His glower was something fierce as the silence fell hard, and your fireplace dared not to crackle. You clear your throat as a million things other than the impending doom that you faced ran through your mind, more out of habit than to say anything. You knew that your pen had a great life span, but you didn't expect it to just cough and swallow the bullet when you needed it most. But now a bigger question has presented itself: what is about to happen to you? Your consciously stress about this, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling as you pondered worriedly. A sharp sigh escapes the Horseman, one that definitely registers as annoyance and you nearly flinch out of your skin when his armour clinks as he turns away, deep in thought again.
Okay. What can you do to fix this? Despite the pounding of your heart and the rambling mess your mind was yelling at you, an idea comes to mind.
"Horseman," You say cautiously, trying to earn his attention. War glances over his shoulder at you, his glowing blue eyes watching you critically. He did not verbally reply, but he was waiting for you to continue. You swallow the lump of nervousness in your throat as you try to remember to breathe.
"Obviously the pen had some magical properties, strong enough so it could summon a Horseman of the Apocalypse into my office," you try to joke, a characteristic of your methods to dealing with anxiety-inducing situations. Obviously the Horseman was a tough crowd. You continue, "perhaps, you can sense what the pen is made out of, and then we may fix it." By it you meant this entire situation and also the pen. This was a shot in the dark, an observation that you made to try and help out. You did feel sorry for the Horseman, that was summoned without reason. Truly canon to the game, again he was summoned without true purpose. You empathized, because really, you were wasting his time.
War's eyes glow at the suggestion, his countenance shifting into something that resembled thoughtfulness, actually considering your observation. He hums, then takes a small pace towards your desk to retrieve the pen. His armored hand gingerly picks up the pen with impressive gentleness. You watch as he closes his eyes slowly, the air prickling with an electricity as he fell in on himself.
When he opens his blue eyes again you were expectantly waiting for his answer.
"There is minute traces of magic in the casing, but the ink is actually responsible for the act of summoning me here. The power of souls is bound to the pigment within the pen."
The Rider takes a knee as he dismembers the pen in the massive gauntlet that serves as his left hand, his hulking figure just dominating the small space of your office. Ah, you should probably move out of here, considering that this is the place with all your expensive equipment. You heave a massive stack of paper in your tiny human hands, your voice strained at the amount you took, and begin to lay out a pathway as you shuffle backwards out the door.
"Horseman, come this way please," You request, rather than order, feeling as though it wasn't your place to be bossing around the Red Rider. With a loud rustling noise, heavy footsteps that could wake the dead followed. You snicker as he seemed so out of place as he was walking on a pathway of paper, but as long as he had the pen he could pace onto the fresh leaves without trouble. You guided him to the living room, pausing to move the furniture out of the way so that he could have some space.
In the much more open living room the Horseman seemed more comfortable. A high ceiling about the height of two stories, the log cabin was a one floor wonder that you scored upon when you bought it. You just scattered the papers all over the floor, thinking about how annoying it may be to clean this all up when this business was said and done. War sets his blade near your massive hearth, which was dying actually.
You busy yourself and feed it, as War settles in the centre of the room. You make your way over to him when he calls you.
"Mortal-"
"Actually, my name's (Y/N)."
War sharply gazes at you for the interruption, to which you sheepishly cough and look at his hand, apologizing meekly.He sighs irritably before continuing.
"(Y/N)," The Horseman growls softly, his eyes flashing in the equivalence of an eye roll. You scoff lightly, his attitude just vexing you.
"Perhaps you can find the merchant who sold you this pen, and reclaim another one."
His vocabulary is so painfully obnoxious it set your nerves on edge. You were about to agree, but your phone chimed with a notification that was from your client, causing you to pull the device out of your sweater pocket to answer it. The Horseman straightened in surprise, then in a interestingly curious fashion, he loomed over you to inspect the source of the sound. You bite the inner flesh of your lower lip to not smile as he leaned in quite closely.
