I Am Darkness [1 other]

[hedgiedeath]

{some sort of alley between two tall buildings.}

Blake Damon was allowed to have bad days. He was allowed to be angry with what he had and wish he had something else every once in a while. For a while now, since that day in Hyde Park, he's been pretty grateful and almost... happy. Being with Delilah had softened him a bit, seeing as before he was rather cold and unemotional. But if anyone expected him to be happy every second of the day while doing his damned job, they were mistaken. Ferrying souls did not call for emotion. It did not call for feelings. It did not call for a second look at humanity and life because of one silly girl.

The dark figure stopped while entering the long alleyway and punched the brick wall. Not hard enough to break anything, just enough to release some of the anger. He was still human, and stil a man. It calmed him down a bit.

No, Delilah wasn't just some silly girl. At the moment, she was his everything. The one risk he took, because if anything happened to her, he would not have been able to live with himself. Which was a lie, of course, because he thought he had to live. Killing yourself wasn't an option when you were death, right?

Some part in the back of his mind that was still angry from the other day brought up an idea that he dismissed immediately: that she wasn't worth it. No, to his conscious mind, she was worth everything. Even if she had a male roommate and was naive enought to get into trouble. But what if he was just blinded? What if it wasn't really meant to be? Blake never really thought of their future all that much. In fact, what he thought about more often nowadays was Paige Adams.

God, he hated when his mind wandered to that subject. There was just something about the woman that made him want to know more. They were alike in some way Blake hadn't figured out yet, and some part of him wanted to know.

It would have been better today if he had gotten a chance to see or talk to Delilah. But no, with the storm coming, a lot of people had been rushing around and gotten stupid. Car accidents, store robberies with clerks being killed, assaults gone wrong. No one else noticed the sudden increase but him, it seemed. There had even been a few intentional murders. His phone was either not working properly, or Delilah wasn't taking his calls.

The other side of the war in his mind said that he was grim reaper, and he shouldn't confide in the light that came from Delilah. He was darkness, and light cancelled out dark.

Suddenly, everything went black.

The only light came from the car headlights, and those were all facing a different direction than him. It was dark in the alleyway where the next dying soul waited as it was, but now it was pitch black.

He wasn't phased. Blake knew where the body was by that funny sense of direction he had that came with the pull towards the location. Ah, there it was, behind the dumpster. Murder victim. Stabbed, it seemed. Tortured a bit. Not that he could see in the dark, he just knew somehow.

But there was something else he knew. It was a general sense of presence, not that special of an ability.

He wasn't alone in this alley.

[MICHAELA GRAVES]

There was a disturbance in the force, as it were. Of course, with the storm coming, there was a general feeling of unease settling around New York. And as usual, this meant people had been getting careless. The beast was happy of course. Michaela hadn't been wasting these easy targets. And still, she had remained uncaptured. There was never any reason to suspect her. She never left behind weapons, or fingerprints, or hair, or anything that could be traced back to her. Besides, it wasn't like she was the only serial murderer in New York City.

It was because of these reasons that she had decided to figure out the answer to an old curiosity. If she was a character from a faerie story, and she knew there were others, what else was out there? Legends, fables, stories. Some intrigued her quite a bit. Like the Grim Reaper. Of course, being the cause of so many deaths, she wondered how she hadn't met him (or her) before, if he/she even existed. The thought struck her that she always left rather quickly after taking a life. Perhaps, if it did exist, it came a little too late to see her. So tonight would be different.

So tonight, this night of nights, Michaela lazily wandered the side-alleys of New York, dressed in a fashion that looked comfortable at first glance, but with a closer look, one could see that her clothes were very...sturdy. A snug white henley shirt clung to her feminine torso, tucked neatly into a pair of black skinny jeans, which in turn were tucked into a pair of worn, yet fashionable boots. Steel toed of course. Tucked into one of these boots was her favorite knife, freshly cleaned and sharpened to perfection. All that was left was to wait, and find a target. Plenty of seedy types. Boring people living their boring lives, just waiting for her to come and teach them how to live, right before taking their lives.

She settled on a particularly obnoxious looking individual. Apparently, nobody had let this person know that the 'emo' thing should not last into one's early twenties. With his bad makeup smeared across the oily expanse of his face, his clothes that were far too small on his frame, the dyed purple fringe of hair falling 'artfully' into his eyes, all of it offended Michaela. And one did not offend Michaela. Not for very long anyway.

