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The ghosts that we knew (will flicker from view) [LH!verse fic]
It's almost poetic, Nadir thinks. Though it's unimaginably cruel, he is not surprised. He always knew his past would one day come back to haunt him, even in death. Having all he could ever want among the paradise in Heaven's clouds. Despite the reality of the afterlife not lining up with his beliefs in life, Nadir cared little about it the moment that he laid eyes on his wife and son--A son that could walk once again.
But he's been torn from them, for the moment. Out of some twisted obligation. Because even in death, even with the Khanum burning in Hell, Nadir found that he could not escape her influence. It would seem as if Blue Sky and Brimstone work in tandem more often than not.
"And here I thought I was doing you a favor, Daroga. I hear Heaven is dreadfully dull."
"I was content."
"Indeed. Well, I shan't keep you from your contentment very long. I have a task for you, one your performed quite well in life. I expect that you can repeat it. I'm looking for an old friend of ours."
Finding Erik in Hell has made finding him in Russia seem like a child's errand. At least he had somewhere to start, now Nadir has nothing to go on at all. He has been at this for months with nothing to show for it. He's begun to wonder if it would be possible to simply pay off an Angel Escort and return to Heaven without fulfilling the Khanum's request. But he fears for Reza and Rookheeya's safety, even in Heaven. Nadir would never forgive himself if because of his selfishness, they were thrown to the wolves of Hell for no reason other than that he failed to fetch the Khanum's favorite toy.
Under his breath, he curses his friend's name. For being such an elusive creature, for somehow unwittingly putting Nadir in this position again.
Though really, he is curious what has become of Erik since his death. Nadir doesn't want to admit that he misses him.
He knows it's a long shot, this shady dive bar is the last sort of place he'd ever expect to find Erik in but the rumors are too good to pass up. He leans against the back of his chair, observing the various demons as they go about their business here. He has heard talk from many of them in this town that there is a dark, shadowed being. One that even the most hardened, psychotic and ruthless demons avoid if they can. As the stories go, this shadow was never human, never alive in the first place. A chaotic force that some called the purest evil, others claimed it was benevolent and brought justice.
And it had the voice of an angel. Supposedly, it would make an appearance here. One of its favorite haunts, this wretched establishment.
His eyes slip closed and for a moment, he lets his guard down. He drifts into a memory, reliving the past until complete and utter silence falls over the bar. The absence of sound draws him back to attention, eyes darting around the room. Everyone here seems to be fixated on whatever just walked through the door. From his position in the back, he cannot quite see but Nadir can guess, based on the sudden, crackling tension racing through the air.
The silence is broken by echoing footsteps slowly tapping across the floor. High-heeled shoes against wood ticking along like an ominous countdown. The figure responsible is clad black entirely, a shadow indeed. Yet all of Nadir's hopes are dashed--Clearly, this dark creature is a woman. Even in stilettos, her height is barely average. Underneath that flowing, velvet coat is a frame that is obviously rather petite. Yet the obvious power that radiated from her every motion was nothing to scoff at. It isn't often that something renders a bar full of demons momentarily breathless.
She walks up to the bar and drops a few golden coins on the counter. The bartender takes the coin and brings forth a smuggled bottle of living world whisky. He uncorks it for her before sliding it in her direction. Before it reaches her, a demon takes a swipe at it, unable to resist the allure of stealing stolen whisky. A blink later, he's crying out in pain. In an instant, the shadowed woman had pulled a blade and immediately ran it right through his hand. She turns towards him with fire in her eyes and twists the blade through the demons flesh again. He growls and his free hand reaches towards the holster at his hip. But the shadow woman doesn't allow him to draw his gun. She lifts her knife from his hand and instead plunges it deep into his neck. As she withdraws it, a sick, gurgling sound comes from the demon's throat. Blood cascades from his wound as he grasps at it, in shock from the sudden pain.
"Don't touch my whisky," the woman says calmly. He cannot place it but this woman feels familiar somehow. Every motion was imbued with a certain calculated grace. Gentle, yet undoubtedly threatening and capable of violence at the slightest provocation--
But he's been torn from them, for the moment. Out of some twisted obligation. Because even in death, even with the Khanum burning in Hell, Nadir found that he could not escape her influence. It would seem as if Blue Sky and Brimstone work in tandem more often than not.
