Jibril was out, in a wooded area on the outskirts of B ayfield. He was drunk, high, and completely miserable feeling. He had just fallen asleep, intent on taking a short nap, only to be visited by one of his horrific flashbacks. Why do all of them always include blood? There is always some form of death in his flashbacks, especially death of children. It was bad enough he had to take care of one, this was just horrid, he wouldn't allow himself to breakdown in his apartment so he had taken it out here.

He had cried for what seemed like hours and drunk himself into a stupor then a few hours later, smoked through the rest of his pot. He had only a few joints left, and one was dangling from his mouth as he laid back against a tree. The alchohol had pretty much worn away now, that stuff never lasted long, and it really made you feel shitty instead of happy. His pot did, which was odd, considering he was miserable but happy too.

His bright green eyes were bright with an unearthly glow, but there was also a nonfocused stare in it. Like if he was staring into another world or dimension. Probably just thinking, which was just like another universe. So many hidden and forgotten things storn in there, just the right thought would bring them out. But Jibby can only keep thinking about the pink ballons and why he couldn't bring them down with his mind. It was very frusterating. He couldn't move his body either, or so he thinks, it was all psychological. He wasn't hallucinating, it was like when you had a high fever and you are crying because your finger tips feel funny but you can't figure out what's wrong with them. They only feel like that becuase you fell asleep on them, but your mind makes you think something is seriously wrong with them.

Jibby only thinks there is ballons there and he needs to get them down or something bad would happen. He gave a whimper, wishing he could move. He couldn't see the ballons, his orange streaked purple hair was covering his eyes, but he knew they were up there. The tears started to flow again, falling down onto his formless grey sweater. The v-neck of the sweater went down around his shoulders, revealing a yellow turtle neck, not really his color. It was ridiculous, wearing such warm clothes in this warm weather, he was probably overheated. The flushed skin revealed on his lower face shown that he was. He was shaking too so he might actually really be sick, but it was only a side affect from when he got high. His thick, heavy buckled boots were hardly visible under the large black Goth pants he wore.

Someone call the fashion police. Least to say, besides the flushed parts of his skin, Jibby was deathly pale and as usual...looked like shit. Like he'd been dragged by a horse for miles, even his hair was messy for once. He took a drag out of his joint, which was perched on his lower lip, despite the fact he wasn't using his hands he could do it perfectly. He's gone through this before and never has been able to get those pink ballons down with his mind even though he doesn't know where they are.

He wished he could stop crying, just for a moment at least, he can't breath very well. Note the hacking cough you hear every few minutes or so. It would almost be hard to believe he goes through this every week if he hid his illness better. Poor dear, he hasn't been hugged in a few weeks and has been staying inside more lately, taking care of the child. He whimpered yet again and slid down the rock slightly. He wanted to sleep but that would mean dreams and he'd be like this all over again.

This curse as he calls it, will most likely never go away. Too old to remember, but too young to forget completely.

There was something about the sky that was different when Vilhjámur was up there, rather than staring up at it with a wistful sigh. Large, powerful wings cut through the air like it were soft butter, and leathery skin stretched out to continue to glide with the air current, allowing his body to drift lazily along in the sky.

Then he swooped, dived, and carefully went up again, the wind toying with his long and unbraided hair fiercely. Vilhjámur loved the sensation of the wind clawing back at him like a vicious, wild animal, and dived again, as if accepting its challenge to gain dominance. So he swooped and dived again, and had almost fell out of the sky after forgetting to go back up again. But he had reason.

His violet eyes, surprisingly like a hawk's, had caught sight of something that vultures should have picked on. Now, Vilhjámur wasn't what you would consider a vulture (quite the opposite really, he could be described as a free-spirited eagle, or a wild, untamed stallion), but he thought it best to dive down there and see what that thing was before the vultures did have a chance to get to it.

So he continued to dive down, falling out of the sky, but not without grace. Before he approached the ground he stopped and did a small swoop back up briefly, setting himself so his feet would land gracefully on the ground.

And he did so, hovering above the ground for another brief moment before landing next to Jibril.

His hair was a mess of black almost tangles, falling neatly around him despite this fact. His eyes were set into a concerned stare as he studied the vulture's food, which was not really food, but a... person? No, not a person. He had that thick essence of someone not entirely human and at all, and he looked so very... sick.

He frowned, crouching beside Jibril's near crumpled form, leather pants creaking against skin as he did so, seating his butt on the heels of his boots. His trenchcoat folded with the way he sat, and very vaguely revealed a black turtleneck beneath it.

