A new visitor (Malachi)

[emiko]

Layla had rolled the dead angel down the streets, quite an interesting sight to be honest. Kyle was quite amused by how smart she had been in getting the angel home. Also, considering the heavy rain everything was harder to get around. But that also meant that people hadn't been out at the time. Who wanted to be out in the rain anyway? Of course, Layla stuffed her bunny up in her shirt to keep him from getting wet. He was caught in her bra and held safely against her to keep him from falling onto the wet ground. Still, he got soaked underneath her shirt. Layla was even wetter, though, her hair flat against her back and dripping down her already wet clothing. She didn't mind, though, she loved the rain. She didn't love the fact that her bunny was getting wet, though. Poor bunny. He would be all soggy now. Not that he cared, seeing as he was so close to her breasts.

She finally made it to her apartment, though, and rolled the bed through her door. She wondered how many people had seen her pushing him around on the rolling bed. She didn't care. She shut the door behind her and stood by the door, looking around. She then rolled the angel towards her bedroom, sitting the bed next to her own. She honestly didn't want her bed to be wet, so she took off all his clothes. She then took a towel and dried him off thoroughly before rolling him off. She took a few minutes to tie him down to the bed that she already had chains on. She wondered if he would be able to escape from here. She looked him over, quite content with herself. She then went about her business of drying off and left Kyle sitting on the table beside the bed. She blow dried her hair and put it back up, changing into a nightgown. She then sat down next to her angel and played with his hair.

"Are you just going to sit there waiting on him to wake up?" Kyle asked, bored already. She shrugged her shoulders and leaned over to whisper in the angels ear. "Wake up, Malachi," she whispered. She wasn't sure how long it would take him to return and she, too, was growing bored of him. She curled up next to him on the bed, snuggling close. She could feel Kyle's jealousy but she ignored it. She had left him on the table beside the bed so Malachi wasn't touching him. She would have cut off his head if he touched her bunny, even thought he was dead at the time. Or, she assumed he was dead. She knew he could come back, she just didn't know when. She would be waiting for him to wake up, though. She wanted to see if she could make him scream a bit before she let him go. Poor little angel. As far as she knew, he was in for a rough few days.

Layla slept next to the angel that night, her body close to him and her arms wrapped around his arm. She wasn't usually like this, but to have her prey so close and unmoving...she couldn't help but stay close to him. She didn't know about it, but today was the day that he would return to his body. She wore a cute little polka dotted dress and sat beside him just as she had the day before. Her fingers moved through his hair as she stared off into space and thought about the things she could do to him when he returned. "Despair?" Kyle said softly, tired of sitting on his own. She wouldn't dare bring her bunny over to Malachi. She looked over at him with sad eyes and he cursed, obviously upset that she would rather be next to their prey than him.

She couldn't feel emotions in Malachi while he was dead but she was sure she was feeling them coming back. Her eyes lit up a bit and she stared down at him, tugging on his hair lightly. "Malachi?" she cooed softly. Layla's wing was above her at the moment but she slowly pulled it close against her body in case he should see. She didn't want him to see the nasty navy blue wing that was so lonely on her back. Damn them for taking her wings. Her blue eyes were sad and soft as she stared down at him, wondering if this was the time he would come back and give her a bit of amusement. She was so bored lately and she refused to hold onto that. She wanted some entertainment and when she took down the large angel she was quite proud. She could almost see herself keeping him as a her own little pet. She wasn't sure how he would feel about that but she knew he wouldn't be happy.

[Deleted]

Obviously, Malachi was more than unconscious during his ride on the rolling bed in the pouring rain. In fact, by the time he awoke a day later, dry, he would never know that he'd even been wet. Hell, except for the aching headache, he'd probably never have known what had happened. That was how things went when he died-- and this certainly wasn't the first time it had happened. There was a fair amount of pain until his body stopped, and then there was a curious feeling of suspension. Malachi's spirit, his angelic self, stayed in his body when he died unless he wanted to be gone for good. It was his angelic power that healed his body, after all, but while he was waiting for his body to regenerate, he could not see or feel or touch or register the world at all. It was a very, very odd feeling, to be possessing an inanimate body. Like he was suspended in a dark abyssal place. But it wouldn't be long-- he could feel the draw on his healing ability begin to wane. Malachi knew he would wake up soon, but to what he was never sure. He doubted it could ever be any worse than the one time he'd woken up after a trip through Auschwitz.

Waking up from being dead, and shot in the head no less, was not a fun process. Once his wounds had sufficiently healed and his body was back to the usual prime conditions, Chi's heart would start back up with a nudge from some divine source. And after that, he was in a hell of a lot of pain. As the blood begins to move back into the brain enough to wake it up, there are still repairs. Brains do not survive well after being left cold and bloodless for some time, and despite repairs after having a hole shot through it, there is still some lag where small structures and neurons and such must be rebuilt after the angel's heart regains a normal sinus rhythm. Besides a distinctly unpleasant tingling and pressure in the skull, the entire body is incredibly cold and numb while blood returns to them, quite limp before moving to the intense and painful tingling of a limb that has fallen asleep. And as enough blood begins to flow through the brain to support consciousness, all the pain receptors whose signals never reached the brain before death finally reach the destination.

So, when Malachi woke up, his first experience was all the pain and other sensations he'd missed at the moment of his death. Following that was a headache of the most massive proportions and a very, very painful tingling sensation over the entirety of his body. It always reminded the angel of being eaten alive by ants. Not that he ever had been, of course, but he could imagine how it might feel. He reentered consciousness this time with a choked roar of pain, his voicebox raw and unused and his throat dry. He kept his eyes closed for now-- Malachi knew from experience that they would be very dry and painful until his tearducts started producing saline again in a minute or two.

