anges | and i won't be the damndest bit fucking surprised.

Skip to Main Content

and i won't be the damndest bit fucking surprised.

newt

and i'm so damn scared of dying without you | but i've come prepared | resolved for all my life to wear a funeral suit | and don't tell me how | i'll smile and pretend and won't show to the crowd | and i'll go without | punish myself for not knowing about | this lie | that we're fixing to die.
wings; pale grey, freckled, missing patches of feathers. one bad wing.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ As one of God's blessed prophets, cherished and kept away from everything, left to monitor the world and write down the Word, write down everything that they see, Jojen doesn't come downstairs very often. He doesn't particularly get out much, though it feels like he does sometimes considering how much he's left to See throughout the day, so it's a little bit of an... understatement, to say that he looks out of place.

Not that he really cares. Tweed jackets are still just as comfortable now as they were when they were first invented.

But he looks out of place even sitting on the bench outside of the flower shop that he knows Newt works in and lives above with his found family, eyes closed behind his thick-rimmed glasses as he simply waits. Newt is bound to come back from his shopping trip in a matter of minutes, and he's in no real hurry at the moment. Angels tend to have eternity, and he knows just how long particular moment will last.

So he folds his hands patiently in his lap, head tipped back, wings pressed into their tattooed form along his back and shoulders. ]

[ it is by far a surprise to see newt's youngest brother outside of the flower shop. newt and jojen have not gotten along famously in the past, though that is probably more newt's fault than jojen's, and newt knows it's not fair to him. it's not his fault that he was chosen, seen as a prophet and Blessed and one of their second father's favorites. but newt can't help but be resentful for it. his brother sees newt's miserable life, sees every reincarnation that he can't quite achieve, the death he still hasn't felt, in near two lifetimes of misery and sorrow. he knows, he knows where alby is, and he never tells newt. maybe out of pity? out of a kindness? newt doesn't know. he doesn't even know if he wants to know.

there's a feeling of bitterness that twists up in his stomach at the same time some faint affection does (jojen was sickly and weak as a child, always so close on the brink of death) and newt has to shove it down, try and put his usual calmness on top for his younger brother.

he steps up to the shop and pauses, shopping bags for dinner for the next week looped over his arm. ] Jojen.

Hello, Newt. [ Jojen tilts his head a little as he opens his eyes, looking up at his older brother placidly. Enjolras frequently greets him with quiet enthusiasm, but when it comes to Newt, it's... well. He's used to the resentment now, knows that in a way he deserves it for as much as he didn't ask for the Sight - didn't ask to become a seer in his first lifetime all the way through to his life in Heaven.

Much like Newt, but perhaps more contained and less considered, there is a part of him that simply wants to close his eyes and be done with it. Especially as someone that has seen his death, each and every lifetime, and remembered it through each and every single one. Remembered the pain and the suffering and the finality of something that was far too soon for a boy so young.

From one lifetime to the next, he's been sickly and weak. Now, he's just what he is. ] For formality's sake, and because I prefer asking rather than just Seeing it, how're you?

Just fine. [ newt can already feel the beginnings of a headache starting to form behind his temples, and he reaches behind him with his free hand to brush his longer hair back over his shoulder, like it's an obvious marker for their difference. he thinks he can remember his mother talking about how similar they looked, that they could practically be twins, but jojen is the outward representation of how newt is on the inside; small, weak, frail.

whatever he's here for, it's probably bad news. newt eyes the prophet for a minute.

they are related, when it comes down to everything. so, newt sighs, drops his shoulders, and steps forward to the door on the side of the flower shoppe, where the staircase for the apartment is located, looking back over his shoulder at his young brother. ] Well, come on then. It's cold as death outside. I'm not letting you know who smite me because his bloody prophet doesn't know how to wear a winter coat.

[ Wordlessly raising his eyebrows behind his glasses, Jojen remains seated as he waits Newt out. A little sound escapes him, a sort of thing that almost seems glad in his strangely somber way, and he nods his head as if he's glad for the answer - even though he knows, without even Seeing, that it's not the truth. Newt is broken in a way that many angels are, many people are.

Truth be told, he understands that.