"And here I thought I was doing you a favor, Daroga. I hear Heaven is dreadfully dull."
"I was content."
"Indeed. Well, I shan't keep you from your contentment very long. I have a task for you, one your performed quite well in life. I expect that you can repeat it. I'm looking for an old friend of ours."
Finding Erik in Hell has made finding him in Russia seem like a child's errand. At least he had somewhere to start, now Nadir has nothing to go on at all. He has been at this for months with nothing to show for it. He's begun to wonder if it would be possible to simply pay off an Angel Escort and return to Heaven without fulfilling the Khanum's request. But he fears for Reza and Rookheeya's safety, even in Heaven. Nadir would never forgive himself if because of his selfishness, they were thrown to the wolves of Hell for no reason other than that he failed to fetch the Khanum's favorite toy.
Under his breath, he curses his friend's name. For being such an elusive creature, for somehow unwittingly putting Nadir in this position again.
Though really, he is curious what has become of Erik since his death. Nadir doesn't want to admit that he misses him.
He knows it's a long shot, this shady dive bar is the last sort of place he'd ever expect to find Erik in but the rumors are too good to pass up. He leans against the back of his chair, observing the various demons as they go about their business here. He has heard talk from many of them in this town that there is a dark, shadowed being. One that even the most hardened, psychotic and ruthless demons avoid if they can. As the stories go, this shadow was never human, never alive in the first place. A chaotic force that some called the purest evil, others claimed it was benevolent and brought justice.
And it had the voice of an angel. Supposedly, it would make an appearance here. One of its favorite haunts, this wretched establishment.
His eyes slip closed and for a moment, he lets his guard down. He drifts into a memory, reliving the past until complete and utter silence falls over the bar. The absence of sound draws him back to attention, eyes darting around the room. Everyone here seems to be fixated on whatever just walked through the door. From his position in the back, he cannot quite see but Nadir can guess, based on the sudden, crackling tension racing through the air.
The silence is broken by echoing footsteps slowly tapping across the floor. High-heeled shoes against wood ticking along like an ominous countdown. The figure responsible is clad black entirely, a shadow indeed. Yet all of Nadir's hopes are dashed--Clearly, this dark creature is a woman. Even in stilettos, her height is barely average. Underneath that flowing, velvet coat is a frame that is obviously rather petite. Yet the obvious power that radiated from her every motion was nothing to scoff at. It isn't often that something renders a bar full of demons momentarily breathless.
She walks up to the bar and drops a few golden coins on the counter. The bartender takes the coin and brings forth a smuggled bottle of living world whisky. He uncorks it for her before sliding it in her direction. Before it reaches her, a demon takes a swipe at it, unable to resist the allure of stealing stolen whisky. A blink later, he's crying out in pain. In an instant, the shadowed woman had pulled a blade and immediately ran it right through his hand. She turns towards him with fire in her eyes and twists the blade through the demons flesh again. He growls and his free hand reaches towards the holster at his hip. But the shadow woman doesn't allow him to draw his gun. She lifts her knife from his hand and instead plunges it deep into his neck. As she withdraws it, a sick, gurgling sound comes from the demon's throat. Blood cascades from his wound as he grasps at it, in shock from the sudden pain.
"Don't touch my whisky," the woman says calmly. He cannot place it but this woman feels familiar somehow. Every motion was imbued with a certain calculated grace. Gentle, yet undoubtedly threatening and capable of violence at the slightest provocation--
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All the king's horses and all the king's men, Couldn't put me back together again
When Bennett still had her own voice, it had whispered something to her that night. The night that everything fell apart. It was so small, so quiet, telling her to perhaps think things through more thoroughly before charging head first into Caroline's crusade. But how could she have resisted her? Caroline, the only person that had ever shown any sort of care for Bennett the person and not just Bennett the scientist.
She knew how far Rossum reached. She knew how dangerous they could be. And yet, in the moment, it didn't matter what Rossum could do or might do, should the entire plan Bennett and Caroline had concocted gone to Hell.
It shouldn't have surprised Bennett when they forced her into what amounted to slavery.
