Azrael realised that, while his thoughts had been thrown back to that fateful night all those years ago, he had managed to wander back to his car, haggard and exhausted after the two trips. In confusion, he studied himself, peering down at the dirt that was caked beneath his talons and the smeared mud that had splashed across the brown leather of his boots. He had unconsciously acted out the motions of hiding a body, out of his mind, distracted by nothing.
It vaguely concerned him how his body would sometimes move on its own while his mind was a million miles away but there was nothing he could do to remedy it – not any solution he was privy to. It had yet to do him any harm, though Azrael would firmly ignore it even if it did. Nevertheless, now was not the time to be worrying about something so inconsequential. The sun was rising and he needed to sleep, to allow his body to rest, so he didn't become entirely nocturnal.
Gracelessly, he climbed back into his car and prepared for the tedious journey back into London, back to his house and his bed. As the early morning ticked by, more people would be rising from their slumber to get to work, causing the traffic to swell up and lengthen his trip by an annoying amount. With a frustrated grumble caught in the back of his throat, Azrael revved his engine and sped down the road, anxious to at least make good time past the outer suburbs, even if he did get stuck later.
As he drove back towards civilisation, the streetlights switched off as the sun rose high enough above the horizon, staining the sky a smeared red. Like blood washing away in water. What was that old adage again? Red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning?
Though Azrael scoffed light, he found himself feeling an unpleasant twinge of anxiety at the thought that the sky was predicting something catastrophic was coming. It was completely ridiculous as the old saying was about the weather, he was not foolish enough to think otherwise, but he had always been the type to fear the worst. Azrael constantly kept on edge so nothing caught him off guard. Even if it was just folklore, he took it to heart.
The sun was higher in the sky than he would like by the time he pulled onto the meagre drive of his terraced house, burning into his sleep-exhausted eyes as Azrael slunk out of his car. Lifting his glasses up slightly, he rubbed away the mucus build-up that blurred his vision along his waterline as he forced his eyelids open for at least a little longer. He just needed to make it to his bed and it wasn't that far, even for someone almost dead on their feet.
Instinctively, he swept his gaze around the area surrounding the house, making sure that none of the neighbours nor random pedestrians were around to question his dirty, dishevelled appearance when it was barely dawn. It had happened once before when he had not long moved into this house, about 7 years ago. The morning after Azrael killed the first man that he knew hurt Pavel.
While he had experience in discrete body disposal, he was unused to living in an area that was so densely populated or being surrounded by people who weren't of the same ilk as him. Guiltless people remained somewhat foreign to Azrael at the time, despite having lived in the 'real' world for several years. Arriving back home with a large amount of, fortunately, dried blood caked in his paper-white hair and on his light shirt had not been a clever decision as the neighbour left his house at the exact time Azrael got out of his car. It had left him to desperately explain away his appearance as the man stared at him in confusion.
The universe was, unusually, on his side for once, though, because the neighbour had quickly accepted that was just mud that had been splashed on Azrael for some reason or another. Adding to that, the man had moved away within the year so there was no risk of him snooping. That neighbour was swiftly replaced by an old, forgetful woman who rarely ventured beyond her back garden, so Azrael didn't worry about that, and anyone staying on the other side of his house never stayed for very long as the property was only for short-term renting.
It was an idyllic place for Azrael within a reasonable price range for not-quite Central London. Technically, he could have purchased something bigger, more ostentatious, if it didn't come with the risk of attention being drawn to his illegitimate income; repurposing the money of his targets to his own bank accounts. A large house was not a necessity, either way. It was just a place to rest his old, weary bones.
Nevertheless, Azrael was relieved to see that no one was ambling out of their homes or down the road, so he dragged his exhaustion-heavy body through his front door. His wings caught on the frame as he forgot to tuck them against his back in that tired haze of his. With an irritated exhale, he kicked of his shoes and flexed his cramping, taloned feet, a welcome relief after the long walk. Focusing his eyes on the stairs up to his room, the slight clicking of his talons on the hardwood floor becoming a steady rhythm lulling Azrael towards sleep.
Muscles ached slightly as he climbed the stairs, but it was all worth it as he got to the landing, pushed open the bedroom door and fell into his soft, welcoming bed. Azrael groaned as his body relaxed, but he pushed himself to stay awake so that he could wiggle out of his trousers and jumper. Finally, just in his boxers, he allowed himself to curl up under the duvet, sleep taking him as the world came to life outside of his house.
