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2015-03-02
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2015-03-15
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3/?
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Turn to Dust or to Gold

Chapter 3: A Brush With Death

Notes:

Happy April Fool's Day!

Chapter Text

Castiel's oceanic eyes softened with each passing tribute. He knew the pair from District One vaguely, he had seen them before walking around the Capitol during past holy days. Death must have found it amusing to pick two women as the tributes--"Something spicy for the fourth Quarter Quell." Meg Masters and Ruby Schaeffer. They were decked in glittering gems from head to toe. Ruby in blood red rubies, naturally, and Meg in sky blue sapphires. He wondered if he would kill them. He and the rest of the Lord's soldiers were seated together in a block, not that the tributes would notice. Tributes can rarely afford the luxury of knowing their pursuer.

"Tasteless tripe." Balthazar snagged the seat beside Castiel and Gabriel. "Can't compare to Vegas."

"Vegas? More like Claudius's naumachia." Castiel grunted. Balthazar and Gabriel exchanged grins. "What? I wasn't completely ignorant of Earth's happenings prior to the Apocalypse."

"Picturing you at Claudius's parties is rather endearing, Cass," chortled Balthazar. "Gosh and golly, would'ja look at District Two!" The tributes morphed into marble statues of Greece and Roman's antique past. Their stylists clothed them in skintight bodysuits spray painted like polished white marble. Their limbs practically gleamed in the sun.

"Speak of the devil." Gabriel quipped.

District Three's tributes wore fitted gossamer, ethereal and disturbingly holographic. District Four--Stunningly beautiful in shimmering, iridescent fish scales. District Five showcased shirts and leggings cracking with electricity. Two miniature Tesla coils. Castiel briefly mused how the stylists achieved such hazardous results; in the Capitol, anything goes. District Six's tributes were sleek, smartly dressed train attendants--"transportation" didn't give the stylists much to work with. District Seven, lumberjacks. Neither tribute looked particularly thrilled as they forced pained smiles. District Eight outdid itself once again: the girl's ball gown styled after an early 2000s' dress, the boy's suit sharply cut and dashing. They did not match but they easily defeated the previous districts. District Nine, grain farmers. Nothing special or exciting. District Ten's female tribute might as well have been naked. Obviously the stylists cared more about garnering support for her than presenting the pair as a duo. Castiel shut his eyes and shook his head.

"Black leather, hah, nothing like it!" Gabriel nudged Balthazar. "I mean, Jésus, María, y José!"

District Eleven. The girl was unlike any female tribute from the district even seen. Not to say she was prettier or more refined, just oddly different than her male counterpart. The memory of that prayer briefly flashed before Gabriel's mind. Hindi? Punjabi? He couldn't recall. "District Eleven: Isaac Ayeke and Kali Nagarajan." The name hit Gabriel like an eighteen wheeler and totaled his psyche. Kali. Why had he not seen it before? It couldn't be. Not now. No, it was impossible, illogical, and completely unlikely. Jesus, Gabriel, more than one woman can have the name Kali. At least her outfit was phenomenal and the crowd certainly adored her and her partner.

"Don't make me do this, Dad." Gabriel whispered to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing, Cass."

District Twelve entered and loud cheers greeted the four tributes. District Twelve had nothing extraordinary to offer. Four tributes dressed as the four colors found in coal flames: yellow, white, blue, and faint orange. Cinna's retirement the year before signaled the death of District Twelve's grand era. The man could transform any ratty, scarred, coal stained kid to a national star with a touch of his magic sewing machine. The quartet were bound to attract sponsors. The girls were pretty and winsome, appealing to brunette lovers and blonde fanatics, and the boys were brothers, a pity case for those sympathetic few who took the family's cruel loss into account.

"Gabriel, up for seeing the training sessions?" Castiel stood up stiffly. Gabriel politely declined and disappeared with a flutter. Castiel tugged on Balthazar's cuff. "What's up with him?"