If she had still had her own mind, she would have been impressed, blown away by the capabilities of this technology. Instead, as she sat across the table from that insufferable woman, DeWitt, Bennett had been in too much pain to think straight. Either be shuffled off this mortal coil with little ceremony or sign her life away, allow Rossum to use her mangled arm in some experimental nerve regrowth trial with the promise that she'd always have a job within the company after serving some sort of sentence.
Perhaps that punishment was worse than death. Not that Bennett knew that, her real mind now sitting on a hard drive. Bits and pieces of it now floating around in the databases the Dollhouse programmers drew on to create personalities.
As for her physical body, (that was now fully healed thanks to that experimental procedure on her arm,) the so-called empty shell, was now an Active in Los Angeles known to the staff as Delta. Not nearly as popular as many of the other Dolls, Delta was often left idle in the house, in the state of tabula rasa. Of course, some behavior patterns couldn't be scrubbed clean from a brain as vastly complicated as this one. Often times, Delta liked to keep to herself, even when other Actives would seek her out or be friendly, Delta would avoid them.
She was also the absolute worst offender of the rule "Do not go upstairs without your handler." If Delta could not be found, it was more than likely she had wandered up to the imprint lab. She would not be much of a bother, would still, as always, keep to herself and simply watch as Topher and Ivy worked.
Today, she sat on the couch, hands folded in her lap. Her big brown eyes fixated on the computer screen sitting on the desk. Insatiably curious, she was. But Delta knew better than to meddle. She was content to take refuge from the other Dolls up here. It was very rare for her to speak but for whatever reason, today she was feeling brave.
"You never sit down," she looks up at Topher the next time he passes through the lab, "Do you not get tired? I try to be my best but then I get tired."
She knew how far Rossum reached. She knew how dangerous they could be. And yet, in the moment, it didn't matter what Rossum could do or might do, should the entire plan Bennett and Caroline had concocted gone to Hell.
It shouldn't have surprised Bennett when they forced her into what amounted to slavery.
If she had still had her own mind, she would have been impressed, blown away by the capabilities of this technology. Instead, as she sat across the table from that insufferable woman, DeWitt, Bennett had been in too much pain to think straight. Either be shuffled off this mortal coil with little ceremony or sign her life away, allow Rossum to use her mangled arm in some experimental nerve regrowth trial with the promise that she'd always have a job within the company after serving some sort of sentence.
Perhaps that punishment was worse than death. Not that Bennett knew that, her real mind now sitting on a hard drive. Bits and pieces of it now floating around in the databases the Dollhouse programmers drew on to create personalities.
As for her physical body, (that was now fully healed thanks to that experimental procedure on her arm,) the so-called empty shell, was now an Active in Los Angeles known to the staff as Delta. Not nearly as popular as many of the other Dolls, Delta was often left idle in the house, in the state of tabula rasa. Of course, some behavior patterns couldn't be scrubbed clean from a brain as vastly complicated as this one. Often times, Delta liked to keep to herself, even when other Actives would seek her out or be friendly, Delta would avoid them.
She was also the absolute worst offender of the rule "Do not go upstairs without your handler." If Delta could not be found, it was more than likely she had wandered up to the imprint lab. She would not be much of a bother, would still, as always, keep to herself and simply watch as Topher and Ivy worked.
Today, she sat on the couch, hands folded in her lap. Her big brown eyes fixated on the computer screen sitting on the desk. Insatiably curious, she was. But Delta knew better than to meddle. She was content to take refuge from the other Dolls up here. It was very rare for her to speak but for whatever reason, today she was feeling brave.
"You never sit down," she looks up at Topher the next time he passes through the lab, "Do you not get tired? I try to be my best but then I get tired."
But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view...
January, 13th. Little Hades, The Reform Branch Offices.
Bennett looks at the calendar that's propped up on the receptionist's desk. It's her birthday. Not that it matters. Not that that's ever really mattered to her to begin with. She hadn't paid much attention to dates much when she'd been alive and she certainly hasn't been paying attention since she died either.
Death. Real death. It's still strange for her to think about, even months after it happened. The mechanics of death had been so skewed in Bete Noire. People died, so many people had died but they always came back. Until they stopped. The magic that had held the City of Sin together had started to fail. Bennett, being one of the city's favorites, got caught in the final crossfire.