"What….is that?"
His voice was softer now, almost like childish curiosity, genuine interest behind his words as his eyes glowed in what you deemed to be genuine interest. Way better than the attitude he was serving you moments ago.
"This is a cell phone. Humans use these devices to stay in contact with each other. My client just messaged me." You explain with a smile, showing him everything that you were doing. Even if you turned away, he would've probably just followed regardless.
You answer the impatient text message with a series of irritated taps of your thumbs on the touch screen, the client being particularly bitchy about the idea that they wanted you to portray. God, why couldn't they have said so before? You huff, and dismiss the conversation, going online to see if the pen was in stock. War remains silent as he observes your every move.
You clear your throat as you break the silence.
"And I agree to your suggestion. Although, it's been several years since I contacted the supplier, so there may be a possibility of the pen being out of stock…." You trail off quietly, hoping that this option was not a reality. "Hey, would you like something to drink?" You act fast and ask with a friendly grin as the Horseman's mood instantly soured. The Horseman snorts.
"My kind do not require sustenance." He answers.
"C'mon, once in a lifetime trip to present day humanity. See what us weakling humans survive on while I try searching for the merchant." You invite the Horseman with a smile, not overly surprised when he remained silent and just scowled.
You tensely noted how the atmosphere became awkward and you slowly back and excuse yourself from the room to enter the kitchen. Mama needed a drink, and maybe some of the apple pie that you made yesterday evening. Baking in your free time definitely relieves stress.
That attitude will be the death of your social abilities for as long as he wont give into anything you suggest or say to be pleasant. You sigh deeply, the breath that you sought coming harder from the reality that you were suddenly facing. You rub your temple tenderly, trying to really wrap your head around the fact that a freaking Horseman of the Apocalypse was in your living room.
You at least should try to be on civil term with him, considering he is a stranger that can kill you if he really wanted.
"You know, I have no need for you to be a Horseman right now. You don't need to wear all that armour if you are simply going to be passive as we figure this out." You say to him as you were fixing the kettle on the stove to boil some water, nearly dying of a heart attack when he was behind you.
You clutch your chest, a rush of air escaping your lungs as you wonder how in the hell he was so silent and how he came up behind you. Your eyes are attracted to the bundle of white in his massive gauntlet, to which explains how he was mobile. The look on his face was wicked amusement which you simply sighed irritably at.
You brush the hair out of your face as you pull out your phone again, deciding to scroll through the web store you bought the pen from while you wait for the kettle. You decide to remain silent, as speech was to no avail with the Horseman.
War drew closer to you as you continued to scroll through the web page, putting on a stone face as if he was already bored with technology. You inwardly scoff at that shameless display of stoicism, and continue. With some quick inputs and some keywords, you narrow the search significantly and wait for the page to load.
The silence was stifling, and it was harder to deal with especially since the Horseman isn't trying to socialize. More so because of your dislike for the silence, you tell him what you did and what you're trying to do now. He simply stares on at the screen, the only response from him being a slight head nod.
He's such great company.
You groan and softly curse the instant the web page presented the one thing you dreaded.
The pen wasn't in stock.
You swallow hard, but the lump of panic sits like a hot coal in your throat. What do you even say to the Horseman to try and ignite the quickly dying fire of hope? You look up at the Horseman's face after summoning some bravery, and the scowl that enveloped his countenance was almost the most terrifying thing you've seen in your many years of life.
"I can try contacting them to see if they have the pen in a storage warehouse or something, but can you maybe try to infuse some of your apocalyptic mojo into some regular pen ink too?" Your voice gets weaker half way through the sentence, but heart hammering as the reality of what is unfurling further sinks into your conscience.
War seems to ponder that for a moment and 'hmphs' as he simply turns and stalks away into the living room. You were tempted to call out to him, but the kettle began to screech and you were almost grateful for something familiar to distract you.
