Impossible Dreams of Love

“When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”  — Arthur Conan Doyle

Words mean everything and nothing. They are as deeply felt as they are heard, even more so than one could imagine. That is where our story begins.

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Aingeal knows death. He knows it like the scythe in his hand and the cloak that settles over his slender shoulders tattered as well as aged with the sentiments it carried. But this fluttering feeling... Well, it down-right confused Aingeal. He'd never expirienced such a longing for someone so very alive.

He glided softly behind the mortal, knowing that his presence was likely bothering this man. Aingeal couldn't help this strange fascination nor could he remove it; he'd tried several times to take the bright spark from his chest by force, yet it reignited fiercer and brighter with each attempt. Following the absurdly beautiful man seemed to only make the spark grow and Aingeal was forced to wait. It slid past him in a rush, did Life, that most brilliant image reflected in the dark of the city. It embodied the dichotomy that Aingeal felt so well that he had taken New York under his wings (feathers darker than an Angel's but lighter than those of the true diaspora) colored black, gold and blue.

He glanced up again as the man entered a Tarot Shop that held a Seer. Aingeal clasped his slender fingers together before the woman poked her head out and motioned him inside with a frown marring the lovely Gypsy face. His presence made the man shiver slightly and the Seer to pull another shawl around her shoulders before she offered a blanket for the man. Aingeal hadn't even had the courage to look the man's name up in his list of Death, for Holy's sake!

"I've got a problem."

"That I know, stranger, but first a name. Give me something that holds value to you, this name, but not your True one. A nickname, perhaps?" She croons as she hands the man a pack of Tarot cards to shuffle.

"Err... Why?" The confusion on the man's face was rather endearing.

"Good question. The presence following you holds a great deal of power. I highly suggest a name yours but not." The Seer is smart, Aingeal thinks with a smirk. "For instance, you may call me Maya though it is not my name."

"Ah. Well, in that case, it's Dar." Clever mortals. Aingeal waits as Dar shuffles the deck and hands it back to Maya with a serious expression on his face.

"Please select three cards and place them face down." Dar does so placidly, almost as if he is a puppet. "Your first is... The Lovers? Hmm. Next." Aingeal knows this next card by heart. "Death. Next." Dar flips the last card with a shaking hand and it is an unusual card, one that Aingeal has not seen in some time. "The Fool. The question is which of you is the fool and which is the wise man?"

"Perhaps I am the fool." Aingeal mumurs as he reveals his presence in the shadows, startling Dar and Maya quite thoroughly.

"The Angel of Death." The Seer murmurs with a strain on her usually calm tone.

"... You're kidding me. This is all-Oh God." Aingeal merely unfolds his wings as proof and sits in the third seat usually reserved for visiting spirits. "You're the one that's been causing that chill? The weird dreams? Everything?"

"Those are not my intention. It is your soul attempting to process why Death would follow it so closely. I soothed it as best I could." He sighs, shoving his hood back with an absent movement that reveals his face.

"My soul? What does that have to do with anything?" Aingeal smiles wryly, pulling the soul-print from his pocket. "Is that... Is that mine?" He can understand being impressed by it; it swirls with a brilliant green, gold, and a deep purple light.

"Yes. It's brighter than at least half the city's residents. Would you like to know what the colors mean?" He knows his gaze is disturbing for most, the maroon color glowing in the dim lighting of the Tarot Shop.

"Sure." The response is faint, as though Dar thinks he's dreaming.

"Green denotes charisma, gold is loyalty and purple... You will not find it easily amongst the world's souls. It is something one does not find easily; a Grand Love." Aingeal explains as he unfurls his wings to stretch them. Dar's soft grey eyes follow them as the marginal coverts, alula and the primary coverts splay out to reveal his much bigger flight feathers.

"So, who is it? My Grand Love?"

"That, mortal, is the question even immortals must ask." he admits with a self-depreciating smile. Some of Aingeal's parti-colored hair falls forward and he scowls at the stubborn strands. Dar's hand reaches up but Aingeal leans back sharply. "I would not, if I were you. Touching me results in instant death via aneurism." He curls his ivory fingers into a loose fist and pulls it close to his person to protect the mortals.

"So... You're lonely." The Seer rolls her eyes and packs up her kit, gliding into her tiny kitchenette to make tea. Aingeal can smell the chai even from a distance which makes him smile genuinely this time. "Why?"

"As I said, mortal beings die from touching me and the immortals are convinced I hold them to a different standard because of their status. Such is not the case."

"You know, I think I've earned the right to call you by your name. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours?" Dar offered as Maya set down the tea with a sharp thump.

"Idiot." she hisses, adding two sugars to her tea and stirring it.

"Agreed." He murmurs, taking the cup of plain tea and adding sugar as well as a bit of milk. Maya looks up from her tea with wide eyes before he adds his own twist. "You are banned from attempting to rid me from this Earth as I hold the balance in check." She nods stiffly but accepts his terms. "My name is Aingeal Morte or Geal if you prefer that."

