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#1
Old 05-03-2011, 04:25 AM

Name: Chiaro
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Skin Tone: Pale tan
Hair: Black with very pale white-gray ends, nearly waist-length and in a long braid
Eyes: Left-dark green-blue Right-light yellow
Height: 6 foot 4 inches
Race: Demon; form varies based on emotional range and situation
Occupation: Soul collector/trader and librarian
Personality: Quiet and reserved, observant, distrustful, independent and intelligent.
Usual Clothing: Light white-off white long-sleeve shirt, black or brown vest, red or black tie, black or brown fitted jacket or duster, brown or black slacks, brown or black shoes, brass belt.

Other Information: Chiaro decided to get into the soul-collecting and trading business when being a simple librarian lacked in danger and failed to interest the adrenaline-seeking side of him. He is usually called upon for jobs from those he has done business with in the past, jobs he almost always takes.

His demon form varies from a black-skinned, yellow-eyed man with oddly elongated limbs and no face to a smoky slinking animal, usually resembling a cat. When under the influence of a nearly-uncontrollable rage, his form is of a grotesque hunched figure with a strong jaw and very large teeth, sharp spines along the back, and clawed hands and feet with searing red eyes. The size of this demon is twice his height, but three times his weight (of one hundred five pounds).

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#2
Old 05-03-2011, 04:55 AM

Name: Silas
Age: roughly 24-25
Skin tone: Pale-white
Hair: Long and black with red bangs normally in a low loose pony tail down to knees.
Eyes: Angel Blue
Height: 5'9"
Race: Fallen Angel; Wings are black with blue tips
Occupation: Soul sealer/ Executioner and a Falconer
Personailty: Loud and boistrous. Likes to get drunk. Is generally the one laughing. Likes to dress up for everything
Usual clothing: Long black coat and pants but with a blue top. Two holes cut in back of jacket for wings which he hides.

Other info: He chose his life as an executioner. He enjoys his life using birds to retrieve his food and such for his village. He makes really perverted jokes. He enjoys the simple things inlife. And would rather die then betray a friend.

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#3
Old 05-03-2011, 05:21 AM

His eyes swept back and forth across the pages, but took in nary a word of what he was reading. All he knew of the book was that it was a tale of pirates, and that he had opened it to a random page near the middle. Chiaro’s ears were busier than his eyes, listening for the sound of his target. He was told the man had a terrible cough and wheezing breath, and dragged his feet when he walked. But if he looked up, everyone who passed would be coughing, wheezing foot-draggers. On his bench outside a bookstore, Chiaro rested and moved his eyes left and right, absently turning pages. The scent of old paper, passing by every time the bookstore’s door opened, was welcome and familiar.

He heard the scraping first, a dull scritch on the ground. It came to him through the noise of other people, above the animals and creaking wood. The softer, unhealthy wheezing was next, cut sometimes by a sharp hacking cough. Chiaro narrowed his eyes, glancing up without taking his face from the open book. The man was certainly unhealthy: His skin was gray, eyes shadowed and bloodshot. He reeked of filth and gin, and his coat was patched and dusty. His hands shivered as they raised the coat collar up to shield his face from passersby, and occasionally he tripped on thin air. Chiaro waited patiently for him to pass, and stood. Leaving the book--which he had stolen from the bookstore--on the bench, he fell into step with the man silently, staying a good twenty feet back and keeping his brown duster tight around him. The weather was warm, but it was not uncommon to see many with long coats grasped around them for protection.

The man turned right, into a narrow alley lit with dim and flickering gas lamps. He was gasping between coughs, the effort of each step taking a toll on his weak body. He paused halfway down the alley, leaning on the wall closest to him. Chiaro reached for his belt, where one a brass instrument rested in its holster. It appeared to be a syringe, but the size was unnervingly large. He stepped forward, past the old rugs and discarded boxes, lifting his feet high to minimize the noise he made. But the rattling hansom wheels and clattering hooves of horses veiled the bulk of whatever sound he would make. He gained speed.