She did what she had to do to protect the people she loved. She had known full well she might end up dead-dead from her actions but it was worth it. She'd die again, over and over if it meant getting to protect the people that had become everything to her...
So now she's been dead for a while. Four months, she realizes the exact amount of time it's been when she sees that calendar. She misses Topher so much. Before Bete Noire had decided to implode in on itself, they may have even been dancing around a few conversations that may have heavily implied an engagement was imminent.
Which is why when asked for her name, she's been giving it as Dr. Brink. Dr. Bennett Brink. It feels right. It's a way to feel connected to him while they're apart.
It's hard to believe it's been four months already. Once upon a time, Bennett would not have handled such a separation from him so well, but she's been doing alright. Perhaps she's just been distracted with work. Something she'd desperately like to get back to. Which is why she's sitting here, tapping her feet, fidgeting and gnawing on her fingernails. First the right hand, then the left. Old habits die hard.
But if there's one thing that Bete Noire has taught her...good byes are never forever.
"Mr. Lyman will see you now, Dr. Brink," the girl behind the desk says, finally. Instantly, Bennett's head snaps up, brought out of her thoughts. She's been idle for far too long between waiting for this meeting and having just spent a few weeks on the Acheron. She stands and stretches herself out, arms, legs, wings.
Some days, it still shocks her that she managed to achieve the status of being an angel. Had somehow managed to atone for all the awful things she's done in her life enough to be deemed worthy of Heaven. She had spent a short while as a Limbo case, even but ultimately...Up she went.
And then down she went. Having spent to much time in a city such as Bete Noire, Bennett had become quite accustomed to a certain amount of....she isn't quite sure how to describe it. Destruction? Something crazy happening just around the corner? All she really knew was that Heaven didn't have it.
Besides. She felt like she was betraying Topher by just watching the clouds up there roll by. She needed something to do.
She needed something new to fight for.
She walks down the hallway towards the door she's been directed to. She's been told that this guy will be able to help point her in the right direction for...a lot of things. There's a low level of anxiousness plaguing her, she isn't sure why it's there. Nervousness about being in a new city in Hell? Not knowing what to expect? Something has her feeling uneasy. She knocks on the door.
She has no idea what sorts of memories her face is going to dredge up for the man on the other side. Absolutely none at all. Bennett bites her lips together and looks up at the ceiling as she waits again.
When he sees her...obviously this is Bennett. But this isn't any Bennett he's ever seen before. This isn't the gawky girl he had started falling in love with, nor is this the madwoman that had tied him down and tortured him. She's different.
Because Josh was right. Bennett could do better. This Bennett actually did.
The wings that sprawl behind her are shades gray, when light plays off them they shimmer a bit like silver. The edges of them are coated in black, giving her the appearance of some sort of predatory bird, perhaps. But the angelic glow around her leaves no mistake. She's an angel.
Her hair is perhaps, a bit more wild. The curls bounce around her face from the terrible humidity and it's as if she's grown to like it that way or has given up trying to tame the mess of it. She still favors skirts, of course. That will never change. The pencil skirt she's chosen fits her curves in a way that she never would have dared to wear when she was a few years younger. Her blouse is loosely fitting, though. Likely because tight clothes are just uncomfortable when dealing with such ridiculous temperatures on a daily basis. Oh, and there's no sling. She's got two, fully functional arms like a normal person, too.
When he opens the door, he won't even have a chance to speak. She's lost enough of her shyness to want to be the first one to say something.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Lyman. I'm Dr. Bennett Brink. I'm the, ah. I'm the transfer. Well, obviously I'm a transfer since, ah. Wings and, uh, the..." She awkwardly motions around her head with her hands, trying to signify the glow, "But yes. Not the purpose of this, not the reason I'm here. I'm from the Reform Branch in Mnemosyne. I'm here to investigate some things concerning Brimstone in Little Hades."
She'll never lose that habit of word vomit, though.
Bennett looks at the calendar that's propped up on the receptionist's desk. It's her birthday. Not that it matters. Not that that's ever really mattered to her to begin with. She hadn't paid much attention to dates much when she'd been alive and she certainly hasn't been paying attention since she died either.
