Even before the Opera Graverobber had felt it, a subtle pressure like a thunderstorm building, a restless city looking for release. After the bloodbath that was the Opera he knew it was only a matter of time before the shock wore off and the riots started. Yelling and looting were very cathartic after all and he would have been more than happy to join in except for the fact that Gencops were swarming the streets, trying and failing to control the crowd. He had been running for hours, at least that was how it felt to him, fighting against the tide of the mobs of people and trying to keep out of the Gencops' sight. What he wanted most was a hot shower and a good morning's sleep, both of which were finally almost at hand. Just a stroll through New Hope cemetery and a few blocks later he would be home.
Not many people knew Graverobber even had a place he called home, someplace other than a dumpster or a filthy room in some run down and forgotten building. He had learned long ago that a little mystery was a good thing and that people enjoyed showmanship. So he wore makeup to accentuate his already pale skin, to draw attention to his eyes and lips, make himself exotic and threatening. He dyed his hair, wore a long coat, and wove a web of words and smiles that had the addicts positively panting over him. People told stories about him around trashcan fires at night, fantastic stories that only sometimes contained truth. There was some small power in that, the fact that people saw him as more than a man, as something to be adored and feared. Let them think that, if they liked.
The benefit of living on the fringes of Sanitarium City was that security could be rather lax at the best of times. Combined with the fact that cemeteries normally were only lightly guarded during the day meant that Graverobber had no problem getting into the cemetery. The crunching of the gravel pathways under his boots was the only sound; he had too much on his mind for his usual light-hearted whistle.
The Opera had changed everything. Rotti Largo was dead and Graverobber had to admit that the inevitable power struggle between the man's offspring for control of GeneCo would probably prove to be interesting. He was betting on Amber to win that particular battle, master manipulator that he knew her to be. It was an amusing thought, but he had no real hope that anything would change for the better under her management.
Mag was gone, and that was tragic for several reasons, but it wasn't like he had exactly had a personal attachment to the talented soprano. He had run into her a time or two, in the very cemetery he was standing in, by the particular monument that he found himself standing in front of now. It depicted an angel with her head held high, the statue eroded slightly by time and acid rain but still standing proudly for all of that, the words etched on the base still legible. It was a memorial to those who had died in an explosion 17 years ago at a place called the Night Ballet, followed by a list of names that was much too long, and a quote.
"I don't regret what I do, collecting the souls of those who die. That is my function, my purpose. The reason I mourn is not for their death but for the unfulfilled potential, the unrequited love, the unrealized dream. I mourn what might have been, and what will never be."---The Grim Reaper's Lament
Graverobber looked up at the angel, still impressed that they had used some sort of synthetic stone to make it look like there were tears on the angel's face. He knew that face well, knew the creator of the quote, the young girl who had delivered those lines. He placed his hand on the stone, already warm from the sun. "I keep meaning to chisel your name off of there," he said to the angel above him. "After all, you didn't actually die that night." The smirk that came to his lips was bitter, twisted with self-loathing. "That came later, when you lost her again. What will you do now that she is truly gone? Do you even know what happened? You left before I got up last night. Did you hear her announcement, did you see her death? Maybe you didn't. Maybe Amber will kick Zydrate, find religion, and become a nun. Anything is possible."
Graverobber ran a hand through his multi-colored hair as he made a sound that was half laughter and half sigh, walking towards home. He was stalling, how very unlike him. He had to admit that his roommate wasn't the only person he had been keeping an eye out for all night. The kid kept slipping into his thoughts. She had stood up to Rotti Largo, refused a fortune and lost her father before disappearing from the paparazzi's cameras. He didn't like to think of such an innocent girl wandering the streets alone. Shilo was a rare individual, different from himself, different from the scalpel sluts and the endless parade of Z addicts he normally dealt with. The difference was… appealing.
"Home sweet home," Graverobber muttered as he finally came within sight of the apartment building, heading inside and down the stairs to the basement. He rather liked the privacy living in the basement afforded him and it meant the occasional noise from his roommate's rages didn't draw any unwanted attention. The rent was manageable, especially since the landlord seemed happy to be paid with whatever Graverobber had to offer that month, whether it was Zydrate or cash.
As he opened the door he was hit with a memory so strong that for a moment he could almost see it. Her lifeless body sprawled on the floor, glowing blue tears trickling from half open eyes, the faint rise and fall of her chest stopping as she watched… Guilt twisted briefly inside him as he shoved that memory back into the dark corner of his mind from which it had come. The first real thing he saw when he looked around was the broken television, a black steel-toed boot sticking out of the screen. He was so relieved that it wasn't anything worse that he almost laughed even though he was mildly angry.