Without pausing, Chiaro ran full-bodied into the man’s back, knocking him off his weary feet and pushing him into a nearby rain barrel. Dirty water splashed up and over, startling the man. He yelped and flew forward, eyes wild and glaring, like daggers stabbing at Chiaro. He grasped the syringe like a knife, moving forward quickly, but the man dodged him. It caught Chiaro off guard for a moment; he had never realized the drunk could be so swift. The man was only human, that much he knew; gritting his teeth, Chiaro leapt into the man’s range of grasp and kicked forward. His foot connected, but instead of a hard ribcage that cracked, his foot sank into a soft crevice beneath the ragged, oversized shirt. His prematurely wrinkled face contorted into a grimace of pain and shock, claw-like hands grabbing Chiaro’s ankle.

He stumbled, shaking his leg, but his target’s grasp was too strong. He lost balance, falling over, but before he could struggle back up the man was on top of him. Gasping, hacking, he pushed Chiaro down and put a hand over his mouth and nose. Deprived of breath, Chiaro felt a rush of adrenaline fuel a great shove, throwing the man back. He rolled away, and Chiaro jumped up. He repositioned the syringe in his hand and rolled the man onto his stomach, pressing his knee into the small of his back and stabbing the syringe in between his shoulder blades. The man froze, seizing up and twitching. A high gasp, followed by a ragged release of air, heralded the end of the man’s life.

Chiaro pulled the syringe out of his back, and from his belt pulled a small, slender-necked bottle. Without uncorking it, he put the needle into the container and squirted an oddly clouded grayish-red mist into it. Returning the syringe to its holster, the needle slightly bloodied, Chiaro put the bottle to his ear and shook it. The mist inside undulated, and from within he could hear a faint, sorrowful scream. But even with his job done, Chiaro was eaten away with curiosity. What was wrong with the man?

Chiaro flipped him over, pushing at the soft cave in his chest. No blood appeared to stain his shirt, but mixed with the mud and soot, it was difficult to tell. He unbuttoned it, and was slightly taken aback by the sight: A decayed cavern in his chest, showing broken ribs and a dry, still heart. The skin had been eaten away, it appeared, by tiny teeth. Chiaro wrinkled his nose, re-buttoning the shirt and standing.

Last edited by Dexter Morgan; 05-03-2011 at 06:08 AM..

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#4
Old 05-03-2011, 10:56 PM

Silas was waiting for his newest shipment of souls. He needed to seal them to heaven or hell within three days of them having left their bodies. T'was a time constraint Silas could not ignore. For each soul took hours to seal. And he still had to upkeep himself with showers and food. He was a wreck and his life showed it. He shook his head his long black and red hair gleaming in the light. He sighed a deep sigh. His breath showing in the wind. This would be his last shipment from the village he was in. He never remembered names well and quite frankly didn't care. If a village needed souls to leave they simply sent a falcon or dove out. The falcon being an emergency such as a important person dying. A dove being there are an excess and they are running out of time. He could seal more then one soul but it was difficult because some souls went to heaven and distinct parts.

As all these thoughts ran through his head he was watching carefully. He knew the humans would want to attack him because of the way he was raised. He had the sound of revenge in his voice even though he wanted no revenge. He wanted redemption or to be sent to hell. Being fallen and the sealer was unbearable. He looked to the sky as birds flew over head. He was restricted to the ground. He sighed a deeper sigh. He could feel the wind beneath his wings but ignored it. He trembled thinking of flying. He watched his breath as it turned to what appeared to be smoke before him. it was his heated breath.

He remembered more of his life. When he finally got his last soul and sealed it he took to the skies quickly. Waiting in the sky for another symbol of souls needing him. He had many books with him. He had bought them and stole them and over the years he had gained a collection. The ones he had read already he kept at a house he had bought many years ago. Everyone though it was haunted and he liked it that way.

Silas looked beside him. His falcon, whom he so fondly refered to as, Hawk, for the falcon had the colors of a hawk and was sometimes mistaken for one, was flying beside him. The falcon he had bought after achieving his falconer's license was his best friend. He smiled as he flew. The light from the sky feeling good against his black wings.

Last edited by Akarii Saisoko; 05-03-2011 at 11:26 PM..