"Gaby?" Balthazar shrugged. "What's the point of hanging around for three days watching the calves fatten? You know how long he lived with humans, Cass, almost as long as he's lived with us."

"I know, but it's his duty whether he likes it or not." Castiel reasoned.

"Oh, he bloody well hates it." Balthazar smirked. "Y'see my sweet angel of Saturday--"

"Thursday."

"Nuances. Our four oldest brothers all have their niches and Gabriel is the baby and with that comes slews of nasty attributes. God help him."

Castiel coldly retorted, "God isn't listening."

 

The training center was pristine, sterile, and austere. Only Dorothy and the District One tributes comfortably asserted their presence. Boldly, Dorothy beelined to the firearms. Jess shyly followed her. Charlie and Ash gravitated toward the traps and snares. Pamela yanked the Winchester brothers over to camouflage and offered to act as their easel. Bela Talbot glowered, jealous of Pamela's seductive aura. Isaac abandoned Kali to check out spears and axes with Tamara.

"We'll talk later," Isaac promised.

Kali huffed. She didn't want to appear weak--the angels could be invisible, watching them--but she didn't want to crowd her fellow tributes. She spied Eustace Tilley amongst the other escorts and sauntered up to him.

"Gorgeous, Kali, simply gorgeous!" Eustace bestowed two puckered kisses on Kali's cheeks. "I couldn't have asked for better. The crowd ate you and Isaac up. You should have heard what they were saying! And not just District One's citizens, angels too!"

"Fantastic, Eustace." Kali offered a smile. Eustace beamed. "Kovia and the others told me I had to visit some church and I'd rather do it today if you don't mind."

"What about training?" Eustace's joyous countenance faltered. He planned for Isaac and Kali to work together for the next three days and today also.

"I won't be long," assured Kali.

"You will need a chaperone." Eustance cleared his throat with a high-pitched ahem.

"I'll take care of that, Eustace." Kovia materialized from a throng of escorts.

Kali gave Kovia a genuine, grateful smile and they departed without further ado. Kovia guided Kali through backstreets and secret passages, narrow alleys and a complex, tangled elevated train system. He pierced her concrete bank of secrets with his trident of sincerity, kindness, and affability. He spilled few of his own dark secrets. Wakovia Simmons, born and raised in District One. Apprentice of the legendary Cinna. Acquaintance to a plethora of angels. "Even God's creatures clothe themselves." Kovia smirked. The gentle inertia of the train bumped them together. "In the Capitol, in Panem, you will find no one better than I."

"Would you like a slice of humble pie, Kovia? It's pretty tasty." Kali rolled her eyes.

"No, thank you."

"No really I make the best."

Kovia chuckled. A shame. Losing such a lovely young woman. He prayed, no, hoped the soldier hunting Kali would remember mercy and kindness in their method of execution. "Made any alliances yet?"

"Perhaps." Kali shrugged. "I can't do much. Charm the angels with my stellar looks?"

"Worth a shot." Kovia patted Kali's hand. "Steer clear of Meg Masters."

"Friend of yours?"

He ignored the query. "Ruby's not a known traitor."

That answers that.

The cathedral's belfries and spires loomed large over the ultramodern glass and metal construction below. Five minutes. Few people wandered the streets circling the cathedral, most stayed in their homes, eager for the televised coverage of the parade and early reports from the training center. The Cathedral of Eden. Hundreds of thousands of stone blocks. Statues tucked in nooks and crannies dotted the exterior. Jesus took the spot of prominence high in the juncture between the two belfries. Two angels, stiff, unblinking, blank, guarded the entrance. Kali and Kovia walked under their crossed halberds. Like a bloodhound catching the scent of a criminal, the angels sniffed.

