REESE

A heavy thudding of hoofbeats could be heard as horse and rider trotted down a dirt road. Beautiful tree's arched over the path, casting shade onto the trampled earth. The left side of this path sloped down into a considerably steep hillside which overlooked a creek that was quiet and lazy, unless it stormed, then it would grumble and swell over the bank. Reese heard the chirping of a whippoorwill who was camouflaged inside the intertwining branches and dense leaves of a tree. He looked anyhow but could not see it. As they breached the top of the road a old mountain cabin came into view and Reese felt better. Tranquility, safety and security - these emotions flooded his body so intensely that he could feel his eyes water. The cabin had been home since he was a boy and had been home to a good majority of his mother's family for generations. Some called them mountain folk but Reese had known nothing else but these sloping blue hills, fertile lands, soulful music and good cookin'. This new revelation in his life was meant to disturb this and he could hardly understand why. Sometimes Reese got the notion that some of those loggers and hungry big corporations stared at this little part of the world that was his and foamed at the mouth for all its abundant riches which lay naked on the surface. Vikingr's invading a defenseless village.

Reese led Boone into the corral and removed his bridle, "Rest here for a bit Boone. I guess Maw ain't here yet. Somethin' stills bothering me though," He was about to take off the saddle when Boone reared and stomped his hooves, "I've knocked you down once and I'll do it again. You can't stay here long, Reese. I'm sorry but there's a place we need to be headin' towards." Boone snorted, tossing the black mane, pawing at the dirt. "Trying to pull me from the farm? You and everyone else it'd seem." Reese ignored the protests from the horse (who unfortunately could talk now - wow! awesome!) and resumed taking off the saddle, bridle and saddle pad from Boone. Fresh water, hay and a bit of apple was given to the stallion before Reese made his way to the cabin.

The cabin had been a project that Reese, his paw and granpaw had built some odd years ago. Time went by so fast, it was often a cruel mistress, lines growing deeper on the faces of all living things around him. Even his own face had little laugh lines forming. One thing Reese had, and would always be sure of, is that time was a thief of the worst caliber. She took, she gave and without much notice she might pluck your number from the mystical haven that made up this universe and that was it. 'Your thinking too much again Reese.' He rested a hand against the doorframe and exhaled a shaky breath. Reese hadn't ever felt such an awful sorrow before his paw had passed, "Gah, dammit. I can't do this right now." His eyes had begun to water, heartbeat thundering inside his chest, teeth clenched tightly. There wouldn't ever come a day that thinking of him wouldn't cause such a distress.

He made his way inside and was engulfed by the nostalgic scents of childhood. Drying herbs, fresh tomatoes, zucchini, gunpowder, rabbit stew. "Rabbit stew!?" Reese opened his eyes (inhaling all these enticing scents had yer eyes closin up y'know) to the sight of his Granmaw with the calico apron and neatly braided red hair hard at work over the wood burning stove. "Gran! You didn't have to come by today. I was planning on bringing up some of those tomatoes I'd pulled out of the garden." Reese walked over to his granmaw and gave her a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Nonsense. Your granpaw is getting on my nerves whining about another truck or something, I don't know. To tell you the truth I hardly paid attention this morning when he went on about it. I just figured that my little grandson wouldn't mind a pot of his favorite food." So youthful were her eyes when she talked, even her voice. The aged body did not fit her mentality. "Ah, well, I've been meanin' to get over there and help him. I got a part at the auto shop he was wantin', I'd ordered it in so I hope he still needs it." Reese sat at the table and poured a glass of water which he promptly chugged before pouring a second glass. "I'm not sure if he does but I'm guessing he'll take it either way. Say, I pulled out my mother's recipe for this stew. Onion, sweet onion grass, carrot, rabbit, yukon gold potatoes, cream, garlic," She rummaged through the cabinets for a bowl and grabbed a ladle that was near the pot, "I brought some of my banana peppers along if you want them in here but I just can't take that taste! Bleh! I don't get why you like those. I only can them for you boy."

