#its the third ring of hell and im a sinner

[rattkinng]

My least favorite thing? Walking into a new food place (sandwiches, burgers, etc.) And finding out its a Build-Your-Own. Nonono, Subway is the only place allowed to do that, everyone else needs to shut up and give me a damn menu.

[paper-stars-and-fireflies]

Close Call

The third story in the Grimm Omens series! As always, the cast is mostly made up of OCs: Magnolia, Kali and Hawthorne are mine, and Omen belongs to the wonderful @splanoot. If anyone would like some additional information on what’s going on, please let me know. Thanks for reading!       Maggie was outside smoking, the next time she saw Omen. It had been over a month since they’d spent a night together drinking. After her botched confession with Angel, she’d gotten mysteriously more busy, suddenly all but living in that damn Radio Tower, filling her waking hours with oddjobs and errands for Alastor, cramming her few free hours here and there stalking through more and more areas of Hell, looking for eyes she recognized. Kali’s dark eyes, black like ink, like kohl, like imploding stars. Hawthorne’s deep blue, deep as the ocean depths, as the end of the day, as the start of night. Something poked at her, looking for a motorcycle helmet too, smooth, with a smoked visor clicked low, even inside.  

     It had been a long month, living and working alone. She had gotten used to smoking and drinking shitty beer on the tower’s roof, her feet kicked over the edge. It was to stretch her wings in peace, she’d tried to convince herself. To keep an eye out, she told herself. It had nothing to do with the low growl of a certain bike, that her ears weren’t straining for a gunshot that sounded nothing like the others. Nothing at all. One night, half-asleep leaning on one of the legs of the antenna, she heard it, the growling rumble that started far off before roaring closer, a dark shape snaking and darting along the roads, speeding past the tower about two blocks over. She swore she could feel the vibration in her teeth, in her chest, and couldn’t help it, throwing herself off the roof and swooping towards the sound without a second thought. Using her bony wings to glide to a closer roof to watch him, she hid, transfixed by the legendary Omen chasing down some sort of prey. Whoever the unlucky sinner was, a canine beast with stained, overgrown fur and a net of scars, ran on all four legs, the mouth full of shards of bone gaping open, struggling for breath. Omen’s motorcycle screeched as he cornered hard after it, roaring and eating up the open road like nothing. She bit into her lip, too scared to even breathe as she crept to the edge of the roof. Omen drew his gun, slow, purposeful, deadly calm. In the moonlight, she couldn’t tell if it was the gun, or just a gun, but the shot dispelled any doubt. It was louder, louder than anything she had heard. Like a cannon, like an explosion, tearing along the barrel, unwavering on its course. A warning shot to anyone in the pentagram. The wolf-man skipped a step, skidded and slumped over in the street, laying on its side in an already forming pool of his own blood and ichor. A perfect circle bullethole was balanced evenly between its eyebrows, and Omen stopped carefully, leaving his bike to idle as he stood, leaning down to check his victim’s pulse. Finding none, he brushed its eyes closed, throwing it over his shoulder to dispose of it somewhere. Maggie flared her wings and took off, using shadows to return to the Radio Tower before Omen or Alastor noticed. She carried the purr of his bike and the ring of that shot in her head like a sick, familiar lullaby for a week.       Alastor, of course, knew. He knew everything, and it had become her job to make sure he did. All but about Angel, of course. She didn’t doubt Alastor knew she was hiding something from him, but Angel’s deal had her tongue sealed. He’d tried to pry it out of her using the things his shadows had seen, offering her protection from Omen, reading her fascination as rivalry, as fear. When she didn’t take the bait, he caught on, offering her his secrets, things about him she didn’t know but ached too, but she refused to take his deals. Privacy might be all someone had in Hell, and the more people knew, well, that was just more and more weaknesses to be exploited. Still, no matter how busy he kept her, how he tried to probe or the deals he tried to make, she couldn’t say anything about her own feelings, or her best friend, and eventually he grew bored, letting her go to spend her time elsewhere. She’d started lurking at the hotel, staying with Ruya, all but haunting Husk, but still she felt alone, stealing glances at the empty seat. There had been over a week of melancholy drinking with Husk, dancing around the subject. Omen had been busy, Husk told her with a look she couldn’t place. Came in at odd hours, if he came in at all.       One night, sick of her hopeless moping, Husk had made himself an especially strong drink and waited for one of her pouting fits where she would swirl her glass and then stare out the window, face resting on her folded arms. Eventually she would steal another look at his empty stool before excusing herself to smoke or dance, drinking until she forgot she was lonely. Until she forgot she had never been lonely before she met him. This time, when she buried her face, he slunk around the bar, climbing in the stool himself. When she looked up, her hellfire eyes sparking in surprise, he took a lazy sip of Omen’s favorite concoction, lifting one of his wings.       “Ya like what ya see, baby?” He’d tried at copying their friend’s voice, but no one could quite get to his deep baritone, the careful pronunciation. She’d laughed, realizing how ridiculous she’d been before stilling, feeling how deep the ache went.       “I’m gonna have to look for him too, huh Husk?” She asked softly. He could feel the air move, her hidden wings wrapping in around herself.      “Nah, kid, you don’t. He’ll be back soon, far as I hear. Bosslady’s givin’ him a bit more leash after the extermination. Just gotta make it a bit longer.” Husk stayed in the seat, looking at his own paws to give her some space. “But, you are gonna have to talk to ‘im. You ain’t been you. He ain’t been him. I can’t say it’s been for the same reason you been feelin’ lousy, but… Well, you ought’a give it a shot.” He offered, stretching his wing out towards her. He felt the cold brush of bone against his feathers and held it, knowing this was as much touch as she could tolerante now. Even Angel couldn’t lay a hand on her, as much time as he spent trying to cheer her up.        