locked out of heaven [emery]

[black]

He had been hunting this one for a while now, but it was evasive and determined to escape him. The evasiveness was something he probably could have handled easily, to be honest, as his experience hunting spirits spanned across infinite time and space, but it was the determination that was adding the challenge. Ivan simply wasn't that invested in catching this particular soul at this particular time; he was content to wander the underground, always following close enough behind to keep his prey on its toes, nervous and never able to rest. Spirits didn't grow physically tired so much as they did lose all willpower to continue running from the inevitable, and Ivan was willing to wait until that hopelessness and sense of futility kicked in. There was no reason to wear himself out running full tilt after something he already knew he could catch while walking at a leisurely pace; besides, it was much easier to consume a soul that was too worn out to fight.

The reaper had not even bothered to phase into the realm of the not-quite-dead yet - he still appeared as a man, looking slightly disheveled as usual, as if he'd left his house in a hurry. The dark shadows under his eyes dispelled the idea that he'd slept late; judging by those alone, he hadn't gotten any sleep for days. And yet, despite his rather unfortunate guise, there was a wry smile on the man's face. The expression was not out of enjoyment so much as it was amusement at his lack of enjoyment. There had been a time when he would have found pursuing the soul of a criminal through dark, underground tunnels thrilling - but that time had long since past, and now it was simply his job, the 9 to 5 that he attended out of habit and because if he stayed home, he'd wither away from even worse boredom.

When the man considered eternity, he found it nearly impossible to comprehend. There was the fact that he would be doing this for the rest of the world's existence...and then there was the fact that he had no idea how impossibly long that would be for, and he did not really want to continue this life. He supposed he had a choice, in theory - he could always retire, spend a few thousand years living on the beach, surrounded by beautiful human women. And then what? Anything that sounded appealing to him became much less so after he thought about spending eternity doing it.

He continued his walk down the tunnel, never taking his eyes off the vague shadow that he followed close behind - but never close enough to touch. Perhaps he was imagining it, but it seemed as if his prey were beginning to slow down. Accepting its fate. Ivan only wished he could do the same.

[Emery]

Emery has always kept to himself. Those he would call brother or sister elicit no sense of loyalty. He is, in the simplest terms, married to the job. That the reaper’s job is never ending is a boon; he is fulfilled by it, by the order found therein. The world is comprised by rules, organized by universal truths. The predator devours the prey. The loss of prey devours the predator. An old man dies, a life bursts into existence somewhere across the globe. That Emery should play some part in the balance of All Things provides a purpose, and justification for his continued existence.

And he does need to justify it – his existing. Unlike humans who have a clear start and finish to their adventure, Emery will never have a conclusion. There is nothing to work towards. Nothing to aspire to. He is a steward of souls, nothing more and nothing less. It will never change, of this he is certain, and so his presence is tied to the job. When there are no more souls to reap, he assumes there will be no more reapers; a predator and prey relationship.

The call goes out soundless. Colorless. A vibration through channels untouched by mortals. There is an errant soul on the loose. Emery is always among the first responders, and this day is no different. Through the earth, through manmade structure, a black smoke seeps and bubbles. It bleeds through the cracks of concrete and billows like an explosion in slow motion. Formless darkness winds and dances until, left in its wake, is a man. He wears clothing similar to a 1920’s gentleman, though thankfully missing the bowler hat.

A black walking cane strikes out against the ground; a pang rings tinny off of the tunnel walls. The soul is close but a different presence has Emery’s attention. Blue eyes regard the other reaper with a learned detachedness. ”Ivan Black.” The name elicits a bloom of emotion; irritation, annoyance, an odd sense of longing born from a familiarity broken and abandoned eons ago. ”You shouldn’t be here,” he says matter-of-factly. ”This soul is mine.”

Possessiveness is only inspired in Emery when a third party enters the picture. In this case, Ivan is the third.

And three’s a crowd.

[black]

Ivan was aware of the other's presence before words were spoken; he was quite attuned to his surroundings, even if his behavior tended to give off an air of blissful unawareness. Perhaps the other was just passing through, wouldn't speak to him or try to interact with him at all...the reaper wanted to be left alone, and yet he could not repress the desperate need for companionship and reassurance. He wanted company from someone who would understand, but he could not admit to himself that he did, and so the man stopped walking and almost visibly cringed when his name was finally spoken.

”Ivan Black.”

