Army of Sin - Season 2 - The Gathering

XXI - A Place To Lick Your Wounds

Location: Unknown…

 

The smell of freshly drawn peppermint perfumed the air in the room Henrí awoke in. Beneath the guise of closed lashes, he scanned the room for signs of a possible threat. He smelt clay burning rosewood beneath the initial layer of peppermint and opened his eyes with a smile. The angel that knelt at his bedside did not smile in return. Instead, she swept to her feet in a whirl of blue wings, her gray tunic swishing around mid-calf; the thin material gripping the round contours of her shapely buttocks as she walked away from him.

“Thank you,” Henrí spoke from where he lay propped up on one shoulder.

Silence greeted him as her back remained turned, the light blue hue of her wings tensing briefly at the sound of his voice.

Will you not respond? He asked mentally, his telepathic touch greeted by an empty soundless void.

Heaving a sigh, he swept the covers off of his body, the cool air kissing his naked skin as he strode across the bedroom floor to the bathroom designed for beings carrying large wings. As he turned the tap to allow the steaming water to sluice over stiff muscles he did not know existed, he pitched his mental voice lower this time, I can’t reach my back, can you lend a hand?

Again, the silence greeted him.

Having no course to linger in the shower, he quickly washed himself before stepping clear of the glass door, the cool ambient air causing his pores to pucker. Her eyes briefly flicked to him as he re-entered the room before sliding away, reaching up to undo the tie in her hair as the strands of her blue hair spilled about her shoulders. Lifting her hand, she weaved a pattern, scrying a large mirror as tall as her seated height before grasping the handle of an ivory coloured brush. Pulling the length of hair over one shoulder, the angel began brushing from root to tip, her wings relaxed and laying atop a pair of satin pillows; free off the ground.

Henrí had dressed in silence, the quiet of the room broken only by the sound of a brush passing through hair. Pushing the final button around the wrist of his white shirt into its slot, he left the metallic grey blazer in its current resting place before crossing to the silent angel.

Her eyes focused on him the moment he stepped in her direction. When looking at him, Crocell’s eyes never held dislike; the soft spot she bore for him always present, even in moments like these when giving him the silent treatment.

Her shoulder was not cold, but warm to the touch, searing heat of her warming Henrí to the frigid, but necessary corners of his soul. Stopping the travel of her warming hand, he gently eased the brush from her fingers; their eyes locked, emotion flooding briefly before tilted her chin and closed her eyes. Wrapping a length of blue hair in his fist, Henrí forced Crocell’s head back before sweeping the brush through the remaining half she had not yet brushed, a gentle sigh escaping her.

Talk to me. Please.

“And say what?” she asked aloud, eyes still closed as he continued his ministrations.

Henrí swayed slightly, relief flooding his gut, “Anything.”

In the moment, he was no longer an exile, n longer a Fallen angel, not even an immortal- nothing but a friend sharing a touching moment with another friend.

“Do I mean so little to you?” Crocell asked after a silence; hair now completely brushed as Henrí now put it all in one long plait, his fingers moving with experience and alacrity, “That you would see it fit to summon me?”

“I had no choice, my friend.”

“Only because you refuse to return and reclaim your full strength. You forced me to seek the consult of a mortal,” she spat out the final word, eyes now boring into his own before softening as she raised fingers to the finished plait. Thank you.