-
Azrael's eyes snapped open, glancing over to the clock on his nightstand – the time displayed was midday exactly, unsurprisingly. He sighed, a mixture of contentedness at the warmth and how well-rested he felt and irritation at having to drag himself up to begin the day's activities. No matter how much he didn't want to get out of bed, his drilled-in discipline made it impossible for him to listen to any childish desire knocking around his skull.
Yawning, Azrael heaved his body up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed so he could sit in quiet contemplation before showering. There was never much to ponder about, nothing that he hadn't thought about already, but it was still something he found himself doing. Azrael had long since pushed away his feelings of guilt about killing the deserving to the far recesses of his mind, so he wasn't ruminating on his actions of the previous night. That didn't help narrow down what it was he was trying to think about. Perhaps it was just a moment of silence before the day began; nothing more, nothing less. Even if he didn't understand it himself.
He shook his head with an internal scoff and finally stood up, ready to deal with what the day was to hold. Though it wasn't really a mystery. As he walked the short distance to the bathroom and turned on the shower, allowing it to warm up, he planned out the vague details of what was to come.
As he clambered into the hot shower, Azrael considered what time he would head out. It wasn't a long drive to the area where Pavel could be found, the building he used for conducting his business only a couple miles away in a disenfranchised neighbourhood. As usual, Azrael would head out as the sun began to lower in the sky and spend the late evening into the night, observing as the man enticed customers into his room. While he watched his patterns every night, he didn't spy on the activities between Pavel and the customers more than was completely necessary; that was not what this was about. Azrael didn't just kill anyone who laid with Pavel because that would become far too obvious and it wasn't like he hated the customers for paying for his services. Money had to be made somehow, even if the method of earning was saddening. The world was harsh and people had to do what they had to do – that was a truth Azrael intimately understood.
It was simple. The people that Azrael killed were the ones who took it too far. The ones that hurt Pavel in inexcusable ways. Inescapably, his mind wandered back to the man he had killed last night. That one had been a piece of work – he could, from the street, the pain and terror that he had inflicted on Pavel. Azrael knew it wasn't acting; there was a true inflexion of agony in Pavel's voice that couldn't be fake, even with years of experience in lying. It was a noise that he was deeply familiar with in his years of service for his late master, both personally and from observation.
Considering the tribulations that Pavel had gone through just last night, it was unlikely he would be working tonight, but Azrael couldn't put it past him to push aside those injuries because he knew how desperately that money was needed. Therefore, as there was that chance he would be working, Azrael couldn't stay home and risk him being put into another horrible situation without him knowing and taking relevant actions. He wouldn't be able to live with himself.
Azrael scrubbed his body with the harsh loofa he needed for his scales, wincing as he dislodge a couple that had been damaged in the struggle last night. They had been cracked too much to stay on his body, wrenched straight from the root. A thin stream of blood trickled down his arm, washed light pink by the water. Pushing aside that temporary sting, he grimace at the thick layer of much on his hands that he hadn't washed off before sleeping last night. I'll have to change my sheets again.
Now that he had decided what he going to do later, though there wasn't really any other choice he would have made, he could relax for the afternoon and try to loosen his muscles that were still sore from the dead weight last night. It was shocking that he hadn't adapted to the weight that had corpses had in comparison to living people, but Azrael had to accept that his body had had it rough for a while.
Considering his draconic species, at only 32, he was still very young, maturity only being reached in the later part of the last decade, but the human form he primarily resided in had sustained serious wear and tear. Every time he looked in the mirror, the bags under his eyes and the hollow appearance of his face reminded him of everything he'd experienced. While he had yet to gain any wrinkles, Azrael could see where they would form in the coming years. It was clear that he needed to spend some time in his intended form to recuperate, but then he wouldn't be able to be in the city for some time, which was not something he was willing to do. That would mean Pavel would be without his watchful eye for anywhere from a couple weeks to several months and Azrael didn't want to consider the violence that could be enacted upon him if an unsavoury customer began to frequent him. There was zero protection from that sort given by the Lotus; money was king in those places. Workers were a replaceable commodity.
