Ever since Crowley was young, he perceived the sky as ugly.
Crowley didn’t know how, when, or why; but the once vibrant sun washed into a dreary mush. The colourful blue sky lost its colour. He went to his mother; his single parent with a glass bottle in her hand, and smelling of cough syrup. Crowley told her of the gloomy weather, about how dark the day was.
“You hideous thing,” his mother once said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Today’s a sunny day.”
Crowley lost interest in the sky after that. There was no time to worry about frivolities, such as the weather. The sky would never change for Crowley. Grey clouds loomed over the drab clouds. Today was no different.
The rat picked up his feet through the wreckage. The buildings whistled the same tune from before.
He went to the area from where he last met the burnt man, before pulling a fast one on the gang. Here wasn’t safe, still; tricking them was worth seeing that beastkin’s beautiful face for one last time.
A small thread seeped across Crowley''s senses while he thought about the nyancan. He glanced in the direction where he ran. Something happened to the beastkin. However, that wasn’t Crowley’s concern.
The rat’s nose picked up the scent of smoke.
He went back to the destroyed buildings and went inside the most familiar one. The burnt man stared at the same pile of burning, inflammable rubble. The strange man leered into the flames. So close that the fire should’ve scorched his head.
“You’re there?” the weird man''s head moved slightly.
“From where you are standing, you can say that,” Crowley nodded. “However there are different reasons. Why be here out of all places?”
“Everywhere else is so cold… Right here is cozy… You''re warm — You could have run away far from here, and yet you stayed; how peculiar.”
“They’re going to be looking for you soon. That is a truth that you should know.”
“How can you be so certain? What about all of us?” He slipped his focus past the firepit.
Crowley clenched jaw. The worries for his safety never reached his mind… The rat came all this way for the burnt man’s sake.
Crowley told of how he deceived the gang. The fact that he made the catboy operative do the fighting for him. Crowley noticed that the gang were spared. Soon, an influx of gang members were going to look here. That was the first spot that Crowley would’ve checked if he was in their position.
“Is that so?” the burnt man asked. There wasn’t any emotion behind his words, “why don’t we hide for a while?”
Crowley shrugged, “the burnt man, and the rat hiding out,” he pointed out. “You playing it safe isn’t going to make a difference, now ain’t it? Don’t worry, they’ll find a way.”
“I’m tired of worrying,” The strange man decided.
“What are you doing?” Crowley asked the man.
The burnt man flopped on the cement, “giving up,” the strange man replied.
Sometimes Crowley felt the same way. Crowley didn''t care if he was going to die, the burnt man felt the same. The gangs that bullied the weak, The state of Snakewater — the unchanging weather; they weren’t changing.
To sink into deeper depravity.
Lose all sense of humanity.
That was the way, and the burnt man wasn’t entirely wrong. Maybe giving up on the strange man was the right choice? There were worse ways to go. Dying as a beast with nothing was better than living as a monster with desperation. Such was the sin of vanity.
However, the rat laughed. A chuckled so audibly that he wheezed.
Crowley smiled, the man deserved better, more than Crowley at least. A man who was more than a beast, and shouldn’t die without a name, “Your name shall be Embers,” Crowley declared. “Tell me, do you think today’s a good day to die?”
Embers sat back up from the cold ground. His hands brushed past his scars. He looked at Crowley without a word. The burnt man’s eyes were as lifeless as the day he meant Embers, Yet there was a spark beneath all the cold. Kindling that was so faint that they could only make — embers.
The rat continued, “There’s no need to say anything. You''re never going to live in such a *subline* life. Everything was bound to say the same, don’t you think? We can, however — conceptualize.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“You live despite all the shit anyone throws at you. Give the Lord one last middle finger before you leave this precious — world,” Crowley looked away from the sun. “This one would not hold anything if you give up. However, he begs for you to reconsider. There is one place that could accept you.”
“A place of acceptance,” Embers trailed off.
“Yes,” Crowley said in his sweet words. “The Rebellion, you go there. This one knows where they are. You may seek protection there. He can follow you.”
“No… you were never following me. There’s nothing more to that,” Embers responded.
Crowley never knew why he helped the burnt man. Honestly — he couldn’t think of a good reason, yet that was nothing of Crowley’s concern. To Crowley, the strange man was more than a monster, more than a beast; better deserving of cherishing than himself.
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Being deceitful was no better than being a monster. Vanity was a sin
But didn’t Crowley’s lies and trickery get him out of the gang’s grasp? They also got him here. An answer came to the rat. He didn''t use trickery for brevity. He never used his actions for his own sake.
People only listened to what they wanted to hear after all. Perhaps the bounds of what was a sin could be pushed?
There was not the only spot where Crowley spread his lies. But in another place as well. A place where the part of the Rebellion resides, and where truth is laid bare.
–o—0—o–
The bells rang in the center above the church. People in rags amassed in communion. Crowley and Embers gathered around the table of various wooden bowls and spoons. The Wood warmed from the soup that the wood held They grabbed bread hard to the teeth and the scent of rooted vegetables.
“Freak,” The other vagrants insulted the rat and the burnt man behind closed doors; where the nuns weren''t listening. Not that Crowley paid them much mind. Hating required energy. A Strength that could be spent on eating.
Before the food was the daily sermons. Nuns lit the cinnamon, like incense. They preached about the wholeness and the Lord. A story was then told.
