Firewater

[Jensen James]

Tony's response was seductively calm. The man's tranquility unnerving. Jensen knew that instinctive feeling well. When the winds die and the air smothering moments before a tornado dropped overhead.

He swallowed nervously, and took great notice of the ebb of power blazing, but Jensen found himself intent upon piercing the mirage beginning to hover above this scorching blacktop. For what came next, Tony's sympathies faded in that heat, curled up as dead leaves thrown on the campfire. To Jensen, they were nothing more than meaningless ash.

The string of accusations quaked, and the floor fell out beneath him. The previous flicker of passion blanched his eyes wide with shock. In the logical corners of his mind he was prepared for this, but meeting this ungodly anticipation face to face was like finding a thief in the kitchen.

He withdrew instinctively. Jensen was no hero to run into a burning building, not when there was nobody to rescue. He'd rather chain them both inside until the purification consumed both their bones.

Power ebbed from his companion. It throbbed nearly in beat with Jensen's own heart, and eyes red with fatigue, drink, shock and shame, he clenched his jaw and gripped the edge of the seat, if only to use the cold metal to shock his system with the tangible. And keep himself from fleeing. At the gates of heaven in judgment he would someday stand. Might as well start practicing.

"Four years ago, almost to the day," he admitted between clenched teeth. Disgust curled his answer with cold acceptance. "More than anything on Heaven and on Earth, I wanted retribution." No gust of anger flashed. Jensen long ago accepted what he'd done. "But though said the Lord, 'Vengeance is mine,' I wanted it for myself." He freely admitted that sin. One of a hundred... of a million. More like ten million.

"And when it was offered to me, I seized it without thought for the consequences," and ever since, on the quietest of nights when he could stand the temptation no more, he practiced seizing it again and again until he thought the very substance of his existence was on the verge of ripping apart.

This time, the grappling with that abhorrent force found a solid hold, and he drowned himself in it. It'd been too many days this time since knowing that oneness. Everything sprang to brilliant life. The gleam of the subway tile. The scent of oil and murk. The screech of distant trains.

And the fascination permeating Tony's fixation stank of sulphur. It was with the delirium of masochistic confrontation, and the strength of unnatural powers tightening every muscle, that Jensen found the courage to defend the himself when he would otherwise turn the other cheek.

He perched to stand, an arrow aimed to defend their Father.

But he couldn't do it. The devil gave him a world of power that Jensen literally clutched in his hands, all he had to do was wield it. Smother this accuser, and prove Tony wrong.

But looking upon Tony, a living, breathing man, who may or may not be an agent of evil, but if he were, he did not deserve Jensen's judgment, he abandoned the selfish crusade.

Lot cast, Jensen released the brief grasp of the powers vising his soul. Rather, he turned the other cheek, remained seated and put his face to his hands, silently weeping with all the sorrow of a heart crushed with guilt.

[Tony Soloyov]

Jensen hovered on knife-edge, Tony could feel the power rush into the man as his face paled and he struggled against whatever demons plagued his conscience. Hid not hold much, perhaps half that Tony himself could, but it was enough, if he wanted to kill.

However, Tony did not strike. Not yet. Jensen likely had little experience and Tony could negate anything the man tried. Dangerous to assume, but his reasons were not purely calculated. Anything Tony did with the power could make the man suspicious. He already thought of himself as evil, there was no accounting for what he might think of Tony. No, he needed to be seen as a man, nothing more, nothing less.

As the man revealed his secrets, Tony's heart sank and he felt exhaustion creeping into his bones. He had hoped to ignite some of Jensen's passion as a faithful man. He had come close, Tony could saw the desire to strike in Jensen's eyes but his efforts had ultimately fallen on deaf ears. Watching Jensen break down, wracked with sobs was disheartening. The poor bastard truly did think he was evil!

"It doesn't work like that,"
Tony said, a hint of desperation slithering through the cracks of his self-control. "You started long before that moment, I assure you. Sickness, unlike anything you have experienced. Wild moments of daring as well."
He shook his head, his blonde hair swaying slowly, doubtful the man would listen to his words. "It has nothing to do with any fucking God. Or if it does, it was not something you chose. It was forced upon you, and no amount of restraint could stop it from manifesting."


