A few weeks had passed since the halfway point in their punishment, with Azazel going partially insane with boredom and no one to talk to. Vlad had yet to leave his room and provide some sort of entertainment, and he was learning the Language of the Fallen at a good clip, but he still didn't know enough to enjoy the books that lined the shelf. So that meant that he was locked up in his thoughts, exploring what had happened over the past few months. Especially when his hatred of Vlad began to turn into something else, something he thought he'd never feel again.

Shuffling his wings uneasily, Azazel stretched and decided to look at the books anyway, rather have them distract him from himself. He didn't want to admit it and was going to do his damnedest not to dwell on such things. He blamed it on the fact that Vlad had been his only source of entertainment or even social interaction since he arrived in Hell. He was sure that once out of here, he would find himself going back to his old vengeful ways, in no need of anyone and a laughing stock.

Sitting back on the bed, he opened the book after enlarging the flame on the shelf so that he could see more clearly. It appeared to be a journal of some sort, the runes on the page irregular and a mix of the Language of the Angels and Language of the Fallen that he guessed was from a Fallen from Heaven who, like him, had yet to learn the full Language of the Fallen. However, after reading some, he quickly threw the book away from him.

It was Vlad's, depicting his life, his worries, and his mistakes as he was punished in this cell. It seemed that no matter what, he kept finding himself surrounded by the other Fallen, and it was starting to worry him. Why was Fate being so insistent that he know about the other? Why was Vlad's presence everywhere even when he wasn't there anyway?

When the Fallen in question appeared, Azazel stared at him like he had seen a ghost. That was one thing that he was starting to hate. He could just appear and then be gone with such ease, of course, he was a born Angel, unlike himself who had been human, so he expected Vlad to know how to tap his powers. But it just scared Azazel the way he'd just appear without any smoke, mist, or any of the usual side effects of teleportation.

“Don't look like you've never seen me before,” Vlad grinned, something Azazel was becoming used to, slowly. If only that sly look would stay out of those eyes... “And to think I even bought you some presents.”

That snapped him back to reality. “Presents?”

Vlad nodded, “You said that you liked to paint a few months ago, so I went, snuck out, and got you some supplies.” He did have an easel, assortment of brushes, acrylic, oil, and water color paints in assorted colors, a pallet, and even five canvas of each size of small, medium, and large. Azazel never expected that he had been listening to his ranting let alone would try to give him something such as this.

“I...never...thank you,” Azazel said, clearly flustered. His earlier thoughts sure weren't helping with this situation.

“I see you were trying to read,” Vlad smiled. “Find anything interesting?”

Azazel looked at the plain violet book, and carefully picked it up. “I think this is yours, and I'm sorry I read some of it. I really didn't mean to pry, but it was unmarked and I didn't know it was yours until you mentioned your name...”

“I see,” Vlad sighed, taking the said book. “I was young and stupid. That and bored out of my mind down here. I didn't have many friends in the first place, and Yasuo was rarely allowed down here to visit. That and my profession as an assassin hasn't helped that any.”

“Who's Sairari?”

“An old friend. Michael killed her along with most of the other orphans at the time,” Vlad replied, placing the book back on the shelf. “Yasuo and I only escaped because of Raphael and lived with him for awhile. I bet he was disappointed when the both of us Fell. I'll never get over the guilt of that.”

Azazel could only keep quiet as Vlad looked at the book from its place on the shelf, almost as if he was remembering painful things of the past. He almost felt that it was his fault, but he didn't know that was Vlad's journal. However, it almost seemed that Vlad wasn't mad at him for it, which was a good thing at least.

“Well, if you want to paint you can go ahead,” Vlad smiled at him, before disappearing again.

Azazel looked over at the supplies and began to set them up. Closing his eyes, taking in a deep breath, he knew what he wanted to paint now, and set to work.

**^__________________________________^**

Flopping down on his own bed, Vlad closed his eyes, and reopened them, seeing everything in a ghastly white instead of the blackness that surrounded him. It was something all those of Shadows could do, reverse their eyesight to see in the dark. Sairari, he hadn't thought about her in awhile. He hadn't thought about his life in Heaven for a very long while either.

Sighing, he closed his eyes again and decided to take a nap, to try to forget again, and pray that he wouldn't have nightmares again.

Vlad looked up from his book to find Azazel staring at him quietly. “What?” he asked curtly, snapping the novel closed.
 
Azazel blushed, glancing around the room before settling his attention on a piece of thread sticking out from the carpet. “Nothing.”
 
Behind him, his magical fire on the stone shelf, which kept the room glowing warmly, sputtered and died, casting them into darkness.
 
“Oh!”
 
Vlad grinned. The first thing he had learned about was Azazel’s lack of attention span. Leave it to the blonde to get frazzled and distracted over silly little things.
 
The flame flickered back to life, once again making the dank room seem almost homey. Azazel smiled self consciously. “Sorry…”
 
Vlad waved a hand dismissively. “It’s no big deal. I like the dark better anyway.” His grin widened. “You’re blushing.”
 
“I am not. Leave me alone.”
 
“You are too.”
 
“Go back to reading,” Azazel snapped, turning away.
 
“And you were being so friendly.”
 
“You’re messing with me. I bet you get a kick out of my discomfort.”
 
Vlad snarled. “You know that isn’t true.”
 
“How can I be certain?” Azazel asked. “I don’t know anything about you.” He rolled over again. “Locking yourself in here with me could simply be a charade. Perhaps you and Kaggren planned it out. I’ll be easier to control if I’m crazy, right?” He paused, then glared at Vlad as if he had been the one ranting.
 
“You’re paranoid. No one wants to make you go insane. I think you have that covered pretty damn well on your own.”
 
They stared hard at each other until their supper was delivered. Neither ate, quickly however; they merely picked at the food. Though, Vlad enjoyed the stew more than Azazel seemed to.
 
Eventually, Vlad did pick his book up again. He was far from upset about Azazel. In fact, he preferred the arguments to long, contented silences they shouldn’t have been experiencing.
 
When he looked up again, Azazel was chewing thoughtfully on a piece of bread. The blonde caught his gaze and laughed quietly at some private joke. Vlad’s eyes narrowed, but he buried his face in the book once more, trying to ignore Azazel’s tormenting.
 
He didn’t miss the cautious look, or the slow movements as Azazel added his stew to Vlad’s own bowl.

"You were told not to use your powers, were you not," Kaggren growled at the two Fallen before him.

