for the sake of something better in the future.
"Let us meet again some time."
Piece by piece,
Send me an angel
Muraki guarded his footsteps, not wanting to be detected before he was ready. It was dark within the abandoned manor house, and through the gloom he saw little. He picked his way through by feel, memory, and intuition. He had always loved this dark rotting manor. He was never sure why it spoke to him in a manner that other houses did not, but it felt like home nevertheless.
He could hear the rabbit shouting, but as to what, he did not know. His angel had probably beaten him here already. Muraki continued to walk calmly and quietly.
"Even so, I would never leave you here..."
"Tsuzuki..." the rabbit's voice was thick. Muraki almost laughed. It would seem that his little rabbit had made a friend. It would be touching to Muraki in a patronizing way if he didn't suddenly feel hatred and jealousy overwhelming his heart. Hatred for those green, green eyes that reminded him more of his monstrous, twisted brother than a million photograph ever could, and jealousy that the angel that he had dreamed of and prayed to, never answered him. Muraki swallowed his feelings like a foul pill and moved closer still.
The angel was so gentle and tender with the boy, making certain not to tug a thread too far in one direction or another so as not to slice open more of the pale rabbit flesh. A spiritual guide, a creature that Muraki was unsure of, floated beside them, no doubt watching for him. His angel touched the rabbit's cheek ever so lightly. As he stepped into the light, the foul pill resurfaced.
Piece by piece
"What an irritating boy! First, ruining my plans, and then not having the decency to die!"
"I don't care about your plans!" The angel shouted, voice echoing though the halls like thunder, "you hurt Maria, and then, Hisoka!"
The wrathful angel turned to face Muraki, "we are not your tools."
Light from Heaven surrounded his body and licked at the black coat.
"We are not your dolls!"
The creature spoke low and rough, "Muraki, I'll never forgive you!"
Send me an angel
Wave after wave of his bats were destroyed in his angel's holy light. They vaporized and turned to dust and more dust to coat the floors of the grand old mansion. The fury flashing in the angel's hate-filled eyes made Muraki feel almost weak. He could feel the tension in the creature's body... how he longed to feel it, fingers brushing over one tensed muscle to the next, quivering and shaking under feather light caresses...
Perhaps this was not the best time to be thinking such thoughts. That pillar that collapsed was rather close...
"That was wonderful!" Muraki clapped his hands, "those creatures were nowhere near worthy of you. How about this?"
Muraki could almost see his bad eye glinting in amusement.
Piece by piece
The angel, in spite of itself, looked impressed at Muraki's dragon. Muraki felt proud. His sorcery had indeed been on par with the angel's own inherent powers.
"Shit, Hisoka!"
Muraki growled, "That annoyance!"
How he had longed to be rid of the rabbit! He willed his dragon to attack the barrier the angel had so carefully arranged. It might protect the rabbit from anything falling on him, but if the floor were to collapse under him...
"He truly is an annoying brat," Muraki spat hatefully, "I shall destroy him forever!"
"NO!"
"Please, only look at me. Let me be the only one who can break you, who sees you broken!"
The dragon lunged forward, breathing tainted flames. The rabbit cowered, as rabbits do when cornered. Maraca felt success was close at hand.
"Stop!"
The resulting explosion was not what Muraki had expected, nor meant when he had told his angel that he wanted to break the angel himself.
Send me an angel
Muraki moved closer to the boy, his dragon standing behind him protectively.
"Step aside, boy. He's mine."
The boy bowed his head and closed his eyes. This did not appear to be an act of submission as he had expected, but a movement of concentration. Muraki leaned back on his heels and waited. What did his little rabbit expect to do? He was so small...
After a time, the boy stood, his eyes locked on Muraki with determination. There was hatred, too, but it seemed that his little rabbit was going to fight in the angel's armor while the angel was too weak to do so.
"Such a beautiful friendship. It's annoying."
Piece by piece,
There was a change in the boy. Muraki could feel it only too late.
"How could you two have combined your powers!" Muraki felt almost afraid before swallowing it back into his heart. He would not allow himself to be afraid. He would defeat them both, or at the very least, suck his angel down into Hell with him if he were to fall.
The boy began to pray to the angel's gods. Muraki dug his heels into the stone and waited for the attack.
Above the pair, the bird of eternal fire rose, spreading wings and fire.
"Fire!"
Muraki willed his dragon to attack, only to be consumed in flames. Muraki was alone in a sea of fire. He could no longer see his angel, but he knew his angel was not now, nor ever would be, far from his reach.
"Beautiful! I desire you now more than ever, Tsuzuki-san!"
A beam from the rafters fell, slamming into the floor with enough force to make Muraki's knees shake. The acrid smoke burned his lungs, and his head felt light. He would die if he did not leave soon. Maraca would have felt cheated to die without seeing his beloved's burning, jewel-bright eyes as his own faded away.
"I will see you again, soon!"
With that, under the cover of flames, Muraki left his angel. His Tsuzuki-san.
Send me an angel
"Amen."
Muraki lifted his head towards the effigy of the Lord, writhing in pain on his cross. He imagined the face of his beloved, as he so often did, and prayed for his return. Muraki still had faith, faith that his angel of wrath would come and blacken his bones and split his skin, faith that his angel of mercy would make it all better, and faith that his angel of submission would return to him, to be his and only his, forever.
The rose-colored light of the morning sun in the stained glass windows made Muraki feel like being outside. The open doors and the burning light called out to him. Soon, he would have to return to his practice. He missed his patients. Tsubaki-hime probably needed another fix of ubadama soon... but for now, Muraki was still on vacation. Maybe he would go to Dutch Tembos restaurant. Eat some apple pie. It sounded nice right about now. Muraki stood, gently brushing the dust and ash from his knees and walked from the church slowly, touching his chest where a picture never left longer than when Muraki needed an icon to pray to, long after God and the saints had gone to bed. He pulled out his favorite psalter, reading to himself as he left, leaving the promise of another day of worship behind him.
"Voluptuousness: To the wither-willed, a sweet poison, to the lion-willed, a great cordial, and the reverently saved wine of wines..."
AN: All of the quotes about "Voluptuousness" are from Thus Spake Zarathustra, by Frederich Nietzsche. With all of the discussions of "The will to power", and the "Ubermensch", as well as it's pseudo-religious treatment, it makes a perfect book to describe Muraki, and it conforms well to his world-view.