Reese couldn't get enough of the wonderful smell that filled his cabin. It was heaven, and if this was to be his heaven forever, if he was to die and never leave this little cabin where Boone and his granmaw were, that was alright. He and the Good Lord were in agreement. She sat the big bowl of rabbit stew in front of the boy, who happened to be a boy a little over 6 feet 6 inches tall, plopping a spoon into the dish. "Something on your mind, Reese?" She sat across from him, "I saw you guzzling those cups of water." Reese just about couldn't look her in the eye. She had the same penetrating gaze his father had and once underneath it felt like he could tell no lie because if he did, they were sure to find out. He took a few spoonfulls of the stew relishing in the wonderful taste. There was an eerie feeling that it would be his last chance to enjoy something of this nature. "I-I'm worried. I'm scared Grannmaw." She placed a hand atop his and squeezed it tightly. "Oh my boy. What have you got to worry about? Granpaw and I are here. Your maw is here. Boone's just outside and... Oh! Have you had any luck with that stray dog running round?" Reese knew how she was trying to comfort him but the level of anguish he felt was not something she could comprehend. "He's a pretty cur. I tried yesterday to lure him in but he's skittish. Granmaw?" She slowly nodded her head, "Reese?" She smiled. Reese smiled too. "I think I've got to leave the cabin."

Boone had eaten a little bit of the hay and all of the apple but he felt restless. Horribly restless in fact. A few minutes of belting out loud (obnoxious) whinnying and neighing was enough to garner concern from Reese. He came from the cabin in a quick run to check on Boone, "What the hell is wrong?" Reese glanced over the horse but saw nothing concerning. Boone stuck his head through the slants of the corral and tugged on the leg of Reese's jeans, "I know where we need to go. I didn't before but I do now, I don't know how but I just do." Reese tossed his hands in the air, clearly upset by the additional confirmation that, yes, he would have to leave the cabin. "Why!? I didn't ask for this. I do not want this! I want to be left alone! Is this because paw ki- hurt, ugh!" Reese leaned against the corral and allowed his long hair to cover his face. The sun shone to bright, and the world was to cruel today, he wanted to hide. "Reese, I can talk but there is a limit to what I can understand. A limit to the consolation I can offer because I just can't understand you and your emotions at times." Boone nibbled on strands of Reese's hair and nudged his head gently, "I don't want you to feel alone. I've been by your side for a long time." Reese fell silent and only slightly nodded his head side to side. "Salem is where we're going. Salem Massachusetts."

Saddle, bridle, saddle pad and a few necessary things inside the saddle bags later and the two were ready. Reese felt so torn inside. He was silent as the cabin disappeared out of view and the trees arching over the path above him cast their evening shadow onto the earth and his clothes. Reese wore a dark red flannel that almost looked black in the shadows, faded bootcut jeans that had a couple holes were he constantly pulled a pocketknife in an out of the left pocket and a pair of beat to hell square-toed boots.