Chi followed his initial leonine roar with a very loud, very angry and very interesting stream of curses in some strange collection of languages. Russian was detectable, as was Yiddish, Hindi and Armenian and a few others. When he was finally out of things to yell at the pain in his body, his head dropped back onto the mattress, eyes squeezed shut as if trying to contain the pressure mounting in his skull with every beat of his heart. After a moment of getting used to all the incredible sensations rushing toward him and through him, he attempted to get a fix on just where the hell he was. There was something warm pressed against his side, against his skin. And then, he realized he was naked.

Malachi's eyes flew open immediately, which was followed by a hiss of pain and a grimace and, finally a moan that was translatable in every language as 'oh shiiiiiit....' It was really, really bright and his eyes were dry as a desert. And he was naked, and now that he noticed, he was also tied down. "Where am I? Layla? What in Christendom is going on?"

[emiko]

It seemed like a very long time for him to come back. She waited patiently, though, with Kyle peering over at them from his spot on the table. Layla had moved the rolling bed into the living room to keep it out of her way. She couldn't understand what took so long for Malachi to come back. Layla had never died, really. So she had never experienced the feeling that Malachi was feeling. She was almost tired of waiting, but she remained patient as he came back. She was no longer touching his hair. She was still sitting beside him, against him. There was not anything sexual about her at the time, just a small fallen angel that seemed almost lost and confused as to what to do with the older man in her room. Layla was a child in body, in mind as well. But she had been alive a long time. Perhaps not as long as this angel, but long enough. She knew what she was doing was wrong. She just didn't give a shit.

She flinched from his noise, her breath catching. Her sad blue eyes looked down on him and she watched carefully. Oh the pain he must have been enduring at the time. "I think our pet is back, love," Kyle said softly. He snickered a bit as Malachi went on a small rant in different languages. Some of them Kyle could understand, some of them he could not. There were a small amount of things that little Layla could understand as well. She turned her head to the side and looked for that pain he was feeling to begin her web again. The torture she would put this man through would be horrible. The pain would be indescribable. She was quite excited about it, actually. Even Kyle was getting worked up already. She moved over, picking the stuffed rabbit and moving over to the bed again with him, sitting down with her hips against Malachi.

"He's not happy," Kyle laughed, his eyes flickering. Well, not the button eyes, but the eyes that Layla could see inside her mind. She also saw that Malachi's eyes had opened and she peered down into them. She could have asked if he was ok but she didn't really care. He would be dead again in a few hours or so. She heard his words and she simply shrugged at him. She stood, walking off to the side table that she had gotten Kyle from. She picked up a tray and moved it to the bed, setting it down next to the angel. His hands and feet were tied down so she knew he couldn't touch the things she had before her. She had scissors and knives, several sharp objects that she figured she would use to cut him open. Kyle was in her lap to watch, though she didn't really want to get blood on her bed. "My house," she finally answered. "You died," she added. "It wasn't all that bad, was it?" she asked softly.

There was something about her that made her seem like a little lost child. Like there was no way she could be doing the things she did. It was unrealistic, really. She seemed to small, so young. She was cute and people usually couldn't help but want to hug her. She wouldn't allow that though, especially since she didn't want anyone to touch Kyle. That was another thing that made her seem so young. The little stuffed bunny she kept near her at all times. Though this bunny was surrounded by a dark aura and so was she. Both of them seemed dark, though the bunny rabbit seemed more dark than her. She did have this sad, though disturbing look in her eyes, though. She was a silent girl and that usually put people off. Too bad she craved the sight of blood and perhaps the feeling of it too. She would love to bathe in it if given the chance.

[Deleted]

Malachi felt small girlish hips move against his side, and his whole body tensed in response. Of course he had died, but why he was now in Layla's house, naked and tied up, was the real mystery. He looked up into her eyes when she peered down at him, and he scowled, his well-muscled arms stuggling against his bonds. They were well tied and strong, or else he'd have gotten through them easily-- without clothes to cover him, it was obvious that Malachi had a well-built, statuesque figure, one that could've crushed little Layla if he'd wanted to. His wings had been haphazardly shoved beneath his body when she pushed him onto her bed. One was extended fully, hanging off the side of the bed and not uncomfortable. The other, however, was stuck beneath his body in an unnatural, unpleasant position. His wings were delicate and lightweight, and the weight of his body on this one was painful. A groan escaped his pretty mouth as he tried to squirm his way out from on top of the beautiful white wing.

He felt Layla get off the bed, just now cognizant of the deathly cold that filled him. The angel shivvered a moment, hearing a clatter of something on a table nearby. Malachi turned his head, straining to see what was going on around him but only able to see the black angel returning to where she'd been on the bed with some sort of tray. He desperately wished there was a glass of water there, but he could only tell that there was some sort of array of silvery things out of his peripheral vision. When she finally spoke, he scowled again. "It's been worse. Why did you bring me here?" He was all business, of course, not really feeling like his jolly self while he was strapped naked to the bed of an absolutely insane fallen angel in the shape of a sad-faced little girl. The shit, he was very sure, was quite close to hitting the fan.

It wasn't that he lost his temper very often. In fact, he was the sort of man it was very difficult to anger, but obviously this was a very unhappy situation he found himself in. It wasn't enough that he was restrained, but she'd removed his clothes? While he was dead? He was definitely creeped the hell out now, if he hadn't been before...and, well, he had been creeped out ever since he walked into the asylum to find Layla elbows-deep in a person's abdomen.