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#5
Old 05-04-2011, 02:41 AM

Chiaro sat amongst the tall, silent books, tapping his pen on the wooden desk. The bottle containing the coughing bum’s soul rested in front of him, and the twining gray-red mist within screeched still. It would be that way for a while; a soul would be distraught at being forced from its owner, but after forty-eight hours, that scream would dull to a faint moan of sadness. But Chiaro was curious about several things that would not let him get up to find a book to read:

Why was his client interested in an ill old drunk’s soul? Of course, there were many like him, the something must have been special about that particular man. Certainly he was strong, and very odd. No human Chiaro knew could live with--let alone walk about with--a decayed hole in his chest. He was most likely not a human, though his client had noted otherwise. Chiaro had no doubt the man wanted to keep it from him, most likely for fear he would decline the job.

A bell rang, signaling the arrival of someone new to Chiaro’s library. Chiaro looked up, and jumped to his feet: White hair, slightly thinning, and a face that slightly resembled a pigeon. His eyes were small and black, magnified behind huge circular wire-rimmed glasses. He wore the clothes of a funeral-goer with a hat pulled low over his face. “Chiaro.” He said simply, in a voice raspy and dry with age. “I didn’t expect to see you here so… soon.”

“Of course you didn’t. You obviously underestimated my abilities.” Chiaro lifted the bottle. “And here is the man’s soul, ready for collection.” At the sight of the bottle, the other man’s beady eyes widened, and he stepped forward with an outstretched hand. Chiaro hesitated, drawing back. “One moment, my good man.” He studied the gray-red mist thoughtfully. “Something is bothering me. I would like to know why this man was still alive, even after obtaining a wound as grave as the one he had.”

“I wouldn’t know,” the older man replied. His outstretched hand twitched. “Please, just hand over his soul.”

“I’m sure you do know. If you’re keeping things from me, Addison, I will not give you this soul, and I will not do any other jobs for you.”

“You don’t need to know, Chiaro!” Addison gritted his teeth. “Give me the damn soul!”

“No!” Chiaro slammed the crystal bottle down. “You will not lie to me. You will not keep anything from me. When I agree to a job, I expect to be fully aware of anything and everything that will happen or may happen when I’ve taken over investigation or tracking or repossession, or anything, for that matter.” He closed his eyes as a burning sensation spread over his face. He didn‘t fight it. “I will not let you have the upper hand.”

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#6
Old 05-04-2011, 03:19 AM

Silas watched as his falcon dove and rose in the air. His mind was always elsewhere. He looked down and his feathers shifted. He noticed a strong feeling coming off a village. He flew down quickly to keep himself hidden and to stay in the dark. He heard yelling what stood out the most to him was when someone yelled “Give me the damn soul!” It was then that he realized he was needed. He pulled his wings through his shirt and jacket and folded them tightly against his back. He felt each feather fold neatly against his spine. Though large in both width and stature he knew how to hide them well. He went into the library feigning being human.

He looked around listening in carefully on the conversation. He, under the cover of his bangs, looked at the soul in the room. It was a drunkard's soul obviously destined for Hell clearly. He heard its silent screeches. He picked up a book and began flipping through pages readying his wings to fly and get the soul in a moments notice. He chuckled silently his shoulders heaving in breath. Silas glanced more carefully at the situation.

One man was requesting the soul while the one who appeared to have retireved it,which was a process even Silas didn't know how to do, was denying it. Clearly the one standing over the one called Chiaro was threanting Chiaro in some form. Silas instinctively stepped back slowly getting closer to the men making it appear as if he was looking for a specific book. He coughed as humans do, took in air as humans do, even sniffled as humans do. The only thing that he couldn't make seem human was the effect he had on humans. He made them get chills. He didn't know how to change it. Some did. He felt that at one time he had known. Perhaps when he had been in heaven and responsible for dealing with bad transfers. But now he couldn't remember.

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#7
Old 05-04-2011, 04:22 AM

Chiaro felt the presence of another, but refused to acknowledge it. The feeling was more than human, certainly, but his focus was on Addison and his anger didn’t like being ignored. The burning spread to his entire body, tingling at first, then hurting. His arms and legs felt as though someone were pulling on them with all their might, and his teeth grew to a point to where he could only just close his mouth. Chiaro’s skin was darkening, as though his blood were thickening and being pushed to the surface, but spreading faster than blood could move. And instead of creating wounds that wept, the darkness became a thick mist that dissipated when it touched the air. His hands had followed the path of his limbs, elongating like a spider’s limbs. As his body expanded, his joints and bones creaked and snapped into place.