Let's not forget that it is near ninety degrees outside, and he is dressed far too warmly for this weather. He can't feel the heat anyway, so he'd never bothered switching clothes for the summer.

"Goddess... O, dear wilted flower..." He breathed softly, reaching his hand and flexing his fingers, fingertips just barely brushing the angel's face.

Jibril's eyes, at first closed now flickered open. He wanted to move and without realizing he was, he brushed his hair out of his face, revealing his now open eyes. The green was almost hard to stare at becuase of it's brightness and the yellow and pink flecks looked like twinkling stars within them.

What a pretty person. He leaned forward, but the energy coming from him wasn't human. It seemed that, now that there was another being here, he could focus more slightly. But he still didn't feel good, and a fresh stream of tears trailed down his face. He gave a muffled sob, his pink face growing even hotter if possible. He was too warm and that didn't make him feel any better.

The pink balloons will havre to wait a little, he promises to himself that he will come back for them. Already the affects are wearing away, they never last for long, at least this combo doesn't. His mouth opened slightly, his joint barely clinging to his mouth as he went on to study the chatarter in front of him.

A slender hand was extended and he traced softly, the face of the other. His touch was like a buzz, a warm buzz of power, even Vil should be able to feel the gentle but chaotic power that this ancient being holds. As he leaned forward, his wings which had been hidden within the trees behind him, were revealed. The black feathers not making him look evil in any way, but actually adding an even more gentle atmosphere. He was an angel after all, one with morals and a very kind one.

There was a smile of some sort on his face, he gave a weak chuckle, "How lovely you are..."

He frowned, taking the hand that was softly tracing his face into his own large, grayish pale one. His own hand swallowed Jibril's own rather small, delicate hand from underneath, clutching it barely around Jibril's palm so the top of his hand showed. He felt that buzz of power, and it almost made the tips of his fingertips tingle.

He stared for a moment into Jibril's eyes, and leaned over a little, lips barely brushing the top of his hand, warm breath gently breathed upon it.

"Nay, it is you who is lovely. What a beautiful creature."

He looked back up, then bowed his head slightly.

"I apologize if I have... offended you by trespassing."

His eyes, untamed and deep purple, traveled Jibril's figure almost submissively and then went back to his face.

"But I was simply... concerned for your.." his eyes found scars near the other's mesmorizing multi-colored eyes causing him to pause, "...welfare."

Jibby smiled softly and bowed his head, pausing for a moment before raising it once again. It has been quite a while since he had met a being with such pleasant manners. The other's soft speech didn't make his head hurt and it made him feel some fondness for this creature.

"I...thank you..."

His own voice, soft, smooth, and deep was slightly wavering. He lifted up another hand and quickly finished the last snuff of his joint. He closed his hand only so slightly and opened it once again and the effect was an almost nonexsistent crumple. He put it into his pocket and wiped it on the sweater. It was clean again and he lifted that hand, and took the other's into his. A shake of his head.

"No...I have not been...offended, it is very pleasant to have company.."

His hand that the creature had been holding turned too, so now Vil's hand was held between both. He moved one down to the thumb, leaving the palm uncovered and leaned forward. The other's skin was cool against his flushed skin, and his tears dripped onto it. He sniffed and pulled back slightly, wiping the hand. He looked rather sheepish if you could call it that. He looked down, the smale smile still on his face and he looked up, face still turned down.

"Thank you once again...I feel...fine...I suppose...the same as I usually do..."

"Ah... something so sorrowful... what a pretty face... you could have fooled many..You could have fooled the setting sun, or the many stars in the sky... but no," he traced a thumb along one of Jibril's scars on his face using the hand that wasn't captured, pushing one of the tears away, "you cannot fool me. You belong in the meadows, with the flowers..."

He looked down at Jibril's hands, then back at his face, which was turned down, though he was looking up. He could not manage a smile, but instead a curious expression.

"So, why... why are you here, withering away like a flower who's not been allowed the kiss... the gentle carress," his claw was surprisingly not cutting into Jibril's skin as his thumb traced the angel's jawline, "of the sun? Such a deserving creature... sick yet pure as the sun on a warm summer evening... but tired in just the same way as the sun says good night to the world, waiting for its warm greeting in the morning."

He paused but didn't look away, "And yet you hide your pretty face, behind that curtain of hair..." His voice was smooth in its tone, very soft, containing a whispery quality... not hoarse at all.