Azrael could hold out for as long as necessary until he was physically unable to stop himself from reverting back even if that will likely negatively impact him for years to come – it had happened before, he could survive it again. His health was second to Pavel's. Azrael didn't matter. He didn't deserve the reprieve or the break: his penance, a holier man than him would call it. He needed to be certain that those who hurt Pavel paid for it with their life.
With an agonised groan, he stretched his wings to the fullest extent possible inside his bathroom as Azrael dried himself off, feeling his joints crack and pop slightly from misuse. That certainly signalled to him that he would have to fly for any of his errands this afternoon, at the risk of his wings becoming entirely stiff and unusable. Not bothering to clothe himself, he folded his towel and put it back on the rack before going downstairs to see if he had anything to eat for lunch or something to supplement his evening meal when Azrael went to keep an eye on Pavel.
The air had a distinct chill to it, seeping into his bones, his bare flesh prickling against the breeze. As Azrael went down the hall, he quickly turned on the central heating – the cold was one of the few things he had little ability to withstand. He paid no further heed as he went to the kitchen and began to open and search each of the cupboards. Checking the fridge-freezer last, Azrael came to the realisation that he had almost no food in. When was the last time I went to the shops? Have I gone hunting at all in the last year?
Closing the freezer door with a click of his forked tongue, he stood back up as he thought about the essentials he need to get at the supermarket, making a relatively long list in his head as he went back upstairs to get dressed. Getting the food items in order in his mind, Azrael pulled on some comfortable but practical clothes for the short flight to the shops.
The top he chose was almost skin-tight but that back was open to allow his wings a full range of motion, only buttoned shut at the nape of his neck and at the small of his back. He rarely wore this specific shirt as it was specialised for flight and he rarely flew anywhere. London wasn't entirely ideal for winged species, the phone lines and other such obstacles in the sky blocking air travel in general, let alone for people with Azrael's wingspan. Fortunately, one of the things he did check when he bought this house was what the airspace around it was like – it had minimal wiring in the air, seeing as most of the phone lines had been transferred underground now, and the streets were quite wide for one that had been around for a couple hundred years, so his landings didn't risk his or any pedestrians safety. Azrael paired it with some plain black slacks that clung slightly too tightly to his thighs. They had begun to fade to a murky grey from the years of usage but he didn't like the idea of throwing them away while they were still usable.
Now that he was decent enough to leave the house, Azrael scooped up a couple of bags as he stepped onto his driveway, bathed in the cool sun of the autumn afternoon. A shiver shot down my spine and he did his best to ignore the cold, though it gnawed into his skin. He had, luckily, parked his car in a way that gave him enough of a runway to be able to take flight easily. With a short flap of his wings, Azrael broke into a brief run before he sprang up from the ground, his shoeless feet designed for these graceful lift-offs. He caught the slight wind and swooped into the air, quickly ascending so he was level with the rooves of the surrounding buildings.
Azrael hovered in place for a moment, meeting the shocked gaze of a human as she stared out of her window. For a moment, he just appreciated the gentle breeze on his face and the freedom his wings had before he flew down the street, looking down at the people on the pavement. The air resistance was tousling his still-wet hair but he didn't care, relaxing properly for the first time in a while at the mighty feeling being able to fly gave him. If he hadn't been raised strictly, beaten into losing the casual nature of a smile, Azrael was certain he'd be grinning as he pushed through the sky.
However, as swiftly as he leapt into the air, the flight ended as the bright sign of the shop came into view, causing Azrael to slow his movement. He kept himself steady in the sky for a few moments, making sure the tarmac was clear as he lowered himself down gently. After a minute or so of descending, his bare feet touched the ground and his talons dug into the tarmac slightly, balancing him while he tucked his wings tightly to his back.
Preferably, Azrael would never wear shoes as his claws helped him keep his balance and the ability to feel the ground beneath him gave him great comfort, but it wasn't advisable – the streets were dirty and injuring his feet would be a waste of energy. Especially if he got an infection or a bloodborne disease. Azrael just didn't want to open himself up to the risk.
Shaking his thoughts loose from his head, Azrael finally went into the shop, losing himself in the sprawling aisles of the superstore. He sighed and resigned himself to the boring errands of the day before his true mission in the evening.