Addison’s face had fallen and clouded with fear. The soul had been wiped from his memory, and the anger was overcome by a stiff fear. Chiaro had grown three extra feet, his arms and legs and body unnaturally long and thin, his eyes a glowering yellow, and when he stepped over the desk that separated them Addison fumbled backward. His feet got in one another’s way, and he staggered into a book shelf. A shadow near the end of the isle moved, and vanished, but he was more absorbed by the one in front of him. The clothing that had once covered Chiaro had darkened into a deep black and formed to fit his new state, and they seemed to give off the same mist that his skin did. When Addison ran for the door, Chiaro grabbed him by the throat.

Lifting him high into the air, he slammed Addison against the wall beside the door so hard it shuddered the books on their shelves. He passed his nearly-formless face close to Addison’s and hissed “I will not let you live this down.” He growled. “You will not get the soul back, and if you’re not careful, Addison, you will end up like the drunkard you sent me after. And you don’t want that, do you?”

Addison coughed in reply. He couldn’t get a breath enough to reply. Chiaro hissed again, throwing his breath into Addison’s face. It was an odd, sickly-sweet floral scent, and overcame his senses. His head lolled brokenly, and in finality, Chiaro dropped him to the floor. His anger had faded, and a different pain enveloped his body; it felt cold as an overwhelming crushing sensation compacted him. His bones collapsed onto one another and rearranged themselves, the odd shadow-like appearance of his skin paling once more. His teeth dulled, shortened, and his jaw straightened. He gasped when it was over, rearranging his clothing. Demonic transformation was always painful, even for the strongest of demons.

As he stared at Addison with a disgusted wrinkle in his brow, a pang of realization hit him; he had sensed someone--a non-human--enter the library when he and Addison were at one another’s throats. He had left the soul unguarded.

Last edited by Dexter Morgan; 05-04-2011 at 08:36 PM..

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#8
Old 05-04-2011, 04:36 AM

Silas had taken advantage of the one named Chiaro transforming. Silas had torn his shirt and gotten the soul he was now flying at half speed towards the window. He could feel the darkness in the room and it practically crushed him to the floor. Silas had never been restrained and being in a demons presence had nearly trapped him. His heart punding as fast as a humming birds Silas had broke through the window and smacked into the stone wall across the way. He felt the blood run down his nose as he quickly did something he would regret later he took the vial and hid it between his feathers as his body hit the ground with a large thud.

Silas knew that in his wings souls could not be sensed or even found. He gasped for air as he drew his wings close to his back. The cold vial against his skin felt good. He mentally did an over look of his body. He felt one of his wings would need a slight splint and his ankle would need some fixing but it was nothing he couldn't stand. Being thrown from heaven had been the worst pain ever. To know you were rejected. But he had found solice in the fact he could redeem himself by sealing souls to heaven or hell under the light of the moon.

Now that he had the soul all he had to do was find a silent room and seal it to hell. He began walking towards an inn. He longed for rest. Adreneline still pumping in his ears. He felt it. The fight or flight feeling booming, ringing, screaming throughout his body. He quickly purchased a room in the inn. The young woman at the counter eyeing him lustfully. It was a looking he had grown used to. He went upstairs and took out the paper for sealing sould and placed it on the qround it was simple yet intracate. It had the earth in the center with a pair of angel wings above it signifying heaven. And a pair of bat like wings beneath it singnifying hell. He sat and focused his breathing getting deeper. He listened to everything around him for a moment. Hearing nothing disturbing he relaxed.

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#9
Old 05-04-2011, 04:59 AM

Chiaro did not have to turn to know the soul was gone. The feeling he had gotten at the presence of the newcomer had not been of a human. But when he lifted Addison’s body and turned, he was not surprised to see no crystal bottle on his desk. His heart was pounding, adrenaline giving him a strength boost. He kicked open the door and tossed Addison onto the sidewalk. A passerby, a young woman with startling silver-blue hair, gasped. “Sir Addison!” She gasped, covering her mouth. “Wh-what?” Her eyes trained on Chiaro.

“Dear, the man reeks of alcohol. He staggered in and started demolishing my irreplaceable books. I would be watchful if I were you.” Chiaro nodded with a sincere look on his face, and closed the door, this time sliding the lock into place.