Jibril looked back down, as if he was ashamed and he was. Why did he wallow in the dark? The sun was beautiful but it was so bright and right now...too warm...His eyes closed for a half moment before reopening. He was about to pass out from the heat, so tired, too warm. He wanted to get the shirts off now but he felt like he had not the strength to do so.

His soft breath grew even lighter and he leaned back against the tree, feeling light headed. He looked to the creature, looking young but with the air of a creature his age. Ancient and tired.

"I am tired...the sun is beautiful but I don't think I can make it out to there right now, so warm..."

Another shuddery breath, why does he hide? Why does he do this to himself? Attonement perhaps, yes...attonement for the horrid things he has done before. His eyes lingered on the other before looking into the creature's eyes, beautfiul like amythests.

"I feel it is what I must do...being who I am...an ancient and tired being whom the world has no use for..."

Except that child...the thought flickered through his head for the moment and his breath caught in his throat and he slumped slightly. There was a small smile on his face.

"Except the child..."

He will be basing his life around that child, to protect would be his mission. He did something like that a long while ago a Princess or someone like that, but he failed. This time he wouldn't.

The sun was beautiful, of course, but not as beautiful as Jibril was... and not as hard on the eyes. He was more eye-catching in a soft, tender, delicate way, and deserved only the caress of gentle butterflies... something as gentle as he was.

"Mmm... tainted by the sun's rays. Perhaps that is why you are withering..."

He sighed, looking away for a brief moment.

"Your dress... it's not appropriate for this weather."

He frowned again, looking mildly worried. "You should let me help you..." he said softly, gaze lingering on the other's face.

"No... everybody has a use.." He gently pushed Jibril's purple hair out of his eyes with his free hand.

The angel leaned slightly into the other's hand with a sigh and a nod. He didn't speak but the gratitude was very much noticeable in his aura. He felt too tired to speak. His mouth was open but no words were coming out, he leaned forward, slightly against the other's cool body. He didn't believe he could move anymore.

If his mind was in a better state, he could simply shake this off, but no sadly he wasn't. So here he was, believing he was temporarily mute and paralyzed as this kind creature offers to help him. His eyes fluttered open, they had been slowly closing now but he couldn't afford to fall asleep.

He never did sleep anyways. Sleep came a long with a flashback, whether it be happy, sad, or horrific he always woke up in tears. The dark circles around his eyes which had earned him the nickname 'Panda' were results of his lack of sleep. He gave a cough, turning his wet face to the side so that his cheek was against the other.

How long had it been since he'd met someone so kind? It seemed like forever.

There were hardly any nice people left in this world, willing to help. It was no wonder it was so corrupted, and the use of drugs and alcohol increased so much. But sometimes no amount of drugs or alcohol made you feel better, or better about yourself.

Vilhjámur sighed, wrapping an arm around Jibril as he leaned into him. His cheek touched against his, and he wished he could feel heat for once.

"You must be so hot..." he whispered, trying to pull at the sleeve of his sweater to try and get it off.

The other may not feel heat but with Jibril pressed against him, he feel feel his power seeping out of him. It was just an amazing aura of pure, raw energy, chaotic and unfocused. It would make the whole body of Vil tingle and without realizing it, energize up. He's not taking anything from Jibby, it's just an affect that Jibby has on others.

Jibby nodded and went rather limp, his arm sliding out from the sleave. Beneath the sweater, his body wasn't soaked with sweat, it was dry. But hot to the touch, that is, if someone who could feel heat touch him. He pulled his head out and started to feel slightly less warm, which was good but he didn't feel much better completely.

"..Thank you..."

His muteness ceased for the moment before his head leaned forward, against the crook of the other's neck. The pink balloons were coming back but he was too busy! It would be rude to leave the other for the pink balloons, especially since they wouldn't come for him.

He gave a muffled whimper against the fabric, his shaking didn't stop yet and obiously, neither did his crying.

The tingling was something he could feel, regardless of the fact he couldn't feel the heat. It was like the tingly, slightly numb feeling you get in your fingers when you take steroids, except all over. It didn't confuse him, but made him mildly uneasy.

"I need your help... you arms.. I have to get this off you.." The sweater and the turtleneck. They were both articles of clothing that were far too hot for this warm of weather. Jibril was going to get a heatstroke or die from a fever... something like that, if he didn't get out of this damned heat. Vilhjámur had an idea in mind, however. He would take this... being back home with him, where it was cool, away from the sun.

"It'll be okay..." he tried to whisper soothingly.

Jibril gave a slow nod, his hands were up against the other's chest, fingers intwined in the coat. His breathing was more stable now, he was trying his best to calm down but there was a lot of shuddering involved still.