"Our lives were in danger," Azazel shouted back. "It was either I did that or..."

"You're both injured," Kaggren interjected. "You should have assessed the situation and left, as Vlad tried to instruct you to do."

"He was..."

"Silence," Kaggren yelled. "I will hear no excuses for the behavior!"

"Kaggren," Vlad began cautiously. The leader wasn't taking that they had not only awakened the demon, but condensed it to ashes as well. How were they supposed to know that he was experimenting? Plus, it seemed that he was having a 'bad day', meaning he didn't have his head on straight and currently, Vlad was fearing the punishment. "I think maybe you should think this through..."

"You're not to speak, Vlad," Kaggren growled, eyes glaring harshly at his best assassin so much so, that Vlad backed down immediately. Azazel looked between the two, catching Kaggren's scathing look and began to fear for his safety. Kaggren did not look happy at all. "Now back to the problem at had. A year down in the isolation rooms. No chance of parole for the breech of my direct orders."

"He's not in a condition to be there so soon," Vlad interjected angerly. "What the hell are you think..." He wasn't able to finish before Kaggren slammed his hands down on his chair and stood up, rising above the two Fallen who were on one knee.

"Then, you will go there with him," Kaggren growled lowly. "Same sentence, no chance of getting off early." Looking at the guards around him, Kaggren decided that they would have to do. He didn't trust Yasuo right now, seeing as the other was glaring at him yet smartly stayed silent. "Get them out of my sight. I don't want to see them for a year."

When the guards went to grab Vlad, he shook them off, flexing his wings a little to brush them away. "I know how to get there and don't need you manhandle me!"

When they went for Azazel, Vlad promptly stopped them again, scowling. "He's not going to escape either, so how about you all just fucking back off?"

The guards glared at him, but didn't touch Azazel as instructed. He may have been in trouble, but Vlad could still knock them around if they pissed him off enough. They led the two down into the depths of the castle, Azazel admiring the torch light on the wall, knowing that it would take very little concentration to be able to cause some havoc so that he could escape. However, the occasional glare from Vlad told him that he'd better think it though and carefully, which made him wary of trying anything as of yet. He was sure that he could have thought of a way out of whatever isolation chamber that they would put him in.

At the end of the long stairway stood a large metal door which Azazel looked up in awe. Vlad on the other hand, closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, barely flinching as the massive door opened to reveal what Azazel knew that Hell hidden all along. The screams of the damned shrieked, the smell of burning flesh, of blood, brimstone, and things he couldn't place his finger on met him as he was forced inside. Along the walls were cells, showing the torture that was going on, yet they still moved forward. Taking Vlad's example, he let his eyes wander to the stone floor, unable to witness such horrors as they had been done to him in Heaven. He didn't need to relive those images on others, he really didn't.

They finally reached the end of the hallway, where another door stood, this one made of steel as well, but a lot smaller in size. They entered this one, that had many similar doors lining either side of the hallway. He was pushed into one and Vlad in another, both doors closing at the same time. Enveloped in darkness, he created a small fireball in his hands to see what he had. There was a dark blue carpet underneath him, as well as a decent twin bed and a book shelf with some relics and books. Why where there books in such a dark room? He could only guess. There was even a small desk with paper in it, and some writing utensils even.

This was supposed to be a punishment?

"You really don't know us Fallen of Shadow very well, or even the Angels of Shadow do you," Vlad asked, folding his arms.

Azazel almost squeaked as he spun around, eyes wide in surprise as he lay eyes on the other Fallen, who had a bored look. "How the hell..."

"I can move in any shadow," Vlad explained. "I can even get out of here if I'm careful enough not to get caught. Not many can, but I've been here since Hell was created, so I know a few tricks."

Azazel could only stare at him, mouth agape.

"It's not that surprising. After all, you have a little flame in your hands, so you obviously know your element well."

Azazel didn't think that he could take a year of this.

Somehow, amidst the brimstone and sulfur, fluffy gray clouds of smoke billowed almost cheerfully toward the ceiling. Vlad watched them with interest, distracting himself from the thin chasm he stood near. A bubble of noxious gas rose next to his head and burst, letting loose a disgusting odor.
 
Beside him, Azazel leaned heavily on the wall. His robes had finally been returned, but the blonde found himself wishing for the billowy black dress. At least it had been cool, temperature wise. He wiped a sleeve over his face, grimacing at the sweat and dirt. “Why are we here?” he asked quietly.
 
This was the first time the blonde had spoken since their argument three days prior. Vlad turned to him. “So you haven’t forgotten how to talk.”
 
Azazel said nothing, simply stared at him, silver eyes flashing almost menacingly.

“Did you miss what Kaggren told us, or…” Vlad trailed off. “Shh…”
 
Azazel followed his line of vision, eyes widening. He unconsciously took a step closer to Vlad. “What is it?” he whispered, staring at the beast ambling toward them.
 
The creature stood at least seven feet tall, three of this was the human torso. Long, grayish hair, hung around its equally gray shoulders in gnarled, soupy clumps. Below the waist, a crab-like shell began, spanning five feet in diameter to cover six crustacean legs. A clawed arm tapped wildly on the ground as it moved, as if checking for objects in the way.
 
Azazel leaned closer over the chasm to get a better look. The nightmarish monster turned and leaned as well, wide, blinded blue eyes, which jutted abnormally from the face, swiveling in opposite directions.
 
Vlad pulled him back roughly with a snarl.
 
“What is it?” Azazel asked again, voice full of wonder.
 
“Something you do not   want to mess with,” Vlad replied with a hiss. “She’ll have no qualms with eating you.”
 
As he said this, it reached a bony hand toward them. The cracked fingernails grazed Azazel’s cheek, drawing blood, and he shrank backward. The creature’s mouth opened to reveal rows of crooked fangs and it stuck its hand in, chewing thoughtfully on the fingers.
 
“It’s disgusting,” Azazel finally said. “I hope this isn’t what you wanted to show me.”
 
It wasn’t, and Vlad wondered why the thing had shown up in the first place. Dismally, he glanced at his arm. While the sling was gone, he was still wrapped in gauze, which had been soaked in herbal medicine. Wonderful, it could smell them.
 
“Azazel,” he hissed. “You are going to slowly make your way back to where we came from.”
 
The blonde shook his head. “You first,” he replied.
 
“Now isn’t the time to play hero. I’m serious. She’ll tear you to bits.”
 
Azazel glanced at Vlad’s arm before looking at the creature again. “No,” was his firm reply. “You’re injured.”
 