Returning to his desk, he unclipped his belt and laid it across the papers scattered here and there. He unhooked his soul collector and revealed the syringe. Its blood had already thickened and dried on the needle. As he cleaned it, slowly and carefully with a white rag, he contemplated the odd happenings. It was such a mystery to him how a human could survive such a gruesome wound, with his heart shriveled and dry and his ribs broken. No wonder he coughed, no wonder it took such effort to travel the way he did. But he wished he had the soul; a fallen angel had taken it, Chiaro sensed the presence even after it had gone. The drunkard would go to Hell, and there was nothing he could do. Even an eternity in a little crystal bottle was better than Hell. But Chiaro shook the thought from his head. Ever since his disgrace, he had felt Hell would be a more fitting setting for him.

Still, the soul was not a terrible loss. Not especially valuable, especially in the sorry state its owner had been in. As Chiaro replaced the soul extractor back into its holster, he stood and began roaming the shelves. Surely, he thought, something resided on the shelves that would explain or detail the would he had seen on the man.

Last edited by Dexter Morgan; 05-04-2011 at 08:40 PM..

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#10
Old 05-04-2011, 05:10 AM

Silas sat and set the soul's vial on the bat wings. His heart still slightly racing he focused on Hell and the fire it brang. He focused on the damnation of the soul and in a few short minutes a small portal had opened and the vial had fallen in. He breathed a sigh of relieve knowing the vial would be safe. It was small and well compacted therefore easier to transfer. The ones he was used to had been free wandering therefore harder to send.

Silas flopped over on his side and looked at the paper. He picked it up and put it back again. He began humming, lightly to himself. he got up and decided to go talk with the stupid librarian who should have hid the soul. He stood up and went down to the bar ordering a beer. He sighed and gulped it down. He then retrieved a smile from the depths of his soul and went to the librarians library.

"So, Your a demon" He said coming through the window sitting on the huge hole he had created as he laughed a deep laugh. He was partially intoxicated. he loved the feeling it was warm and his soul felt up lifted. He grinned and bit his thumb nail. He loved laughing. If it was truly needed he would simply attempt to send the demon called Chiaro to hell, and if that failed him he would leave.

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#11
Old 05-04-2011, 05:23 AM

Chiaro disliked being interrupted when he was reading. He decided to finish the paragraph he was on before looking up and lacing his fingers in front of him. He recognized the feeling he got from the man. He was more than a man. An angel. Albeit a drunk angel. Even from a distance Chiaro could smell it. He humored the young angel.

“Yes, I’m a demon. You are the one who stole that useless soul, I have no doubt about it.” He stood, glad he had placed his belt and soul extractor in one of the desk drawers. “You could have asked, you know.”

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#12
Old 05-04-2011, 05:31 AM

Silas laughed "Wanna hear a joke?" He asked clearly happy about the conversation. "But you were so scary." he said now getting drunker. It was quite funny to him. He licked his fingers of the souls remenants. "Well?" He asked

The demon wasn't really scary to him but he wanted to make fun of the demon. He liked it. He got amusement out of it. He watched the demon as his long black hair began to billow in the wind. He chuckled "It is about vampires...' He said trying to entice Chiaro into hearing the joke.

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#13
Old 05-04-2011, 05:45 AM

“I’ve been told I have a dry sense of humor.” Chiaro sighed. He felt the draft from the broken window muss his hair, but said nothing about it. “I didn’t expect you to be ‘a-scared’ of my medium form anyway. Any human fool who is less than used to it usually cowers, though.” He wondered why the fallen angel was smiling. Nothing about the situation seemed the least bit funny, and to make fun of a demon? They usually ignored the foolish remarks or taunts. Chiaro was of no exception. He could hear the obvious slur in the angel’s voice. “Fine.” He said at last. “I’ll humor you. Let me hear.”

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#14
Old 05-04-2011, 11:11 PM

Slias grinned and stamped his foot on the ground. "Well hot dog we got a taker" He said in a southern accent. "One day a vampire goes into a bar. He says to the bar tender 'I want a glass of blood!' the bartender gives him some. Then another vampire walks in and says the same thing. The bartender again gives the vampire a glass of blood. Finally a third vampire comes in and the bartender says 'let me guess you want a glass of blood' the vamprie shakes his head no and says 'give me a glass of hot water' the bartender looks confused and asks 'Why?' but gives the man a glass of hot water the vampire then proceeds to hold up a tampon and say 'Tea time!'" silas laughed and laughed. Clearly burning off energy from being drunk

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#15
Old 05-04-2011, 11:21 PM

Chiaro curled his lip. “What a vulgar excuse for humor.” He hissed. “But I wouldn’t call you ‘classy’. What makes you think I would even crack a smile?” He reached behind him, grabbing the open book and slamming it shut. “I would leave now if I were you.” He added, brushing past the angel and walking down the isles. “I’m not planning on doing anything to you, mind. But as you obviously saw, this is a library, and a place for quiet.” Studying the dark shelves, he narrowed his eyes. “You have my stolen soul; it’s probably met its fate by now. So what other business have you here?”