He turned around slowly, glancing at the familiar figure warily before looking away again, gaze darting around as if he didn't know what to look at. There was no real hostility in his action; instead, he resembled a student meeting up with a teacher who'd been friendly and supportive, and now he was ashamed at having to reveal to this teacher that he'd dropped out of school and was going to become a drug dealer instead of going to college. This feeling of disappointing someone he'd respected was quickly covered with a teasing grin. "Emery Red...way," he said, mimicking Emery's tone and adding the rest of his name on as a feigned afterthought.

"You shouldn’t be here. This soul is mine."

This did illicit a frown from Ivan, though it was clearly an act, just as the smile had been. "It's nice to see you too," he said with exaggerated disappointment. It wasn't nice to see him, to be reminded of his failings just by the existence of one person - but it was nice, and because Ivan could not bring himself to believe that, he continued to be unpleasant. Continued to bury his relationships because admitting that he needed them was too hard. "But, in case you didn't notice...I was here first. You're late, early bird gets the worm, all that stuff." He raised his shoulders in a mocking, sitcom-style shrug. "I'd offer to race you to it, but I guess you're a cripple now, so that wouldn't be fair." He directed his gaze now toward the cane, baring his teeth in what might have been a grin if he'd been happy.

The soul had hesitated, as if the presence of two pursuers was simply too overwhelming for it to comprehend. It had no understanding of the conversation taking place, but it could sense that it was enough of a distraction - and it took off with rejuvenated determination, fleeing through the tunnels like a rabbit from the dogs. Ivan spared it only an amused glance; he knew it would be caught eventually, and heckling Emery was for some reason more satisfying.

[Emery]

Emery’s patience is unlimited and yet Ivan manages to irk the reaper. It is a fallacy of logic that the immortal should pick up more emotions as the eons pass by, as opposed to losing them, but there is no mistaking the ember of anger flaring inside his chest. When the black receded and he was effectively born, Emery, like all reapers, was a blank slate. Through the hunt, through contact with souls and humans, the lines of true personality were drawn. That Ivan had been there during those transformative years does not matter. Bridges burned are bridges lost.

”I see you still have a fascination with human idioms,” Emery deadpans. ”Good for you.” His tone is clipped, his expression dead save for the heat lurking within his blue gaze. Sarcasm is one of the few concepts Emery has mastered. Humor, especially Ivan’s brand, continues to allude the reaper’s understanding.

The cripple remark elicits a barely-perceivable flinch; Emery goes so far as to frown disapprovingly. ”A race it is, then.” Competition is a petty human device and typically Emery is content as long as the job gets done. For Ivan, he will make the exception. ”At the count of three – one.“ He locks eyes with Ivan and feels the soul’s beacon draw farther away. ”Two.” The soul will be caught, the job completed, such is his purpose. ”Three.”

Displaced air sends dust clouding the immediate area. There is the sound of fluttering wings, brief, lasting only a second. The visage of the man bursts apart and the reaper crosses the veil. Here there is no sense of space or time. Reapers are impossibly large or impossibly small. The souls, equally immeasurable. What was once a man is now a plume of black. Ink spreading through water. Black blood through a network of veins. Shapeless, unperceivable, until his strength gathers and collects.

What is left is a creature, serpentine and sleek. A vulture’s skull hides a mellow glow. Wings beat and it is off—chasing after the fleeing soul. It spares its competitor a glance but only one, as it is a dedicated collector. The race bursts through a network of constantly changing tunnels. Sharp turns, steep falls, dead ends – obstacles populated by fragments of the soul’s past life.

He draws closer to his prey –victory is ensured. Ivan Black will be put into his place. Strange tears appear within the reaper’s body, like a layer of thread frayed from a banner of black cloth. Just as Emery is within striking distance, he abruptly falls away --

And ends up stumbling to his hands and knees onto hard pavement. The sudden exit into the physical world has the reaper reeling. Cripple, was too keen a word. The black cane materializes and Emery struggles to his feet. If Ivan joins him in the human realm to gloat, Emery fixes him with a hard glare.

”You’ve won.” Or so he assumes. ”Fine. Good. I’m sure you’re very pleased with yourself.” He would simply leave if it was an option, but Emery cannot. The metal tip of his cane bears the full extent of the reaper’s weight. He draws in a breath and releases it slowly, though he does not need to.

[black]

Emery's sarcasm only served to fan the flames; there was nothing quite like picking on an old comrade for reminding one of their purpose in un-life. Something about earning a reaction, any sign of emotion from Emery was cathartic - it allowed Ivan to feel his own feelings, if he truly had any, and in some strange way the reaper was grateful to his nemesis for the unintended therapy.

