A Feather in Crimson Ink(closed with GhostFaceKiller)

The city was quiet and the streets practically dead. No cars passed by nor did anyone stir. It was as if it was waiting for something. However, the sky was growing dark with storm clouds and the scent of rain hung in the air. One could even hear the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance with the occasional flash of lightning lighting up the sky.
Buildings of all shapes and sizes dotted the city and filling it out, making it packed and hard to navigate if one wasn't familiar with the area. Dead center of the city was a proud clock tower, its face lit with an almost surreal light to make it easier to spot anywhere in the city. Not only that, but it lit up the square far below, easily a good 30 or more feet.
No one ever came up here, not just because it was considered a suicide mission, but for the simple fact that there were rumors that it was haunted. That was far from the truth, however, as it was a quiet place with a spacious room inside. This room was filled with crates covered with cloth. A shelf lined one wall and had a few candles on it, all of which were burned out with a slight rise of smoke to indicate they had been lit not too long ago.

On the very top of this clock tower sat a lone figure, one knee drawn up to his chest and the other dangling off the edge. One arm was draped across his raised knee while the other rested on the surface beside him, or at least what little there was.
He was looking down at the street, his silver eyes almost glazed with a distant look. Behind him were wings of silver, their surface seeming to reflect the stars that were hidden behind the clouds while the tips of his feathers looked like they had a galaxy trapped within their dark blue coloration.
This was Sorath Galanos, the only one like him and the Vigilante of the city. The police all but tolerated him and the news...well, they tried to expose him. He was neither hated nor liked within the city but his feats of bravery were broadcasted on many news stations.
He looked like a statue the way he was sitting completely still. Lightning lit up his face, revealing a scar running across his right eye as well as the slight whiteness of that very eye. Thoughts were running through his mind. Thoughts of the people who had taken his family away from him as well as memories of the day he had been found.
He still wanted to know why he had fallen from the sky, as many had said he did. But he was nowhere near the truth and he felt like he would never come close to finding out why.

Then something caught his eye and his head lifted slightly to get a better view. He couldn't tell what it was, but he had a feeling that it was a human. His wings twitched once before he rose to his feet, wings spread wide out.
He looked ready to take flight, despite the oncoming rain. He was prepared to tail this person, if he had to.

Feet were hitting the ground at a phenomenal speed. Streetlights looked like mere flashes of light. The sound of respiration, heavy and quick, were filling the dark night air as a young black man nearly slipped in a puddle, quickly getting back up to keep running.

Elliot couldn't see anything but fear in his head. Since that damn machine bugged on him, not even a couple minutes ago, he felt like he was sharing bodies with this fictional character he had been playing as for the past days, Shay Patrick Cormac. But now he sincerely was doubting Shay was even fictional at all. It all felt so real. His blood running through his veins, the fear, the hate, the sadness...

Elliot turned a corner, then another, trying to catch his breath as he was escaping from the claws of Abstergo. He knew that bug had to do with Abstergo's real identity, and they needed to destroy him before he could say anything. He could hear car tires behind him, and the stress was getting to an unbearable level. Nothing else mattered for him than his own life, which he felt he was about to loose.

His footsteps quickly led the poor man to a bridge, empty of any cars, empty of anything but him, running for his life. As quick as he could manage to process it, a car appeared rien before him. He didn't have enough time to move that its cold and hard bumper hit in hard enough to make him fly a couple meters before violently hitting the ground. Elliot rolled a couple of times before falling immobile. His breath now tasted like iron. The panic prevented him to feel the pain yet, but he could sense that several parts of his body were now covered on heavy, hot liquid that was slowly being washed away by the rain. Someone grabbed him as he felt someone else in the process of taking his shoes off.

"Don't worry. It will look like a suicide, Elliot Hartman. No one will look for you."

Elliot felt his body being dragged to the north end of the bridge. His eyes opened enough to let him see someone's chest. It was bearing a red, small cross. But the pain made him realize that probably was the very last thing he was going to see.

The situation was very clear. Abstergo agents had followed him long enough to shock him on the bridge, and now were going to throw his barely alive body down the waters, leaving his shoes on the sidewalk. It would look like the perfect suicide.
A crime which would never have a name.