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#16
Old 05-04-2011, 11:29 PM

Silas became serious "From the looks of it alot. What with the soul deterioration and what not." He muttered keeping his eyes low. He shivered at the thought of soul deterioration. "You wouldn't know. You are a demon sent to hell by.." He looked at the demon carefully "Huh. God himself." he smirked "And the point wasn't to get you to smile, and I am not your enemy. Soul trading is supposed to be strictly between a soul collector and soul sealer. You know that idiot." he growled his feathers ruffling.

Silas had no issue using souls for currency and such but he didn't like it when someone did it without the supervision of an angel. It was practically forbidden. "And you clearly are incompetent." he said looking around the library "Millions of empty bottles. You don't know the three day rule do you." he asked impatiently.

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#17
Old 05-05-2011, 01:24 AM

“Of course I know the three day rule!” Chiaro slammed the book into its place. “But I know a way around it. I know how to keep a soul alive and fresh and well-preserved in my little bottles, because my bottles are forged by… Ah, a friend.” He stared at the spines of the books, all cracked with age and use. “I may be only a demon, as you say, fallen angel. But I can figure out the basics. We’ve been trading souls for years, as long as they are extracted by my items, and placed in my bottles. I have several that are over fifty years old, very valuable ones.”

Chiaro sighed. He hated talking so much. He hated being called an incompetent fool. He knew what he did was nearly forbidden unless an angel was present, but one had to make a living beside thinning the herd of useless persons. Chiaro felt there was a question in the eyes of the fallen angel, he could see it. A question as to how he collected souls. He had no intention of letting him in on the fact, since it was hardly a secret. In fact, some of the books in his library detailed the item and simple extraction process. Chiaro had been to Hell, had spent years there, and had even made a name for himself there. Nothing completely scared him anymore.

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#18
Old 05-05-2011, 03:00 AM

Silas nodded "No need to get all worked up" he chuckled now sober. He brought one of his wings around and began pulling out old feathers that were beginning to rot. Silas sighed as he plucked out each individual feather. He hated when his feathers rotted it was more reason to remind him that he was dying from lack of heaven or hell. He sighed and pulled his other wing around and began plucking feathers from it. He sighed deeply.

"You aren't scary. But you are incompetent and stupid." Silas said to Chiaro as he pulled out one of his lengthier feathers and threw it to the ground. He ran his hands against his feathers gently soft sleek and black. He smiled feelling how they so gently ran into the other. He found a tick and pulled it out before it had a chance to lay its eggs. He then folded them firmly against his back again. He looked at Chiaro "Infact, I don't believe I will call you Chiaro. You will be Baka. I will give you your name back when I feel you deserve it."

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#19
Old 05-05-2011, 03:15 AM

“Is that all you can do in the end?” Chiaro hardly minded the filthy feathers on the floor. In his presence, they would rot and turn to dust in hours, if not less. “Muster enough brain power to simply call me a jackass? You have no ability to take my name from me. No living or nonliving creature upon this earth is able to take one’s name from someone. You can call me whatever you want, angel. But nothing you say will, shall I say, ruffle my feathers.”

He backed up and turned, staring at the books. He searched for no title in particular. He had read them all. “I don’t know everything.” He said at last. “Nor to I believe myself to. But neither do you! No one on this weary little rock knows everything.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m tired now, angel. You can attempt to send me to Hell, but I will be welcome there. I don’t care anymore.”

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#20
Old 05-05-2011, 03:38 AM

Silas sighed "Good night then." He said fluttering his wings. He smiled and left the demon in peace but not before taking the book that would tell Chiaro what the man's illness was. Silas snook out with it and smiled. He went to his room and sat down and began reading. He read silently and long into the night. He read till it was midnight. He sighed and opened the window taking in the fresh air and the moonlight. Preening his feathers in the moon. He smiled a little.