Death. Real death. It's still strange for her to think about, even months after it happened. The mechanics of death had been so skewed in Bete Noire. People died, so many people had died but they always came back. Until they stopped. The magic that had held the City of Sin together had started to fail. Bennett, being one of the city's favorites, got caught in the final crossfire.
She did what she had to do to protect the people she loved. She had known full well she might end up dead-dead from her actions but it was worth it. She'd die again, over and over if it meant getting to protect the people that had become everything to her...
So now she's been dead for a while. Four months, she realizes the exact amount of time it's been when she sees that calendar. She misses Topher so much. Before Bete Noire had decided to implode in on itself, they may have even been dancing around a few conversations that may have heavily implied an engagement was imminent.
Which is why when asked for her name, she's been giving it as Dr. Brink. Dr. Bennett Brink. It feels right. It's a way to feel connected to him while they're apart.
It's hard to believe it's been four months already. Once upon a time, Bennett would not have handled such a separation from him so well, but she's been doing alright. Perhaps she's just been distracted with work. Something she'd desperately like to get back to. Which is why she's sitting here, tapping her feet, fidgeting and gnawing on her fingernails. First the right hand, then the left. Old habits die hard.
But if there's one thing that Bete Noire has taught her...good byes are never forever.
"Mr. Lyman will see you now, Dr. Brink," the girl behind the desk says, finally. Instantly, Bennett's head snaps up, brought out of her thoughts. She's been idle for far too long between waiting for this meeting and having just spent a few weeks on the Acheron. She stands and stretches herself out, arms, legs, wings.
Some days, it still shocks her that she managed to achieve the status of being an angel. Had somehow managed to atone for all the awful things she's done in her life enough to be deemed worthy of Heaven. She had spent a short while as a Limbo case, even but ultimately...Up she went.
And then down she went. Having spent to much time in a city such as Bete Noire, Bennett had become quite accustomed to a certain amount of....she isn't quite sure how to describe it. Destruction? Something crazy happening just around the corner? All she really knew was that Heaven didn't have it.
Besides. She felt like she was betraying Topher by just watching the clouds up there roll by. She needed something to do.
She needed something new to fight for.
She walks down the hallway towards the door she's been directed to. She's been told that this guy will be able to help point her in the right direction for...a lot of things. There's a low level of anxiousness plaguing her, she isn't sure why it's there. Nervousness about being in a new city in Hell? Not knowing what to expect? Something has her feeling uneasy. She knocks on the door.
She has no idea what sorts of memories her face is going to dredge up for the man on the other side. Absolutely none at all. Bennett bites her lips together and looks up at the ceiling as she waits again.
When he sees her...obviously this is Bennett. But this isn't any Bennett he's ever seen before. This isn't the gawky girl he had started falling in love with, nor is this the madwoman that had tied him down and tortured him. She's different.
Because Josh was right. Bennett could do better. This Bennett actually did.
The wings that sprawl behind her are shades gray, when light plays off them they shimmer a bit like silver. The edges of them are coated in black, giving her the appearance of some sort of predatory bird, perhaps. But the angelic glow around her leaves no mistake. She's an angel.
Her hair is perhaps, a bit more wild. The curls bounce around her face from the terrible humidity and it's as if she's grown to like it that way or has given up trying to tame the mess of it. She still favors skirts, of course. That will never change. The pencil skirt she's chosen fits her curves in a way that she never would have dared to wear when she was a few years younger. Her blouse is loosely fitting, though. Likely because tight clothes are just uncomfortable when dealing with such ridiculous temperatures on a daily basis. Oh, and there's no sling. She's got two, fully functional arms like a normal person, too.
When he opens the door, he won't even have a chance to speak. She's lost enough of her shyness to want to be the first one to say something.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Lyman. I'm Dr. Bennett Brink. I'm the, ah. I'm the transfer. Well, obviously I'm a transfer since, ah. Wings and, uh, the..." She awkwardly motions around her head with her hands, trying to signify the glow, "But yes. Not the purpose of this, not the reason I'm here. I'm from the Reform Branch in Mnemosyne. I'm here to investigate some things concerning Brimstone in Little Hades."
She'll never lose that habit of word vomit, though.
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