Like Real People Do

1- Surprises and Seraphs

        Heavy rain beat at the windows, nearly drowning out the soft music coming from the laptop. A draft blew through the door and through the London shop, making the curtains flutter.

        Lucretia hummed along as she sterilised the tattoo needles. Technically, Bethany should have been doing this, but she'd sent her home early, claiming that no one was going to come in on such a miserable day. Of course, that wasn't exactly a lie - but telling your best and only employee that you were giving her the day off so you could perform satanic rituals was a pretty sure fire way to get shut down.

        She sighed and stood up. No use procrastinating anymore. Time to get back in touch.

        She cleared a space on the floor and knelt down, drawing the pentagram with red sharpie. Not the most conventional material to use, but it did the job, and she wasn't about to waste her dwindling supply of blood on communication.

        She grabbed a sheaf of paper off the table, and glanced through it before placing it in the centre of the circle. The pages were covered in strange symbols, that swam and danced if looked at directly. A snap of her fingers and the paper caught fire, spreading along the lines of the pentagram and vaporising the sharpie lines, leaving no trace.

         Before she had even sat down, there was a noise at the door. She looked up expecting to see Bethany, back to fetch whatever she had left behind this time, and instead was met with a jolt of surprise. 

         Someone had dragged themselves to her door, and lay there, bruised cheek pressed against the glass. She cautiously approached the door and looked out, judging the threat they posed.

         The person was a tall black woman, beaten bloody and unconscious. She was wearing a white dress along with a long beige duffel coat, both muddied and torn, and her curls were matted with blood on one side. After a careful look around, Lucretia opened the door and lifted her up, revealing surprising strength for someone so small.

          It was only when she had placed the woman on one of the tattoo chairs and had gone to remove her coat that she got her second surprise for the day. The second she pulled off the coat, wings spilled out, far too big for the coat to logically contain.  

          But then again, angels weren't usually bound by the normal laws of physics. 

          The wings were beautiful, enormous things, each one as long as Lucretia was tall and as white as snow. One of the feathers had come out, and she picked it up, holding it jealously, examining every detail. Few humans would be able to see these wings, even without the coat.

           Absentmindedly, her hands went to her own wings, hidden beneath a denim jacket in much the same way as the angel's. A defence mechanism, to stop the sides from spotting each other.

           Hers weren't nearly as perfect, those wonderful alabaster feathers all burned away. Broken halos, tattered wings - it was no wonder demons called themselves the fallen angels.

           The angel stirred, snapping her out of her musings. She quickly stowed the feather she had taken and fetched some basic first aid supplies, before sitting down in her tattooist's chair to wait. 

            She didn't have to wait long. The angel stirred again, her eyes slowly fluttering open. Her left eye was swollen shut, but her right eye opened fully, looking around until her gaze fell on Lucretia.

            She slowly sat up, hissing with pain whenever she bumped a sore spot, and turned towards the tattooist's chair. 

            "Here. For the eye."

            Lucretia passed her a block of ice, wrapped in paper, and the angel carefully held it to her eye, sighing in relief.

            Remember, she thinks you're human. Don't do anything to make her think otherwise.

            "Thank you," the angel murmured "I do not know what I would have done without you."

            "Don't mention it. How'd this happen, anyway?"

            Wow, subtle much, Luc? Just straight up interrogate her while you're at it, why don't you.

            "I was attacked. A trio of men...they ambushed me in an alley. Took what little wealth I carried with me." She looked downcast for a second, but immediately looked up and smiled, looking at Lucretia with the kind of all-encompassing affection that only an angel could bring to bear.

           "But you assisted me. And for that I thank you."

            Wait. She talks like that? Oh for Satan's sake, no wonder she got assaulted, she may as well be from the fifteenth century. 

            Okay, don't let on. Sure, she talks weird, but that isn't your problem, right? She probably won't last a week, but she's an angel. It isn't your problem that her smile is like the sun, or that her eyes look like polished amber, or that-

            Fuck.

            "Do you want tea?" she blurted out, quickly standing up. "There's a kettle in the back room for our breaks. I'd move you there, but honestly the tattoo chair might be more comfortable."

            That elicited a chuckle from the angel, and Lucretia tried to suppress the thrill that went through her when she heard it.

             "If it isn't too much too much trouble, then certainly," she said, wincing

             Lucretia went to the back room and tried to rationalise.

             "Look," she said to herself, quietly so as not to alert the angel, "you don't even know her name. There's no reason for you to be behaving like this. You should just give her some tea, let her rest a second, then turn her out again. She'll be fine!"

             That resolution lasted all of ten seconds, and Lucretia groaned, dropping her head into her hands. 

             "You know, you have far too much of a conscience. That's your problem."

             Massaging her temples, she tried to come up with some kind of solution.

             "She can stay the night. How about that. Afterwards, she can leave again. She'll be healed by tomorrow, you know how angels are."

             She was spared from further overthinking by the kettle boiling. After one more long sigh, she made two mugs of tea and brought them through to the parlour, where the angel was inspecting her wings for injuries. The second Lucretia walked in, she tucked her wings behind her back guiltily and picked up the ice pack again, holding it to her eye again.

             "You really should keep that on," she chided, handing over a mug of tea and sitting back on her chair.

             The two of them sat in silence for a little while, each quietly aware of the other and trying not to show it.

            "You know, I just realised that we don't even know each other's names." 

            Lucretia's words made the angel look up in surprise. She chuckled wryly again.

            "I suppose we don't. Very well, you can call me Aurora. And you?"

            "Nice name. It suits you. My name's Lucretia, Luc for short."

             "I should be retiring. I appreciate the help you have given me." Aurora went to stand up, wincing the whole way.

             You should just let her leave. You should just let her leave. You should just let her leave. You should-

             "Wait."