So, maybe he did have manners…
 
“It’s my-”
 
“Shut your mouth.”
 
Vlad realized, almost grinning, how quickly their roles had switched. With a sigh, he shoved Azazel toward the exit, following close behind. It wasn’t until he felt something grab his robes that he realized they had moved too late. “Oh shit…”
 
He whirled around, yanking free just in time to avoid the deadly claw. It sank into the rock wall beside Azazel’s head. Vlad would have, should have done something, but he froze for a split second. It was all the creature needed and, ignoring his companion, she wrapped the human hand around his throat.
 
Strong as he was, Vlad knew it was hopeless. His powers weren’t a match for his adversary. Great. He was going to die in front of the new kid.
 
Still, Vlad wasn’t one to go down without a fight. He released a powerful attack, which the monster absorbed, and was preparing for a second spell when it incinerated. Vlad landed heavily, staring at the pile of ash in front of him. “What…” he asked dumbly.
 
Azazel helped him stand silently. He spread the ashes around with his foot in little circles absently while Vlad gathered his thoughts.
 
“What did you do?”
 
The blonde glanced at him. “You’re injured,” he stated simply. “Besides, if you die, I’ll be lost down here.”
 
Just when Vlad thought he was understanding the guy…
 

Azazel wasn't lost, he knew where his room was, but being caught wasn't something on his 'to-do' list and he had to come up with a lie and fast. Seeing as most of the Fallen here knew that he had only been here a day or two, becoming lost was the easiest route to go. But the leers he received and some rather crude comments about his outfit from the guard made him wish that he had never gotten 'lost'. Even Vlad and Yasuo weren't this bad, and that was saying something as he was looked at like a piece of meat. He finally was turned in the right direction, and gladly ran back to his room, planning to try to get out of here later rather then when such guards still roamed the halls, and maybe after he got a change of clothing. After all, he didn't need to go anywhere looking like some street whore who had some dignity.

Entering the small room, he still couldn't believe how hospitable Fallen were to their captives. He had a small cot to sleep on, and small closet to keep his clothes, and that was about as much room as the walls could manage to hold it. It wasn't much, but at least he wasn't sleeping in Vlad's room. He could only handle so much of his new 'master' before he was ready to blow off his head again. Snorting at himself, he wanted to slam his head into the cold stone wall. He just thought Vlad as 'master', in quotations, but all the same. This was going to be the longest experience of his life.

Getting out of the cat ears and boots at least, Azazel threw open the closet, and wanted to scream. On the hangers were nothing but the same outfit that he was wearing at the moment, and even one with a skimpier skirt! A lone white billowy nightgown hung in the back, the white contrasting against the darker hues of the horrid outfits. Sighing, he quickly dressed himself for the night, and figured that maybe if he put this in a different light, it would go by faster, but didn't feel like it. His wings still ached and his own wounds hadn't completely healed. The salve he received from Yasuo was helping, which he was grateful for. His recovery time was more then halved, and his wings should be able to fly in another week or so, another thing he was happy about. It would make escaping this place a bit easier.

**and he sleeps and stuff...**

Azazel woke with a start, not knowing exactly when he fell asleep, and was cursing himself for being worked so hard. Given, he also had emotional stress to worry about as well, but he didn't mean to sleep for however long that he had. Hoping it wasn't too long, he carefully opened the door and peeked out, finding nothing but a dark hallway to his sides, thankfully empty of all life. Creeping out, wishing that he had something darker besides the outfits that hung in his closet, he made his way to hopefully and exit, but instead found Yasuo glaring down at him with angry cold eyes, eyes that Azazel had only seen on Michael before he cast him away, eyes he never wanted to see again.

They made their way to Vlad's room, Yasuo giving him a rough shove into the chamber so that Azazel stumbled in, almost falling on his face. Vlad looked down at him, and glanced up at Yasuo, glaring at him. Yasuo closed and locked the door, folding his arms and leaning against it.

"I found him trying to escape," Yasuo replied, eyes narrowing.

"You didn't have to shove him," Vlad growled. "If you haven't noticed, his injuries aren't all healed up either."

"He should have thought of that before then," Yasuo replied, not skipping a beat. "Besides, I told you that giving him his own room was a bad idea in the first place, even with guarding the hallways and such to prevent an escape. I told you that it'd be better if he just was confined here."

"To what, give him more reason to kill me," Vlad said angerly. "Open your eyes Yasuo, he hates me as it is and this little punishment of yours isn't helping the matter. Albeit it's entertaining, but I knew he'd try to escape. I'd rather a demon got to him, roughed him up a bit for him to learn his place, rather then die while he plotted against me in my own room!"

"I am right here," Azazel said dryly, sitting up and wincing. Damn rug gave him a rug burn...

"Shut it," both Fallen replied, and went right back to arguing with each other while he was forced to listen. Their bickering sounded downright childish to him, and they even tried to guess what would happen to him and his actions, as if this had happened before. He had never heard of an Angel taking out a Leader's throne room before though, however things that happened in Hell rarely made it passed Hell's Gates into the mortal realm let alone all the way into Heaven. They really expected him to try something, they weren't as stupid as he thought as he listened to the low hits one picked on another, seeing the two of them in a different light. Yasuo, the thinker and plotter and Vlad, although an asshole really was concerned for both of their well being. Certainly more thought was put into this then what he figured, and much more then any Angel would for one of their fallen brethren.

"Fine, but I swear if I loose one more feather it'll be your head," Vlad shouted, face beat red in anger, matching Yasuo's own.

"I'm sure he won't try anything," Yasuo shouted right back. "Besides, I'm sure he isn't stupid enough to try to kill you again!"

Damn straight, Azazel thought. His hope for escaping had been dwindling as time wore on, much like escaping Michael. There was nothing he could do again, hopelessly lost in the cycle that never seemed to want to let go. Once he escaped one, it seemed that Fate had another one waiting, one where his injuries would never heal and he'd have to serve the Fallen he hated with a passion in a skimpy, whorish maid outfit. Once, just once he'd like to live in peace, but even that sense of hope was all but gone.

Flinching as he got up, Vlad made a small bed of pillows and blankets that he had extra, and motioned with his good arm to Azazel. "It's not much, you'll have an actual bed or whatever anyone scrapes up by tomorrow. However for tonight, this'll have to do. I don't like it that you're here, and I have a feeling you're not pleased about it either."