A time that Crowley never knew. About an era of dwarves, elves, and a dragon. But all of them were just that, tales that told moral lessons. Little evidence showed that these creatures existed.
Yet Crowley knew those stories by heart. His mother used to make him go to the ceremonies with the best suits money could buy. How she would lock the rat up in his room until Crowley learnt every single word in the scriptures.
Today''s lesson was how the hero resisted the demon’s temptation and never fell into the abyss of despair.
Everyone deserves a chance of redemption.
Redemption.
Crowley wasn’t a praying man, yet he stared at the word; longer than what he intended.
The Lord, so cruel that he had to pray to them for forgiveness. He couldn''t even forgive himself. The rat scoffed at the idea, yet perfectly recited the scriptures. He finished reciting the story and went to the mass table. The food seemed filling, but there was a lack of spices.
Would adding salt kill them? Crowley set the wooden spoon down.
Embers finished his bowl. The water was scolding hot. Crowley had no idea how the burnt man finished the food.
“The soup’s so warm…” the strange man said. “How come you’re not eating?”
“Simply not so hungry,” the rat said. He ate 3 days ago, in fact
“If you are not going to enjoy the hot… meal. Then can I?”
“No!” Crowley shoved the bowl towards himself. The soup sloshed as it almost spilt, “the soup is not for you,” he suppressed a hiss.
Of course, Crowley and Embers were here for other reasons than just food.
The church was a front, a hotbed for ideals.
A man looked over the church that called over the overly huge and warn table. His hair dropped over his face in a mess. That wouldn’t be unusual if it weren’t for the mask on his face. A mask that plastered a smile.
“Crowley, Crowley, Crowley,” he said in a rhythm. “Back again I see,” there were no eye sockets in his mask. “Where have you been? You never go here unless something’s troubling you.”
“Yeah, and nobody told you that name,” Crowley said.
“I guess nobody ever did,” the masked man rubbed his chin. He placed his hand on the rat’s shoulder, Crowley flinched. “Crowley… is that surname truly uncomfortable for you? You have enough literacy to read and write. Come from a good background. Never huffed bliss.” The masked man released in his grip, “You don’t belong here with the tramps. Society failed you, Crowley.”
No, he failed himself, Crowley thought; yet smiled. The words straggled in his mind. Crowley was familiar with the rhetoric. The masked man proposed a world without unfair gaps, a city with a strong sense of community, like the beastkin tribes.
The idea was an impossibility. It made his stomach churn so bad that he could laugh.
He did just that. The rat wheezed on the splintering table near embers. The table shook as the masked man propped Crowly up by his shoulders.
“I apologize, I must have unlocked a painful memory,” his mask lingered away from Crowley, and onto Embers.
The rat gnawed at his lip. The man with the mask was there for a reason. Crowley showed his deceit just yet. He told the man that he was going to be okay.
The masked man glinted at Crowley, “I sensed that your anima increased. Say, do you know anything about how you gained that?”
“Honestly, This one has no idea what the damnation anima is, and he has no intention of discovering anima, Mister.”
The masked man loitered beside him. Crowley’s soup grew cold, not like he had a desire to eat. The mask made distinguishing his expression difficult.
“I see,” he finally said. “A tale as old as time. Tell me, who is your friend?” The masked man directed at the strange man with burn marks. “Introduce me to him.”
“Embers?” Crowley asked.
They watched as the strange man banged his bread. Wheat was so stale that it could break the table instead.
We were having a serious conversation, and he was playing with his food. Crowley cleared his throat. He redirected Embers’ attention.
“Embers, this is Noel, the one wearing the mask,” Crowley corrected. “Noel — this is Embers, the man is with this one, he can assure you.”
“Embers…” Noel stroked his mask. “That sounds like a name they give a mercenary. Tell me, Embers, what can you tell me about the houses?”
Embers set down his bread. Crowley was about to speak for him. The rat was familiar with the talking points, and Embers was not.
That was until the burnt man opened his mouth, “you’re speaking about the rich, am I correct? Let’s call them by what they are, oligarchs from a bygone era, set in their ways. Maybe they would’ve enacted different laws if they weren’t so polarized in their ways. But who can expect from the wealthy? When they even have to redefine human rights.”
Did… did Embers actually say something insightful? Crowley stared at the strange man, dumbfounded. Noel was in the same boat.
“Talking about houses feels so cold… I’m done talking,” Embers went back to bashing his bread on the table.
Easy come, easy go.
Noel apologized that he doubted them, “discussing here isn’t safe. I have to demand something for you, Crowley,” he leaned in closer. “We can discuss later.”
“Where are you going to meet?” Crowley asked.
“You know the place, and also bring Embers along.”
“How about we go now?” and away from the bland soup.
“No, I don’t approve that you barely touched your food. Please eat your fill, and you can come to see me — and aim high, Crowley,” Noel left the same he came in. Crowley''s improved senses saw no evidence of the man in the mask.
Crowey swirled around the liquid with a spoon. Colder now that he finished meeting with Noel. He came here with an agenda. He sealed his fate when he considered Noel’s proposal.
Crowley was joining an ideal he never believed in. He felt as if he made a pact with a demon.
“I can eat the soup, if you’re not going to have it,” the burnt man offered.
“No, you can’t have the soup,” the rat let out a low hiss. He pulled the bowl away and gripped the bread, hard as tack.
“You don’t have to have to bash the bread so loud.”
“Oh, now you care?”