From behind, Tony could hear the train in the distance, making it's way towards their stop. He wanted to sit down and drink himself into oblivion, but he had left that life behind him. He would be strong, if only because someone had to.

"I can't tell you if your God will condemn you for your actions, but you are wrong about this power."
It was frustrating. It was not something he could explain to this priest, he had not seen what Tony had seen, if he had, he would understand it was not evil. Evil...it was not like this...Evil didn't allow a man to perform miracles like Tony had seen. "There is so much good that can be done with it, there is more to the power than death."


The train screeched it's metallic dirge as it slowed, approaching the station, and Tony took a step forward. "I don't believe you have given up yet, whatever you might say. If you just opened your mind... Perhaps you will realise that you are not yet doomed."


The train pulled to a halt and the doors opened. Tony waited for a reply. He would not press the man, but he would hate to leave him to his wretched fate.

[Jensen James]

A heavy weight clung close that Jensen could not cast off if he wanted to. Unmoving as a corpse at their own Wake, hollow and cold, he was washed in the blood of those he had slain, not in the blood of Christ. No tabernacle of the Lord did he protect, only a shell waiting until time finished and it returned to the earth from whence it came. From dust to dust we are. Over how many funerals had he presided? How many families had he comforted with promises of eternity. Did he ever believe his own promises? His mind raced with doubts.

His throat ached to cry out as David to the Lord. To fall to his knees and lament, but it was not to be.

He glanced up at the wailing screech of the train, squeezed the bridge between his eyes and drank in the breath of underworld air. Robotically, his limbs carried him aboard, and beneath the glow of halogen and the flash of view-screen advertisements, he held on, swaying, as the train shifted forward.

"Open my mind to what?" He asked solemnly. What good could come of anything sourced from Satan? For where else were these powers derived if not from the Son of the Morning? He who sows to his flesh will reap from the flesh corruption.

As though stirred by the name of Lucifer himself, that shining light, painfully beautiful, flourished at the edge of his senses. Always there; always tempting. Lucifer clad himself in beauty and majesty. What else was more thrilling, beautiful, and powerful than these powers? It was perfectly clear to Jensen. That he was drawn to it every waking hour was a constant battle, or only to give in at great need, because he was giving in to temptation in the wilderness of his soul.

Ironic then, he'd used the power of Satan to drive away demons. He thought back to the thing lurking in their building's basement. Tormenting him. Giving him an excuse to wield such sweet poison one more time. How much longer could his willpower hold?

Anguish cast a long shadow across a man that once gleamed with hope. "What else do I do?" he forced himself to utter the question, to ask for help, "but try to resist? You said you lost everything? How did you grieve? How did you deal with it? For I have no purpose to achieve. No reason to live..," his voice trailed off, watching the flicker of tunnel lights blur by as blazing white streaks. They might as well be years of his life.

And his voice cracked, "..if only to avoid hell a little longer." It was a cowardly reason to not end his own life, but he knew what torment awaited, and the idea of it ran his blood cold.

[Tony Soloyov]

If it was not for the calm that came with the power, Tony would have lost his cool and lashed out. He doubted the man had heard a single word he had said.

He was hell-bent on self-destruction, and nothing Tony could do would stop him. He only hoped the man had a family or friends that could lift him from this despair. As it stood, he was loathe to press Jensen any more than he had. Although it tore his heart, Tony could do no more - only make things worse.

The glare of the holographic advertisements burned his enhanced eyes and the sounds of the engine running pierced his calm. He turned his head away from Jensen, grasping the power as tightly as he had ever done before. The ecxstacy grew until it became pain shooting through every fibre of his being.

With a heavy heart, he made his voice cold and distant, enclosed in the bubble of stillness of his mind. "Don't be so arrogant as to presume you know the will of any God.
" Once again, there was no anger in his voice or heart, only weariness. "What conceit has driven you to think that you can pronounce judgement? You will have all eternity to pay your God whatever He deems you owe him. For now, you are alive."