"Damn it Angel, I'm not going to go through the trouble of scavenging perfectly good televisions if you keep breaking them. If you want another one it's your turn to find one and lug it home…." His voice trailed off when he moved further into the room and saw the remains of the coffee table and the blood on the broken shards of glass. He scanned the room, quick strides talking him to the kitchen table.
"First-aid bag, bandages, empty suture packet, so she at least tried to fix herself up. Vodka bottle, not the best of signs. Blood stained letter…" He read the first few lines. "Oh shit." He raised his voice, ""Angel?" Graverobber called as he headed down the hallway. "Angel? Are you all right?"
Her bedroom door opened and Angel slipped out, leaning against the doorframe for support as she closed the door behind her. She was still dressed, her clothes lightly stained with blood, one hand stitched and bandaged. She looked up at him, her eyes cloudy and slightly unfocused. "Quiet, you'll wake her up."
Angel speaking in the third person wasn't terribly odd and Graverobber had more pressing concerns. "What did you take Angel? How many?" For whatever reasons the woman rarely lied to him, something he was very grateful for, especially at that moment.
"Vicodin. Two." She held up three bandaged fingers and blinked at them for a moment before tucking one under her thumb, indeed making the count two. "Not enough to kill me. Two."
"Didn't wash those down with the vodka on the kitchen table, did you?"
Angel rolled her eyes. "Course not." Her speech was a trifle slurred. "Have to live now. She wanted me to live, to take care of…" She closed her eyes for a moment. "I forget. Tired."
Graverobber sighed as he took her injured hand, examining it for a moment before letting it go. It looked like she was fine, for lack of a better word. His face twisted into something that was half pained smile and half leer. "You remember what happens if you kill yourself, right?" It was the start of an old joke between them, black humor being better than no humor at all.
"You'll violate me, harvest my Zydrate and drag me outside to be eaten by crows and wild dogs." She smiled faintly. "Good to have you home."
"Good to be home. Go back to bed, I need a shower." He was both relieved and exhausted now, a quick shower and then several hours sleep sounded wonderful to him. Hell, he might even sleep in; take it easy for a day or so until the city settled down again.
Angel nodded agreement and retreated back to her bedroom. For a moment he could hear her talking to herself, the words muffled by the door, then silence. Not for the first time Graverobber remembered how Angel used to be, contrasting it with how she was now. He shook his head, as if that could clear it of the memories or the guilt. "Shower. Shower and sleep."
The hot water felt good but he didn't let himself enjoy it for very long, just washed off the makeup and sweat as quickly as possible before stepping out of the shower, humming to himself as he toweled off. Was that a sound from the hallway? Nah, even it was it was only Angel and she never cared if he was dressed or not. He turned around, towel over his shoulders… and looked straight into the wide eyes of young Shilo Wallace.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" They both screamed simultaneously as Graverobber scrambled to cover himself.
"I live here!" Graverobber looked at the kid, who somehow looked smaller and frailer than last time he saw her. The fact that she wore one of Angel's old shirts didn't help, the thing was practically falling off of her and wasn't that a pleasant mental image?
"Well I--!" Shilo's yell turned into a whisper. "I live here too, I guess. Angel found me, or I found her. She invited me to stay."
"She did? Huh." Graverobber tied the towel he had been clutching to himself firmly around his waist, watching a blush come to Shilo's cheeks. "Did she know who you were? Because if you talked to her for more than five minutes you might have noticed that she occasionally holds conversations with people who aren't visible, or aren't alive. She's not… all there some of the time. Which is a nice way of saying occasionally she goes psychotic when she's not having conversations with the voices in her head or staring at the wall."
"She thought I was my… my mother at first, but she knew who I was when she asked me. Do you… do you not want me here?" Shilo's eyes filled with tears. "I don't have anywhere else to go."
"Oh shit kid, I didn't mean it like that. Fuck, don't cry." Without thinking he stepped forward and hugged her. "You can stay, all right?" Because that's just what I need, one crazy woman and one emotionally damaged girl living in the same space. Still, he couldn't help but smile slightly as Shilo stopped crying and looked up at him. At least his life was never boring.
As always, I don't own Repo! just Angel. Reviews, constructive criticism and thoughts on life, the universe, and everything always appreciated!