"Damn right I'm not," Azazel growled, looking at the makeshift bed like it was infested with fleas.

Snorting, Vlad crawled back into his own bed, Yasuo leaving as soon as the argument was over. "It could be worse. You could be sharing a bed with me."

"It's large enough for three people," Azazel muttered.

"Oh, is that an affirmative for you to join me," Vlad smirked, Azazel turning beat red and turning away.

"O-of course not," Azazel grumbled, flopping onto the pillows.

Grinning, Vlad allowed himself to return back to sleep, praying to whatever deity that listened to a Fallen that he wouldn't be killed in the coming weeks, and that perhaps Azazel would learn some manners. Azazel allowed himself to sleep as well, praying to the same deity that this would be over soon and perhaps he'd be able to live somewhere secluded, away from all these Fallen and traitors, and maybe even go back to Heaven, and have his sister not betray him and Michael not turn into the raping, beating, all around bastard that he had become.

Azazel set a glass of water on the bedside table. “It isn’t poisoned, if that was your next question.” He flopped down in the corner, tired and ready for a long, hot bath. “Can I go to my room yet?”
 
“It’s too bad you can’t just stay here,” Vlad mused, limping toward where Azazel sat on the floor. “It wouldn’t be good if you killed me in my sleep.”
 
“I’m not stupid enough to try the same stunt twice,” the blonde replied.
 
“I’m glad,” Vlad said. His good wing fluttered uneasily. “Get up.” When Azazel did so, Vlad grinned. “You have an uncanny knack for following orders.”
 
“You only said that to see if I would do it, didn’t you! Haven’t you degraded me enough?! I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do! Just leave me alone.”
 
“Stop complaining.” Vlad sighed. “Straighten the room out and you can leave. I would, but I‘m obviously unable to.”
 
“You’re a jerk,” Azazel said with a sneer before he began dusting absently. "This is pointless. There isn't a speck of dirt anywhere."
 
Vlad watched with fascination as Azazel moved about the room. “That skirt hardly covers your ass.”
 
“If you let me change, we wouldn’t have this problem.”

“I never said it was a problem.”
 
Azazel whirled on him, silver eyes narrowed dangerously. “You think you’re better than I am, don’t you. Admit it.”
 
“First off, everyone here is better than you,” Vlad replied. “Don’t act so surprised. Second, you should be thrilled I think you’re cute.”
 
“I’m not something for you perverts to just fawn over all day!”
 
Vlad raised an eyebrow. “Michael didn’t seem to think so.”
 
Azazel growled. “Careful, you. I’ll break your other arm.”
 
If Vlad was concerned, he didn’t show it. “It seems I’ve hit a nerve. What’s the matter, whore? Ashamed?”
 
The blush growing on his face was so deep, Azazel could feel his cheeks heating up. He glanced about the room, unwilling to look Vlad in the eyes. “I’m not a whore,” he whispered.
 
“Certainly seems that way.”
 
“I’m not a whore,” the blonde repeated, eyes wild and pain evident on his features. “I…”
 
Vlad pushed him against the wall. “You what.”
 
“I didn’t have a choice, okay?!”
 
“There’s always a choice.”
 
Azazel ignored the tears threatening to fall. “No, there wasn’t. I couldn’t say no! He just… he just… Oh, why am I even trying?!” Despite Vlad’s injuries, Azazel pushed him away. “Leave me alone. Go sit on your bed, or something. I’m through with this.” He brushed out of the barely open door, leaving Vlad starring into space, shocked.

This had to be someone's idea of a really bad joke, because once again, Azazel found himself bound, gagged, and in the presence of a high ranked figure. Whatever happened to him now, it most likely wouldn't be a good thing, after all, after Hell came Oblivion, and there complete destruction of his very existence and soul. Either way, he was sure that would come at one time or another, depending when he pissed the ruler of Oblivion off enough. He seemed to be good at that recently, even if Heaven was nothing except having a sister who was more evil then Lucifer himself before the Fall.

"Now that my throne room is in shambles," Kaggren began, keeping his voice calm despite the urge to yell at the new Fallen. "We can perhaps act more civil? After all, some of my elite are dead and my best assassin is injured and bed ridden. I must admit, Azazel, you have done very well, better then I expected you to do in all actuality, however, for what you have done, you must be held accountable."

Yasuo stepped forward, bowing, gears turning in his mind as he smiled wickedly. "Lord Kaggren, I have a proposition."

Kaggren lifted an eye at his second best assassin, and decided to hear it. After all, the tall, mostly silent around him, Fallen sometimes had good ideas. "You may speak."

"I suggest that I may be put in charge of his punishment. After all, Vlad is my best friend and it irks me that he can only mope around in bed," Yasuo said, dark green eyes sparkling and short gray hair giving him an aura worthy of his status.

Looking at Azazel and back at Yasuo, Kaggren decided to let it go, much to Azazel's dismay. He wasn't escaping to Oblivion? He had to stay here in Hell and with this Fallen dealing out his punishment?!? What level of Hell did Michael send him to anyway? The bottom? Because his luck just seemed to have been running low of late and this wasn't helping his falling into dispair. What would the Fallen have him do? Would he get whipped like in Heaven or worse, if there were other punishments that could never enter the Gates of Heaven? Supressing a shudder, he was led off to do whatever Yasuo had planned from him, and prayed to whoever would hear a Fallen's prayers that he'd become free of this torment one day soon.

**/sings/old school hollywood baseball**

Vlad was in his bed, arm in a sling, a patch over his eye, and injured wing carefully wrapped up, and in minimal pain. However, he was bored out of his ever living mind. His room was large, but plain with stone walls the majority, and a few trinkets on the fireplace mantel. His balcony window was closed, curtains drawn for a reason he didn't know. A bright fire and candles lit the room, sending shadows in a racing dance across the brick. He looked down at his canopy king sized bed. The number one assassin had a lot of perks to it, however he rarely was able to enjoy them. Either he was like this, injured and recooperating, or just gone on yet another mission.

A knock on the door made his gaze shift to the two wooden doors. Taking in a deep breath, somewhat relieved that his boredom was temporarily gone. He tried and failed to sit up, and just opted to stay laying down. He was comfortable anyway, or so he tried to convince himself.

"Come in," he finally said, eyes never leaving the door as it opened, wondering who it was.

A familiar face appeared, grinning wickedly and waving. "Vlad! Glad to see that you're awake. Feeling at least a little better?"