Odd, how she seemed so goddamn innocent. Malachi imagined she had been a very good angel when she'd had her white wings, happy and smiling and cheerful like most girls her age. It was a damn shame this had happened; he grimaced again as his blueish eyes fell to the stuffed bunny toy she carried everywhere and protected with her life. It was a dark thing, that much was evident to his developed sense for such things. The angel shifted again as this sense told him something was very, very wrong. Layla had shot him in the head while he was praying and had driven a woman to suicide only to play with her innards. And now, here he was, strapped to his killer's bed. It was a very, very, very bad situation, and his emotional state was in a panicked state between confusion, worry and anger. He felt like an animal in a cage, half-dazed and thrashing. "Untie me, Fallen! Where are my clothes?"

[emiko]

Though she seemed like a child she still held a beauty that made older men want her. She had felt his body tense and she smiled a bit. He had a nice body himself, she had to admit. Not enough to tempt her...well, it sort of tempted her, but not enough to make her want him. The little angel found herself moving her eyes over him and also felt Kyle getting a bit jealous. Such a young girl wasn't old enough to see such things. She didn't seem to be phased, though, and kept her hands off of his perfect body. His wings, though, she couldn't help but run her fingers over. Oh how jealous she was. "Stop touching him and lets see what's inside," Kyle demanded. She glared down at him. She couldn't help but feel bad for what she was about to do. The little angel was having second thoughts. Only for a moment, though, because Kyle was urging her to continue.

Layla hadn't thought to bring the angel water. It occurred to her that she was being quite rude since she wasn't offering him food or anything. "Would you like anything?" she asked softly, seeming almost polite. "Sure, offer him things before you kill him," Kyle hissed. It seemed pointless to him. "I couldn't leave you there," she said. She seemed almost upset about the thought of leaving Malachi in the asylum all alone while he was dead. She was a bit more talkative here for some reason and she felt Kyle trying to speak through her. He was much more talkative than Layla. She was pulling on those threads again, trying to get him to feel depressed and uncomfortable. She didn't really want him to be angry with her, she only wanted him to feel hurt emotionally and upset at being here. Though she was sure he was already upset.

"I don't wanna," she whined softly to him, a stubborn tone in her voice. Kyle rolled his eyes. "I don't think you are going to be untied anytime soon, Malachi," she spat, Kyle talking through her. Her voice had taken on a meaner tone when Kyle spoke through her. "I dried them," Layla answered, looking to the folded clothes on the dresser opposite of the bed. She stood, going to the bathroom and bringing back alcohol. She poured it over his stomach and rubbed it in, pulling up a knife and letting herself calm down and look him in the eyes. A bit of sorrow was there but Kyle wasn't going to wait any longer. She nodded her head a bit, shifting to get comfortable and placing the knife against his skin. "Ready?" she asked, Kyle talking through her once more. It didn't matter if he was or not, she was already sliding her knife into his body, right below the ribs.

[Deleted]

Malachi couldn't stop reminding himself internally of what an awful situation he'd gotten himself into. It truly was a big mess, and he had a feeling things were only going to get messier the longer he let this continue. She was asking him, very sweetly and politely, if he wanted anything. "Yes, thank you. Water, and to be untied." His answer was a bit more biting and sarcastic than he meant to be at the end of it, but he did feel a lot like James Caan in that Misery movie, tied up and at the mercy of a complete headcase. He was glad, at least, that Layla was speaking to him a bit more-- her silence and reticence in the asylum had been infuriating.

Couldn't leave him there? Oh, gods, how he wished she had. He was only becoming more frustrated and angry the longer he lay there-- there wasn't really anything around that made him sad or depressed. Perhaps, if he was there for long enough, he'd start to feel a twinge of despair, but not yet. It had been a very long time since he'd despaired for himself; after all, as an angel, if it got too bad he just would return to heaven or find a new body or something. It would be quite a shame, though. He'd had this one for a very long time, and it was an exquistitely well-made one. The only blemish on him was a tattoo that had been sloppily carved into the outside of his left forearm. It was a six digit number, 141,529, in a typewriter sort of script. There were very, very few people alive anymore who would recognize it for what it was, and that was, in his mind, for the best. His golden bracer probably still remained on his right wrist, as well. Malachi doubted Layla would've been enterprising enough to remove it. It seemed to have been formed around his arm, instead of made elsewhere and clasped on. A strange piece indeed.

And then, that curious thing happened again-- Malachi was sure he'd seen her do it before. She seemed to switch in an instant between a whining child, reluctant and petulant, to an angry and pithy one, more mature and ever more dangerous. He made a face to the girl after that. "Then what is it you want with me?" The white angel was quite sure the answer would perturb him greatly, and he steadied himself for it. And then came another surprise-- she left, returning quickly with some sort of bottle in hand. As soon as she opened it, he could tell what it was from the scent; rubbing alcohol, a disinfectant. She then proceeded to pour the stuff on his skin. It was very cold, and her touch on his abdomen made him squirm as much as he was able.

It looked like he had her answer as he eyed first the knife she picked up and then the black angel's eyes themselves. Oh. Shit. His first instinct was to survey the girl's emotions for anything he could use, anything he could magnify to keep the blade away from his living flesh. And there, a bit of sorrow, even perhaps of hesitance. He used every means he could to pull that out of her, heighten the sense, straining to cover all her morbidity with sadness that might buy him enough time to find an escape. Malachi felt the steel against his skin, sweat beading on his brow. Not this. Oh, no, no, no, not this.