The driver called something, and the engines began to warm up. "There are enough people that are suffering in the world without you fucking yourself up further. You could help them, there is more to the power than death. You can heal -"


Tony would have said more but he bit back any further as the doors of the train slid together and the engine hissed, wheels croaking to life.

Tony shook his head and turned his back on the man, releasing the power. His exhaustion, all of his efforts in the Undercity, came rushing into his very bones.

Edited by Tony Soloyov, Oct 5 2013, 03:54 AM.

[Jensen James]

Hope was suspended by a kindred thread. Quickly fraying, but with all the loud crack of a whip, it snapped one word to Jensen's mind. Arrogance.

Rebuke was unexpected. Jensen thought he knew how this story ended. This gift he had not chosen reaped death and carnage, yet he continued to use it time and time again. Surprisingly, no malice did Tony spew, only woe. He was worn by his burdens as Jensen by his guilt. For the first moment in years, Jensen realized how every breath he took, with every second of every day, and in every interaction he thought solely about himself.

An iron hope rusted by pride; the greatest of all evils, opposed by God's very nature. It was almost as though he heard Jesus' calling to Peter on the boat, but all Jensen saw were the waves of uncertainty mirroring his own reflection back at him. A young lady was in danger in the basements, and he cared more about the demon's haunting him than guiding Katya's soul to salvation. At MSU, he dismissed the harassment of a gifted theologian on the grounds that Jensen was more interested in confiscating the man's knowledge than aiding his discoveries.

Then, when the safety of that single thread was breaking, Tony threw him a second.

The train rocked back and forth on its tracks, and Jensen's stomach swayed along with it almost more nervous to find redemption and subsequently lose it again than accepting the consequences of his failures as a man of God.

His focus shifted from the blur of the tunnel whipping by to Tony, anxious to look too closely at hope. Was it Lucifer's light? Or the Father's? Would he be able to tell the difference?

Heal?

"What do you mean there's more to this power than death? What else is there?" It was a hungry whisper he uttered, eyes wide with longing.

His hand slid down the cold pole. It steadied him as he all but fell onto a seat.

[Claire]

((Moding done with permission))

There was hardly any sort of schedule to keep when dropping off applications. They were all electronically submitted, but there was a certain significance to in-person delivery that explained her appearance in a bar at a time when she was usually still eating breakfast.

Which meant she had plenty of time to follow the men. Now Claire was not an expert in these things, but she was an expert on city-life. Shitty city life. She knew how to keep her distance while yet keeping her target in sight. What with Tony's long locks blowing in the breeze and few pedestrians clogging the view, they were easy targets to tail.

She sped up considerably when they ducked below the street. Claire had her metro ID ready to swipe the second her foot hit the bottom step, but she didn't barrel through. The metro was likely to be more abandoned than the street, and getting caught was not what she wanted at the moment. There was just enough time to make it the long walk to the second flight of substairs. She should be able to board the train several cars behind Jensen and Tony.

Now, knowing when they got off, that was going to be a bit trickier.

[Tony Soloyov]

""What do you mean there's more to this power than death? What else is there?"

Tony turned back, surprised. It was the first time he had heard anything close to hope in the man's voice. It was faint, like a man in the desert dying of thirst, staring at a mirage, but it was there.

He seized the power once more with a renewed vigour, his eyes watery with the sting of bright lights assaulting his senses once again. "There is much more,"
he answered, sitting down next to the man.

"I don't exactly know where this power comes from, but it is more than just death. It is...neutral... I'm not sure how to explain it. You make the power do what you wish it to do. It is a tool, like any other, the person who holds it determines what to do with it."


Tony shook his head again, although this time it was in frustration. It was not something he could explain. It was far easier to show, but Jensen wasn't likely to simply experiment. "I will be honest. I don't know where it fits in with your God, I don't claim it is good. It can be used to kill, hurt and deceive. However, you can also use it to help. It is possible to heal."


His mind was foggy, but he remembered the miracle clearly. Someone...the name was lost in the haze, had been close to death, their foot gangrene and blood very nearly septic. "If you know how, I believe anything can be cured. I have already seen a...man brought back from the brink of death, when no medicine in the world could save him. Restored, as if he had never been sick!"