Grinning himself, Vlad found himself in a better mood already. "Not since you last checked on my Yasuo. How did the meeting go?"

Pushing a very reluctant, and still bound and gagged to boot, Azazel into the room, Yasuo's grin seemed to widen. "Well, it went well enough. As you can see, he's still alive and kicking and even better. I've been given control of his punishment. Do you care to help? You are the most injured of the ones who survived."

Vlad looked Azazel up and down, grinning while he did so with his one good eye. Oh, he could hear the wheels turning, his own little hamster was spinning his wheel as he thought of what he could put the poor new Fallen thought. After all, he left him in this condition, only right that he'd be able to help in the punishment. He caught the glint in Yasuo's eyes, and got something along the same idea. After all, they were like brothers, and thought along the same lines in such situations, making them good partners for the work that they had to do.

Azazel looked between the two of them frantically, trying to figure out what was going on, but failing miserably. It wasn't until Yasuo took his bonds and forced him to look the other in the eye that he truly felt afraid of what was going to be done to him. Yasuo undid the gag, but Azazel found himself still not able to speak. When he felt the gag being tied around his throat, he figured out that it was warded, so he couldn't.  Wasn't that a load of crap.

"So, what kind do you have?"

"I don't have any. Hm...we could tailor the robes..."

"But that takes time!"

"Magically bozo."

Yasuo grinned and looked at Azazel, who was still afraid of what was going to be done to him and very confused. "I say we keep with the black thing. It looks good with his pale skin and hair. It'd bring out his eyes too."

"No way," Vlad replied. "No makeup. I always found that tacky."

"You're never any fun," Yasuo grinned, pulling Azazel eye to eye with him. "Maybe afterwords we can make him your personal assistant. He has pretty eyes."

Snorting, Vlad turned his head back to the ceiling. "I bet. And to think you're hogging them all to yourself."

They couldn't be real, Azazel thought horridly. They weren't going to beat him for what he had done? It seemed more like they were playing a prank on someone rather then punishing him. Unless the prank was part of his punishment...

He found himself flung at Vlad, who didn't catch him, but he found the bed soft enough. He glared at the ruby eye of the Fallen he almost killed and outran, silver darkening as the one eye blinked boredly at him. "He does have pretty eyes, but no makeup."

He could hear Yasuo's groan of displeasure as he picked up Azazel  from the bed. "Fine, you can have it your way. He's going to be your personal assistant after all."

He was what. His mind couldn't process what he was hearing, and what he was hearing didn't please him in the least. He was going to be helping a Fallen recover?!? How could he? They were supposed to be enemies! Even though, techinically they weren't anymore, but that was besides the point. He didn't want to help them! He wanted to hinder them in any way that he could possiblely find! If only this crap wasn't warded, he would have told him off.

The next thing he knew, he was in black combat boots, a medium length skirt that if he bent over turned into a very short skirt, and a black long sleeved half top. His bonds were changed into chains, giving him room to move to do what may be required, but not much else. They seemed to be smart, making it still hard for him to escape. However, the two things he hated were the two black fuzzy cat ears and the warded collar that was connected to Yasuo, so that he could always tell where he was at in any given situation. This was total bullshit.

"Cute," Yasuo smiled.

"Just don't bend over," Vlad grinned, making Azazel blush red in anger, or at least he kept telling himself that. He wasn't embarassed, not in the least.

Instead, Azazel just glared at the two of them, grateful that he could finally speak. "What do you want me to do," he ground out through gritted teeth.

He did not like the look of Vlad's grin.

Azazel stared at his reflection in the full length mirror, trying to ignore the scar forming along his torso. With a sigh, he tired his hair into a ponytail and let it flop down between his wings. Another glance at the bed and he was almost prepared to dress in the robes strewn about on the blanket.
 
His smaller wounds had healed during the night, leaving nothing but a tingling sensation if he stretched a muscle incorrectly. Resting had also healed his fiery spirit, and he was ready to escape. If Kaggren thought he would join the Fallen ranks so easily, the man had another thing coming.
 
He sneered before turning on his heel and picking up the robes. They were dark red in color, with burgundy trim, which led him to believe they knew his element. This hardly mattered, of course. Even if they did know what he specialized in, explosives were hard to escape.
 
His sneer grew into a full-fledged grin. Once he escaped Hell, he would return to Heaven and destroy the city. Michael would pay; Azazel would have his revenge.

The blonde paused at this. Where would he go afterward? He couldn’t very well live on Earth with the humans. Before the thought was completed, Azazel realized he could live with the humans. He had done so before, after all.
 
Having reached a decision, he tied the robes closed. They weren’t billowy, like he was used to, but tight so he wouldn’t trip during training. As if he would actually go through with Kaggren’s plans.
 
Thankfully, the Fallen had put his personal belongings in the room. They lay in a haphazard pile, in the corner, but everything seemed to be there. The former angel picked up a vial carefully, not daring to shake the contents. He smiled; the seal had not been broken, so the accelerant wasn’t contaminated. Thick fumes burst from the vial when he pulled out the stopper, leaving a sickly taste in the back of his throat. To the Fallen, the colorless liquid would smell like water, even while it burned their lungs. Azazel, however, had a better use for it.
 
He dug around, pulling out four small bombshells and breaking them in halves. They were small enough to be simple marbles, but he was slightly surprised the Fallen hadn’t taken them. Perhaps he was giving the race too much credit.
 
Gunpowder would have been difficult to sneak in, assuming, of course, it didn’t blow him up when he fell. Creating the explosive dust was a simple task, however, and with a wave of his hand, a swirling mist appeared. He flicked his wrist and it fell, filling the shells with equal amounts. The accelerant was added next, carefully to avoid spilling it on his robes. It wouldn’t be good to catch fire as well. He would survive, of course, but it was an unnecessary problem. The shells were sealed again with a durable wax, one which allowed air to pass through, but nothing else.
 
His task complete, Azazel stood and dusted himself off. He placed the bombs carefully in a pocket before leaving the room.
 
“Finally,” Vlad muttered, pushing himself from the wall. “It took you long enough.”
 
Even with his hatred, Azazel had the decency to bite back his comment. He didn’t hate the Fallen, necessarily, but if a few were killed in his escape, it wouldn’t be terribly upsetting.
 
They stood in silence for a moment before Vlad rolled his eyes and started down the hall. “Try to keep up,” he growled.
 
- -
 
Guards stood on either side of the throne, clearly wary of him. Kaggren refused to restrain, or even ward, him. Obviously, he didn’t see the blonde as a threat.

