Raine's hand brushing his own brought a sardonic smile to his lips and he dipped his head. No need to worry about him. These things were disconcerting but Cain had been through so much worse that the preying on the confusion of a single interaction with a Reaper wasn't even going to break the surface. That was what he was telling himself, anyway, because it had to be true. With the way that things were going, Cain had to be the strong and immovable one for Raine to come out of this so that they could escape together. Strength in numbers.
His hand tightened about her elbow as a gesture intended to remind her of his presence, hopefully bring her back to something real and physical rather than an imitation's poor attempt at talking her down. Cain was getting fed up with it, his natural reaction being to lash out and fight, never take it laying down or let someone have their way with him and leave him broken. Why would he let Raine fall prey to the same trap?
"You really like to talk," he noted. "Really, really like to talk, but you know what? If the worst you can do is talk, then the only danger we're actually in right now is watching this after school special until we die of boredom. If you had something more, you would have used it by now."
There was motion behind him, a shifting of grass and weight moving along it. Nothing like a usual weight and nothing like regular movement, but whatever disturbance had occurred was enough to tip him off and Cain looked down, back toward the sound, froze as he noticed something that took his breath away: his missing shadow no longer standing aside Raine's own.
When he tried to reclaim air for his lungs, he couldn't. A painful tug wrapped around his throat, something indescribably pressing down on his airways and pulling him backward; his own lifespan, the numbers printed along his neck that he was never to see for himself, was being used as a wire to choke him and drag him away from Raine. That motion meant he could at least dip his head back and stare up into the hood of the Reaper silently strangling him. Lack of flight led into fight and Cain struggled, one hand going up and behind to try and tug his captor away by the scuff of its neck out of instinct, the other digging into his pocket for his switchblade to cut at the hand holding his breath captive.
Two things happened at once. The first was that the knife hit true and the entire hand holding at his numbers like a bunched up collar simply separated at the wrist and dropped to the ground with hardly a thump to mark it. Black, viscous ooze drained from the hand and stump both. What happened second was even worse: the hood pulled back as the Reaper retreated another step and let Cain drop onto the ground, the face staring back at him being his own, the one he shared with one other person in the world. It was a handsome face framed by lack of emotion, eyes a chilling and unnatural silver, skin pale as ash, numbers carved into his neck ticking down to some unknown deadline while blood dripped from the changing wounds.
There was no change in expression on the Reaper who merely tilted his head to the side, that damnable headtilt that was a smile Abel no longer knew how to express. It was a good motion that meant there was a human still inside and feeling even if he didn't know what that feeling meant. It was everything Cain loved about and hoped for in his older brother with that stupid little motion. Abel spoke, voice a rasp embodied by the rattling whisper of the Reapers that was enough to put a fear of death in the man that Death could not claim. He said, "hello, Cain."
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His hand tightened about her elbow as a gesture intended to remind her of his presence, hopefully bring her back to something real and physical rather than an imitation's poor attempt at talking her down. Cain was getting fed up with it, his natural reaction being to lash out and fight, never take it laying down or let someone have their way with him and leave him broken. Why would he let Raine fall prey to the same trap?
"You really like to talk," he noted. "Really, really like to talk, but you know what? If the worst you can do is talk, then the only danger we're actually in right now is watching this after school special until we die of boredom. If you had something more, you would have used it by now."
There was motion behind him, a shifting of grass and weight moving along it. Nothing like a usual weight and nothing like regular movement, but whatever disturbance had occurred was enough to tip him off and Cain looked down, back toward the sound, froze as he noticed something that took his breath away: his missing shadow no longer standing aside Raine's own.
When he tried to reclaim air for his lungs, he couldn't. A painful tug wrapped around his throat, something indescribably pressing down on his airways and pulling him backward; his own lifespan, the numbers printed along his neck that he was never to see for himself, was being used as a wire to choke him and drag him away from Raine. That motion meant he could at least dip his head back and stare up into the hood of the Reaper silently strangling him. Lack of flight led into fight and Cain struggled, one hand going up and behind to try and tug his captor away by the scuff of its neck out of instinct, the other digging into his pocket for his switchblade to cut at the hand holding his breath captive.
Two things happened at once. The first was that the knife hit true and the entire hand holding at his numbers like a bunched up collar simply separated at the wrist and dropped to the ground with hardly a thump to mark it. Black, viscous ooze drained from the hand and stump both. What happened second was even worse: the hood pulled back as the Reaper retreated another step and let Cain drop onto the ground, the face staring back at him being his own, the one he shared with one other person in the world. It was a handsome face framed by lack of emotion, eyes a chilling and unnatural silver, skin pale as ash, numbers carved into his neck ticking down to some unknown deadline while blood dripped from the changing wounds.
There was no change in expression on the Reaper who merely tilted his head to the side, that damnable headtilt that was a smile Abel no longer knew how to express. It was a good motion that meant there was a human still inside and feeling even if he didn't know what that feeling meant. It was everything Cain loved about and hoped for in his older brother with that stupid little motion. Abel spoke, voice a rasp embodied by the rattling whisper of the Reapers that was enough to put a fear of death in the man that Death could not claim. He said, "hello, Cain."