The strange man had indeed tailed the man. He felt as though the man was running from something. He followed, keeping high enough in the air for his entire body to become blended in with the sky itself. The thunder drew closer now, lightning lighting up the sky every thirty minutes.
Sorath could feel his mask beginning to take shape on his face and didn't make any move to make it disappear. He could see the bridge just ahead and when the man ran out onto the bridge, Sorath perched up on the highest point of the bridge, his wings cupping around his body. He watched the scene play out until he saw the other man holding the black guy over the edge of the bridge. He couldn't help it, but his entire body began to react.
Sorath dove off the top of the bridge, his wings hugging tight to his body. His left arm flexed, a soft schklink echoing in his ears as his blade slid free of its bracer. Somehow, he had managed to change his outfit before he'd begun his tailing of the man and now was in his armor. The closer he drew to the ground, the more his wings began to angle him more towards the man at the edge of the bridge.

Time slowed down as Sorath crashed into the man, breaking the grip he had on the other. With one motion, Sorath's left arm plunged downward into the back of the man's neck. He heard the man sputter and the others begin to move. Before any of them could even get close, Sorath was already spinning around, his hand reaching at his side and pulling out a long sword with a cross hilt. The silver blade was immediately illuminated by lightning as it flashed across the sky, as were the runes that lined the blade.
He didn't slow down with his onslaught until blood covered the road and the bodies stopped moving. Sorath ended his attack by twirling his sword once until the blade was pointing at the road. He then lifted it high with the tip pointed to his side and plunged it into its sheath that hung at his side.
With one motion, Sorath turned to the black man on the road and stared, the blood mask on his face making his eyes glow unnaturally in the darkness.

Elliot felt lifted to the edge of the bridge, breath almost silent. This was going to be the end of it all. And unvoluntary suicide. The end of what he hoped to be life.

But then, he violently fell backwards, to the road, and tried getting up, but some sound filled the air, echoing between the rain and the sound of his own heartbeat. The sound of a fine, light metal cutting through flesh and blood, turning water to wine in horror and death. And then, nothing. The night was silent.

Elliot finally managed to open his eyes only to see the vague form of a really tall man, looking right down at him, eyes shining like stars in a deep dark night. And on his back, the most wonderful pair of wings he had ever seen. Out of his nature, out of everything he knew. Elliot tried moving, but his body was like ripped by fire. He fell back to the waters filling the concrete.

"I..."

The boy's voice was almost silent, filled with pain. He tried catching back his breath as he was looking at the man before him, his hand trying to reach out for him.

An angel.

Whatever Elliot did, he couldn't take his eyes off the death omen. He couldn't take his eyes off what he thought to be the last thing he would ever see. He finally whispered the only words that came to his mind as he was trying to fight the heavy feeling of sleepiness that was getting to him, making each of his movements the most difficult thing he had ever done.

"I... am so damn sorry..."

Sorath slowly began to walk towards the young man, his boots falling lightly on the rain soaked concrete. His wings shimmered as they folded behind him, the galaxy swirling in the tips of the feathers. The rain drops glistened off his silver feathers and made them truly look other worldly.
He halted his approach once he had closed the gap to be only two inches where there had been about three feet between them. Slowly, he crouched down to look the man in the face. He still said nothing and instead inspected the young man from head to toe, looking him over for injuries.
Once he was done inspecting, Sorath returned his silver gaze to the face of the young black man, the red mask glistening like blood in the rain. Lightning lit up the sky, casting Sorath's face into shadows for a moment before the sky went back to darkness. After the lightning came the boom of thunder off in the distance and it felt like the rain had begun to fall harder.
Sorath stretched out a hand and rested it against the youth's shoulder while one of his wings outstretched and wrapped around the back of the young man. He still remained silent but being this close to him, the youth could almost see the soft white coloration in the right pupil of Sorath's silver eyes, however it didn't quite make sense.

With one motion that seemed faster than normal human speed, Sorath had scooped up the young man and rose to his feet. In that same moment, his wings snapped open, the motion causing water droplets to fly off the primary feathers. Sorath took flight, away from the bridge and away from the bodies that now littered its surface.
He didn't stop until he'd reached his home, where he landed rather lightly on the porch. As his wings retracted against his back, Sorath opened up the door to the house and stepped inside out of the rain, the water falling off him to the floor below.
Carefully, he lowered the injured youth to the couch in the living room and left the area, returning shortly afterwards with a warm blanket, which he draped across the young man's body. After he'd done that, Sorath pressed the palm of his hand against the youth's chest.
After a short pause, he lifted a cup to the youth's lips and tipped it upward in a display that Sorath was encouraging him to drink. It smelt of herbs, tea and sugar. It was an herbal medicine that Sorath had concocted himself that he used whenever he had been hurt, though he usually poured it onto his wounds. This, however, required ingestion of the tea.