Azazel kept his face impassive and his true emotions at bay, lest there be an empath somewhere in the room. He fiddled with the bombs, confident they wouldn’t detonate until he willed them to do so.
 
“Good to see you’re healing quickly,” Kaggren said, leaning forward. “This will be useful in the future.” He paused. “As I told you yesterday, your training begins today.”
 
The blonde stiffened slightly, but waited patiently.
 
“I’ve decided Vlad will be your instructor.”
 
Beside the king, Vlad let out a muffled exclamation of protest, but it went unheeded. He had hoped the task would be assigned to Yasou. Azazel smiled slightly at him before returning his attention to the throne. The king began to explain what ‘training’ consisted of, but he never got a word out.
 
Quicker than anyone had expected, Azazel tossed a bomb toward Kaggren. He dropped a second at his feet moments after the explosion and ran from the room. The two guards at the door were easy to slip between. His second bomb exploded, shaking the walls of the labyrinth city, but he was already down the corridor.
 
- -
 
Without thinking, Vlad dove in front of Kaggren. The explosive detonated before it was close enough to kill and he realized, even as pain shot across his body, the bomb was meant to be a diversion.
 
He clutched his arm, watching numbly as blood flowed over his fingers to drip on the floor. His sleeve had disintegrated from the burst of heat, but he had been on the outer edges so the rest of his robes were simply scorched. More concerning was the flesh. What hadn’t been torn away was sizzling and burned.
 
He was sure his leg was just as bad, but there were more important things to worry about. A second explosion resounded in the room, knocking pieces from the ceiling and walls. Fallen were crushed beneath the stones, while others were incinerated on the spot.
 
Vlad looked around, blinking the blood from his right eye, searching for the cause of this devastation. Not surprisingly, the blonde was nowhere to be seen. With a growl, he gave chase. After all, he knew more about the city than his prey. It would be an easy catch, even in his condition.
 
He slipped on a pool of blood in the doorway, but managed to keep his footing for the most part. “When I get my hands on you…” he muttered, skidding around a corner, “you are going to pay.”
 
- -
 
He had found the portal. Azazel’s feet hardly touched the ground as he ran toward the swirling bluish energy. He would get to Earth through here. From Earth, creating a portal to Heaven would be easy.
 
His fingers brushed the doorway, before he was thrown to the ground. Above his head, the portal snapped closed.
 
- -
 
Catching up to the blonde was harder than he had expected, but he wasn’t worried. The pain had ebbed away and, whether it was from numbness or his anger, didn’t matter. After turning down a fifth side street, he saw the escapee.

He lunged toward Azazel just as the blonde’s body began to leave the plane and they both fell to the ground. Vlad thoroughly enjoyed the sickening thump when his prey’s head fit the floor.
 
He pulled himself up, holding the smaller Fallen’s robes in one hand, and dragged Azazel through the streets back to the palace.

Tied with golden twine, wings broken bloody and useless, and body marred, Azazel had seen much better days. Long pale golden hair was tied back, for some reason left untouched by his tormentors as deadly, jaded silver eyes glaring up at Michael with pure hatred, no longer the love he once felt so very long ago. Thin, fragile looking pale body was covered in torn and thrashed what used to be white robes, which were now worse then rags and stained the reddish brown of dried blood. The freshest of his wounds still bleeding, they were splotched with a sticky red that gleamed in the light that seemed to come out of every corner of the judgment room.

His glare turned from his enemy to his other one, perhaps even greater then the High Arch Angel. Heather stood by him, wiping off a bit of blood onto her finger before looking at it, disgusted, and rubbing it off on his wing. If he could have moved, he would have lashed out, and she would no longer have that hand, nor the look of superiority about her. If he had his way, she would be put out of existence forever, and he wouldn't feel any pity for it. Well, not anymore. The Azazel that loved and cherished his sister died when she betrayed him, much like how he now hated Michael with a fiery passion for raping him, leading him on like he loved him only to turn his back and give him his sentence out of Heaven.

“If you were more cooperative, we wouldn't have had to gag you,” Michael sighed, causing the small crowd who had come to witness his Fall into Hell to chuckle. “However, talking wouldn't give you much help anyway. Your sentence has been passed and therefore, we can't turn back on it. Don't worry, traitor. You'll be put where you belong shortly.”

Azazel didn't protest, seeing no point in struggling. Besides, it would have only reopened some of the older wounds which had finally begun to heal, and make his new ones start bleeding again as well. He could only hope that the Fallen had some sort of medicine to help with the healing process, and maybe even get his wings back to being fly worthy. He glanced back at his torn wings and suppressed a grimace at the sight of them. They really did do a number on him...he was going to be scarred for the rest of his days from this.

With a solid smack, he was tossed into the portal that would lead him into his new home, never to see the Golden Gates of Heaven again. To never feel the soft grass under his feet, to know and talk to the creatures that had found themselves there and called it home. To allow the warmth of the Holy Light to warm him, to sing praises, to paint the beauty while standing in its glory. However, he could no longer fight his fate, no longer look upon those that condemned him and take his revenge.

At least, not yet.

/breaking point.../

his state, he couldn't even get the strength up to break them. He looked disdainfully at some feathers that had fallen from his already bare looking wings, and felt the urge to throw up, even on an empty stomach. His only hope was that someone came for him soon, or he somehow escaped to see if anyone was around this barren wasteland. Either way, he didn't want to run into anything that would try to kill him. After all, the would make him even more of a failure.

/left for dead/

Vlad, one of the Fallen of the Shadow's best assassin, had been sent on the most stupid mission that he had been on in awhile. He had to go recover a newly Fallen, that Michael couldn't just send to Kaggern's castle and be done with it. No, he just dropped him on the Sands of Hell for no apparent reason and made himself and Yasuo, his best friend since childhood, to go get it. He just hoped that whoever it was that they were cooperative, he really wasn't in the mood to be fighting with anyone at the moment. The currents were especially strong today and it didn't help that he was already in a sour mood. He had to kill children the previous day, and he hated doing that and avoided it where it was possible.

“Where the hell is this new recruit,” Yasuo complained for the millionth time. “He might be buried for all we know!”

Vlad ignored his companion's complaining and instead focused on the task of looking for something, anything, below. He finally sighted something, and without warning, dove for the figure that seemed to do nothing buy lay on the sands. Yasuo yelled in surprise, following Vlad in his dive, not wanting to pass up what he had been complaining for the past hour. They both landed softly on the Sands, robes of identical black and red with golden ties flowing around them like black auras.