He looked Jensen in the eye, knowing his words may be harsh, but it was important. "Whatever you did, you did it because at the time you wanted to. Nothing can change that fact. However, men make mistakes, and you are just as human as the rest of us."
He smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "You have a choice to make, friend. You can condemn yourself as you have done, and remain a burden to the world until you die. Or you can bend the power to your will."


Tony knew he was rambling, but there was so much he wanted to say, the words tumbled from his mouth. "You are a good man, I can see that much. You are a man of God, don't abandon Him. You did not become a priest to save yourself, did you? You did it to save others. Perhaps you can atone - I don't know, that is something I cannot answer - but even if you cannot, you are better than this. You are still faithful, use it to help others!"


Edited by Tony Soloyov, Oct 5 2013, 05:54 AM.

[Jensen James]

The man delivered a sermon.

Jensen tried. He really tried to soak it in. He wanted to agree with Tony, but in his heart he was afraid of believing too deeply. The Bible spoke of sorcery by men and the powers of hell, but it also spoke of miracles. Did he dare consider such a possibility?

Peter denied Christ three times and still found redemption at the Cross. His grace was sufficient for Peter. Was Jensen being arrogant to assume it was not sufficient for him? When was the last time he prayed? When was the last time he fell in worship? He longed to commune with the Father, but if he could barely look Tony in the eye, how could he dare approach the throne of grace? The Lord who knew his heart, every sin, every thought, and every doubt. How?

He rubbed eyes threatened with heat once more... or maybe they were filled with so many planks the pain was nearly unbearable. He needed sleep. Tony's teachings pressed heavy on a mind already stretched to its limits, blurred of coherency. All he knew was that he didn't want to bend the power to any will but His. He swallowed.

"This is my stop," the sound of the overhead comm nearly drowned the timid admission. Fast-paced advertisements drenched his face with color. People on the platform rushed on board, and Jensen edged his way out.

FInally, he watched the train leave, filled with hollow, faceless bodies. Use it to help others.

He turned up the collar of his jacket. There was a chance of rain this morning. Tony waited nearby. "I appreciate all you've done. Really, I do, but I can make it from here." He started to go, but half a step forward, he paused and turned a profile toward Tony. "You keep saying he's my God, but he's yours also. All you need to do is ask him in your life."

He felt foolish witnessing after everything they discussed. At least it was a short walk home.

[Tony Soloyov]

Tony could see the struggle in Jensen's mind, like a pitched battle between feuding tribes. He had not expected to change the man's mind, not really, but it was good to see that his words were having some effect.

When Jensen said his farewells, Tony smiled and nodded his head, but said nothing. He was not about to lie just to make Jensen feel better, but he didn't want to agitate the matter either. The best he could hope for was that the man came to terms with himself and his faith.

Tony was reluctant to release the power, but after Jensen had disappeared, he forced himself to do so. The exhaustion hammered him, but he grit his teeth, one final task to attend to.

Although Jensen said he was fine, Tony knew better. While the demons of his own making could be left to rest, the real demons would gut the man as soon as they found him. The thought was a tad dramatic, even for Tony's taste, but no less significant. Whatever the government was doing to people with the Sickness, he had yet to find one who had returned alive.

So Tony set off to follow the man back to his house. He would have to keep an eye out for him, and although he did want Jensen to remain untroubled, the man's well-being was not his only concern. If the government captured him, they might want him to talk, and Tony did not want his name to reach the ears of anyone inside the circus that the Ascendancy ruled over.

[Jensen James]

His building was a short walk from the metro station. As forecasted, a blanket of gray clouds soon thickened, and the promise of rain soon whipped little beads on his face. A gloomy day to fit his worn mood.

A good day to sleep.

It would be a short, but heavy rest. An alarm was set to wake him many hours ahead of usual. Combined with the layover at that dive bar, his mind was not going to be sharp for tonight's meeting.

John Smith. The man was a legend. Enough of one that Jensen seriously thought more than once about cancelling. In the end, he labored up the stairs to his place -- the building didn't have a lock on the front entrance -- shoved soggy boots in a corner, and collapsed on the couch without even bothering to pull down the Murphy Bed. He'd be putting it back up in a few hours anyway unless John preferred crawling over furniture.