Within moments you fixed yourself something hot, fresh ground coffee with a bit of whiskey to knock a bit of the edge off. Piping hot it was, but you were almost numbed by the rollercoaster of panic and calm that the Horseman kept throwing at you. Lord, you were pretty exhausted at that.
You settle on the couch that you set up by the window and look outside to the snowing landscape. With a hand supporting your temple, you sip frequently at the steaming mug, trying to find the contact information to call the company. Again the silence was beginning to swallow the space the both of you occupied, and at this point you were beginning to give up of the pleasantries.
"Are all mortals as talkative as you?" He asks in an annoyingly sarcastic manner, to which you chuckle incredulously with the furrow of your brow, your eyes slowly (scratch that, more like tiredly) look up at him. For a divine being that can only exist on scattered printer paper, he sure is cheeky, isn't he?
"No, not all humans are talkative as me. And trust me when I say that they are not as calm about having a Horseman of the apocalypse in their living room just taking up space either." You sass, enjoying the huff that rippled through him.
"The pen was not in stock, but I know that I can try ordering it in from the supplier. So, their business hours are not friendly on weekdays, since that conflicts with my schedule. However, before you death glare at me-" You chuckle dryly at the instant sourness that took residence on his face.
"I have an hour left before they close for the night. Let me try calling them." You conclude, finding the number as you finished speaking. After you punch it in, you gaze at the Red Rider right in the eyes as the line began to ring actively. War simply huffs and narrows his eyes at you as you smirk. Not smugly, but more so in amusement.
Within a moment the line clicked.
"Hello, this is Fred's Novelty Shop, how may I help you this evening?" A notably bored voice greeted.
"Good evening, I'd like to know if there was an item still in stock." You explain. The voice softly sighs.
"What is the item that you are looking for?" They ask. You reply that you are looking for a ballpoint pen in the shape of a very specific blade. You hear the tapping of a keyboard in the background.
You sip on your boozy coffee while the Horseman gazes with a stone expression of criticalness at your every interaction. The voice returns in a slightly warmer tone.
"The blade you are looking for is the special edition Chaoseater blade. The website says there is no pens in stock, however we can order it in. Would you like to-"
"PLEASE LET ME PLACE AN ORDER FOR IT." You practically scream. Yes! This was the blessing needed to sending the Horseman on his way. The voice sighs deeply, obviously irritated, and taps their keyboard rather sourly in silence. The voice informs you that an order has been placed, and that they required your personal information. Without hesitation you rush to find your wallet and grab your credentials.
The Red Rider watches you with a significantly warmer countenance, the tension on his hulking shoulders slowly laxing. This in turn makes you feel a lot more at ease. You lay out your information and wait for the voice to give you the okay.
"When would you like your order delivered?" They ask.
"As soon as possible please." You sigh to calm your excitement. You give the thumbs up to the Horseman as the voice drones about the scenario that will happen when the package arrives and about the price. War just quirked a brow and his mouth twitched, but gave little indication to whether or not that was a good sign. A measly goodnight was given as the employee hung up, but that did not dampen your mood in the slightest. Your current situation was getting resolved, and that was all that mattered. You beamed at the Horseman.
"Wonderful news! The pen is expected to arrive in about 2-ish weeks. I know that sounds like a lot of time, but considering the supplier lives in Japan, this is normal." You explain, finishing your cup as the hulking man rose and paced to the large windows that faced a frozen lake. He gazed out silently, less irritable and tense but not totally happy either. You understood why.
You look at your coffee thoughtfully as you think of something empathetically to say to the Red Rider. "Listen, I understand if you don't want to stay here, so you can go incognito for a while until the pen comes in if you-"
"I am bound by the contract." War interrupted curtly. That made you flinch and look up at him. "I cannot simply leave. Further, you stated yourself that the world is not ready for a Horseman. It will cause more tiresome mayhem to exit this premise." He gazed sharply at you in silence from over the massive curve of his shoulder, which put you on edge. You held your breath at the sudden change which made your chest hurt. Then he grunted in disdain, and returned to the window.