She reached her mind out, the skinny tendrils of her consciousness snaking into his mind. He was sad. He was very sad. He was considering suicide. How droll. She prodded further for a reason. Oh. Oh you are kidding. Over a girl? He was playing with the idea of death over a silly girl who refused a second date with him? This would not be abided by. So, the game began. She walked past him, caught his eye, offered a coquettish smile, and even a blush. She kept walking, turned, walked back past him, trying to make it seem like she was trying to look at him without really having him notice. It was working perfectly. Once more she walked past, his eyes completely on her, wondering at his luck, wondering if it had finally turned around.

Poor thing.

She stopped, keeping an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm sorry, you must think I'm some kind of stalker." Her brushed her worries away with a sheepish grin and a mumbled response she didn't really care to hear. "It's just. I think you're very attractive." And hope sprung eternal in his heart. He mumbled something again, she wasn't paying much attention. The itch had begun to get to her. "I was wondering what you were doing right now? I don't really have anything planned, I was just walking home." He looked concerned for her, asking if she was going alone. She laughed a little, a sweet smile that felt foreign to her. "Well yes. I'm a bit frightened actually, people have been crazy lately!" The small talk was annoying her. Just agree and come along already!

And then he said it. 'I could walk you home, if you're scared.' His attempts to be tough would be cute, like a kitten trying to fight a pitbull. She blushed again. "That would be lovely, thank you." And she led him off, down the path to his destruction. They turned a corner, she was feeding him lies about her life, he was pouring his heart out to her, and he didn't even realize that they were walking to a dead end until it was far too late. "Oh Matthew." She began, all undertones of sweetness gone from her voice, the sound of a predator swooping in for the kill. He turned to find her blocking his escape. He could still try. That would be funny. She continued, plucking thoughts from his head to add to his paranoia. "You naive thing. Jessica was right to refuse your advances. You are dull. Boring. Droll." He stared at her disbelievingly. 'Ho-how did you know about her?' She laughed again, but this time it was cruel. Grating. "You were thinking of ending your life earlier tonight. Allow me to assist." She could almost taste his fear, it was palpable. 'No! No, I don't want to die, please!'

She leapt forward, tackling him, while covering his mouth with a strength that should not have belonged to someone so delicate looking. "Now, we both know that's not true. If it were, you'd have screamed." She slammed his head against the ground hard enough to knock him out momentarily, while her hands greedily wrapped around his throat, applying just enough pressure to damage his vocal chords beyond much use.

He came to not much later, and Michaela was already at work. What woke him was the agonizing pain. She had taken out her knife, and was in the process of reheating the blade with a lighter. "Nice of you to return." She said, absentmindedly, concentrating on her task. The blade turned an angry, glowing, dangerous red, and she laid it to his skin, causing an agonized squeak to come from his damaged throat. "Don't be like that. I'm helping you on your quest to oblivion. You've been flirting with death for so long. So, so long. Even in your dreams. Even the one you just had. It was flattering. By the way, that isn't what my breasts look like." The casual conversation was in such dissonance with the situation, it was almost comical.

This continued for a while, and quickly grew boring. When she was satisfied, she mercifully ended his life with a quick stab to the chest, his blood splattering across her face as it choked up out of his mouth. She grinned, the macabre scene before her very pleasing. And now was time to wait. She was confident that she wouldn't be found for a while. She wiped her blade on her ruined shirt, and stood, finding a suitable place to sit and wait on the top of the nearest dumpster.

She didn't have to wait long. She could feel him before he appeared, and the knowledge of being right, coupled with the feeling he gave her actually sent flutters in her stomach. As though she was a silly teenager, about to meet her favorite band member. The allure of meeting the actual DEATH was pretty exciting to the little murderess.

He rounded the corner, dapper, and seemingly upset about something. He punched the wall, and she could taste his anger. It was delicious. Then, out of nowhere, the lights went out, and he realized he was not alone. A sound that could be described as a giggle escaped her throat, and she began to speak. "Not in sadness, but in wrath, the reaper came today." She looked down at the poor Matthew, a glint in her electric blue gaze, her eyes having no trouble adjusting to the darkness. "A demon visited this dark path, and took this fool away."

She hopped lightly from her perch, returning the knife to it's living space in her boot. "I've been wanting to meet you for a while, dear Death." She stepped forward, invading his personal space. "I've been keeping you awfully busy."

Tag: Blake Word Count: 1413 Outfit: I trust you can read.
Notes: omg yay. Mich, I love you. You crazy bitch.
Credits: Lyrics from Monster by Skillet
Template by Masquerade Raccoon @ Caution 2.0

[hedgiedeath]

Blake didn't know the whole story behind the death of the gothic/emo-styled kid. At the moment, he was too angry and tense to even care. This was one of those moments where he didn't even rethink his theory of whether or not he could actually die, because dying could not be possible for the Grim Reaper. And that's all of who he was at the moment, the Reaper. With the sudden darkness came a temporary sort of peace between the warring sides of his emotions, but it was a cold peace. Like a piece of solid rock. Times like this came now and again, when Blake Damon kind of disappeared and all that was left was the Grim Reaper, to a certain extent.