Vlad was the first to snort and go over to the unconscious Fallen, inspecting the damage. To him, it seemed that those in Heaven really didn't like this one, the way the marks looked as if they were meant to scar over, and his wings would be lucky if they would ever carry his weight again, even with the overly thin frame. Even with these currents, it wouldn't take much for him just to carry this one back to the castle by himself. Sighing, he carefully picked up the other, Yasou whistling behind him.

“They really did a number on this one,” he openly observed. “I wonder what he did to be beaten so badly and then thrown down here like a rag doll for.”

“I'm wondering that myself,” Vlad sighed. “However, I'm sure we'll find out one way or another. After all, you're the best at infiltration.”

Grinning, Yasuo couldn't help but feel a streak of mischievous thoughts coming on. It was true, it was what he was good at that. That was how they found out as much as they did, because of his skills at sneaking in and out of places quickly, quietly, and getting everything that they needed.

“So, we heading back,” Yasuo asked. “I wonder which one of us has to train this one.”

Snorting, Vlad took off into the air, Azazel in his arms bridal style, since it was the easiest way to do things. Yasuo laughed and followed him, not wanting to be left behind by the increasingly irritated Fallen. They both knew that it would be one of them or both training this newly Fallen, and training was one of the more boring jobs when they were used to infiltrating and killing those who seen them, as well as their targets.

on the wings of a Fallen/
Azazel finally came to on the way to Kaggren's castle, watching it rise in the horizon as he was carried towards it. It rose in the midst of the swirling sands and midnight blue sky. This was so much more different then Heaven, so much darker, but wasn't that was he expected? Things to be mild undertones to the brightness that Heaven allowed him to see and bask in? However, imagining something and actually being there is always a bit different, and this situation was proving to be just that. After all, he expected to be eaten alive, and not being carried... He was being carried. That thought alone put him back asleep, not wanting to deal with whatever reality he had found himself in. unknown destiny He was roused fully, and found himself kneeling before a large stone throne, tall floor to ceiling windows leading to the thrown, draped in heavy burgundy curtains that covered most of them, but still allowed one to glimpse the sky from either side, dark blue in an everlasting twilight. He looked at the figure on the throne, deep navy blue hair against tanned skin with piercing green eyes, the black wing Fallen looked regal in his court. Robes of gray, trimmed with white and a tie made of silver if he wasn't mistaken, was this his leader? Was this the one that Michael sent him to for all eternity? “It seems you have finally awoken,” Kaggren said, voice carrying in the large room. “I am Kaggren, your new leader until you can stand on your own feet. Tomorrow, you will begin your training, with whom has not been decided yet. I take it you would like to clean up?”
Azazel dumbly nodded, wanting nothing more then a hot bath to get the sand out of his wounds and a bed to sleep in. Actually, this stone floor wasn't too uncomfortable...

“Vlad,” Kaggren called. The raven haired Fallen was at his side in an instant, awaiting his orders. “Take Azazel to his new quarters. You will also be the one responsible for his well being.”

Bowing, Vlad stepped down from beside the Leader of the Fallen Angels of Shadow, and to Azazel's side. Holding out a hand, he helped Azazel up and led the exhausted and hurt Fallen to his new room, to be prepared for whatever may be in store for him in his new home.

~ Two weeks later ~

He had finally settled back into life in Hell. It wasn’t an odd experience, what with his memories returning one by one.

Of course, as his memories returned, the experiences in Heaven became, once again, a chapter in his life made entirely of a large ink spill. Nothing serious, or legible, remained behind on the pages. After all, Vlad was there, quill in hand, to help write the future.

He laughed at the silly imagery.

“What are you so cheerful about today?” Vlad asked, rolling over to face the blonde.

Azazel’s fluffy white wings, courtesy of Lucifer himself, twitched when he wiggled gleefully. “No reason,” he replied. “I mean, today isn’t our anniversary or anything.” The statement had a certain undertone, one Vlad was sure to notice.

Vlad pushed himself up on his elbows and yawned. “Is that all? And here I thought it was something important.”

Azazel rolled his eyes. “Some lover you are. Here I was slaving over your breakfast and letting you stay in bed.”

“You aren’t cooking, you’re sitting in the bedroom.”

The blonde rolled his eyes, huffing indignantly, before he glided from the room in a flurry of blue terracotta. “There’s coffee in the kitchen, if you choose to get up.”

Vlad watched him leave. “I didn’t even mess up!” he wailed, when the door had closed.

- -

The others acknowledge him. On the off chance they did, however, the look was clearly disdainful. No one accepted him. Of course, he could hardly blame them.

Crimes against their own were not accepted.

Ivan glanced around his new quarters. Kaggren had graciously given him a private room; to protect his subjects from any damage invoked by rooming with a rat. It had hurt, to be called names, but the longer he remained in Hell, the colder he became.

Hurt was gradually replaced with disgust; the one he loved had stuck him in this crater. When he closed his eyes, he could see the blonde devil grinning as he took his body and soul.

Eventually, disgust melted into hatred. It festered, like a cyst pool in his mind, sending him images of power and promises of revenge. The shadow dug its poisonous fangs into him, each day growing in strength while its tendrils strangled and tugged his spirit.

He pretended to be cheerful, waved every time he passed Azazel in the hall. Even after what he did, the blonde was still the only one who smiled in his presence. Vlad, of course, continued to glare. He even had the nerve to embrace the other protectively, as if shielding him from Ivan.

It would be sweet to ruin them, but at a later time.

- -

“Vlad, you are one crazy bastard,” Yasuo commented, watching his friend move around the kitchen. Vlad glanced at the counter, which was covered in flour, before looking at his robes. These were also white.

“I know you mean well, and Azazel will appreciate this, but…”

Another glance, this time at the ‘cake’. “This isn’t edible,” he finally admitted.

Yasuo patted his shoulder. “Do you both a favor. Let Azazel cook. He enjoys it. Then, when he‘s done, you could have him wear that cat outfit from the good old days.”

Vlad glared at him darkly. “Shut up,” he said firmly.

Yasuo continued to grin, despite the warning. “Where is blondie, anyway?”

Vlad had no clue where his mate had gone. Azazel had disappeared with the promise of returning shortly. Of course, this had been hours ago. All the same, Vlad wasn’t worried. “Out and about,” he replied. “Look, if all you’re going to do is annoy me…”

“Say no more, I’m gone,” Yasuo replied with a laugh. He left the disaster area, still grinning madly. “Much luck.”