It didn't matter that he'd hurt his once-friend with his comment - Ivan had picked up on the flinch, and his blue eyes quickly flicked away in response, as if it were forbidden to notice the other's pain. It wasn't that he wanted to hurt Emery; he simply knew no other way to gain the amount of acknowledgement he craved. Ivan was the child speaking out of turn in class, throwing pencils across the classroom so the teacher would yell at him. It was silly, and he should have known better after being alive for incomprehensible amounts of time, but the man had reached the peak of maturity centuries ago and had begun a slow decline to the rogue he now was.

It would have infuriated him if he'd thought about it.

It did infuriate him when he thought about it.

But his existential crisis was put on hold when Emery began his countdown; Ivan waited in anticipation, leaning forward as if he actually intended to run this race. His teeth bared in a grin as his competitor hit "one," and suddenly the man is no more - it could have been smoke in his place, or perhaps a small concentration of misplaced fog. What was left behind in the human world did not matter; on the other side, particles rearranged themselves into a hideous beast - it resembled an elk, all long legs and stubby tail. What could have been an awkward, somewhat cute creature was foiled by a grotesque, skeletal head - an eerie skull that was mad all the more unsettling by the blue eyes that seemed to emit an ethereal fire.

There was not time to admire this creature before it took off, leaping and bounding over the ground that seemed to conform to the human world and yet did not. Walls did not matter, and without the need to weave through tunnels, Ivan caught up with the spirit in no time at all (not that time technically existed in his present location). As he neared his prey, he felt the elation of victory, and then...something was wrong. Not with himself, he knew, but the feeling was there. He stopped. Turned around, looked for Emery, didn't see him. Something that might have been concern crept into his conscious, but it was quickly suppressed - he'd only stopped because he didn't want this victory if his competitor wasn't even going to try! Right? Right.

With what he hoped was a casual air, the beast began to fade, and the man resurfaced on the other side, in a very un-theatrical manner.

”You’ve won. Fine. Good. I’m sure you’re very pleased with yourself.”

There was a flare of emotions then - shame, followed quickly and consumed by anger, and beneath it all was something he had not felt for a long time - Ivan was worried. Worried about himself, worried about Emery. What he wasn't worried about was the soul that was long gone by now; he could always catch up to it later. "What happened to you?" he asked, attempting to keep his tone light and airy. Maybe he hadn't done a good enough job at that - better add an insult to keep it convincing. "Sore loser?"

[Emery]

It is a strange sensation to feel his lungs periodically rush full with air. Breathing is a mortal necessity and Emery is decidedly not mortal. He swallows, yet another human action, and though the reaper does not require sustenance of any kind, the rhythmic motions of breathing work to calm him. After a moment, and after great effort, Emery manages to straighten his posture and meet Ivan’s curious stare.

What emotions flit across the other reaper’s features inspire only confusion. Emery has watched humanity for eons but he has never bothered to peer too closely. What understanding of emotion he possesses has been gleamed from the countless souls the reaper stewarded into the afterlife. The shadows pass from Ivan’s face and Emery’s question dies upon the man’s insult.

”I lost,” he states with an idle coldness, then adds a surprisingly snide, ”Clearly.” Emery’s grip on the walking cane is white-knuckle tight, his posture rigid, his mouth drawn into a thin line. His answer was not the one Ivan sought, and Emery finds himself reluctant to offer anything more – simply because it is Ivan asking. Childish, he knows, and it is due to this that Emery relents.

Blue eyes drop to the ground and he recedes into a place of memory. When Emery speaks, it is quietly and subdued. ”Our brother, the dragon,” he begins and looks up. ”He awoke by his own volition. It took…many of us to return him to his cage.” The dragon, custodian of calamites, is roused only when there is a great influx of souls poured into the nether. ”I just need time to recover.” This is said with an air of finality, and Emery holds his head high as if daring Ivan to suggest otherwise.

A ping on his radar causes the man’s brows to knit. It is with honest vexation that he stares at Ivan. ”You let the soul go –why?” The job is everything, the mission their reason for existing. That Ivan should let the soul slip free is a concept that Emery cannot understand. ”I don’t know when you stopped making sense, but I suggest you retrace your steps and find where you lost it.” A disapproving scowl weighs down the reaper’s features and he makes to leave – but his step is stilted.

The arm bearing Emery's weight upon the cane shivers, he tries to move again and nearly doubles over. A surge of exhaustion robs Emery of the air he does not need. He draws in a shaky breath and casts a wan look in Ivan’s direction. ”I don’t suppose, if I asked you to help me out of here, that you would say yes.” It is not posed as a question because the reaper feels the answer will be negative.