So when he peered into the blackness, it was not with fear, but with a little bit of annoyance at the thought of someone disrupting his duties. Of course, he could see, but all he could really make out was a silhouette of a person sitting on a dumpster. He didn't even flinch when the figure emitted a sort of giggle that sounded like it didn't belong, or that it didn't come out of it that often. And then it spoke.

"Not in sadness, but in wrath, the reaper came today. A demon visited this dark path, and took this fool away."

It sounded like a sort of rhyme from a song, to be honest, though he wasn't sure the woman had meant for it to sound poetic or not. He also wasn't sure if she meant that he was the demon, or she was, though with the aura of pure evil that seemed to surround her, there was no doubt in his mind that she was the bearer of the blade that killed the man.

He responded with nothing but a curious scrutinizing glance at her, wondering what she was planning on doing and when she was going to get it over with. The Grim Reaper was busy, after all, and with the blackout it was likely there would be more accidents and deaths and deals to make. Not that many wanted to strike a deal with who they assumed was the devil these days, but it still happened. Some would do anything to live, even if it meant giving up memories or social ties.

Again, he didn't flinch when she hopped off the dumpster and approached him. In fact, his eyes had adjusted to the dark now so he could make out her features. Dark hair, pale skin, eerily light eyes. It was easy to see how the kid had followed her into a literal dead end.

"I've been wanting to meet you for a while, dear Death. I've been keeping you awfully busy."

"So you're one of the many murderers around New York City. Congratulations." His words seemed dismissive but his tone said something else entirely. It wasn't interested, no, more slightly intrigued. The one he'd met before sparked something inside him, and though he didn't seek out killers, he found it interesting to meet them, seeing as they controlled the fate of a few of his... clientel, if you must. Come to think of it, that was exactly what they were, though he hadn't thought of it that way before. "I have been awfully busy, yes. You're actually the second killer I've met."

He looked at the body again, soul ready to be ferried. Blake breathed, feeling the soul beginning to pass through him and to the other side. "I must say, I do admire your handiwork. Though, I have to say, what did the poor fellow do to deserve it?" He didn't sound remorseful or really disheartened by the fact at all, merely curious.

One thing was for certain, though. Utter darkness and slight chaos brought out a side of Blake Damon that he had thought dissipated long ago, and he honestly didn't know how to feel about that at the moment. He doubted he could feel in the usual sense with the way he was.

notes; i don't know where this post came from, but it's 708 words of very dark fluff and milake shipment.

[MICHAELA GRAVES]

Though she had chided her latest victim on the idea of flirting with Death, the longer he stood there, no fear in his dark eyes, the more the idea entranced Michaela. Of course, the concept was entirely different. The fool had been toying with Suicide, whereas she had opted to actually hit on the physical representation of the Grim Reaper.

Still invading his personal space, she licked her lips a bit before smiling, the expression ever so intimidating, as it stretched and transformed her face into something...off. Not strange enough to cause alarm, but just odd enough to make it seem less than human.

He congratulated her on being one of the murderers of New York, and the sinister smile crept off her face, her expression instead turning petulant. Well that wouldn't do. She knew there was more than just her out there, of course, but she wanted to be daddies favorite. She stepped back, but not before intaking a sharp breath, her senses flooding with the scent of Belladonna and Larkspur. Her pupils dilated, the mingled scent of the two plants very attractive, while at the same time warning her that he was deadly. He destroyed everything he came in contact with.

Her lips quirked up again as she skittered backwards into the alley, holding her arms out, displaying her 'art.' "Do you like it? I wanted it to be special." Her tone was not unlike a child seeking approval from a father, while still retaining a certain quality about it that seemed like a woman speaking to her lover. The juxtaposition of it was disturbing, but it suited her.

She had actually worked hard on this one. Having had the plan in her head to actually meet Death tonight, she refused to do anything less than show off. His skin was lacerated in intricate designs, that started off beautifully, starting at the tips of his limbs, and crawling across his mostly naked body. She had left his boxer-briefs on for modesty's sake, something she deemed to be a great act of kindness. As the designs crept closer to the still bleeding chest wound, however, they grew harsher, more dark. She had spelled out the name of the girl on his mind, the one that had driven his heart so woeful. Jessica was spelled out over and over again, weaved into the rest of the scarring. It was messy, but beautiful if one took the time to appreciate it. "I would imagine in your line of work, you hardly take the time out of your schedule to notice the hard work some of us put into our...conquests."

