Love Addict [Uriel/Open]

[Isabella Ricci]

Isabella Ricci stood in the bathroom of her apartment, naked, and surrounded in mist. The full body mirror across from her had fogged over, leaving the view of her form obscured. The femme stood staring at her grayed picture and dragged the towel from around her body, wiping the mirror once, only to have it fog over once more. It was long enough for her to see her pretty face, her long black hair stringy from being wet and hanging down around her bare breasts. A scowl came over her face as she felt a needless rush of anger. Reaching out, she curled her fingers around a tube of lipstick, then swung her hand around and sent a fist into the mirror. The resulting sound was music to her ears.

Pulling her hand back, she tossed the lipstick into the sink and cradled her injured hand against her chest. It was bleeding from some shallow scratches, nothing that would last. Bella stared at her reflection with a crooked smile of triumph, her reflection stared back a million times over, the smile just a little more crooked. There was something fantastic about the way her pretty little face was warped. Something seemed right about it. Turning, she sauntered out of her bathroom, wandered into the kitchen and turned on the hot water. She waited only a second before pushing her hand into the hot water. It burned, and she liked it.

Abandoning that in favor of getting out of the house, she hastily shut the water off and went back into her bedroom, pulling open the top drawer. She wasn't pleased with what she saw. Underwear without personality. Black, red, and occasionally white. All lacy. All the same. A frown returned to her face, and she chose some black things, threw those on the bed . Her next victim was to be her closet. Dresses in every color and cut. Tearing hangers after hangers out of the closet, she tossed the dressed onto the floor until she came across her little black dress. Maybe a little bit too dressy, but when had she ever paid attention to that?

When she was finally dressed, she pulled on a pair of red kitten heels, dragged on her black pea coat and left with her keys jingling in her hand. She had one place on her mind.

The night was too cold to be wearing dresses. It was too cold and slick for heels, too, but that didn't stop her. She walked down the street with a glare, elbowing through people as she went. Some of them, New York born and raised, shouted things at her. She shouted back in Italian. It made no difference to her. Isabella was not in the mood to play nice; nor was she in the mood to play at all.

Adv Omilye was a place people went when they weren't looking to start any trouble. To start with, Valtiel was not a man whose shit list you wanted to be on, not to mention that tensions had been so high between the two sides these last couple of years that even the slightest upset could start a full-scale war. As Bella waltzed through the front door, she was thinkin' she might enjoy being the Helen of Troy; the golden apple that started it all.

A smirk displayed itself upon her lips as she slipped into a booth. Now she was lookin' to play.

[Riley Delacroix]

Uriel grimaced as another wave of thought washed over him. Normally, he could block it out. He’d give anything to do that now. But he couldn’t. Not this time. This time, he needed the reassurance that there were still uncorrupt souls out there; that not everyone was capable of the murders he was investigating.

Still, he was on the job. He couldn’t afford to just ignore what had happened. Besides, he’d seen worse atrocities before. He was, after all, the judge of sinners and demons. It was just this human body and its weak stomach. He had only been on this world for a couple of days, and had yet to get used to it.

With a sigh, he flipped open the folder once more and braced it against the dashboard of his car, studying its contents in the dim glow of the streetlight outside his apartment. The crime scene photos were foremost; images of three bodies, two of them bearing signs of torture on top of the obvious causes of death. They had been a family. Just a regular family that had somehow pissed off the wrong people. The first few pictures were different angles of the woman; her forehead bore a slight burn from the place where she had been shot, her face bruised, her left arm and each of her fingers broken and sticking out at odd angles. Then came several shots of the man, his face even more severely bruised than the woman’s had been, though he didn’t have as many broken appendages. He also had been shot in the head, his blood and brain tissue splattering the couch that he’d been left on.

Knowing what was coming, feeling bile rise in his throat at the knowledge, Uriel slowly flipped over the last image of the man. The little girl was sprawled near the door, facing away from her parents. She’d been shot in the back as she had attempted to flee, and then twice in the head. Uriel was only vaguely aware of the tremor in his hands as he studied each shot of the girl, searing the image into his memory. He knew that whoever had done this wasn’t repentant. Probably never would be. So he took this punishment for them, just for a little while. Just until he found them and made them pay for what they had done.

