Angels Lie
oo1: Black Sea
Lies. Bert found himself swimming in a sea of them, getting stung by the various hurtful ones that lead him to believe nobody told the truth. It was a black sea – one that invaded his mind, and darkened his blue eyes to the point you weren’t sure if they were a black colour, or the actual blue they usually were.
Trust was impossible to find, he decided, as he wandered along the streets, worn out and tired. His job involved trusting people – trusting people with his secret, if they happened to discover him. They didn’t – not normally, but, on the rare times they did find him stalking their whereabouts, he had to either explain, or risk getting arrested and thrown in jail; he supposed He wouldn’t like that.
His job was to protect, not to discover. Sometimes – more often than not – it was harder than it appeared. And most times, he felt like flinging himself off a roof just to prove to Him that this was a useless job – one that Bert was not capable of. He knew the most flinging himself off a roof would get him was a few scratches and maybe a few scars, and he’d still be alive.
There was something about immortality that was so unromantic.
Bert flicked his cigarette out, and stayed back in the shadows as his newest protect - “ee” came along, taking a left and ducking into a bar. He sighed out loud and looked up at the sky, wondering why he’d received this job, instead of a simple one, like ticking off the numbers of who died every day. Certainly he wasn’t that good of a person to have to protect people.
Screw that, he’d never been a good person.
And here he was, ducking into a bar, trying to find his “charge;” what did he do to deserve this again? A light tap on the shoulder from a stern-looking woman at the bar reminded him that there were people watching over him as well. His lips curled into a small smirk as he found his new project sitting in a booth, smoking, and arguing with someone. Finally, the other someone stood up, murmured something that seemed rather vile, by the look on his face – and then he walked away.
Bert sunk a bit further into the crowd, trying to stay invisible. Finally, his “charge” turned around, and he got a good look at his face.
And my, how surprised he was to see his face. It was pale, slender, caramel eyes that had some kind of fire in them. His jaw was set in place, firm, but twitching with anger and frustration. His fists were clenched, turning his knuckles white.
But through it all, Bert found him to be beautiful, and nonetheless.
He was getting away now, Bert was losing him, as he tried to search him out and what seemed to be an even bigger and tighter crowd than before. He closed his eyes and sighed, know that he’d have to use his what power he could to find the stupid “charge.”
He also reminded himself to find out the new kid’s name, before very easily disappearing from the crowd, and landing – ungracefully – next to him. “Shit!” he cursed. Finally that “charge” looked at him, surprised, and almost angrily.
“Could you watch it?” he snarled. His voice was…it was almost velvety, Bert decided, wrinkling his nose.
Ungrateful prick, Meta-Bert echoed in his head. Real Bert just apologized, and sunk back into a corner, watching his project wander off to get a drink. Meta-Bert continued to talk, though. You have to watch for him – remember you don’t know when – or if – you’ll be able to save him. And if you don’t, think of how pissed He will be.
Real Bert told Meta-Bert to shut up, before wandering back out into the crowd in search of the project. He ran into him again. And again, he said – loudly, “Shit!”
The project whirled around, and growled. “Okay, that’s twice.”
“Sorry.”
“Well, what the fuck do you want then, you’re practically stalking me?”
“Sorry,” under his breath, he added, “As if I really want to.” The project continued to keep staring at him, arms crossed, pale, slender face keeping a level gaze on him, waiting – rather impatiently – for him to talk again. “I didn’t mean to.”
The project’s gaze softened, and, once more Bert reminded himself to figure out his name so he didn’t have to keep referring to him as ‘the project.’ It was getting annoying, and beginning to sound like he was some scientist who was studying to poor guy’s anatomy.
Bert took a few steps back, mentally, and tried to figure out when in hell he had softened. Was it not just three months ago he would’ve pounded this guy’s face in without a second thought for treating him like shit? Would he not have given him the biggest attitude adjustment of his entire fucking life, had he spoken to him like that? Was he missing something? Had He forced him to soften up?
And if so, He was going to get it when he got around to talking to him. Then Bert figured out that He probably already knew he’d be pissed about this, and he was forcing him to follow this guy instead, just so he could avoid the screaming match Bert knew would erupt. Bert considered himself to have a lot of guts, considering the fact this guy could easily send his ass off to Hell.
The project was still staring. “Sorry,” Bert said louder, again. “I just…” what lie could he make up now? What could he tell this guy, besides the stupid truth? “I like you,” he said into his ear, and the project began to smile.