He swallowed thickly, everyone always says things will be okay and sometimes things to get okay and they last for a while. But they don't last forever, whether it be bad or just a change, something always happens that somehow disturbs or changes what is going on.

Jibril went limp in the other's arms. Maybe this creature can make him feel better so he can collect himself and take care of the child. Yes, the child all over again. His mind is always on the child. But that was his basse now, he had everything focused on nursing and protecting the child. He was a guardian after all.

If Jibril didn't calm down, he might start to hyperventilate. And at that point, Vil wouldn't have known what to do. It was good that he was starting to calm down, though.

Vil took Jibril's arms in his rather large, surprisingly gentle hands, and slipped the sweater off of him, placing it neatly next to the other creature's form. Perhaps if he did this, he wouldn't feel as warm...

After a minute of manuevering, Vil had also managed to remove that turtle neck of his and place it on top of the sweater on the ground. Now both articles of clothing were neatly folded on the ground, and Jibril was left with nothing but those Goth pants he wore.

"Mm, there.."

Jibril was laying back, where he had started out, but much cooler fealing. He gave a weak but grateful smile.

"Heh...thank you...yet again..."

He wasn't shaking as violently anymore, just ever so slightly. He looked to Vil then patted the ground softly beside him.

"Come join me, will you?"

He was tired, but only mentally, physically he could run forever but he certainly didn't feel that way. His mind told him he felt terrible, he was in terrible health and his body belived him. He gave a sniffle, wiping away the remnants of his tears.

His bright green eyes were slightly relxed and not as panicky as they had originally been. His feet were warm but he felt too weak to kick off the boots and the other helped him already. He wouldn't ask for anything more.

he leaned forward slightly, shifting. And on all of his back was revealed a swirling tattoo with what looked like writing. It was, and was ancient, nearly as old as him. A lost language that he didn't remember. It was locked away in his memory, tied to several other important memories of his past.

He leaned back and rested his arms on his lap. On his right wrist was another tattoo, bold and in english it spelt out 'Jibril Alphonse Digger'. Surely Vil could read and if he noticed it, he now knew the other's name.

"It's my pleasure," he said quietly, diverting his gaze from Jibril for a moment, but soon looked back. He straightened out of his crouching position to his full height of just a little above six feet, flexing his fingers.

"Of course... I'm always up for company..." For even as nice of a creature that Vilhjámur was, he was still a very lonely one. He scared people, even though he was a stunning someone to look at. But Jibril wasn't hard on the eyes either, was he? And Jibril was kind too, wasn't he? Perhaps they were in the same boat, aside from the being scary part.

He tip-toed around Jibril, not distruving the dirt beneath his feet even with his boots as he made his way to the spot he patted on the ground, sitting beside him now.

He noticed the tattoo, frowned thoughtfully, looked back to Jibril's face, then back down at the tattoo again. "Is that your name...? Jibril..?"

It was nice to have company, no one likes to be lonely after all. Jibril hates being alone, he gets miserable and doesn't have a thing to distract him from bad thoughts.

Jibril smiled as the other joined him and then blinked. His name? What was his name? Jibril, hm? Lighbulb. Oh yes, that was his name. He nodded, a small smile on his face.

"Yessir! Jibril..." He looked at his wrist, "Alphonse Digger...You can call me Jibril or simply...Jibby..."

Another smile but he remained quiet, if the other wanted to tell him his name he would tell him. Too many people have been offended by him asking for it so he prefers not to.

He doesn't like to be rude.

"Ah, Jibril. What a perfect name for a lovely angel like you..." The gargoyle murmured softly. He rested both hands (fingers threaded together) on his thighs, looking back at Jibril, still studying him down to every last detail. His hair, his eyes, the color of his skin, the dark circles around his eyes, the size of his nose and the shape of it, the shape of his jaw... he was studying virtually everything about Jibril's appearance.

"I'm honored... My name.. mm, it is Vilhjámur.. But you may call me Vil, simply, or William..."

"I am most pleased to meet you Vilhjámur."

Jibby gave a pleased smile, his eyes were half-lidded as he nodded his head. Vilhjámur, Vilhjámur, he enjoyed the way the name rolled off his tongue. Very pleasant. He was very aware of the other's stare but mentioned not a word, he didn't mind it, he was used to being stared at in one way or another. He had already memeorized the way the other looked, but what was the use? He was going to end up forgetting it.

He looked forward, eyes still half closed (or open if you're an optimist), he was enjoying the breeze that was blowing his hair around and in his face. His smile was rather content.