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#21
Old 05-05-2011, 03:49 AM

Chiaro sighed. The man was smart, yes, but he obviously thought Chiaro was completely foolish. He went back to his desk and shifted the papers about. Two he had folded in half, one side appearing rather ragged and ripped. The book the angel had taken would have detailed the drunkard’s wound and how he would have been able to survive it. The angel would read the book, yes. But he would have a hard time finding the middle pages. He studied them quickly, absorbing every word.

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#22
Old 05-13-2011, 03:03 AM

Chiaro looked outside. It was a little lighter, mostly because the moon had grown and was a very pale orange-yellow. In any other realm, the sun would have been up and shining, but the moon stood in its place. The gas lamps were lit a bit brighter, glowing over the streets in heavier tones of light and shadow. For the longest time Chiaro stared at the papers before him, going over them twice, three times, stopping to think about what he read. Stopping, still, to contemplate the man whose soul he had stolen. His body had been all but consumed by decay, a shell walking and coughing and fighting. As the windows flanking the entrance door lightened, just a bit, Chiaro had his answer.

The man’s soul had been forced from his body while he was still alive. Forced, not taken. Forcing one’s soul from the living body, instead of willing it out of its home, causes fast-spreading decay to take over the body, preserving the organs but doing massive damage. It degenerates the health, but strengthens the person. Chiaro nodded. He had no soul, of course, which is how he could extract those from others without feeling remorse for them. But he had willingly given up his soul, to be free of those bothersome emotions. He was still alive, in a sense. Once one goes to Hell, it’s hard to tell.

He sat back in his chair, shredding the papers. The contents were already in his mind, he didn’t need them anymore. From under his shirt, he pulled something into view. It was on a bronze string, and a small bottle hung on the end. The contents were black, swirling as a mist. His soul was silent, and sometimes it would create a human shape before dissipating back into a formless mass. He had had it for at least ten years, since he had decided to leave Hell and trade souls. Some he personally transported them there, as long as the devils or demons sought his assistance. But he had decided to keep his soul, for reasons he didn’t fully understand. It hardly mattered, since it was not subject to degeneration like many others in hold by simple glass or crystal bottles. Like the souls Chiaro collected, using his own specially-made bottles, the soul was perfectly preserved and well alive.

The door knob turned, and Chiaro hid the soul again. Jumping up, he strode to the door and glanced out the window. It was a familiar man, with a strange, semi-permanent smile, and Chiaro slid the lock aside. The door opened, and his acquaintance stepped inside. “Chiaro.” He said, the smile oddly out of place in comparison to the solemn tone of his voice. “My brother, your soul-trade client, was murdered. You have to come with me, now.”

Akarii Saisoko
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#23
Old 05-13-2011, 04:23 AM

Silas laid there in bed he already had known what had happened to the soul he simply didn't want the demon to know. Silas knew the bottles were good to keep souls in because a demon had owned them and being in a demons presence preseverd souls. But they weren't his to collect. Silas had every intention of killing Chiaro the second he saw the souls but... he hadn't known why he didn't/ Silas tried to laugh and be merry but he knew when serious business was going down. Silas cursed. He had no weappon either and had known he wasn;t strong enough to confront Chiaro in any form of duel.
"Damnit all!" He cursed he had no way to express anger. No knife to throw, nothing to punch, nothing to break.

Silas was a strong man, yes but he had no real desire to sell his soul. Many a demon had tried to convince him but... he just couldn't. He had nothing to wait for to keep his soul for. He was a worthless Fallen angel. Or as many Angels called them just Fallen. When Silas had Fallen many Angels were shocked. Silas knew why he had fallen but he revealed it to no one.

Silas looked at the ceiling laying on his bed. Wondering Why. Why collect the souls the way they do. Why send them to heaven or hell the way they do. Why do any of it. Silas let out a small growl. If anything he was the fool. He remembered the day he had died. His mind flashed back to his death.
'Brooother!!! Brooother!' his sister Elisa called for him. He turned to her his dark black hair tied back in a pony tail he was a Warrior for his family. It was his twentieth Birthday. 'Brother!' Elisa had caught up to him. 'Yes Elisa?' He asked being polite. 'Brother, Momma says Be Careful.' She smiled as he did 'Okay Elisa, now go home before you get hurt.' he was leaving to fight in a war. Which one he had not remembered. He had only left for ten minutes when he heard a scream. He turned and there on the ground was his sister. He had been ambushed. They knew where he was. the enemies. They captured his sister and quickly finished him off. Slicing through him from right shoulder to right hip. His torso still alive. he died slowly.