So much for bonding.
After getting a slap of rudeness from the Horseman, you needed to venture away from him for a while. You threw your coat on and found your hat, grumbling as you put your boots on.
What an ass, I'm trying to help him out and he's being such a prick about it! If he thinks he can walk all over me, I swear I'll-
"Where are you going?" A rough voice practically demands rather than asks, interrupting your thoughts.
Your groan was on the border of a annoyed growl, and you glare at the source. "I'm heading outside for a while. The driveway won't shovel itself." you grumble, shoving your hands into heavy duty gloves and finding a scarf. The Horseman burned holes in your back as you quickly walked out and slammed the door, the winter air cooling your increasingly firey face as you held your temper.
At last, you sigh and shuffle numbly to the shovel, to which you pick and walk to the end of the driveway. Damn that Horseman for being so rude about this whole ordeal. You were struggling too! How were you supposed to know that you could summon things? Magic isn't even supposed to exist on Earth, let alone in some measly artist's hands. As you violently throw the heavy snow off into slowly shaping banks, you realize something.
What about the other things that you've drawn? Would they come to life too? It's been 7 long years with that beloved though now potentially dangerous pen, and nothing supernatural ever resulted from using it...until now. Why now? Why at this moment, when you just got your career as a graphic artist off the ground, did complications arise?
You shake your head with a deep sigh, and subconsciously wonder about the ability to summon things. How did you do it? What on this God forsaken planet gave you the awesome ability to actually be capable of summoning a Horseman of the Apocalypse? You snort at the idea of having some hidden power, that you were the clichéd offspring of some divine being that gave you this supernatural characteristic.
Yeah right. But...it was a question that you were genuinely curious about, despite your doubts. Perhaps this would help to solve this conundrum. Now that you were venting your temper, you did feel better after the exercise. For several minutes you heave snow and clear a path, piling the snow into high banks. A simple path to your car (which was still submerged under the snow), a clear driveway, and a cleared path into your house was the result of your labour.
While heavily panting, you remove your hat and loosen your scarf, the exercise making you being to radiate heat like mad. The moisture from the accumulated sweat you were perspiring showed in the air, thin wisps of steam slowly cooling you off. The chilly air from the still of the winter evening felt quite nice honestly. Picking up your shovel, you turn to head back inside your house to ask the Horseman. He may be absolutely irritating, but you realized that he had answers. You almost reluctantly trudged back inside.
As you remove your winter attire, you sigh as you ask the question that was on your mind. "Hey Horseman, I know we aren't on great terms, but let's try to smooth things out, alright? I have a question about how I was able to summon you of all beings." You introduced the topic as you walked through the kitchen to the living room, surprised when the space of where the pie occupied was now empty. Quirking a brow, you walk towards the living room almost curiously.
"So how was I able to summon you even though I'm a-" You halted, gawking at the kneeling Horseman in question, who was turned away from you, an empty and crumpled pie tin on the ground beside him. His armour softly creaked as he turned towards you, powder blue eyes glinting in defeat as his mouth was dusted with the crumbs of his weakness. You snort and laugh heartily, enjoying the idea of a divine being like War succumbing to the bliss of mortal baking.
"I can explain." He softly grumbles, whether in regard to the pie or to your question you had no idea, but you continued laughing anyways, deciding that this act of weakness was the right kind of leverage you could use in the future.
AN: Hey Darksiders fans!'^-^
I know it's been more than a year since I updated, and I feel awful! Life sucks, and my attention span is even worse haha (ahem). I was inspired to finish this chapter after reading Darksiders fics (If you want an awesome fic to read, check out Daydreaming Didn't Cover This! It's sooooooooooooooooo good), instead of studying for my midterm ahah.
Anyways, thank for reading! I'll try to update more :)