"What do you find so interesting about me?"

All he thought when he saw himself was a miserable twat. Nothing much to look at, now is there?

Vilhjámur looked away for a moment as Jibril inquired what he found so interesting about him.

"Ah, I apologize... just not many times have I come across such a creature..." he said slowly, sincerely and apologetically, each word coming out clear and smooth. He unthreaded his fingers and traced one claw idly in the ground, making strange patterns in the dirt.

"A creature worth studying... It simply is an honor... to lay eyes on something so... beautiful. Forgive me.."

"Nonesense."

Jibril extended a hand to Vil's face, cupping it and turning the other's face to him as he stroked the other's cheek with his thumb. He shook his head, his smile widening.

"I am not offended in any way Vilhjámur, if you wish to, then you may study me but I'm not sure you'd see anything interesting on my face. On my back though, you may find something interesting about the tattoo."

He turned away, fingers trailing Vil's face until he had turned completely. His back was bare and a large black tattoo was covering it, it was made up of swirls and an ancient text. Very interesting to observe.

"Ah, you are too kind, dear one." Yes, that was a term of endearment, but he tended to use such terms with everyone anyway. It made no difference, and he smiled as Jibril cupping his face.

"I see... is there anything that is not interesting about you?" He asked light-heartedly, smiling faintly as he gently traced a claw on the other's tattoo.

(Neh, so short! Sorry!)

Jibril turned his head, back still facing the other but now his face was too. He gave a shrug.

"I haven't a clue, I find myself very cliche at times. You know, angel with black wings, as far as I know I'm old-" Like old began to even describe his age. "-and very miserable. Sort of like a cliche story character young girls make up."

Woah. That was the longest sentence he has spoken in a while. Of course he was feeling better, other people helped him focus less on how he felt and more on the other. It was quite nice actually...at times. Then again, the drugs were quickly fading and the after affects of all the alchohol he had drank were completely gone. So yea, that might also be the reasons.

((Pish tosh m'dear! You apologize and I will turn you over my knee and spank you! Then again you might enjoy it too much... :thinks: But seriously, no need to apologize! ^^))

"Mm..." he mused, contemplating this with a slight frown, "miserable? And why... would that be?" He asked softly, now tracing fingertips even more gently down his spine, but it was more gliding down his back than anything. The touch should feel soft and only mildly cool, like the touch of a normal temperature hand to a fevered one.

"And old... yes, but still beautiful. And no, not yet a cliche... only if you were... terrifying... horrible... would you be a cliche." He'd seen so many of those types of people it made his heart sink.

"Mm. It should be, as many say 'all in the past' but mine comes back to terrify me, make me hurt for the misdeeds I have done. I don't remeber though!"

He raised his hands up to his eyes, rubbing them in frusteration, "I want to but yet I don't! Becuase if I do...well...then I won't be the same, I'm sure of it!"

He gave a whimper like growl, a cry of anguish some may call it, others frusteration. Whatever it may be Jibril was certainly not feeling the happiest. He gave a long sigh, slumping backwards, against Vil's lap so that he stared up at him.

"I have many regrets, some I can live with, others not but I cannot go and hide...I'll need to learn to face them, but until I find the courage to do so..." He pulled out one of his joints, putting in his mouth and lighting it. "Until I find the courage...I'll simply hide behind this veil of smoke.

A drag and he blew out the milky fog, feeling more peaceful as soon as he did so.

"Ah..." He said softly, looking down at Jibril who was perhaps uncomfortably slumped in his lap, looking a little like an upset child to Vilhjámur, and he could do nothing to comfort him. So he simply listened as Jibril talked... listened, and tried to offer sympathy.

"I am sorry for that.." he said softly, sincerely, resting a hand on Jibril's head and stroking his hair very gently.

(*dies a million deaths.* so short.)

"No need to apologize Vilhjámur, you are not to be blamed for any of this." Jibril relaxed into the soft strokes and looked up at the other with bright green eyes, the pink and yellow flecks looking like stars.

"Tell me, have you ever cared so much for a person, that you would die for them?"

It isn't quite a random question, just think and answer Vil. If you do, it will please Jibril no matter what you say.

(No apologizing! Mine's worse...)

Vilhjámur looked down, blinked, then closed his eyes for a long moment, thinking this over. Then he shook his head, though not sadly. "I'm not sure I can say yes, my friend. I would die for someone... solely because it is my job."

He took in a breath. Useless, since he didn't breathe, didn't need to.

"Why do you ask? Have you ever felt that way? Or... do you not remember if you did?"