A small huff of a laugh escapes him at the scolding, and he rises from his seat, straightening his jacket and moving along to follow after his older brother as he always did. His siblings have always been his caretakers, from one life to the next, where he was lucky enough to have them. Sometimes he died young, younger, because it was a world where he didn't know Lucielle or Isaac, but he has them now.

He also reminds himself that he should keep that particular name in his head and not on his tongue. ] I lose track of seasons, unfortunately. Time is a little skewed these days.

[ lucielle got into another fight.

what else is new, really? some asshole shouting a misogynous slur at her and the next moment she was emasculating him, preaching the good word of feminism, fighting the right fight -- the one of justice, liberty, good sense for all. not just of women, but mankind as a whole. she's been fighting this war for centuries on end, but who's she to brag? if someone on the street wants to whistle at her jeans or her red lipstick, let them.

she'll put them in their place.

but one man steadily became three men, and words quickly became fists thrown back and forth, back and forth. leaving some near-dead, bloody woman in an alley, honestly, where's the pride in that? enjolras remembers when fights were noble, hand duels, old western gunshots -- ten steps, bang bang, or when fights meant something, instead of just proving your dominance over a woman who insulted your clearly distraught morals ( though lucy is far from helpless ). but now she picks herself up off the dirty floor after waiting an appropriate amount of time, strutting down main street with bruises lining her face, white button up shirt dyed bright red, a trail of blood dripping down her nose and onto her lips.

why should she hide it, really? everyone should see the offense this makes to the grand scheme of human kind.

( who are just as hopeless as they've always been, but lucielle refuses to give up her hope. )

when she reaches the apartment above the flower shop, enjolras bypasses newt's room entirely, not stopping to say hello, but carrying the smell of blood and death far enough for him to know what happened.

it's pretty much always the same, after all. ]

Edited 2014-11-13 03:08 (UTC)

[ newt loves his siblings. of all of the angels, he has two actual siblings who were his in the furthest past life, before any of them had wings; lucielle, his older sister, and jojen, his younger brother. he loves them dearly.

but jojen drives newt crazy with his visions and his ability to know everything. lucielle? lucielle gets into fights so often that newt almost can't keep track of them. it feels like every single year that goes by there's a new revolution for her to be fighting, some more people to champion. which is great, really; newt admires that, his sister's leadership qualities, her passion.

it's less great when he's picking bullets out of her torso while she bleeds in his lap, using floss and his grace to keep her from falling back apart while she rants about whatever vilified fat pigs are leading the world to ruins this century.

newt senses lucielle as soon as she enters the home; it's been a while since he's seen her, and a little bit of affection surges up in his chest as he gets up from where he was reading and opens the door, going to lean on it casually.

he's met with blonde hair, a power walk, and the smell of blood. ]

Lucielle!

[ newt doesn't even bother using her other name ('enjolras' is the one she usually goes by, but she's in trouble.) using a little bit of his grace, newt disappears, reappearing in front of her and leaning on the door. though he tries to look mad, he mostly just looks worried. ] What the bloody hell happened to you this time?!

[ there's a definite b-line made to the bathroom, not even glancing back as she hears her scolding name, lucielle, like their mother used to say in the exact same tone, in basically the same situation. enjolras thinks to comment on it, tell newt that there's a lot of their mom in him, but she can't remember her all that well and -- well, newt's probably better than their mom.

she remembers that much.

but she keeps her head down -- much as she doesn't regret standing up for her rights, she does regret worrying her little brother. he goes through enough as it is, he shouldn't have to deal with this, but enjolras never changes in the way that she survives better without people worrying over her, but she still wouldn't live without newt. not if she's given the choice.

even as she moves into the bathroom, she keeps the door open because she can't ignore newt forever, and she doesn't want to. newt will always have a soft place in her heart, softer than most anyone who can shake her stone, harden heart can, and she -- well, she loves him. a lot. probably more than anything. ]

You should have seen them, Newt. [ she says, not a hint of remorse in her voice as she splashes water on the bloody splotches of red on her face. ] These misogynist douchebags thought they could degrade me -- really, you should have seen what I did to them. Dicks got what was coming.