Saving lives involved swimming in the black sea, Bert decided, that night. Not only had he been lied to, in his original life, but now, here he was, doing the lies. You were always drowning in that black sea.
Trust was impossible to find, he decided, as he wandered along the streets, worn out and tired. His job involved trusting people – trusting people with his secret, if they happened to discover him. They didn’t – not normally, but, on the rare times they did find him stalking their whereabouts, he had to either explain, or risk getting arrested and thrown in jail; he supposed He wouldn’t like that.
His job was to protect, not to discover. Sometimes – more often than not – it was harder than it appeared. And most times, he felt like flinging himself off a roof just to prove to Him that this was a useless job – one that Bert was not capable of. He knew the most flinging himself off a roof would get him was a few scratches and maybe a few scars, and he’d still be alive.
There was something about immortality that was so unromantic.
Bert flicked his cigarette out, and stayed back in the shadows as his newest protect - “ee” came along, taking a left and ducking into a bar. He sighed out loud and looked up at the sky, wondering why he’d received this job, instead of a simple one, like ticking off the numbers of who died every day. Certainly he wasn’t that good of a person to have to protect people.
Screw that, he’d never been a good person.
And here he was, ducking into a bar, trying to find his “charge;” what did he do to deserve this again? A light tap on the shoulder from a stern-looking woman at the bar reminded him that there were people watching over him as well. His lips curled into a small smirk as he found his new project sitting in a booth, smoking, and arguing with someone. Finally, the other someone stood up, murmured something that seemed rather vile, by the look on his face – and then he walked away.
Bert sunk a bit further into the crowd, trying to stay invisible. Finally, his “charge” turned around, and he got a good look at his face.
And my, how surprised he was to see his face. It was pale, slender, caramel eyes that had some kind of fire in them. His jaw was set in place, firm, but twitching with anger and frustration. His fists were clenched, turning his knuckles white.
But through it all, Bert found him to be beautiful, and nonetheless.
He was getting away now, Bert was losing him, as he tried to search him out and what seemed to be an even bigger and tighter crowd than before. He closed his eyes and sighed, know that he’d have to use his what power he could to find the stupid “charge.”
He also reminded himself to find out the new kid’s name, before very easily disappearing from the crowd, and landing – ungracefully – next to him. “Shit!” he cursed. Finally that “charge” looked at him, surprised, and almost angrily.
“Could you watch it?” he snarled. His voice was…it was almost velvety, Bert decided, wrinkling his nose.
Ungrateful prick, Meta-Bert echoed in his head. Real Bert just apologized, and sunk back into a corner, watching his project wander off to get a drink. Meta-Bert continued to talk, though. You have to watch for him – remember you don’t know when – or if – you’ll be able to save him. And if you don’t, think of how pissed He will be.
Real Bert told Meta-Bert to shut up, before wandering back out into the crowd in search of the project. He ran into him again. And again, he said – loudly, “Shit!”
The project whirled around, and growled. “Okay, that’s twice.”
“Sorry.”
“Well, what the fuck do you want then, you’re practically stalking me?”
“Sorry,” under his breath, he added, “As if I really want to.” The project continued to keep staring at him, arms crossed, pale, slender face keeping a level gaze on him, waiting – rather impatiently – for him to talk again. “I didn’t mean to.”
The project’s gaze softened, and, once more Bert reminded himself to figure out his name so he didn’t have to keep referring to him as ‘the project.’ It was getting annoying, and beginning to sound like he was some scientist who was studying to poor guy’s anatomy.
Bert took a few steps back, mentally, and tried to figure out when in hell he had softened. Was it not just three months ago he would’ve pounded this guy’s face in without a second thought for treating him like shit? Would he not have given him the biggest attitude adjustment of his entire fucking life, had he spoken to him like that? Was he missing something? Had He forced him to soften up?
And if so, He was going to get it when he got around to talking to him. Then Bert figured out that He probably already knew he’d be pissed about this, and he was forcing him to follow this guy instead, just so he could avoid the screaming match Bert knew would erupt. Bert considered himself to have a lot of guts, considering the fact this guy could easily send his ass off to Hell.
The project was still staring. “Sorry,” Bert said louder, again. “I just…” what lie could he make up now? What could he tell this guy, besides the stupid truth? “I like you,” he said into his ear, and the project began to smile.
Saving lives involved swimming in the black sea, Bert decided, that night. Not only had he been lied to, in his original life, but now, here he was, doing the lies. You were always drowning in that black sea.
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