He stared at the back of the last photograph for a long time before he turned his attention to the known information on the case. The family was well-liked around their neighborhood. They were middle-class, hard-working people that never caused any problems. The mother and father, aged 34 and 36 respectively, had been eating dinner alone that night when their house had been broken into. The man had been forced to watch the woman be tortured and killed before he had been killed himself.

The daughter, aged 9, had been staying with a friend; the father of that friend had dropped her off at approximately seven o’ clock PM so that she could grab a few things. He had then gone around the block to pick up some groceries before he would go and get the girl once more. She had never come out of the building, so he had poked his head in and found the bodies. He’d called for an ambulance immediately.

Circumstances were such that there were at least two people involved. They’d probably just finished with the father when the daughter waltzed in and they’d had to take her out to prevent her from talking. No witnesses. The only lead was suspected mafia involvement. It wasn’t much to work on.

Uriel shut the folder and stuffed it into the glove box, unable to deal with the brutality of mankind any longer. After a quick glance at his watch that now read 8:03, he realized that his shift had been over for an hour and he hadn’t realized it. Leaning his head back against the driver’s seat, he shut his eyes and let the occasional stray thought drill into his skull. Most of them weren’t comforting in the least. The people of this city were a volatile mix of anger, jealousy, and passion. But every once in a while, hope or joy or love broke the surface of the skein.

After a while, Uriel began to lose feeling in his fingers. He shook them impatiently and, finally blocking out the thoughts of the others, took his keys out of the ignition. He shouldered the door open and stepped onto the pavement, dropping his keys into his left pants pocket. Staring up at the building, he made up his mind. He didn’t want to spend his time sitting alone tonight.

Uriel set out for Valtiel’s bar, his heart set on being around others like him. Even if most of them were with the other side. Valtiel’s place was neutral, and nothing would erupt there. The man wouldn’t allow it. If he ever got angry, he had even the higher-ups shaking in their boots. It was what the Flame of God needed; he could be in solitude, yet surrounded at the same time.

Uriel pushed the door open and headed straight for the bar, ignoring the others around him for the time being. He plunked down on a stool and waited for the bar tender to ask him what he wanted. His mind flickering back to the little girl’s image, he decided that what he needed was scotch on the rocks. He buried his head in his hands, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes in an attempt to suppress the ache that always accompanied his letting others’ thoughts run rampant in his head. It would go away in a few minutes. Until then, he welcomed the pain.

[Isabella Ricci]

Isabella's eyes traveled down to her right hand. It had a few scratches from it's collision with the mirror, nothing too bad. She sighed, flexed her her hand then flattened it against the table top. Her digits were thin and long, nails painted a shade brighter than her lips and perfectly manicured. Boring. Boring, all of it!

Picking her head up, the femme glanced about the place. It wasn't packed, but it wasn't exactly empty, either. There were people gathered in small groups, spread out sporadically from table to table. Occasionally, someone would glance up and catch her gaze, holding it for a while. Bella smiled and laughed a quiet, scoffing laugh. Somehow, she could tell what each of these people were. Humans, demons, and angels. Of course, she didn't know exactly how she knew this, it wasn't as though she could see it. No, it was much more like a feeling.

Her latest eye-contact looked back to his party, and Bella looked back at her hands. Usually Advil — as she enjoyed calling it because she didn't have the ability to pronounce the actual name given to the place — was hopping with people, most brash and young and ready to start a war, but too smart to do it here. Hell, she could taste the tension between the sides, sometimes. It provided the entertainment that this night lacked so desperately.

Or a maybe she was just having a bad day. Bella didn't know. Any other day, she was able to leash and control the emotions, but tonight they had broken their chains and were running rampant. She would have to learn to keep them on a stronger chain, lest she lose it completely. That was the last thing she wanted to do. Damn it, she was Isabella Ricci; confident, cool, and sexy!