Elliot felt his breath accelerate as he saw the angel approach him. Still fighting sleep, he followed his walk with his eyes. His body wasn't even trembling anymore. He had passed this state of cold, and pain. Il was immobile, as if it had stopped responding. But before he could add anything, pain ran through his body again as he was being picked up. Trying not to let any scream leave his body, he vaguely shook his head.

"No..."

The pain was great, filling his veins and colouring his tears. He couldn't help but cling to the angel's tunic like if his life was depending on it. He lowered his head, whispering a faint No from time to time. Like if he still was begging to be left alive, probably starting to be afraid the angel would bring him to the afterlife.

Elliot did everything to fight from fainting, but he knew his memory was now playing tricks on him. He remembered entering a house, laying on a couch. Warmth on his chest, the smell of herbs. But as he was being encouraged to drink, Elliot violently gained some lucidity, chocking on the liquid, struggling as he could to get far from the angel's grasp. He shook his head an intelligibly started begging to be left alone.

"I... can not... please... I can not leave her alone again... please... please let me go... not today... please"

He most likely was hallucinating, or at most loosing it. He begged and cried, clenching his jaw from the pain and panic.

"Please not today... I... I beg you... I beg you..."

Sorath took pause in his actions, almost as though he was hesitating. He listened as the man begged for him to live. A slight confused look came across his face at that moment. Slowly, his blood colored mask began to fade from his face and revealing the scar running down his right eye.
He played the cup down on the coffee table next to the couch and exited the living room for a small spell. When he returned, he was no longer in his armor but in a long sleeved white shirt and skinny jeans. His wings had gone as well, making it seem like they were never there to begin with.
Sorath picked up the cup again and held it once more to the young man's lips. This time, he spoke, his voice holding power and command. "Drink," he stated, a gentle firmness to his voice. "It will help you to heal."

He wasn't lying either. The tea he had made was one that helped to heal the body and would accelerate the body's natural healing process. It's what he mainly used to help his own body heal.

Elliot watched the angel go, immobile for several seconds as he was trying to keep stable on the couch. He didn't want to die. He looked away, his breath heavy, painful. But after a moment, the angel came back. Dressed in human garment. Elliot didn't find words to answer but ended up looking back at him when he ordered him to drink up. That literally was the first time Elliot had enough concentration to look into the man's eyes. The colour was so peculiar... and that eye, probably blind and wounded... could angels really be hurt?

Most unconsciously, Elliot started drinking, not taking off his eyes from te angel's. He seemed like he had seen him before, which was incredibly odd.

Sorath nodded and only took the cup back when the liquid was gone. He placed it down on the table again before he crouched down and began to check his body over for any more wounds. Once he was sure the young man was alright, Sorath rose to his feet and twisted around to look into the other room. His wings were gone now, almost as though he had never had wings in the first place. "Rest now," he instructed gently, returning his gaze to the youth.
"Sleeping will activate the healing process." He laid his hand gently across the youth's forehead before withdrawing it. It was almost as though sleep exploded from his finger tips into the young man's body. "Sleep well and be healed in the morning."
Sorath walked away from the living room towards the front door, the familiar sound of a door locking ringing into the air. He also muttered something that sounded like a prayer, though no one could be sure. Once he was finished, he walked to the far corner of the living room and proceeded up the stairs to sleep. However, he didn't sleep. Instead, he sat on his bed and stared out the window, his eyes catching the stars.

Elliot didn't feel like if he were able to take his eyes off the man. He just kind of kept his eyes locked with his as long as he could, somwhere in between hurt and comfort. His face seemed just like bruises and blood vessels where showing up near his right eye and jaw. His body most likely looked worse. The man ordered him to rest and Elliot let him do, breath speeding up a little.

"But..."

However, as soon as the angel laid his hand on him, Elliot gasped. He didn't even had the time to realize anything. His eyes closed and his whole body fell relaxed on the couch. Soon enough, his chest was raising and lowering in slow, regular waves.

Sleeping a dreamless sleep, Elliot never managed to relax his features for the whole night long. His face looked sad, and nervous. His jaw stayed clenched for the whole night, but his shoulders stayed low and soft.

Hours passed and the sun slowly started raising up against the city, showering it in light. It seemed like the night world had taken off the blood off the bridge. It was a whole new day, like if nothing had happened. Abstergo had probably grabbed back the now dead bodies of the agents Sorath had killed the night before, for everything involving Abstergo seemed like a classified fortification wall.

Elliot woke up far after the sun rose. He stayed like that before trying to move a little. He quickly covered his mouth to keep a scream from leaving his mouth. His body was still hurting, but it was so much more bearable than before. In fact, he didn't feel like walking a fine line between life and death anymore.