"Ready?"

How sick and twisted could you get? But the only response on the white angel's tongue was another roar of pain as the knife sunk into his stomach. What a shame and a waste, to be chopping up the finest set of abs on God's green earth...

[emiko]

She smiled a bit at his response, standing again, taking Kyle with her of course, and going towards the kichen. She pulled a cup out of the counter and filled it with water, wondering for a moment how he was going to drink it since he was tied down. She filled it to about three quarters and went back into the room, Kyle in one hand and the cup in the other. Her wing shifted a bit on her back but she kept it tight against her so he couldn't see. "He doesn't want me to let you go," she said as if that was the end of the conversation. She went silent then, figuring he would know she was talking about her bunny. If not, oh well. She would leave him to think on it. She lower the cup to his lips, lifting his head and pouring it in slowly. She noticed some falling down his cheeks and she sighed. She whiped it away with her fingers, smiling at him and taking away the cup. She set it down on the table and put Kyle back in her lap.

She had ignored the question of what she wanted with him. He was about to find out, and he did. Of course, now she decided to answer. "We want to see what's inside you," she said, that dark voice coming back that was Kyle. "Poor angel," Kyle said with fake sorrow. His squirming had enhanced that need to play with him. "Oh my, Despair. He's going to be quite interested, don't you think?" Kyle snickered. There was almost a feeling of pleasure moving through him. A need, a want. He needed to see and the only thing that would make it better was being the one to do it. Oh how he wished it was his own hands that pushed that knife through that vulnerable flesh. But he could see it. The blood moving to the surface and falling down across the angels side. He longed to touch it but the stuffed animal prison he was held in wouldn't allow it. He could only watch.

She suddenly felt like crying. Tears fell down over her cheeks, crawling slowly and warming her cheeks. 'Fuck' she thought softly, knowing Kyle would be angry. She could hear the angels cry of pain and even though it sent those lovely chills down her spine it still made her feel terrible for what she did. "You useless child," Kyle groaned, which only made her feel even more terrible. She had stopped, though, the knife sitting in the mans stomach. She could smell the blood and she wanted to taste it, to feel it. But at the same time she felt so upset about what she was doing. She knew he was toying with her. Despair tugged hard on the threads she was weaving, determined to win this little fight of emotions they were having. She could increase that pain of his just as he increased her emotions. Kyle was pissed and she could tell. If only it was him and not her..

[Deleted]

Malachi was quite surprised when Layla actually got up to go get him a glass of water. It was a very kind and considerate of his killer-- he was rather flabbergasted. If only she would respond to everything that way, with wordless obedience. Well, not everything, and not wordless obedience, that was rather cruel. Maybe if she'd just...let him go. That would have been really nice. Not that the cool water on his very, very dry throat wasn't exquisite. The angel drank greedily, sucking down all of the water he could from the little vessel his captor offered. Who knew when he would be able to get another drink? And besides, death was very dehydrating. He spluttered for a moment, after having maybe taken an overzealous sip with his head in the position it was. Like a kindly nursemaid, though, Layla simply smiled and wiped away what had spilled. It was a deceptive sort of kindness. She had just killed him, and yet, for a moment Malachi had a distinct impression that she had been a very, very nice angel once. It was an act of mercy that she'd given him, and as the angel of mercy, such a thing didn't go unappreciated. "Thank you." It was a sincere sense of gratitude that made his voice much softer and civil than it had been. After a pause, realizing the 'he' she was speaking of was her rabbit Kyle, he asked with a bemused voice, "Do you do everything the bunny tells you?"

Well, if she was mad, he would treat her like a crazy person. And she really was-- her response to him, in that strange other voice, dark and sinister, was chilling, terrifying, and only made worse by the fact that her next action was to shove a knife in his belly. And then, in his frantic unleashing of his empathetic power, she began to sob. As the first tears began to roll off her cheeks and onto both the bed and his bare skin, he felt a dramatic increase in the pain she was causing him...but she had let go of the knife. Still, though being stabbed was bad enough, now he felt like dozens of daggers had all been thrust into him where she'd begun to cut, and the sensation was quite unbearable. His roar of pain was followed by a strangled groan of horror, his face twisted into a grimace of terrific pain. The fight-or-flight instinct was rising in him, telling his body to get out or die trying, but there were instincts within him that barred him from just lying there to take this.

Malachi began to flail with all his might, his teeth clenched and eyes pushed shut with all he had. His free wing flapped wildly, causing quite an upset and knocking into the bedside table. Both of his arms, covered in a thick layer of muscle, strained against their bonds-- did he feel the right one slipping? Perhaps Layla hadn't tied this one off as well, or something, but he pulled with all his strength on it once he felt it give a bit. After a few moments of blinding struggle, every movement heightening the pain in his torso but bringing him closer to freedom, the chain seemed to give a little, and then release it's captive angel.

He had a free hand now, and his first act was to rip the knife out of his stomach and to throw it to the most immediate threat to his life, Layla. He was running on adrenaline, now, the pain sending a rush of reserved energy to his body to use to try and get himself to safety. His next act, if he was able, was to lift himself up and try to get his other hand free, both wings now free and taking up considerable space in the little bedroom.

