If Wishes Were Horses (Charlie) - The White Tower

The man was leaning against the doorway when Charlie returned. He didn't seem in the least bit bored, a deck of cards in his gloved hands, turning them over as he flipped through them. Once in a while, he shuffled, but mostly he just passed them from one hand to the other, seemingly intent on his task. Waiting.

How long since he'd been by? Oh, that's right, a small eternity. And if he wast already weary of the place after all that had happened, finding someone in his apartment the moment he stepped out of the elevator and dropped Obfuscate sure s Hell didn't help.

"Want to start with who the fuck you are or just jump to the bit where I tell you to get the Hell out of my home?" because someone as calm as that guy? Yeah, even Charlie knew better than to try and attack him straight away.

By his reaction, he had been waiting there for a while. He looked up. His eyes were kind, as was the way he watched Charlie.

"I am Abraham."

He gave a slight bow of his head.

"I had heard you likely wanted to speak with me."

"And you thought breaking into my home was a good way to start off a conversation?" he said calmly though clearly displeased.

He shook his head.

"No. But I knew of no other way to contact you."

"We both know I want you dead for what you did to my father, so why would you think that I'd want to "talk" to you?" he snarled, pulling his jacket off as he moved through the living room towards the kitchen.

He still hadn't moved. He tilted his head slightly, watching Charlie as he moved toward the kitchen.

"To give you the chance for your retribution."

"What? You intend to lean back and let me sever your heart? For some strange reason I seriously doubt that" he snapped, opening the fridge and retrieving what was now useless blood before turning to pour it out in the sink and turning the water on.

He still hadn't moved.

"Yes."

He seemed completely at ease, unmoving.

"There is so much wickedness that is in this place. Demons, I've been told. While it is my duty to God to do away with such creatures, it is not my practice to leave people in pain."

"Don't give me that "holier than thou" bullshit"
The empty pitcher was smashed in the sink, causing it to shatter into countless little pieces of glittering glass.
"Honourable service to God is that it? Duty to mankind? The greater good?" the youth turned to face him. "Bullshit. You're a killer and you worry you might've left someone in pain? That's damn right laughable"

He spread his hands, showing him that his hands were empty.

"You are angry. Angry with me. And that is understandable. I accept that. But I come to you, unarmed, and profess to you that you may have your vengeance. You may have it."

He spoke softly, as though he had come to terms with the entire situation. And he still made no move to come any closer.

"You do not hold the same beliefs that I hold, and that, too, is understandable. But I came here not to cause more pain. I believe that, to have your pain healed, you must see that justice must be done, your own kind of justice. I am here to let you have it."

It was simple words, and still, the man against the wall was unmoving.

It felt like a trap, another God damn set up.
No one just showed up to let themselves be offed before they worried someone they didn't know, much less cared about, had been pained by a death caused at their hands. Honestly. An executioner that worried about such things wouldn't have lasted very long in his line of work. So believe the man? Not for a second.

"I don't believe you" and he sure as Hell didn't believe that the man wouldn't cut him down where he stood if he did any rash moves.

He moved his hand, just one hand. He was beckoning Charlie closer to him, but he didn't move away from the wall.

"I know you don't. No one ever does. Come, Charlie, and bring your weapon. My sword rests in someone else's hands now. My legacy will continue when all is said and done. And you will be hailed a hero by the Prince of your city for doing away with what he calls 'Scourge-Bait'. I won't harm you. Come."

"So I kill you..." yes, he sounded very convinced of that as he reached for once of the curved blades and wrapped his fingers around the small vicious looking knife. "I get "praised" " he moved slowly towards the man, his voice dripping of spite and sarcasm at the man's words. "While your spawn continues the your Legacy.... meaning I've achieved what exactly?"

His brow rose. But he still hadn't moved.

"You have closed the circle of grief so that you may heal. Should my Legacy cross paths with you, I suspect you will end up in battle, and one of you will die. I could not say who or how, but that, I suspect, will be what happens."

He paused and tilted his head.

"You may bind me if you like."

He smirked. There was nothing pleasant or comforting about it.

"I'll play your game... I'm fucked either way. At least this way?" he changed the grip of the blade in his hand as he stepped up close. "At least this way I get to hope you burn. Because when I finally go to Hell I want the pleasure of killing you a second time"

Really, fuck it.

He still smiled, very calmly. From out of nowhere, a piece of paper seemed to appear in his hand. He held it out toward Charlie between the tips of his fingers, and made the sign of the cross.

"Go with God, Charlie."

That was his only words.

The crusader closed his eyes.

God? He'd buried any kind of connection to God when he'd buried Sam.
"Over my twice dead body"

But kill the man? No. Not like this anyways. Celerity, blood pumped strength and stake on the other hand?

There was a brief flash of discomfort when Abraham mentioned God, when he crossed himself. But it was something that he seemed almost apologetic about, as though he had no choice and could not help it. In truth, it was completely involuntary.

He still had not moved. Nor had he opened his eyes.

"Charlie, my blade did not hesitate to strike. You should not hesitate to do what you wish to do now. Whatever that may be."

The stake was brought about quickly and thrust into the man's chest with no sign of hesitation. The youth grabbing him by the collar of his clothes before his body could fall to the floor.

"I'll let you see your God one last time" he whispered, a cold, dead tone to his voice as he headed upstairs, dragging the limp body with him as he did so with little regards as to the man's comfort. Honestly, he was staked, not as if he could complain now was it.

He dragged him upstairs and out onto the glassed in part of the top floor where it was possible to look out across the city, Charlie taking a moment to prop him up against the wall so that he could gaze outside.

"At least I can make sure you do burn..." he said as he straightened back up, watched the man for a moment and walked back inside, leaving the door open as he sat down in the hallway and simply... watched. Sunrise would come in a few hours, the area was facing East so the view wold be beautiful... even if Charlie wouldn't be able to see it from where he was sitting. Though, he would be able to see Abraham. And he wanted to watch...

This wasn't the first time he had been in this particular situation. His body, limp from the wood that pierced his chest, utterly complaint and uncomplaining as he was dragged mercilessly up the stairs. He was heavy; heavy enough that Charlie would definitely have to fuel his strength quite a bit to get him to move. The unfortunate part of metal being everywhere on your person -- it was heavy.

The sun rose. Slowly, off in the distance. It was just a faint thing, and Charlie couldn't really see it all so well, but Charlie could smell it. The scent of burned flesh, the scent of death, as it permeated the air, even here. Even inside. The man's body was slowly turned to ash, and if Charlie went up to look the next night?

Everything that had been on the man's person had turned to ash with him. Which was odd in and of itself. But one small thing remained, glinting in the moonlight.

And that, of course, was even more odd.

He sit and he'd wait, and the next night he'd return back upstairs to gather the ashes, careful to get as much as he possibly could into the bag he'd brought up with him. What couldn't be swept up and gathered though he would wash away, scrubbing the tiles clean before grabbing the bag and the pendant (though at the tip of a knife, not wanting to touch it) before going back downstairs.

He gathered a few things that he'd need, or more than that, wanted to bring with him. The pendant he wrapped in a piece of cloth and tucked in his jeans pocket while he did so, making sure to go look for the note the man had held in his hand before he'd been staked. It might've turned to ash as well, who knew, but if it hadn't it should still be on the floor of his living room.

It was still there. Right there, on the floor of his living room.

He leaned down and picked it up to see what, if anything, was on it.

It was a letter. Sealed with wax, no letters or insignia on the page, but it was still a letter of some sort.