"A Pitiful Death for a Pitiful man" Silas muttered. When he had went to Heaven he had looked for his sister. He had been unable to find her. "i bet she can't even remember her own name." He whispered. She had been so little so small. No more the age of eight. He let out a small choked sob. He sighed and rose from the bed. His sister had been very dear to him. He cursed. He didn't know how long ago it was. He couldn't tell day from day. He had once tried to count days but each time he marked the calendar he came back the next day and a new one was in its place. he sighed. He looked out the window and saw someone at the book shop Chiaro owned. He watched intently.

Dexter Morgan
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#24
Old 05-13-2011, 05:05 AM

Chiaro had to pause to take in what the man had said. Vince, was his name, but Chiaro had never bothered to learn his last name. His brother Atticus had always engaged in the trade of souls, and was very well-known around the city. A familiar feeling rose in his chest, that of anger. Though he normally felt no emotion, anger was still a close friend to the demon who had none. He went back to his desk, grabbing his belt and clipping it on under his jacket. Sensing a faint chill run down his spine, Chiaro returned to the door and pushed Vince into the street and shut the door, running his index finger along the space between the door and jamb. It glowered with a faint purple-black tone, then faded. Quickly, he pulled Vince into the alley beside the library, away from any prying eyes.

“Dead.” Chiaro said. “Atticus is dead. How?” He glared at Vince, twisting his hair. The man was hardly as tall as him, and a little jumpy in his small black clothes. When he was silent at the question, Chiaro turned vicious. “Damn it, Vincent, how, how!?”

“I don’t know! We found him in his house an hour ago--”

“We? Vince, what do you mean we?”

“We as in… Well, I went to get the police.”

“Vincent, you fool!” Chiaro grabbed him and pushed him back, into the library’s wall halfway down the alley. “What have you done!? Bringing me to the scene of a murder when Atticus and I are in an illegal trading ring! Should I kill you, my boy?” He reached to his belt for something. “Are you really this stupid?”

“No! I didn’t tell them what you and he are involved in.” Vince’s smile had gone, replaced by wide eyes and trembling hands that held onto Chiaro’s wrist. “I only said you and he were business partners and working with a couple towns outside the city.”

Chiaro took a breath. Slowly, he released the weapon he had gone for, and stood back. “Vince, you never go after police until after I’ve been informed, especially since your brother is… was one of my best clients.” He pulled Vince along again, letting his mind clear before getting to the next street. It was a familiar sense, that which he felt. A trace of worry, or something that may have been worry in the past. Chiaro shook his head, getting that thought out of his head. Recalling emotion was to recall his first visit to Hell. It was not the most pleasant visit, and he had the scars to prove it. Still, he thought, he had something else to focus on: His dead partner in the soul-trade business. They stepped onto the next street, moving left and parallel to the police station itself.

Akarii Saisoko
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#25
Old 05-16-2011, 05:37 AM

Silas heaved. His wings were taking on a bigger weight then he had expected. It was weighing on him now. His fall. He quickly folded his wings against his back. He lightly stepped down stairs and went to the bar. He couldn't think straight. His mind swirled with regret and anguish. He sat down at an empty table. Humans would naturally flock to him. The humans didn't know they would head to their death if they followed him. He smiled as a young woman served him and he drank heartily.

His mind swarmed as the alcohol took effect. Getting him drunk enough to where he couldn't think straight but not drink enough to where he couldn't do his job. He laughed and cheered with the humans as they spoke about rebellious wives and enemies. He envied the humans. Life was so mortal to them. They didn't need to think about everyday they spent on earth as he did. He flustered as he felt his soul chill. A soul of a soul trader passed before him and swirled around him. Beckoning him to the scene of the crime before disappearing. he noticed Chiaro and since he presence would probably already be known he chose not to hide it. He stood beside Chiaro with a grin on his face. "Quite a mess isn't it?"

 



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