[emiko]

A long time ago Layla had been a kind angel. Sometimes this came out in her and she almost missed those days. Not enough to make her want to return though. She loved having Kyle and she loved being around Daimon. She loved the ladies of lust. When she was a white angel she had gone around helping those who needed it. Especially children. She always appeared as a child and did what she could to calm a crying child or help a depressed adult. She had always been there to help, no matter what the problem was she was willing to try and make things better. That started to get to her eventually, though. You could only take so much of other peoples pain and sorrow before you started to feel it as well. She met Kyle and became a fallen. It wasn't long after that she met Daimon and became Despair. Why not? With the other sins she seemed to have a small family and a reason to be around. "Only when it's just him," she said. In saying this, she meant she did everything the bunny said when Daimon wasn't around. When she had to make a choice between listening to Daimon or Kyle it was a hard choice. She would do anything for Kyle but she couldn't say no to Daimon. Kyle hated Daimon and usually didn't want Layla to do a damn thing the angel said. She did, though, and rarely said no to Daimon. Even when she did refuse she still ended up doing what she was told to do.

"Stupid child, finish the job," Kyle growled, angry that he could not do it himself. He was not bothered by the empathic abilities of the angel. "Snap out of it Despair," his voice was pleading now and she wanted to obey. She couldn't help but cry now, though her sobbing was getting quieter as she tried to fight off the feeling of sorrow and feeling bad for what she was doing. She let the threads of emotions loose slightly then pulled them tight again, hoping to cause a new wave of pain for this angel. But she was still feeling terrible for the things she was doing. She couldn't quite fight him off despite the fact that she had a stronger mind than most. She could hear him crying out and see the pain in her face. She got butterflies in her stomach and excitement was crawling up. It was time to finish this. She started pushing away that feeling he was giving her. "Shut up and let me finish," Kyle made her hiss to the angel.

As he began to struggle Layla gasped, grabbing Kyle up into her arms out of her lap and turning to the side so Malachi couldn't see him anymore. She jumped off the bed and into the floor, giving him this look that seemed to asked him 'how could you.' He was causing quite a ruckus in her room, knocking things over and making quite a bit of noise. She simply stood and watched as he struggled. Eventually he would get tired and calm down. She tried to work with him emotions some more to bring this feeling about him. She wanted him to feel as though this was pointless so he would stop struggling. She watched his arm pull free with wide eyes. "No, no, no" Kyle groaned. "Get him, tie him back down," he said, his voice dripping with poison. She was frozen for a moment as she watched, still feeling bad and almost happy that he was being released.

She watched him rip the knife out of his stomach and things seemed to move so slow after that. He threw it at her and she felt it go into her skin, right into her stomach. Below Kyle. He had almost gotten her bunny. He had almost cut Kyle. She felt pain move from her stomach outward and she realeased a cry of pain that would have just about anyone crying for her. "Layla?" Kyle said softly and she could hear the concern in his voice. She pulled the stuffed rabbit up further to keep him away from the blood that was leaking from her body. She put her hand down and pulled it out, tears falling from her sad, blue eyes. Who could hurt a little girl? Who? She had no idea. Such a bad angel. "I'll tear you apart, you bastard," she hissed, though it was obvious it wasn't the little girl. She moved a bit to keep from being hit by his wings, moving towards the door as if to keep him from leaving.

[Deleted]

"Shut up and let me finish." Layla was truly a terrible sight for an angel's eyes. A beautiful young girl in a cute little dress, eyes red from crying and a face distorted to form the most vile of expressions. There was a hatred and malice in her face that kept Malachi aware of the evil that lurked within her, that had drawn her away from the light and taken her wings. She was infuriated that she couldn't finish disemboweling him, which put the image of the caring little girl who'd given him a drink very far from his mind. At the moment of his throwing the weapon at Layla, he felt no remorse or glee, just the driving base instinct to get out and stop his murderer from killing him again. He didn't think she had his healing ability-- it was common among angels, but those who were regenerative didn't tend to shrink from danger quite as often as she did. No, he was fairly sure the wound would stick, but he didn't really stare too long to see where it had hit her. The cry she made pained him, of course, but he had to keep going, trying with all his might to get this damn chain off his wrist.

The interesting thing about tying someone up by pulling their arms and legs out to something like, say, bedposts, was that once one arm got free, the pull on the opposite leg was basically gone, too. Which put Malachi in an odd position, trapped diagonally across the bed between the two chains that still held tension. His free hand was scrabbling at the chain around his other arm, finding it difficult to remove without any slack. Still, with all those spare muscles he had laying around, he was definitely getting somewhere, but perhaps not as fast as he would've liked. He had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he'd never get out of here, that this whole thing was a hopeless endeavor, that he should just lay down and get it over with, and for a moment he did seem to relinquish his attempts to take off his chains.

Except that just after that, another wave of pain hit him out of nowhere, and refuelled his flagging resolve. Malachi thought he should probably start healing that awful cut in his stomach soon, before the bleeding got any worse, but just now he was very much preoccupied with getting another hand loose. He stared at the chain holding him back, quite enfuriated at this point. His blue-gray eyes moved up the metal thing, his arms pulling hard enough to pop out of their sockets. And then, a brain wave struck him as he realized that the chains were attached to wooden bedposts.

Fucking duh, birdbrain.

They were harder to reach, but easier to snap than what he was going for. Like most bedposts, those on Layla's bed tapered at the top, where they were thinner and much easier to break. Malachi suddenly drew towards the post, trying to get as much slack on the line as he could muster. The opposite leg was definitely going to be bruised and felt like it was on a pulling rack, but it was his best chance. One deft wing moved the looped chain as high up on the post as it would go. Then, with his free hand grasping the chain tightly, Malachi pulled back on the thing with all his weight. He wasn't a small man, either, and in the struggle between the angel and the wooden furniture, well...the furniture lost. With a snap, the chain around Malachi's other wrist fell slack and slid off of him easily. As long as Layla stayed where she was, at the door, Chi would take a moment to untangle the final chains from his feet, having abandoned his empathic power over the fallen angel minutes ago. He was no longer as wary of her now that his fists were free-- though he'd never been keen on fighting, there was a point at which, after 3500 years of being attacked, one learned how to land a gruesome sucker-punch. "Get out of my way, Fallen."