[ there's a pause before she blinks, stepping back from the sink and moving to newt, a hand resting on his shoulder while she presses a kiss to his forehead, sweetly. ]

I missed you, though, little brother.

[ he allows enjolras to move past him if only because it gives him enough time to sigh, fairly heavily, and scrub his hand over his face, a move he's clearly picked up from hanging out with derek. really, his siblings are idiots. both of them.

newt pushes into the bathroom as soon as she opens the door and folds his arms, standing beside the sink and watching her splash her face with water. if it wasn't for the heels, newt would easily tower over his sister, but for now, he lets her clean herself up.

(at least it's not bullet holes this time.) ] Is that right. [ there's a faint tone of amusement to it, because he can only imagine. at least whoever they were went down with a couple of nasty bruises. newt rolls his eyes when she comes over to kiss his forehead, but he huffs an affectionate sigh and reaches up to cover her hand with his own, petting it briefly. ] How long've you been in town that you've already gotten in a fight, huh? You're a right mess. Missed you too, Luce.

[ patting her hand, he reaches for both of them and gives her a knowing look. ] Now sit your butt on the counter and let me patch you up.

[ enjolras, like the imprudent child she is, rolls her eyes as newt says he'll patch her up. there's clearly a lot more important things to go about doing than disinfecting some wounds -- she has to get out her laptop and start doing some research on these guys, and write up a statement, and look at violence and harassment laws, and a thousand other things, the list goes on and on. quickly, she pulls her hands away from newt's grasp and waves them in front of her face, like shutting him out. ]

I just got in -- It's fine, really. Nothing serious. I've got to start working on a case for all this, and take pictures of the injuries I did get. They fucked with the wrong angel, I'll tell you that much. [ because she's not thinking about herself, because what does she care about this one vessel she has? she cares more for the benefit of women worldwide, taking a stand, waiting for other women to join her and say no, we won't be beaten by men any longer.

she turns back to the mirror, eyeing the damage. lifting up one side of her shirt, she pokes a little at the violets and reds that plague her ribs, cringing a little.

she turns to show it to newt. ]

I don't remember getting these.

[ newt rolls his eyes to the ceiling and mouths "is this some kind of punishment" at it, though he really doesn't mean it; dealing with lucielle is never a punishment, even if she does things like get stabbed on a monthly basis. it's frankly a miracle his sister lived as long as she did in her mortal life.

still, he listens to her for as long as she's talking and then his mouth opens for a moment as she shows him the bruises; newt gives her what ultimately amounts to the Disappointed Mom Stare and points at the counter. ] Lucielle, sit down.

[ newt's not going to give her much choice in the matter, honestly, and he shuts the bathroom door behind him and even locks it, going for the first aid kit he keeps under the cabinet. really, it was a lot worse in the olden days, when newt had to patch her up with his grace and bits of floss. at least now he can use iodine. ] You're a disaster, you know that? A bloody disaster. I'll take your bloody pictures, but you better let me fix you up, after. Deal?

[ he drops the first aid kit on the counter with a thunk of finality. ]

( despite how stubborn enjolras can be, when newt says his sit down, she offers one imprudent eyeroll before complying, plopping down on the toilet seat with a huff. even with her strong feelings towards injustices and righting the wrong that plague the world, she knows almost undoubtedly that newt is pretty much always right. far too mature for his own good, but she guesses she can't complain -- more than once newt's sense of motherhood and responsibility have saved enjolras from a far belated not quite grave. )

I guess there's no use in reminding you that you're the younger brother. ( but she smiles at him, all with warm, well meant intentions, a hand reaching up to ruffle his hair and cradle his cheek. her expression melts into something a bit more somber as she looks at him, eyes flickering between each of his before she knits her eyebrows, head tilted to the side. )

Albert?