With a heavy exhale, she pushed herself away from the booth and wandered over to the bar, sitting a few stools away from the gentleman who'd just plopped himself down. He was an angel, a higher-up, she could feel it. It emanated from him like some sort of pressure, pushing her away from using the weight of all the sins she had committed. She knew it, she could feel that too. "Bartender," she croaked, voice cracking from misuse. Clearing her throat, she swallowed, and tried again, "Bartender, red wine, please."

The man behind the bar obliged, drawing out a wine glass and pouring in the sweet dark-red liquid while she was distracted by her thoughts. She thanked him with a nod and a weak smile, then drew out some money, sliding it across the bar to him. It was much more than the drink was worth, but she didn't care. Before he could mention anything, she was out of earshot, lost in the bass of the music.

Bella found her way to the pool table, which was also devoid of people. She stared down at he green felt and sighed, drawing her wallet out again. Flipping it open, she drew out four quarters, placed them in the slot, and listened at as the balls all clunked down into the pit for her to grab up and rack.

And she did, pulling the triangular rack down from the light and placing it so that one of the points was nestled around the mark for the cue ball, which she snatched up and placed at the point. All the balls filed in as they were supposed to, stripe-solid-stripe-solid and the like. Bella wandered away for a short moment to snatch a stick off of the rack, then came back to draw the triangle of plastic away from the balls. Now she was ready to play pool, even if she wasn't all in it.

[Riley Delacroix]

The bartender slid Uriel’s drink to him, and he caught it without thinking and pushed some money over in return. He made no effort to bring the glass to his lips just yet. Instead, he shoved his fingers through his already untidy hair and let his mind wander for a while.

This city’s streets were blood-stained. The pavement all but screamed with the agony, and he was the only one that seemed to notice. New York was about as close to a cesspit as a city can get. Of course, it was up to him to save these people from themselves. It always had been, and it always will be. He snorted derisively and shifted on his stool. Most of them wouldn’t even recognize his name.

But he couldn’t hate them. They weren’t the ones who had condemned him to a life of obscurity. As a matter of fact, he pitied them. They were digging their own graves and they didn’t even know it. The Flame of God didn’t want to admit it, but he loved humans. Adored them, really. And he would do everything in his power to save them.

Uriel cradled the shot glass in his hand as he studied the woman who’d just walked away from the bar. There was something that drew his attention to her; it wasn’t just the way she looked, though he was far from the only one watching her. No, it was different than that. Or at least, it was more than that. Shoving his headache ruthlessly down, he racked his mind for a moment before deciding what drew him to her.

It was her demeanor. The way her voice had broken when she’d tried to order her drink; the way she’d carelessly shoved far too much money at the bar tender. The way she held herself. It all spoke volumes, and those volumes told him that something was upsetting her.

With a sigh, Uriel turned back to his drink. Why should he care about that? Chances were she was with the other side. What difference did it make that a sinner or a demon be suffering for their crimes? So what if his heart went out to her? She probably wouldn’t appreciate that anyway.

He frowned at the scotch for a while, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t help but wonder what was bothering her. Disgusted with himself, he glanced back up at the pool table, where she was in the process of setting the cue ball in its place. To his mind, she seemed to be doing everything by wrote, her thoughts wandering elsewhere. Berating himself, he forced his gaze back to the shot glass. It was none of his business, and if he knew what was best for him, he’d keep to himself.

Uriel swallowed the scotch in one gulp, feeling the liquid burning his throat on its way down. It only distracted him for a moment. And then his thoughts shot right back to the unknown woman. With a sigh, he made up his mind. He was an angel, and had a comforting presence. Maybe that would be enough. Besides, there was far too much suffering in this world as it was.

Uriel pushed himself to his feet and made his way over to where she was now removing the triangular rack from the table. Propping one hip against the table, he studied her for a moment before speaking. “Mind if I join you?”

[Isabella Ricci]

She'd seen it all happen. Tony waved a hand, and that guy with those eyes moved toward that family. He'd slaughtered them all as though he were a child in a candy store. Even Tony was put off by the whole scene, but he didn't seem that bothered by it all. Isabella hadn't had a problem with it until the child came about... the terror on that little girl's face, and how she screamed until her voice cracked, and how she'd cried, and how she had lain so incredibly still when it was all done, and how it was all so wrong.