[emiko]

Despite the flood of emotions coming from the little angel she still managed to look cute. Even with her red nose and crying eyes she still looked adorable. It was hard for people to keep from wanting to hug her and comfort her when she cried. It was strange that Malachi wasn't already trying to comfort her. Then again, perhaps he felt that way but could keep himself from doing such things because he was so angry. After all she had stuck a knife into his stomach. No, she didn't have a healing ability. She would have to sit with a hole in her stomach for a while. Eventually, it would heal. Faster than humans, but not as fast as a lot of creatures that had the ability to heal. It would still be that for a few days. It might even leave a small scar on her pretty body. The knife wasn't quite small so she figured it would be a good sized scar. It hadn't gone all the way in so she knew it also didn't hit an organ or anything. That didn't make it hurt any less, though. "It's fine, Layla, it will heal" Kyle comforted her, though he didn't seem so sincere. She was pressing her fingeres against the wound, almost afraid to look down to see what it looked like. Her dress was covered in the crimson liquid that was her life.

She watched him struggle and she shook her head. She wouldn't speak to him,t hough. She had nothing to say. Kyle on the other hand, did. "We won't let you leave," he said through her softly. He found the struggling of the angel quite amusing. He couldn't help but laugh. He had taken full control over her talking now, letting her relax and try to fight away those feelings of pain that was coming from her stomach. 'It hurts, Kyle,' she thought to him, crying still. She still had control over her body and he was going to tell her what to do. But she didn't have to speak. "I know, dear, just relax," Kyle answered. She took deep breaths, calming herself into that pretty, level-headed woman she had been before. The crying was slowly going away and she was simply sniffling now. She saw that he had stopped moving for a moment and she smiled.

"Tired yet?" she said in that almost demonic voice of hers. She began secreting a bit of the acid that filled her body. She could control this whenever she wanted and even though he wasn't able to actually see it, he would be able to feel it. His skin would be burned if he were to lay a hand on her body. Her tears were also full of the acid she held. She could even produce it in her saliva if she had to. Of course, she didn't allow this substance near Kyle. She didn't want it to slowly break down his stuffed body and release the soul that lived inside. She had no idea what tied him to the bunny rabbit. So far Kyle hadn't been able to do anything with the stuffed body. He couldn't move it, to be sure. He could see through the button eyes, though. He could feel when soemone touched him as well. He could smell, see, hear, touch. He could not taste. Though he found he was able to talk through the angel girl.

He could also talk to Layla, though no one else would be able to hear him no matter what he tried. The only way to get someone to hear him was to talk through her. Which he did often. She didn't know how much longer it would be before he could fully take over her body, if that was what to come. Lost in her thoughts she didn't realize what Malachi was doing. Kyle did, however. "Layla, love? He is trying to escape," he said softly, almost like he cared. To be honest, he did. 'I won't let him go,' she thought back to him. "Weak child, you won't last," he hissed back to her. "You shouldn't be so demanding," he made her say. Despair stared at him with sad eyes, though there was anger there too. Perhaps she was the weakest of the seven sins. Perhaps she was the least useful. She didn't care. She wouldn't stand and let her prey escape her.

[Deleted]

Malachi ignored her little hissings about not allowing him to leave, and asking whether he'd tired just yet. Instead, he focused his attention on removing the chains from his legs. With both hands now freed, it was not a terribly daunting task. In a few very calm moments, at which time he also set about healing his stomach wound, he had the things off and swung his legs quite happily off the bed. As he stood, the angel took a moment to get over the sensation of blood rushing to his head, not unpleasant but certainly mildly dizzying. Oh, how good it was to be back on his feet! For several moments while strapped to Layla's bed, he had worried that it would be some time before he would be allowed to walk again. He thanked his God that one of the chains had been loose, and stretched his wings happily before folding them back into his body. He was taking his time, the bastard. Malachi no longer felt terribly threatened by Layla, or at least not as much now that he was free of the chains. Of course, he didn't forget that she was the one who'd shot him, but still he was feeling perhaps a little bit overconfident about his newfound ability to move on his own.

Blue-gray eyes then took a shrewd moment to survey the room, looking for an escape route and anything he might use to get himself outside. His clothes, of course, were the first thing he spotted, but they were on the other side of the bed from him; he might risk walking so close to Layla, but then again he wasn't entirely sure she hadn't stashed another gun on her person. Or, hell, she might rip out the knife in her stomach and stab him back with it. There was a window on that side of the room too, though, which was unfortunate. Malachi thought perhaps he could get through it with some real effort...and maybe a tub of lard to grease the sill. Besides, he'd have to break through the glass, and that was no fun. No, Chi didn't think the window was an option now that he thought of it. His body would've gone through, sure, but not with the wings still attached.

They were large by angelic standards anyway. He was fond of them in flight, of course, but such large appendages made themselves useful in any number of situations. They were often in motion, too, tilting forward and spreading when he was surprised, fluttering when excited, flailing when he was trapped-- anyone who could see them could easily read his emotions in the stirrings of those gargantuan wings. There were, of course, drawbacks to his wings as well. For one, they were a damned giveaway to any non-humans; if Malachi ever blended into a crowd he counted his blessings. Also, they tended to be unwieldy and uncomfortable in small or crowded spaces, giving Malachi the tendency to be slightly claustrophobic. They took up plenty of room, even when furled and pulled in close to his body. And then, of course, there were the times when he was walking along the street and not thinking and hitting a lamppost or--God forbid-- a person while stretching one of them. There was so much explaining to do when you beaned someone in the face with a wing they couldn't see!