( she doesn't like soulmates, but -- she knows. newt, and how he feels about his particular human, she asks to see if alby is alive and well ( if newt is happy and in his right mind ) or if alby has passed away and is awaiting rebirth ( and newt is suicidal ). )

[ pulling out his stupid phone (that one of his pseudo-siblings wore him down to getting "it'll help us keep in contact with you easier" though newt thought he could be contacted just fine with his crappy flip phone) newt takes the obligatory pictures, just humming noncommittally because he's long since accepted his position in this family as the caretaker. where lucielle is action, newt is reaction, soft hands when necessary but a stern glare when required. they matched each other as well as two siblings should, particularly two blessed by the grace of god, literally.

he does smile a little as lucielle cradles his cheek and leans in towards it, offering a small nuzzle in greeting before he breaks away to pull out the iodine from the kit and

pauses.

alby. his name still feels like shockwaves sometimes, and newt stops with his hand around the bottle as he has to compose himself, facing away from lucielle. the hurt and bitterness is so sharp he can almost taste it, iron in the back of his mouth, but newt rolls his shoulders as he turns back towards her and shakes his head. ]

Haven't seen him. [ "yet", the hopeful part of him would have said, hundreds of years ago. that part of him doesn't talk much anymore. but newt tries his best not to wear it on his face as he soaks a cotton ball, kneeling down in front of her before warning-- ] Ready. [ and pressing the disinfectant to one of her nastier cuts. ]

[ when the baby is born, lucielle doesn't name her right away. she tells herself not to grow too attached -- tells herself no, grantaire will die soon and they will have to leave their child here on earth. not alone, but without her real birth mother, without her father.

it annoys enjolras more than she can say. it makes her so angry she can't even voice it properly -- and she hasn't, not to anyone. her pregnancy was readily announced to the excitement of her fellow angels, but the second half of a prophecy jojen gave her light to, the death and return to heaven, the falling again and restart, that's been kept inside, away from the kids. not that any of them are truly kids any longer, but lucielle will always have a part of her that's dedicated to protecting the younger ones of the angel race -- her younger brother not excluded in such a sentiment.

but the baby's birth means that her days are numbered. lucy rarely cries but she finds that most of the time she can't help herself -- it's too awful, too unfair, and while she changes the course of history and destiny often enough, she knows it's only a matter of time before she and grantaire die in some other fight, in some other place. to revolt is too ingrained in her soul to ignore. to be someone else for the benefit of her child is something she's just not capable of.

child in hand, lucielle bounces her baby back and forth, back and forth on her hip. the little girl gives delighted little squeals and enjolras smiles -- another rarity -- though it's a double edged sword, the way she's happier than she's ever been, but she'll have to abandon all of it fairly soon.

she doesn't knock as she enters newt's room, patting her baby's back sweetly as she moves them in, telling herself that it has to be right now, that this can't wait another second. ]

Can I talk to you for a second, Newt?

[ the arrival of a baby in the garrison had been quite the event; from the moment newt found out his oldest sister was pregnant--an act they thought was impossible--he'd been downright ecstatic for her, fawning over her left and right and helping to keep her from doing her usual "get beaten up because of revolutionary proclamations" shtick in order to keep the baby safe. it was nine months of prenatal vitamins and grantaire's three am snack runs, and it had resulted in the most beautiful baby newt had ever seen. his niece. he cried the first time he held her, both for the joy of the family and his sister, but also because it was something he himself wanted so badly it was hard to really parse it. angels couldn't have families; doomed to immortality, their lifespans only could procreate when they were nearing their end.

so, newt had an idea of what enjolras was coming to talk to him about, but he kept it to himself, refused to imagine a life where his elder sister had gone back up to heaven and left him alone on this cold earth.

instead, he gets up almost immediately, setting aside the book he was reading and fixing lucielle with a smile before turning his attention to the still unnamed baby. ] Course you can, 'specially when you bring her with you. [ newt leans in a little and brushes her thumb against the baby's soft cheek, warmth and affection in his tone: ] Hullo, love. Can I?

[ and then, he jerks his head towards the bed. ] Go on, get off your feet. I bet she's keepin you up all night long.

