URGH so sorry I deleted this! It was only supposed to be for half a second while I fixed a particularly hideous typo, but then my internet decided it couldn't live in a world without Gabriel and commited suicide. And then it's a public holiday weekend and I work in hospitality so I had NO TIME to repost. MAJOR fail on my part, sorry sorry!
Here it is again!
----
She had his blood and felt him die.
*
They met in Serampore, in the days when the city was still known by some foreign jibberish name. The river Hugli had been thick with ships baring bolts of cotton and silk, and the dockyards were crowded with people, all shades and origins mingling in a stew of corruption over what should be sacred waters. But they were nothing – irrelevant – compared to him.
“I know what you are,” she told him when she faced him.
“Oh really?” he replied.
And she should have expected it from a Trickster, but still his smile disarmed her.
Loki – or so she thought, then. Dressed as any other stevedore, but in truth a god. He had followed his Norsemen here, and he did not belong.
Kali told him so and readied herself for battle. Humans recorded it as lighting and storms, but the fire that pulsed across the sky in burning ribbons of fury was anything but natural. Kali is destruction, annihilation, death. She would not tolerate intrusion of his sort on her lands.
But when she stood before him, black and terrible, he laughed. Threw back his head and turned her garland of severed heads to rubies.
“Relax,” he said, “I’m not moving in on your territory,” and vanished.
That night all the English missionaries in the city were struck down with dysentery. Kali found a message written in ripples of the river: I thought it should come out the right end for once, and smiled.
*
The world was a different place after Lucifer. So many gods gone, so many powers unseated and changed.
Kali walked the dark and secret corners of the world, where old magic waited patiently for final days.
*
Soldiers marched below her, clashed and filled the streets with red and rage and rebellion. Kali fed off their energy: tasted the blood from each slash of their knives and rose triumphant over her land with a cry of lust. War and death she reveled in, destruction nourished her.
“That’s quite a turn on,” she heard a voice say.
She seized him with all her hands, tore away his human form and looked upon him as gods should. And they coupled there, in the empty expanses of sky above a blood soaked battlefield, she lost in mindless passion of violence and he with a smile on his face.
Kali is death, darkness and the end of times. But later that day her lover turned the trousers of the British infantry into skirts, and for the first time since the world had cooled, she laughed.
*
His blood was dried and crusted, but the life of a god – or an angel – is a tenacious thing.
The apocalypse and the holes it ripped through the world had strengthened Kali, and with the right words - bargained from ancient powers - she conjured his spirit, his soul, his grace.
Kali is death, all consuming destruction. But she had also nursed the infant Shiva, looked upon him with love and restored the stability of the world when the intoxication of blood had gone. She had once smiled and danced and loved. Now, light poured from her hands and the sound of laughter and wings filled the form she had created for them.
“You know, it’s more traditional for you to kill yourself because you can’t go on without me,” Gabriel said.
“I am Change,” Kali replied, and took him in her arms.
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Mahakali, Gabriel/Kali, PG13
Date: 2010-04-25 07:36 am (UTC)URGH so sorry I deleted this! It was only supposed to be for half a second while I fixed a particularly hideous typo, but then my internet decided it couldn't live in a world without Gabriel and commited suicide. And then it's a public holiday weekend and I work in hospitality so I had NO TIME to repost. MAJOR fail on my part, sorry sorry!
Here it is again!
----
She had his blood and felt him die.
*
They met in Serampore, in the days when the city was still known by some foreign jibberish name. The river Hugli had been thick with ships baring bolts of cotton and silk, and the dockyards were crowded with people, all shades and origins mingling in a stew of corruption over what should be sacred waters. But they were nothing – irrelevant – compared to him.
“I know what you are,” she told him when she faced him.
“Oh really?” he replied.
And she should have expected it from a Trickster, but still his smile disarmed her.
Loki – or so she thought, then. Dressed as any other stevedore, but in truth a god. He had followed his Norsemen here, and he did not belong.
Kali told him so and readied herself for battle. Humans recorded it as lighting and storms, but the fire that pulsed across the sky in burning ribbons of fury was anything but natural. Kali is destruction, annihilation, death. She would not tolerate intrusion of his sort on her lands.
But when she stood before him, black and terrible, he laughed. Threw back his head and turned her garland of severed heads to rubies.
“Relax,” he said, “I’m not moving in on your territory,” and vanished.
That night all the English missionaries in the city were struck down with dysentery. Kali found a message written in ripples of the river: I thought it should come out the right end for once, and smiled.
*
The world was a different place after Lucifer. So many gods gone, so many powers unseated and changed.
Kali walked the dark and secret corners of the world, where old magic waited patiently for final days.
*
Soldiers marched below her, clashed and filled the streets with red and rage and rebellion. Kali fed off their energy: tasted the blood from each slash of their knives and rose triumphant over her land with a cry of lust. War and death she reveled in, destruction nourished her.
“That’s quite a turn on,” she heard a voice say.
She seized him with all her hands, tore away his human form and looked upon him as gods should. And they coupled there, in the empty expanses of sky above a blood soaked battlefield, she lost in mindless passion of violence and he with a smile on his face.
Kali is death, darkness and the end of times. But later that day her lover turned the trousers of the British infantry into skirts, and for the first time since the world had cooled, she laughed.
*
His blood was dried and crusted, but the life of a god – or an angel – is a tenacious thing.
The apocalypse and the holes it ripped through the world had strengthened Kali, and with the right words - bargained from ancient powers - she conjured his spirit, his soul, his grace.
Kali is death, all consuming destruction. But she had also nursed the infant Shiva, looked upon him with love and restored the stability of the world when the intoxication of blood had gone. She had once smiled and danced and loved. Now, light poured from her hands and the sound of laughter and wings filled the form she had created for them.
“You know, it’s more traditional for you to kill yourself because you can’t go on without me,” Gabriel said.
“I am Change,” Kali replied, and took him in her arms.