As he now saw it, Malachi's only option seemed to be to get around Layla and either exit from a door or a much larger window. He shouldn't be more demanding? "I would be much less demanding if you hadn't tied me up with every intention to disembowel me, Layla." His voice was tightly controlled, again with that undercurrent of some sort of sarcasm or frustration. His eyes glowered at her under a heavy frowning brow, his emotional state brimming with righteous anger. He was fairly sure he had every right, at this point, to rip the little angel apart for her actions, but Malachi Logos would certainly not be doing anything of the sort, and especially not to a pretty little thing like Layla, even if she was just dripping with evils he didn't want to imagine. No, he didn't want to hurt her further, he just wanted to leave. Malachi turned to face her, his shoulders obstinately squared and bare body set in a strong, upright posture. "Please get out of the way, Fallen. I've escaped your little torture session and now I'm going to leave. I don't want to have to hurt you anymore. Move."

[emiko]

Such pain that was going through her body. She longed to go crying to her brothers, to Sin. She wanted them to hold her and comfort her, to heal her or at least help her. She couldn't stand that throbbing pain. Kyle was worried for her, seeing as she was so weak. The bleeding wasn't stopping and she wasn't quite sure how she was going to get it to stop. "Layla, you have to keep it from bleeding," he said simply, almost in a bored tone. Her fingers moved over the knife, knowing she had to get it out. She could feel it inside her, moving when she moved. She cried out softly as she pulled it out of her stomach. It ws covered in blood and she had to keep herself from fainting. Strange that a woman who cut people open semi-regularly would feel faint at the sight of her own blood. She never quite knew why but it always made her queasy.

Her eyes moved quickly over the places she thought he was looking towards. The window was one of them and her and Kyle both knew what he was thinking. "He can't fit through," Kyle said, stating the obvious. Layla knew this, though. She put her hands out and gripped the side of the door with them, blocking it with her small body. She even let her navy blue wing come out behind her and try to help blocking. She was breathing heavy and tyring to fight off that pain in her stomach. "Nasty angel, how could you," she breathed. That, of course, was Kyle talking through her. She didn't have another gun on her, sadly. She had put that one away and her mind was far away from the thought of guns at the moment. If she was reminded, though, she would remember that she had several guns stashed about her apartment. Most of them were dangerous. Kyle quite enjoyed weapons.

As for Kyle, he was too busy worrying about his angel and trying to get her to get Malachi back on the bed. She wasn't strong enough to pin him down or even move him if she were to jump on him. Poor thing. Too bad she chose a weak, child body for herself. 'What do I do, Kyle?' she thought to him softly. "We may be losing our prey, dear. But don't let him go. Make him fight for it. At least we can be amused for a bit first," he answered. He knew she wouldn't be able to fight him off. He also knew when to back down and this was one of those times. Too bad he had gotten loose. "It's your fault he got loose, Layla," Kyle blamed her. 'I'm sorry,' she thought back to him. Strange how she stood there not talking but seeming to be deep in thought. She wouldn't talk to him at the time, not out loud anyway. She did have a question for the angel, though.

"What do I do?" she asked Malachi, looking down at her bleeding stomach with fear and sorrow in her eyes. "Help me," she cried to him. This time it was obvious that it was her. She had pushed Kyle back for the time being to ask about how to help heal her own wound. Her hands were shaking and she put off quite a bit of fear, though mroe sadness and pain. She figured he had to be feeling sorrow for her by now. She didn't say a word to him as he spoke about her disembowling him. "Don't leave," she whispered softly. "Help me," she repeated. "Ha, pretty Despair. You do that so well," Kyle laughed. He knew that part of this was real fear in her, real pain. She really did want help. But most of it was her trying to get him to feel bad and stay longer until she thought of a way to bring him down once more. She pulled of the act so well, though. It was borderline crazy but only in the way that she was in pain and afraid, not like the little psycho who had played in the intestines of a woman.

[Deleted]

Malachi felt the girl's absolute queasiness at the sight of her own blood. His brows contorted themselves into a rather adorable expression of confusion, one pulled down and the other raised high as he examined the way she reacted to the removal of the knife from her stomach. Seriously? She was delighted to play in the blood and guts of others, but got woozy at the sight of her own? How utterly ridiculous he thought her. Personally, Malachi could not recall a time when he had ever been squeamish, or felt ill at the sight of blood. At first, he hadn't completely understood the stuff, back when he was first learning how to operate a human body. Once he had figured things out better, that nausea at the sight of blood had never come to him. To the angel, it had just always been an annoying red liquid necessary for survival, not something to get all worked up about. He guessed if he'd been actually born here, he might've understood better.

And then the girl, as if hearing his thoughts about the window, seemed to do her best to take up as much space in the doorframe as possible. Malachi felt the pain and anger and frustration roll off of her in waves, a sensation which made his skin crawl. She had fallen very, very far from heaven, hadn't she? His eyes flickered to her little blue wing as it revealed itself, like a bruised echo of the wings she'd had once. It only reminded Malachi of how very fervently he wanted to cling to his own purity and wings. The angel wasn't quite sure what he'd do if he ever fell. It was an uncomfortable thought, though, and he didn't meditate on it for long. As she seemed to be deep in thought for a moment, he took a moment to vault across the bed to get to his clothes.

