The Mortal And The Wicked-- ONC 2023

Chapter 4; By invitation only

Azrael knew that some other hopeless lover had died before Oz had dragged the man into his tent; It was a shifting in the air that stirred amidst the carnival, for beyond the silver gates that led to the world of the mortal he was lord of it all and he knew whenever a new soul entered its midst.

That, and the screaming and crying that echoed in his ears tended to be a rather good indicator.

Thus, when at last the flaps to his tent flew open and a rather spindly looking man was thrown at his feet, he felt as though he had the decency not to look surprised.

"Where am I?" the man shouted-- although this was done in an uncertain manner, as though perhaps he felt slightly rude in raising his voice.

The fear was not unfounded, to be sure. For nearly everything within the carnival wasn't normal in the slightest... There was Oz for a start.

Generally tasked with bringing the newly deceased before Azrael, he was the first being that the dead lovers set their eyes upon-- and that perhaps was a grave error on the carnival master's part. For he had grown used to the demeanor of Oz; standing at seven feet tall and covered in soft gray fur, his features were like that of a cat that stood upon its hind legs. And though he was dressed impeccably in an ivory coat tailored to perfection there was nothing human about him other than his voice.

Nevertheless, though the fear of the recently demised made logical sense, it still annoyed Azrael to some degree. Especially when they blubbered about like this.

Still, there truly was no manner in which to soften the truth of the matter. And thus he leaned in very closely till their faces were perhaps an inch apart, his eyes locked directly with that of the trembling man. "You're dead."

The blubbering only worsened. "What? Dead? But I-- I can't possibly be, I--"

Leaning back within his chair, he rolled his eyes; gods, he hated the ones like this. The ones who rambled on about how they couldn't possibly be dead, and how dreadful it all was, and how they wished they had lived differently.

It gave him a terrible headache.

With that, he waved a dismissive hand and at once the man ceased in his ramblings long enough for Azrael to tell him the same thing he had told a hundred other souls. "You may be dead, yet you happened to have died at an extraordinarily good time, hasn't he Oz?"

The Great Cat appeared rather annoyed at being addressed, yet nonetheless he gave them both a slow blink of his amber eyes and in a dry tone replied, "Most definitely, sir."

"There now, you see! Wondrous timing! For we, my friend, are only a two eves away from the opening of the silver gates that separated our world from that of the living."

The man did not seem as enthused as Azrael would have hoped, and this put him in a rather sour mood as there came once more a second round of confused mumbling about not understanding this or that.

Nonetheless, he spent no time in explanation. Instead, from the desk at which he sat he pulled forth a stack of envelopes and a feather pen-- giving the man a pointed look before he continued. "Now then, are there any among the living that you might like to see? Tickets are given by request of the dead. One could say it's by invitation only."

"I, well, there's my grandmother--"

Azrael frowned. "It has to be a lover. Someone of romantic interest."

"Why?"

At this both he and Oz let out a miserable groan. "Do you recall the days when the dead used to actually know anything about the business?" the Cat said.

"I do indeed, and what glorious days those were!" Azrael replied, "In any case, I have little time to tell stories, lad. Now is there someone, anyone, that you might consider to be in love with you? Or perhaps likes you even a little bit? Tolerates you, perhaps?"

"I-- yes, um, that is to say." that man's face was going beet red and were Azrael not in such a dreadful state of annoyance with him he would have found it halfway amusing. "There is... Someone."

Both he and Oz drew closer then, their attentions piqued. "Yes?" They said in unison.

"She's um... She is-- erm, was-- a fiancé... Uh, it was arranged. I don't know if that's good enough but I have no one else."

I'm not surprised, Azrael thought, Poor girl. Nevertheless, he dared not say these things aloud-- not to the man's face anyway. Instead, he withdrew from his seat at the desk and came to kneel before the lost soul, his voice softening ever so slightly in what he hoped was a far more tender manner.

"The gates will open to her, my friend, I can assure you."

The man nodded, and something within his eyes reflected a glimmer of hope that was almost painful to look upon. Yet in the end, this answer satisfied him enough to where Oz could convince him to return to the other tents, telling him that it wouldn't be long now.

In this way he left them, and Azrael could not help but watch him go, looking at the expressions of awe upon his face as the fear of the carnival melted away and allowed the magic to over take him.

It was a glorious sight indeed.

From beside him, he heard Oz sigh then. "You're far more patient with them than I would have ever been."

"That's why they put me in charge. You can't always shove them around, Ozzyboy."

The Cat gave a single nod of understanding. "They need a firm hand. Yet I suppose gentle words may be beneficial for some."

"There now!" Azrael replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "Slow steps are better than none at all."

With that, he and the Cat began to make their way past the tents upon a path of smooth, dark stones who's mirror-like surface reflected the stars and night sky above, walking at last till they came to the very edge of the carnival.

To Azrael it looked to be nothing more than a swirl of mist amidst nothingness, yet he knew that Oz could see what lay beyond-- for the Cat was not bound to the carnival as he was.

Nevertheless, he did not need to see what lay beyond the mist to send forth the invitations. And thus he drew forth the ticket that he had scrawled the name of the man's lover upon, placing a kiss upon the paper and watching as it fluttered from his hands like a bird-- up and out into the fog.

Come play at my carnival, Miss Caramonte, he thought, You most certainly have your work cut out for you.

                                                                            .........................................

A/N; A quick disclaimer; I am aware that the name Azrael is Hebrew in origin and is the name of the Archangel of Death. That being said, though Azzy deals with the souls of dead lovers, he is not related in any way to that angel. I honestly just really liked the name and thought it suited him. But yeah, no correlation, just to make things clear :)

Again, thanks so much for reading and I hope you liked this chapter from a different character's POV. I'll probably sprinkle in some more Azrael chapters throughout the story cause I honestly love this character.