𝕁𝕠𝕙𝕟

Fifteen minutes may as well have been fifteen days.
All John could do since Leah left was stand frozen in the same spot, staring at Momma's body, and biting his lip. How could I walk away now? After all I've seen?
"Go on and walk away, Johnnyboy," he could almost hear his mother speaking in that oddly childish smoker voice of hers, "you've done it to me many times before, why change now?"
He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to will away an oncoming headache. Never before had Momma's voice been so clear and distinct in his mind. Every little thing reminded him of her now, every private thought of his required her unsolicited response.
Inevitably, that voice was right. John would walk away - he hated when she called him Johnny, and he was not a boy anymore.
Huddled together outside the door and waiting for John was a group of unknown persons, strange men and women with blurred eyes and damaged bodies who stared at him silently and without expression. John stared right back at each one of them, almost like a commander looking down at his small military squad.
"Stay away from me, whoever you people are." John cautiously ordered, and immediately looked around to see if any of the 'living' were around to hear him. No one was, he was sure, and the gloomy group made no response, but they didn't follow him down the hallway either. Was it really because he asked them to?
John stepped back and sighed with relief when the steel grey elevator doors finally closed and separated him from those creepy eyes.
All things considered, I could probably get used to them, if I had to. He mused as the elevator went down. I've seen worse at Walmart.
Back in the reception area, there were more of them, same as before. They watched John as he exchanged a brief conversation with one of the ward staff.
"My condolences, Mr. Sanson." The silver-haired man's tired voice was muffled through his face covering, "her doctor will be here soon to confirm the cause of death and issue a death certificate – are you sure you cannot wait?"
"Thanks," John nodded, "but I'm afraid not. Something, uh... came up. I just wanted to check in with you."
"I see." The man flatly replied, leafing through what John assumed was his mother's file of some sort. "We've been informed that Mrs. Sanson was a member of the Kirioth Order*, is this correct?"
"Uh, yeah, a long time ago - before I was born. Why do you ask?" John squinted his eyes suspiciously, the question made him uncomfortable. It didn't seem relevant at all, and he remembered how much Momma tensed up whenever he brought up the subject. Sometimes she wouldn't speak to him for days afterwards, so he eventually dropped it. All he knew about her nun history he gathered from his own nosing around and eavesdropping over the years.
"Hm. According to our records, Mrs. Sanson is still with the Order. There is no mention of membership termination or expulsion of any sort... I'm sure it's just a clerical error," the man explained, briefly scratching his head, "but if your mother did happen to be member of any religious order, they would be the ones to look after all the funeral arrangements."
"Well," John stroked his chin thoughtfully, pretending to seem unsurprised by otherwise much needed piece of good news, "my mother was a woman of many secrets..."

HOW MUCH TIME WILL ETERNAL DEATH BE WILLING TO WASTE?

A booming voice thundered through his being, drowning out whatever the ward staff was saying to him in response. John looked behind him, expecting it to be one of those blurry-eyed zombies that constantly bore their eyes into his back, but he couldn't pick out which one of them it could be.
"Mr. Sanson? Are you alright?" The oblivious staff worker asked him, sounding impossibly small and far away now.
"Yeah," John nodded quickly at the man, tucking a stray black hair behind his ear, "I just remembered I left my car unlocked – again - gotta run."
The lie rolled off his tongue in a way that was too smooth and quick for John's comfort, but he couldn't dwell on it right now. If the undead horde didn't creep him out, the disembodied voice of God Himself would certainly do it.

Once outside in the hospital parking lot, John desperately fished the inside of his jacket pockets for a pack of Marlboro Red and a lighter. It was the only thing that was truly familiar to him, the only piece of security and routine that glued his ramshackle life together. Last month he thought about quitting, but there was no way this was going to happen now. Even if it was illegal to smoke where he stood, he was ready to throw fists for a cig. Alas, much to John's shock and dismay, there were no cigarettes to be found in any of his pockets, though he could have sworn they were there before he gave the jacket to Leah.
He couldn't have imagined feeling more empty than he already did, but this was the last straw. John sunk down to the ground and sat on the kerb in defeat.

THE MAIDEN DESIRES THAT WHICH WILL LEAD HER TO DEATH - THY PULL WEAKENS HER DESIRE TO RESIST.