There was a sudden chill, running far from her. She could sense fear. It seemed to run through her companion in darkness, and her cold eyes widened ever so slightly. So that was what it looked like when a soul left the world. She was so fascinated, that she almost missed his compliment towards her, and the question that went with it. She straightened from the crouching position she had taken, to better admire her own handiwork, and smirked. "The poor fool had been blinded by love. Slighted by a woman, and instead of doing the sensible thing and moving on, he was instead toying with suicide. I merely acted as a catalyst. A bit of a Kavorkian move, but I like to help in what way I can." Her tone was personable, as though they were discussing the weather.

"Honestly, he was probably going to go through with it. A blackout is not the best climate for Suicidal thoughts. It was either I did it, or he would have done it himself." Of course, the blackout was unforseen by her, her actions were not at all justifiable. Then again, she had a feeling Death wouldn't mind all that much. Sure, she had been upping his numbers a bit, but she had to alleviate the boredom of cancer patients, automobile crash victims, and other murders that were simply crimes of passion.

There were other murders in New York City, of course. Jilted lovers acting on a drunken mistake, drug dealers collecting on unpaid debts. But they were not like her. She was a capable business woman, with everything going for her. She had a lovely apartment, money to spend on unnecessary and lavish items, and a pretty face to boot. She was a homicidal maniac, simply for the pleasure of being one. She had no rhyme or reason to her crimes. She had no reason or motive other than pure evil, and sadistic pleasure.

Surely that had to be cause for a certain amount of curiosity.

"So, do you have a name? Or should I stick with Death? The Reaper sounded pretty, but I think a doctored Miss Dickinson is a bit too stiff for casual acquaintance, wouldn't you agree?" The smile had returned, though it was less sinister than before. It was the closest thing to friendly Michaela would get, and even then, it wasn't much.

Tag: Blake Word Count: 848 Outfit: I trust you can read.
Notes: I learn something new about Mich with every post.
Credits: Lyrics from Monster by Skillet
Template by Masquerade Raccoon @ Caution 2.0

[hedgiedeath]

At this point, Blake really was buried. It seemed to be the case when encased in darkness and among a different sort of dealer of death. The real Blake would probably have felt a little fear, but this one didn't even flinch when she licked her lips. This one didn't care about Delilah or Paige. This one simply didn't care about anything. He didn't feel. He was Death, and Death was more powerful than any living thing. Because life became death, never the other way around.

"Do you like it? I wanted it to be special."

So Blake did turn to look at the body of the boy that the woman had seemed to work so hard on. To the other Blake, people who played with the bodies were twisted, but had to be tolerated. But this time, he looked at the body and smiled. He turned back to her and said, "Lovely." He was playing right into her little father/daughter lovers game because he wanted to, because it was interesting. Because as far as he knew, there wasn't much else to do at the moment, though ther could be at any point.

"I would imagine in your line of work, you hardly take the time out of your schedule to notice the hard work some of us put into our...conquests."

"Oh, I do notice. In fact, I think this might be one of the best I've seen." He purposely used the words 'one of', of course. She seemed like the type to want to be the best, and Blake was a cruel Blake. He wasn't going to give her that satisfaction if she didn't deserve it. They had only just met. Though, seeing her eyes widen as the boy's soul left the earth, he could see that she was going to try to work her way up there.

"The poor fool had been blinded by love. Slighted by a woman, and instead of doing the sensible thing and moving on, he was instead toying with suicide. I merely acted as a catalyst. A bit of a Kavorkian move, but I like to help in what way I can."

"How charitable." Her replied in the same tone she did, as if to say that the weather was very nice, indeed.

"Honestly, he was probably going to go through with it. A blackout is not the best climate for Suicidal thoughts. It was either I did it, or he would have done it himself."

Oh? Blake read that as almost a hint of regret. Justifying your actions was another way of trying to get yourself out of trouble, right? Saying you sort of had to do something made it seem like less of a crime. Even though she probably couldn't forsee the blackout, unless he was underestimating her, it was still an odd thing for a woman like her to say. He tilted his head curiously. He was definitely interested, which was not something the Grim Reaper was often.

"So, do you have a name? Or should I stick with Death? The Reaper sounded pretty, but I think a doctored Miss Dickinson is a bit too stiff for casual acquaintance, wouldn't you agree?"

The almost friendly sort of question and facial expression made him even more curious. "Blake will do," he said, shrugging in an almost casual fashion. "It's the name of my host."