"I... lived...?"

Elliot slowly sat up, looking at his hands for a moment, before looking around. Where was he...? He had but no idea what had happened the night before ecept for a few things...

The young man managed to get back up, struggling to walk, but managing to. He started looking around.

"Where the hell..."

Elliot ended up by a window. He looked out for a moment before trying to focus on his reflection, to see if he was still wounded. But all he saw for a moment was the image of a white, young man wearing a dark ponytail, looking right back at him. Elliot gasped and jumped back, staying like that a moment, before taking another close look. Nothing. His reflection was back on the glass. Elliot was feeling his heart racing. He could swear that for a second there, his image was one of Shay Patrick Cormac, that guy he had been embodying for the past few weeks.

Sorath had been awake for a while now. The door to the house opened and closed, as though someone had just walked in. He strode passed Elliot to cross into the kitchen, where he sat down a couple of bags of various foods and drinks. His white sleeves were rolled up, revealing his skin and the black symbols that marked him.
They were very interesting, the marks, and they covered the entity of both of his arms. However, one stood out on his left wrist and it looked like a sign for power. No doubt that if he were to remove his shirt, there would be more that were very well hidden.
There was a small flash of silver on his back but when he turned, they disappeared, as though they were only a trick of the light. It was his way of keeping his wings hidden when he didn't want them to be seen and it became amusing to him, for humans would always seem to think they were hallucinating. Sorath paused in putting the food away and turned to look in the living room.
He almost seemed to have forgotten about Elliot. When he remembered, Sorath quickly pulled both of his sleeves down to hide the marks on his arms before he returned to putting the food up.
(Look up on google Shadowhunter runes.)

As soon as Elliot heard the door, he jumped and turned to see Sorath enter. He had no time to hide, nor to do anything but panic. He stayed silent as he was looking at the man act as if he weren't there at all. Elliot didn't move, his breath heavy and short when he slowly realized.

This man was the one who had saved him the day before. He was pretty confident that he had imagine him with wings the whole night. A little flash on his back made him wonder for a minute, but he came back to his senses and when they finally exchanged looks, Elliot managed to approach him, really slowly.

"Sir..."

He managed to get a little closer still. Elliot scratched his neck a little. He seemed pretty uncomfortable.

"Uhm... Thank you for everything you did yesterday... I wouldn't know how to thank you I..."

After a moment, Elliot sighed, shaking his head.

"W-What am I telling myself?" he started, panicking. "This dude's covered in tattoos... probably mafia or something... man what have I got myself into... I..."

He then took all his energy that was left to look back at him.
"Listen sir, I am not really worth anything right now. If you could just... met me go and forget about me... I'd forget about it all too... I just need to do something. Anything. Run from the city, perhaps. But keeping me hostage wouldn't be really interesting for you..."

"Hostage," Sorath repeated, cutting Elliot off from finishing his sentence. Sorath's eyebrows raised up slightly. Now that Elliot was facing him in the daylight, he could clearly see what was causing the whiteness of the right eye from Sorath. There was a scar running down that side of his face, running right through his right eye.
"What makes you think I've taken you hostage?" He sounded hostile, almost pissed even. He turned away from his duty of putting food away to look at the man in front of him. "Let me get one thing straight: I helped you. And by the looks of it, you're much better off because of that. Now tell me this: why would I want to hurt you if I had just gotten you over your pain?"
Sorath had a point, though. He could have easily killed Elliot if he had truly wanted to. And yet here he was, standing in front of Elliot with no weapons whatsoever near him. The sword and small deadly blade from last night seemed to have just completely vanished.
He waited for an answer, the house filled with silence for a while. There was another shimmer on his back as though something moved, but there was also light filtering in through the kitchen window and could have been glancing off the back of Sorath's shirt.

Elliot kept still, looking right back at Sorath. This man... was right. But that was an idea the poor boy couldn't get out of his head. Elliot slowly turned away, crossing his arms ont his chest. He kept quiet for a moment before whispering.

"I... I don't know, man. Honestly. "

Elliot kept lookinaway for a second or two before he sighed.

"It's just... good men don't exist here. People who just care for strangers are a myth. I've been learning that."

He kept quiet for a second or two before stress left his shoulder. Elliot finally turned to Sorath.

"Sorry I assumed shit about you. I really didn't want to. So, uh... thank you for everything you've done. Is there anything I can do to pay you back? I'm low on money right now but I mean..."