"Geal? Suits you. Mine's Kadar Kingson, Dar for short. So, do you have the whole scythe and tattered cloak?" The grey gaze is very intellegent and Geal revises his opinion about this mortal; he is much more clever that he'd given Kadar credit for in the past.

"Part and parcel of what I am." he teases, summoning both from thier positions for barely a moment before he sends them back. "Anything else?"

"So... Why were you following me?" Dar asks and this time his tone is stern, almost accusatory of Aingeal's actions.

"Your dreams project your soul. It caught my attention from a fair distance..." Gael's eyes glaze over as he remembers the brilliant colors dancing at the edge of his peripheral vision. He can see them even now, if he concentrates hard enough. "Green is not rare with mortals but such a concentration is telling. It was the first, followed by the remainder of your colors."

"You keep referring to my soul." Dar's black brows furrowed, contrasting sharply with his caramel skin-tone.

"It was the first beautiful thing I had encountered in centuries. Forgive me if it seems odd." Aingeal murmurs with a faint smile. "The rest... Well, that is mine to carry. I am quite sure your life will unfold with few obstacles. I will keep myself at a distance."

"Wait." Aingeal gasps in shock as Kadar's warm hand closes around his much cooler wrist. "I'm supposed to die now?"

"I think so." He glances up into the warm grey eyes and raises his free hand with a hesitance that belies his strength as he carefully cups Kadar's face.

"Maybe this is that Grand Love you were talking about?" comes the whispered question. "The reason you followed my soul."

"Perhaps. Are you not frightened of me?" he breathes back with a shyness he's never known either.

"Frightened? Of you?" Kadar's eyes crinkle at the edges and he laughs. It's a beautiful sound, something that Aingeal knows he will cherish long after Kadar has gone the way of the Angels. "No."

-Several Months Later-

"Aingeal?" Kadar calls into the studio apartment they share in New York, startling him into dropping his paint-brush with a yelp. "Babe?"

"By all that is Holy Kadar, I will have a heart attack if you keep calling like that..." Geal chides with a hand over his chest from the shock. Kadar laughs as Aingeal smears navy blue paint from his hand onto his cheek as he attempts to clean up.

"Geal, you're getting it everywhere. What's this one about?" Kadar captures his hands and cleans them off with a wet wipe that he pulls from one of the various containers all over the apartment. He's tender as he wipes it off of Aingeal's cheek and smoothes the wild hair into place.

"Life." He smiles brightly, more so than he has in centuries, gesturing as he reaches for another color to finish off the canvas. It's a landscape that he remembers from before he was the Angel of Death and it stuck because of all the color. Aingeal deepens the shadows, not caring that he just ruined Kadar's efforts to clean him up as he tucks the brush behind his ear and smears more paint across his cheek. He grins as he smoothed out a rough brush stroke with his fingertips then frowns as he spots another, correcting the mistakes he sees. "It's a memory." He dips another brush into the burnt orange paint to finish off the leaves that have started to fall and he laughs as Kadar lifts him away from his painting with a chuckle. "No! The paint-"

"Will be fine. I want you to meet my sister." Wide marroon eyes look up and he blushes. "You're worried you aren't presentable. Ah well. She'll love you." They'd found that those with the right amount of green in their souls could touch Aingeal but not before he looked. "Even if you are delightfully scruffy." A soft kiss was pressed to lips before he was deposited down on thier over-stuffed couch. "Stay put, you rogue."

"Love you." He murmurs as he realizes that his arms, face and neck are covered in paint. "This is going to make a fantastic impression." Aingeal looks up as he hears two sets of footsteps and then a third pair, though with a lighter tread. A child? Oh he wasn't good with little ones...

"Geal should be where I set him down, if he actually stayed put this time. He likes to move; gets restless if he can't." Kadar was explaining and sure enough, a small child careened around the corner. Aingeal fidgeted but stayed where he was even as the child's soul became visible with liberal streaks of green marking the soul of someone he could touch. "Aingeal, this is my sister Zahara. Z, this is Geal. Malik... Uncle Geal isn't too touchy, okay?" Malik ignored Kadar with the same stubborn expression in which Kadar had ignored his warning months ago. A small, chubby-fingered hand trailed down his cheek and came away with violet acyrlic paint.

"Sorry." He pulls a wet wipe from the table full of art and design magazines, grinning at Kadar's insistence that there be at least one container in the apartment after the paint explosion incident. He cleans the child with minimal fuss involved. "I was busy painting."

"Huh. He really does... Oh Allah." Kadar just grins proudly as his sister (an interior designer) walked up to Aingeal's painting with an expression of awe copied by her son.

"It's not done." he demurred, finishing it off with a white signature in the dark corner. "There. A finished piece."

"It's not as beautiful as it's creator." Kadar whispers lovingly in his ear with a smile.