The door opened not twenty minutes later. Thankfully, the kitchen was clean, so Vlad could pretend the experience had never occurred and Azazel would be none the wiser.

“I figured we’d have dinner on Earth tonight,” his mate was saying. “It’s a special occasion, after all.”

Vlad nodded absently. “Sounds great.”

“You aren’t listening to me.”

“Of course I am.”

Azazel snuck behind him and wrapped his arms around Vlad’s neck. “What’s wrong, dear? Something on your mind?”

Vlad glanced one last time at the kitchen before smiling and giving Azazel a kiss. “Nothing at all. Happy anniversary.”

Azazel never thought that he'd ever feel more secure then he did at that moment. The weeks passed by so very fast, even his annaversery seemed to go by without much thought, even though Vlad did his hardest to make it as romantic as he could, with the dinner, flowers, and such. He had to admit that sometimes the other Fallen surprised him, that day being one of those instances, and even opted to cuddle with him rather then turn his mind to mush with sex. He never thought he'd see the day, but of course, Vlad had just almost lost him, so he guessed a few things were going to change a bit, some for the better.

Wings surrounded him, his own white meshing with the contrasting black of Vlad's, both of them somehow entangling themselves in their sleep once again with Azazel comfortablely wrapped in a downy cacoon of warmth and security. He had to get up though, breakfast never made itself and he had a feeling that Vlad would appreciate the coffee, after staying up well into the night previous, going through paperwork that Kaggren thrust upon him. Even though they were just getting back to normal, Hell's business went on and Vlad had another assassination today to take care of too...he always was in a bad mood after those. Especially if they involved children which he would often bring back and add to Kaggren's ranks. It made him twitch inside, knowing full well what happened to him, and how he was almost killed by the hands of Michael.

Slowly, as not to wake his slumbering companion, Azazel peeled himself away, fixing his robe and heading off into the kitchen to start breakfast. The sun had just peeked over the horizon, or so the sky told. His little home wouldn't see the rays for another few hours, one of the few downsides of being in this protective little valley. Either way, it was beautiful to behold, the lightening sky and the little touch of night that seemed to refuse to be pushed back by the light of day until it absolutely had to.

Snickering at his own thoughts, Azazel started the coffee machine and looked at his brand new cookbook, wondering exactly what to make from his newest addition to his kingdom.

**LOOK! A DRUNKEN DRACORN!!!! ...yah...me and Bethany were weird 10th graders...**

Ivan spied into the window, watching the object that held his soul captive move around the kitchen, ever graceful  even with the new white appendages that were usually held for those still under Heaven's reign. His own had been stained violet, not even black since his soul wasn't complete, and he was looking at the one that held it. Why did he even give it to him? He knew then that he'd be betrayed, why had it hurt so much? Maybe because Michael had given him false hope that Azazel would be his and his alone for all eternity? That had to be it, but he couldn't bring himself to allow his hatred to dissipate for some reason, as if it was the only thing that drove him towards the future.

He was rejected by the Angels, hated by the Fallen, and was watching the one who he done it for willingly bounce about his own home, making breakfast for someone that would always be higher then him, always hold a control over him that Ivan would never have. A respect he could never understand nor a love that he would ever know. What happened in Heaven...was that really Azazel? Or was it another of Michael's illusions?

Growling, the irate Fallen teleported back to Hell, where he was given his usual looks of distaste and dis-ease. Yes, something told him that he deserved everything he had now, after all, at one point in time, he thought that it would never happen. Reality had a way of catching up to him though, and made him deal with the after effects of his actions. He couldn't bring himself to try to destroy Azazel and Vlad's relationship anymore, something tearing at him.

It was happiness, the happiness of the one who held his soul captive. It made him want to shut himself up in his room and cry out all his frustrations.

Because the one to bring out such an explosion of good feelings, wasn't him.

**HAPPY JUICE AND HAPPY GRASS!! ...I need to tell her to type that story out and have you read it's crackness. ;P**

Vlad went in, the home guarded heavily with rather strong Fallen, but they weren't old as he was nor as experienced. He took care of them swiftly and without a problem, well, much of one. He was kicked in the back once, but promptly took his dagger and slashed his assailant's throat, ending that threat once and for all. This was a simple job. Just take care of the head of some uprising and silence it for good. He had taken out the other key members, and all that was left was this poor bastard. Luckily, no children were involved. Even with a month passing by, he was too emotional to deal with the pleadings of children when he couldn't stand it in the first place. It always brought up bad memories...

Walking out of the large mansion, cleaning the dagger with a stolen piece of cloth, Vlad made his way back to Kaggren, who praised him for a job well done once again. he didn't care. He just wanted to go home, to Azazel who he didn't like leaving alone anymore, and make sure everything was okay. Yes, he was sure that his mate thought it annoying, but he couldn't help it. He felt so helpless the last time, and he hated it. He needed to make sure that Azazel would be at home and okay. Not captured or being tortured or having Michael randomly at his house. He snorted at that thought. Michael wouldn't dare...

He never left a meeting so fast.

Arriving home, Vlad found everything in perfect shape, Azazel quietly painting in the living room, humming a soft melody that he swore that he once knew the words to but have forgotten with time. He loved the way Azazel relaxed when he done his artwork, one of the few things that he found the other Fallen doing that truly relaxed him. Smiling, he went and changed into some silk pajama pants and baggy white t-shirt before coming back out, and admiring the scene Azazel was working so intently on.

"A sea scape this time?"

Startled, Azazel jumped a little, looking behind him worriedly until he found Vlad was the one who was admiring his work. Blushing a bit for being caught off guard, Azazel went back to his canvas, fixing the small mistake he made in the water. It was of a lighthouse at sunset, the sea calm and lapping at the stony shore with dolphins jumping in the distance and two small children picking up sea shells on the sand. He rarely did such pictures, preferring landscapes of land areas, but from time to time, he'd do one, enjoying the easiness of painting water.

"Don't scare me like that," Azazel scolded. "I really could have messed something up!"

"The master artist, mess something up," Vlad joked. "Oh what a sad day that would be!"

Azazel held back his glare, and continued to paint, intent on ignoring the Fallen of Shadows. It was a fun game, he had to admit, irritating the other with silence.

"...I'm cut off again aren't I?"

He didn't need Azazel's reassuring nod to know that, in fact, he was once again, in the dog house.