[ as soon as the baby catches sight of newt, her wings start flapping lazily against her back, and enjolras has to hold onto her so she doesn't end up flying away. she loves newt, as everyone should. he has an air about him that seems nurturing, like he was made to care for others -- a natural born father, a healer, someone behind the scenes to make sure everything runs smoothly. enjolras is happy to be rid of her daughter -- handing her gently off to newt, who reaches to grab his shirt right away -- because every second enjolras spends with her is another second it grows harder to say goodbye. ]

There he is, there's uncle Newt. Yes. [ enjolras smiles brightly at how the baby smiles when newt takes her -- it'll work out, she tells herself. newt is the only person enjolras would ever trust her child with, he's the most qualified and the most mature, and he'll take care of her, he will, because that's exactly what newt's done for his older sister, ever since they've been given this life --

enjolras nods gratefully, moving to go plop down on newt's bed unceremoniously. her hand automatically rests on her stomach, though she's without child now, a little empty without the feeling of kicking feet hitting her stomach. it used to be a safety net. she knew grantaire wouldn't pass until after the baby was born, but not that she is born, time is running short. ]

Well, you know. Any child of mine and Grantaire's is obligated to be the loudest baby in the world. [ she winks, though it's far from a joke. ] She's an angel when she isn't crying, though.

[ that one was a joke, actually. ]

[ newt pretty much loves being "uncle newt"; he's been on babysitting duty since day one and loves every second he gets to spend with his niece, who is precious and perfect and as beautiful of a baby as any two people could make. she's going to be a heartbreaker and he knows it, knows she'll find her soulmate someday and be the happiest, most well raised child in the world. for all of their struggles, this little garrison of angels is one of the tightest knit families you could ask for, after all. and though she might never see her uncle, and her mom'd always be fighting wars, and her other uncle was sort of bloody miserable, this baby's presence was something they could all unite around.

so obviously, he's thrilled to take her from enjolras, and he lifts the baby and pulls her into the crook of his arm, tickling her stomach and then stroking the soft spot between her tiny, tiny wings gently, rocking her. he's not going to sit down with his sister now that he has the baby, but he does stand still, looking down at her with the kind of reverence most humans reserve for the angels themselves, and enjolras's comment makes him grin, chuckle quietly. ]

Yeah, no surprise. Bet she'll be yelling at all kinds of protests. Mama hasn't gotten you a "fuck the patriarchy" onesie, has she? [ ducking his head down into her tiny baby feathers, he crooks a smile to lucielle, affectionate and open and warm for his sister, like he always is. ] How're you feeling?

how do i make minho stop bleeding???????

I CAN'T PUT A BAND AID ON IT IT'S IN HIS NOSE

is his brain bleeding maybe??

Edited 2014-11-18 22:30 (UTC)

that sounds deadly and not good

What
Tommy!
What did you do?!

what makes you think i did anything??

i hit him with my wing really hard

[ honestly just waits for him to tell him the truth ]

....did you knock him out?

i broke my human

Bloody hell.
He's not broken
I mean, if you knocked him out, maybe a little.
Humans get back up from that pretty easily, yeah?

....right?

he's not knocked out he's just making weird noises

i literally broke my human he's incapable of speech

Oh my god, Tommy.

[ THOMAS, NO ]

It's--probably not that bad, he's probably fine.
Go get a tissue and put it up to where he's bleeding.

( Clarke is decidedly Avoiding Bellamy for the day -- not necessarily because of anything that happened, more that she realizes it's going to just take more than a few weeks for him to stop being occasionally irritated at her mortality. taking day breaks helps, she thinks. if not him, then her.

( honestly, she can't get art done any time he's around. )

her fingers are black with charcoal, a piece of it balanced on the top of her sketch pad while she smudges her fingers across the paper. eyes narrowed, focused, she takes her time in it, clearly bent set on perfecting whatever it is she's working on. Clarke doesn't often take time to perfect her art, will draw and draw and make her mistakes and incorporate them into the piece. it makes her better at it, she thinks, to do that.

it's only when she finishes smudging her fingers across the paper that she actually takes note of the fact she's no longer alone in the back room of the flower shop. sure, the place is normally the hub for all the angels to hang out, but she doesn't want to be out in the open of the coffee shop while doing her art piece today. still, the company is pleasant surprise, and Clarke brightens instantly when she looks up. )

Newt! Hey!