Elliot was thhinking about it, before he looked around. He couldn't ask to be the man's personal janitor: the place looked neat enough. He ended up saying, quite naively:

"I mean I learnt how to cook. I could come by here and cook, maybe?"

Sorath looked Elliot over for a moment before he shifted so that his arms were folded on the bar where the bags that still held food were sitting. "You looked like you were really trying to escape those men with the Red Cross last night," he said, his silver eyes gaining a thoughtful look.
"Tell you what. I have to leave for a few hours. You are more than welcome to stay here for as long as you need. I just went grocery shopping so there will be plenty of food in the house."
There definitely was something odd about Sorath, though no one could ever place it. He extended a hand, the sleeve rolling up slightly to reveal one of the marks resting on the inside of his wrist. "I'm Sorath, by the way," he said, his eyes seeming to smile while nothing appeared across his face. "Sorath Galanos." Odd name for a man, though...many people definitely commented on just his name alone and many more questioned about his scar and where he'd gotten it.
His name was an easy answer but his scar, however...he still couldn't answer that question for himself. His memory was fuzzy every time he tried to remember back to when he had been falling.

Elliot nodded when Sorath mentionned the Red Cross. "I wish I knew who they were. But again, it was legitimate of me, I guess"

He kept on listening to him. So this man really was letting him come and repay his debt... Elliot smiled for the very first time he was there. He finally was going to be able to do something good of his time.

The boy ended up a little surprised. Sorath. What an odd name. Galanos. It sounded like a cookie brand he had seen in an exotic store downtown long ago. He ended up grabbing the man's hand in a handshake, his eyes locking on the showing tattoo that was on Sorath's arm. How peculiar!

"Name's Elliot Hartman. I'd be real glad to help you out the best I can, Sorath!"

Elliot finally backed up and, a little more softly:

"Say... would you have any idea of... who those guys with the cross were?"

At the question, Sorath slowly withdrew his hand, his sleeve falling back over the mark. His eyebrows dipped down into a frown and when he moved, his head dipped down so that his hair began to fall around his head, revealing his hair's true length.
It was a medium long length, pitch black with a small amount of blond just along his bang-line. "I do," he admitted slowly, raising his head up to look at Elliot. That eye with the scar running through it standing out against his medium toned skin. To be honest, Sorath looked like he'd been sunbathing all day when that wasn't the case.
"But I don't think now is a good time to disclose who they are to you." Sorath looked up at the clock on the wall just behind Elliot and straightened to his full height of 6'7", his shoulders squaring back.
"I must leave now. Look for my return tonight, however." Hearing him now, Sorath's words didn't sound like they belonged in this era at all. He crossed the floor to walk out of the kitchen before he crossed the living room and headed upstairs.

"W..."

Elliot looked at him walk away, eyes wide open, before he stepped forward to try to close the gap in between them two.

"Why?! I need... I need to know! Those guys almost killed me... I... I am pretty damn sure they tried to end me!"

Elliot tried to get ahold of himelf, and finally managed after a couple of seconds. He looked away as to hide his childish movement. He ran his hand in his dreadlocks before scratching his neck. He finally whispered.

"Whatever... thanks for everything. I'll wait, uh... or look for your return. Whatever you call it. I'll do my best."

And then the poor boy turned away and tried to make his heartbeat slow. All that fear that was running through his veins when remembering that scene had to be anything but good for his mental health.

Sorath hadn't even come back downstairs either. It almost felt as though he'd completely vanished from the house. It was interesting how one person could feel like they didn't belong in this era. Sorath had looked rather young but he felt...old. Older than time itself. Perhaps that was true, perhaps not.
He looked around himself for a moment as he stood there, perched on the top of his clock tower. He took a small breath and fell forward, letting his wings catch the air mid-fall. It's what allowed him to suspend himself in the air, his silver wings shining in the sunlight. Sorath took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the air before he exhaled and began to scan the ground beneath him.
He took pause when he spotted who he was supposed to meet and dove downward. He caught himself before he could hit the ground and alighted close to a man who bore the Brotherhood's symbol upon his belt. Sorath himself wore that same mark at his own waist but there was one difference between the two. Sorath's Brotherhood mark bore a set of wings backing it while the man before him bore the traditional Brotherhood mark.
Sorath's wings disappeared, causing only a small shimmer effect on his back in the darkness of the alley, adding to the illusion of him not having any at all.

He approached the man from the direction of the street, further adding to his illusion. "You wanted to speak with me, Brother," he questioned slowly, stopping once he was a good few inches away from his fellow Assassin.