Kali's eyes adjusted to the dark interior. Kovia swiftly dipped his fingers in a basin of water and crossed himself. Kali tentatively mimicked. Her parents didn't practice much, but they stashed old, crumbing Hindu idols from when her great-grandparents immigrated to Panem--no--America. Her father feared displaying the worn statues. One nation, under God. Singular, not plural. Kali remembered. The nave's vaulted ceiling touched the sky and innumerable stain glass windows splashed vibrant colors across the stark white walls. Small apses and alters broke off in every which way. There was an octagonal room Kovia called the chapter house, a gorgeous wood paneled dream, warm and cozy. The click of heels echoed, magnified. Kali saw a pale, gaunt man in a dark suit delving down a round staircase behind an altar to the Virgin Mary. Kovia chatted with Elisha, the angel presiding over the sanctuary.

"The staircase--" Kali motioned.

"The ossuary." Elisha answered. "You may see it, if you so wish. Shall I accompany you? It can be... startling for those unprepared."

"Thank you, sir, I'll be fine." Kali gave a small, grateful bow. She mentally slapped herself. These were angels, not kings or queens. They ruled Panem, yet they never demanded servile behavior. Only a yearly human sacrifice. 

Kali's boots clacked against the smooth stone steps. A hundred years of millions of feet treading the same path had worn a round divot in the center of each step. Arms stretched on either side for balance, Kali slipped on the last step and hit her rear. "God." Kali muttered, rubbing her bruised posterior. Kali lifted her gaze and leaned against the curved wall. Skulls. Hundreds upon thousands of human craniums. Neatly stacked. Mossy flagstones dusted with loose, dark soil. Wrought iron lanterns hung from spinal cords. An endless maze of human remains. Chalk white. Polished. Empty eye sockets. Grinning teeth.

"Wondering where they got them all?"

Kali squeaked, whirled around. Tall, gaunt, pale. Stately, kempt, shrewd. "Did I startle you?" He said it like a statement rather than a question.

"I'm sorry." Kali retreated. "I'll leave you be."

"Don't run on my account." The man in black smoothed his lapels. "This your first visit to the Ossuary of Job."

"It shows." Kali laughed meekly.

The man smiled eerily. "Allow me." He beckoned Kali onward and guided her through the knotted twists and turns of the ossuary.

Saints' relics dotted the pathway. Important figures received their own chamber and altar, or so the man told her. Chandeliers of bone. Ribs, jaws, legs. Delving deeper into the catacombs below the main ossuary, rows upon rows of skeletons were carefully laid out on elevated altars, ten to fifteen feet apart from each other. Plaques with foreign letters rested at the feet of each set of remains. Kali's escort pulled her in an arc around the delicate inlaid marble flooring. White marble, inlaid obsidian in the shape of wings.

"True craftsmanship." Kali commented. He raised an eyebrow. "The wings."

"These are angels," he slowly explained. "Have you ever seen an angel die?"

"Angels don't die." Kali shook her head.

"Die, killed, what is the difference? Wings seared to ash, permanently staining the ground wherever their body is laid to rest."

Invisible centipedes crawled up and down Kali's back. "Where do angels go when they die?"

He smiled enigmatically and walked to the next room. Kali gave the bare skeletons a final, sorrowful glance. The chamber contained twenty bodies; angels may die, but not too often.

 

The hazy, hallucinogenic world of dreams disoriented Gabriel. Long black gown. Burqa. Lace-veiled eyes. A respectable distance between the two of them.

"Look, lady, I'm sleeping." Gabriel rubbed his eyes.

"I beg of you, help me." She ran to him and grasped his hands in hers.

"Um..."

"Please!" She whined. Pleading promises of eternal worship, eternal gratitude, an inheritance to be delivered unto him.

"Okay, fine." Gabriel shouted. Anything to purge this smoky dream. Where was he? The chapter house? No, the small alcove dedicated to him. Forty-some candles, none lit, below a statue. Six wings. "What do you want?"

"Promise me on your grace, bring an angel blade to the arena."

"Why?"

"Promise!" Her screeching resumed. She fell to his feet and wrapped her clothed arms around his legs.

"Okay, Jesus!" Gabriel shook her off. That settles it, no more Prosecco.

"Thank you." She kissed him on the lips. For a split second, Gabriel could have sworn her eyes were black as tar.