It wasn't that Malachi was terribly uncomfortable being naked-- actually, as a being of spirit who hadn't needed clothing when living in heaven, he was quite unused to wearing things. Of course, he'd gotten more used to clothing himself in the time he'd spent on Earth, but he was curiously exempt from that sense of embarrassment and wrongness in being unclothed that most Earthgoers had. He attributed this mainly to original sin, but there was also no part of his body that he would be ashamed of; he was more than fit and quite good-looking. The first article of clothing he picked up from the neatly folded little stack was his sweater, which was dry but very badly bloodstained, to the point at which he really didn't want to put the thing on. He set it aside, finding his jeans below the sweater, mostly unbloodied. In an easy movement, he hopped into the clothing, which fit his slender waist very well. His shoes were to one side of the clothes, which made him quite happy. They were his only real pair of shoes, an expensive and rather old pair of Armani black leather shoes that he damn-near obsessed over. A small quirk of his, but someone had once told him that 'the shoes make the man.' He slipped them on haphazardly, with no time for socks at the moment. Not with the Fallen angel whimpering at his back.

He turned to face her again, his countenance flooded with turmoil. It was very, very hard for Malachi to see someone in pain and resist trying to help them. He was the angel of mercy-- easing pain had been his duty, his dharma, since his creation even before man had been dreamed into the world. Layla had started speaking again, this time in that childlike voice that was apart from the sinister, seething voice that had last spoken. It broke the angel's heart to see her fear, her sadness; yes, he was going to have to help her, there was no leaving this place with the thought of her torture at his hands weighing on his mind. Malachi's squared jaw and emotive eyes filled with concern. "I will heal you, Layla, don't worry."

The angel didn't see her ulterior motive, didn't pick up the cunning behind the whimpers of the girl's pain. It was amazing, how quickly he could convince himself to forgive his killer, his would-be torturer enough to heal her of the wound he'd given her in his panic and pain. Malachi crept closer, ignoring the pain in his own half-healed wound. He had been shot, stabbed and hit more times than he cared to remember-- the pain was never any less for it, but perhaps somewhat easier to bear or to ignore for the time being. He had sealed his skin over to prevent it from bleeding anymore, but not healed the subcutaneous wound, so he seemed now to have a very, very bad bruise where the cut had been. As he approached the crying, bleeding young woman, Malachi was still wary, but compassionate. "Shh, hush now, little Fallen. Give me the knife and I'll heal you."

[emiko]

Technically, Layla supposed she was actually supposed she shoul have been trying to get Malachi to become a fallen. To try and get him to follow Daimon and his ways. But Layla would much prefer to cut him open and explore his angelic insides. Kyle would prefer this as well. After all, how many times did you have a giant angel tied to your bed? Who wouldn't want to see what organs helped this angel live? Or maybe that was just Layla and Kyle. Who knew. Layla didn't like showing off her wing, it wasn't like the ones she had when she was an angel. A white angel. It had turned to this nasty blue color and she had lost one. She wanted her old wings back, the pretty white ones she had before. She remembered showing them to children so they would touch them and play with them, sometimes too hard but Layla hadn't minded. She just wanted to people to be happy.

She jumped slightly as he moved to go get his clothing. A breath caught in her throat and she felt a new wave of pain come over her. It wasn't often that she was hurt and even this simple wound was causing her a great deal of stress. Her eyes moved about the room as he put on his clothes, as if she hadn't already memorized every small detail about the place she called her home. She didn't bother reeling her emotions in, it wasn't like she was in public. Layla herself had never quite understood why she felt quesy at the sight of her own blood. It had just been something she had ever since she began her life. Kyle, on the other hand, wasn't phased. Layla's blood held the same smell as every other angels and it was hard for him to resist that urge to drink it, even though he was a spirit and couldn't do such things. The smell of blood was in the air, after all. Her's and Malachi's. Kyle had been a vampire when he was living and realized his thirst for blood didn't stop after he died.

Or perhaps it was just a bloodlust that didn't come from being a vampire, but from being a killer. Layla somewhat knew this feeling, seeing as she loved to see the blood of the innocent. Malachi looked concerned after she spoke and she nodded a bit. He wouldn't lie to her. He was an angel. Kyle was already muttering ideas into her mind. Of course Malachi would feel bad for harming her. Why wouldn't he? That man had thrown a knife at her! She could almost say she didn't understand why he would do such a thing. But, in all reality, she did. He had been feeling this pain just moments ago. Of course, feeling the same thing he felt still didn't make her want to quick cutting people open or having them kill themselves. Oh what she wouldn't give to see someone who was suicidal and beg them to end their life. She did, however, feel bad for what she had done to him.

Her fingers of her left hand moved over the cut that was right above her belly button. What if he had hit an organ? The other hand, the right one, was holding the knife down at her waist. He was coming closer now and she held her ground, having no intention of letting him past her. Though, she did plan on letting him heal her. It wasn't that Layla hadn't been hurt before. Working with people who seemed to be on edge usually got you hurt once or twice. As a white angel, she never freaked out like this. Her own blood still made her queasy but she had been far more understanding and less freaked out over a wound she knew would go away. Her only goal then was to help the person who felt threatened or afraid. But now, getting hurt pushed her over the edge and made her feel quite stressed and frightened. She didn't want to give him the knife, she was almost afraid he would stab her again. So, she slipped it outside the door and with what little strength she had, she pushed it into the wall outside. Her hand came back around and she held them up, showing that she had no weapon.