And then, all at once, he was in front of her. She was leaning on the hotel wall, one foot braced against the wall, one hand cradling a knife in her pocket as she slowly dragged her way through a cigarette or two, bemoaning her bad luck to have missed him yet again. Then the distinct roar of his bike sounded off somewhere in the city, growing from something that she had almost missed to a sound capable of swallowing her whole as he parked behind the hotel, dusting off his hands and straightening his jacket as he came out of the alley. She looked up at him, wide-eyed and dumbstruck, as if he had just returned from war.       “Omen…” She whispered, the smoke drifting from her mouth like a question mark. He waved it away, raising a hand to open his visor. Three clicks, more than around strangers, but not open, not all the way. That hand stayed on his helmet, the other tucked into a pocket. There was no way of knowing, but she hoped maybe he was smiling, a smile just for her.       “Hey Maggie. Long time, no see.” He answered. She couldn’t care less he was covered in blood.       Things feel back into the same rhythm they always had. Husk kept both their cups full without being asked and they all made conversation like they hadn’t missed a day. Magnolia took a chance, sitting in the stool next to Omen instead of leaving a seat between them, but she gave him space, never once getting too close or crowding him, almost leaning away at times. Husk tried to shoot her a look whenever he thought Omen wasn’t looking but she ignored him, and did her best to pretend it was a coincidence when Angel showed up to visit them. He was harder to ignore, persistent and reckless. Worse still, he had a deal with her, and compulsion was very much on the table if he felt like forcing the issue. She couldn’t give him the chance. She just needed an opening.       With the night winding down hours later and no real chances, she was determined to create one. “I think I’m going to head out soon,” She started, pushing her glass away and getting to her feet. If Omen didn’t think something was up by now, the way both Angel and Husk immediately looked up at her would have tipped him off. She stumbled slightly, playing it off the alcohol and her heels. Omen caught her elbow, being closest.       “Sorry about that,” She said, playing up her charm ever so slightly. Subtle, play it subtle, she reminded herself.  He answered her with a shrug and she made herself turn away. They didn’t normally say goodbye, they didn’t normally say anything. She tried not to hold her breath as she counted the steps to the door, pulling it open and stepping out into the night chill, the door swinging shut a minute later.       “Son of a -” she swore, running her hands up and down her arms, thrown off by the chill and frustrated with herself. How in heaven was she supposed to get anywhere like this? She felt like doing any number of things right then, none of them proper or lawful. With a sigh, Magnolia turned, headed to make the lonely walk back to the Tower. She had work in the morning after all. She didn’t make it far.       “Hey,” a deep voice called her back to reality. “Hang on a second.” She turned, surprised to find Omen framed in the hotel’s neon.       “Uh...hi. You, um, need something?” She asked, claws still holding her arms too tight. He noticed, but didn’t say anything about it.       “You want a walk back to….wherever?” he offered, shutting the door and taking a step closer. She must have looked shell-shocked, because he cleared his throat, toying with the strap under his chin.       “I, uh… Yeah, that’d… That’d be nice, if you got the time,” She remembered herself. “If you don’t mind.”      “Offered, didn’t I?” He might have smiled then, offering her his elbow like a real old-fashioned gentleman. She took it, immediately grateful for his warmth. “You don’t mind being seen with me?” He asked after a moment.       “No, of course not. I drink with you, don’t I?” She tried to laugh, but it just came out unnatural. She tried not to grimace, looking around. Down the dark alley, she spied his bike, his pride and joy.       “Hey, Omen.” She said, pulling him to a stop. He hesitated, curious.      “Um, you can say no, but, um, one day, or night or whatever, could I...Would you maybe take me with you? For a ride on your bike?” She pointed down the alley, nervousness making her shake like she had asked for so much more. He stayed silent, regarding her. Finally, he spoke, reaching to close his visor.      “You can’t ride like that.” He moved past her, headed back to the hotel. Disappointment crashed down on her in an icy wave, getting in her bones faster than the nighttime chill. She looked down, her shoulders hunching involuntarily. “Stay here, I have spare gear inside.” He called over her shoulder and she felt electric.       True to his word, Omen came back a few minutes later with another jacket and helmet. It was smaller, meant for Husker.       “Got it for him before I realized he could just fly where he wants.” Omen filled the silence as she pulled the jacket on and fastened it, grateful for it already. She didn’t bother pointing out her own wings, preferring to keep them tucked away in secrecy. She took the time to pull her hair up before pulling on the helmet, struggling a bit with the buckles and straps.       “Lift your chin,” Omen said gently, his hand hovering by her neck. She hesitated, but nervously did, baring her throat so he could help her with them. His touch was warm and unexpectedly gentle, even with the riding gloves. She followed him then, following his instructions to climb on, her arms snaking around his waist as soon as they were moving. She tried not to hold too tight, tried to stay upright but it wasn’t long before the bike was roaring, ripping across the pentagram faster than she had ever flown and she was holding on to him as tight as she could without risking hurting him, her helmet pressed against the wide muscles of his back. She was glad she’d tucked the bony spines of her wings inside the jacket, and just let herself enjoy the rush, the adrenaline, wind, the power of the bike and the mercenary driving it.      All too soon he was pulling up in front of the Happy Hotel again, helping her climb down again before he sidled the bike back into its hiding place in the shadows.       “The...Hotel?” She asked, pulling the helmet back off, offering it to him. He took it, tucking it under his arm.      “You stay here too, right?” He shrugged. “I figured this was home, tonight.” She nodded dumbly. She could make it to the Tower before her job, easy. Ruya wouldn’t say anything if she crashed on the couch again. And well, Magnolia wasn’t going to say anything about the way Omen slung his arm over her shoulders as they wandered back in together.