[ newt's days at the flower shop have been decidedly brighter lately. ever since the reporter came in a week or two ago, newt's been practically floating on air--though his wings have never come out, they might as well be present with the way he's fluttering about his day to day work. though he's tried not to be too obvious with it, most of the angels have figured out by now that his soulmate's around, and for the first time in ages.

so, as the hard worker he is, he's kind of feeling like taking breaks is allowed right now. he'd been heading back to the back room for his fifteen minute break (of texting alby, flirting with him and trying to not go "hey, by the way, we're soulmates and i haven't seen you in two hundred years, let's start dating immediately we can skip the bad part?") but, much to his very pleasant surprise, clarke is in the back room.

newt fixes her with a pleasant smile, reaching up to doff the flower crown scottie had put on his head this morning in her direction. ] 'llo, Clarke. Finally taking up our offer for a job?

( he's trying to very casually accidentally run into syd.

which unfortunately isn't very easy, because while syd may frequent the flower shop, he doesn't work here like most other people -- it would then, obviously, be the better choice to go to the mechanic shop where he does work to find him, but that makes a very casual accidental run-in pretty impossible. it's not like he's pining, or that he's looking for syd because he misses him. he just -- misses having someone to be annoying against, maybe. something like that. no feelings involved, just the company of having someone close.

it's no mind to knox, anyway. he steps into the flower shop and does a quick scan over, looking at the pairs of wings other people can't see, and recognizing faces he can't put names to. he and syd aren't together, so it doesn't make sense for knox to be intimate with his family -- he can make out similarities here and there, see the way the angels look at things different from old age, but that's it. names, and couple names, go right over his head.

he can't just walk in and not buy something, so he picks up some bouquet that looks flashy enough, and he can maybe shove it off on someone from the endless list of girls in his pda -- but he notices newt ( notices alby kissing his hand goodbye while they both part ways ), and he grins. )

Fan of dark chocolate? ( knox wears an obnoxious grin as he smiles at newt, lifting his eyebrows at alby who's already out the door. ) Once you go black, man.

[ newt can see right through your bullshit, knox brindle, don't you even.

or, well. he'd be able to see it a lot easier if he wasn't so distracted. newt knows syd well enough--they're siblings like the rest of the angels, of course, and he's the one who taught newt how to actually use his smart phone, but he's more familiar with his hangaround. he's seen knox flitting in and out of the flower shop every now and then, picking up flowers for girls (or so he says) and, obviously, looking for syd. newt wonders if he's just misguided, or if he's an idiot.

either way, on a scale of 'idiots about their soulmates', he'll take knox's company over bellamy's, so seeing him around isn't all that unpleasant.

although, today, newt hadn't even noticed him come in. fresh off his lunch break and with a blue cornflower tucked behind his ear, he'd been chatting with alby as he lingered after their lunch date. it was undeniable that he was in a better mood than ever lately because of it, and the twitterpated stare he gives alby's back as he walks away (that knox notices) speaks for him more than anything else could, although the fact that he jumps when knox speaks to him probably helps.

and newt blushes, too, going red to his ears, and scoffs lightly. ] Oh, shut up. These for Syd, then?

[ he's not letting you get away with that when you're in here teasing him, ok. though there's nothing mean about his tone--just a little bit of motherly disapproval, maybe. ]

( he delights in the brilliant way newt blushes, smiling with his lip caught between his teeth -- forgive the flirtatious eyes, old habits die old and it's not really something he tries to turn off, not when he and syd are so busy being absolutely nothing, and all. it's not something that knox craves, obviously. he sleeps around with whoever he'd like ( and syd is free to too, but maybe knox takes too much pleasure in knowing he doesn't ), and maybe that doesn't sway from other angels, either.

even if he just saw newt and alby futzing about the store with their love. has knox ever known boundaries? certainly not in this lifetime, or the one prior. )

Syd? ( he questions with a jokester flair, shaking his head like it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. ) Can you imagine if I got Syd flowers? He'd probably shove them in a car and call it gasoline.

( it's not an exaggeration, either. he'd never even consider buying syd flowers, unless the card on it said sorry i'm too handsome and you lose your breath around me. )

Flowers are for more... delicate people, Pe -- ( percy? no, that can't be right -- that's the one with the ugly haircut. he thinks. derek? no, that's the one with the beard. nico? leo? minho?

god they all have fucking weird names.

instead, knox flashes an award winning smile and taps his pointer finger to the flower behind newt's ear, settling on: ) Angel.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only