That was the clincher. It was until that point that Bella had been on top of the world! Life was good for the beautiful woman, and there wasn't anything she wanted that she couldn't have. The world was hers, still, but she didn't want it. She just didn't want it.

Going through the motions, she wandered toward the other side, then leaned down to angle her shot. Part of her wanted to hit the damn eight ball in with the first shot as a big middle finger to herself. But she didn't.

Instead, she hit the cue ball into the triangle and with a high smack, the balls hit together and bounced off, spreading only slightly from their former position. The blue striped ball had rolled so close to the left corner pocket that it could have gone in. If only. The woman closed her eyes for a moment to draw in a deep breath, but images and thoughts flooded her head like a thousand voices screaming to create on giant din until one shattered it all... Mind if I join you?

Bella jumped almost a foot, a tiny cry escaping her lips. Her eyes snapped open, large brown orbs landing on the fairly handsome male leaning against the pool table. She shifted a bit, assessing him as she had the others, then finally decided that he wasn't actually trying to make a pass at her. He didn't have that leer that most men did when they looked at her. It was like a heaven-sent miracle.

Bella could have laughed at that thought if it were perhaps a week or a month ago; laughed until she damn near cried. If she tried now, she probably would have just cried instead. She nodded slowly, once up and once down, trying to offer him a smile. "Sure," she said, finishing the sentence in her head: I could use the company.

The woman straightened herself out some, then leaned against the table. She watched her newfound company, finding herself wondering about him. He was the one sitting at the bar, that much was obvious, she could still feel that pressure. She wondered if he could feel her too, the same force rejecting his push like too polar opposites shoving each other away. She wondered, too, if he knew what she'd done.

[Riley Delacroix]

Uriel felt his brow knitting in concern at her initial reaction to him. He decided to keep quiet for now, though, and simply stood there, letting her scrutinize him. Again, he wondered what had her so distressed. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t press her to tell him. He doubted she would if he asked, anyway.

So he held still, allowing her inspection, trying valiantly to ignore the obvious shove that her presence gave his. He knew now that the two of them were on opposite sides of the playing field. But, he told himself, that didn’t matter. He sensed that she still had a soul, which meant she was still human; this, in turn, meant that he was still obliged to help her in any way that he could.

Uriel almost snorted again at that thought. It wasn’t an obligation, and he knew it. He was just a softie who couldn’t stand seeing another individual, no matter what affiliation they have, suffer. Not without a good reason, and not without a trial.

When she finally answered and gave him a shaky smile and a slow nod, he straightened away from the table and went to get a stick from the rack. Returning to the table, he chalked the tip of the cue as he studied the positions of the balls, weighing his options. Finally deciding on a course of action, he set the chalk back down on the table and moved around to the other side. He bent forward slightly, lining up his shot, and then sent the solid red ball into a pocket.

Uriel straightened and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to decide on another shot. The cue ball wasn’t in a very opportune position at the moment, and it quickly became apparent that the only thing he could do was get it into better reach of the other balls. He shifted a bit, lined up the other shot, and knocked the cue ball away from the side of the table.

Throughout his entire turn, Uriel felt her eyes on him, searing him like a physical touch. Trying not to concern himself with it too much, he backed away a bit to let her make her attempt. He was being ridiculous. People had looked at him before; why should this be any different? And besides, what she wanted and needed from him was comfort. Nothing more.

Uriel grunted inwardly. When had he gotten prideful? She didn’t even really need that from him. She could find it almost anywhere. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to help her.

With a sigh, he pressed the fingers of his left hand into his eye against another ache that was starting there. It had grown quiet, and he thought he ought to say something, but wasn’t quite sure what. His mind searched for a moment for something to say to break the silence that had settled between them. Somehow managing to make his voice calm, he finally spoke. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, dropping his hand back to his side, then clarified. “For when I first came over. I didn’t mean to scare you.”