John instinctively cast his eyes up towards the heavens, half-expecting an old bearded man up there. What he saw instead was the silhouette of a sickly pale horse towering over him.
"You..." John muttered, recalling the hyperrealistic hallucination he had in Momma's room prior to finding her body. Death's pale horse made no comment, and John was the better for it. There was no need for a horse to be that loud or that dramatic, as far as he was concerned. At the same time, John lacked the experience necessary to understand non-speaking horses. He was pretty much born and raised in the city; all the wildlife he ever really knew were meowling alley cats, howling mongrels, trash pandas, and feral pigeons who can't see the difference between a toilet and a historical monument. Animals were unpredictable and potentially dangerous – an imaginary one doubly so. Aside from that one time he worked at a farm in Pennsylvania, John had never even been this close to a horse before.
Apparently sensing John's continued doubt and reluctance, the horse snorted and opened its mouth as if to bite him, motivating John to quickly move out of the way and scramble up to his feet in case he had to fight the hooved creature. Real or not real? John was no longer so eager to test that theory, but the horse seemed satisfied, as though it had just proved a point. It vanished as soon as Leah's red Ford Fiesta appeared around the corner and pulled up next to the kerb. She motioned for John to get in.
"Hey, sorry I'm late," Leah coughed discreetly as John's large body struggled to squeeze inside the vehicle and close the car door. "How are you holding up?"
John was about to make a response when his senses were hit with a wave of that all too familiar fragrance of tobacco smoke. He knew Leah was not a smoker - he did not want to believe it could have been her that took his pack. Meanwhile, she impatiently pressed on the gas pedal and avoided meeting his gaze.
"You know, I could really use a cigarette right about now." John replied longingly, deeply breathing in whatever remnants of smoke were left in the car. He was not about to jump to conclusions, no matter how obvious it seemed, no matter what the pale horse might have screamed. "What about you?"
Leah chuckled awkwardly, and then coughed again, more obviously this time. "Make that a pack - and I'm buyin'."
"But you don't smoke?" John sounded naïve as ever, and Leah found that to be so endearing, she could hardly believe he was for real. She gave him that look which reminded him of the way people react to stray kittens at the local animal shelter. Without another word she took out a pack of Marlboro Red from her own pocket and handed it to him. The pack was empty, save for John's little black lighter rattling around inside.
"Well?" Leah pushed after a minute of no response from him. "That's yours, isn't it?"
"Leah, slow down – hey, you just cut in front of that guy!" John noticed with alarm that Leah was being a little too aggressive on the gas pedal and breaking several basic road safety rules. Is she trying to cause an accident or summon the police?
Just as soon as he said it, Leah slammed on the breaks and skid to a harsh stop, forcing the drivers behind them to swerve and honk angrily as they passed by. Luckily, the morning rush had not yet started, but it was still New York City, and John did not feel comfortable letting Leah drive in an empty field, let alone an urban street.
"Wow," Leah panted excitedly, tightly clutching the steering wheel, "that was incredible! Why did you tell me to stop?"
"I didn't say stop, I said slow down... Leah," John spoke carefully, keeping his eyes on the ignition key in case she suddenly decided to turn on the engine again, "I don't know what's gotten into you, but you must let me drive the car now, or I'm taking a cab. I don't trust you behind the wheel."
"Jesus, take the wheel, then!" Leah giggled, throwing her hands up in defeat and then quickly unfastened her seatbelt. "I just wanted to feel alive for a moment, is that so bad?"
"Smoking ten cigarettes at once on your first time?" John waved the pack in front of her (he remembered how many were supposed to be left in there), "driving around recklessly on a public road – with an unamused passenger, I might add? You call that wanting to live? That goes against every survival instinct known to man."
Leah shook her head, the smile fading from her face. "It doesn't matter - none of it does. You would know... You are my ultimate risk."
"What does that supposed to mean?" John furrowed his eyebrows, ignoring the dull flutter in his stomach at the idea of being hers – her anything.
Leah breathed in deeply, and coughed again, preparing herself to reveal that long-awaited explanation. "Ever since I met your mother a little over a year ago, she has been constantly warning me that I will... die if – if I don't stay away from you... At first I thought she was like most of the mentally ill patients; projecting her own fears onto other people. She didn't mean it as a threat, you know..."
"Why are you telling me this now?" John asked her softly, his breathless voice was barely audible beneath the sounds of drive-by honking outside.
"John – I have cancer."


_{*Kirioth Order is a figment of my imagination. I was initially going to go with real-life Carmelites, but I wanted to link Mrs. Sanson's history as a Catholic nun with her becoming the bearer of Death's spawn/previous Horseman, so a fictional religious order seemed more appropriate. Also, John is going to be in Salem next. He's runnin' a little late, as usual...}

Charani

Perhaps some divine entity really did have it out for her. Or Charani's luck really was just that shitty. Because the trip was short. Disappointingly short. Thirty-eight minutes short! Driving while blaring her music was a catharsis, a way for her to empty her mind and simply vibe. She'd hoped the trip would allow her to clear her head, think of absolutely nothing for the duration and simply live within the beat. Perhaps stop at one of the horrible gas stations along the way and indulge in some unhealthy snacks because, hey, it was quite possible she was going to die soon anyway! A few clogged arteries wasn't even a blip on her radar.

Instead, the monotonous, British voice of her GPS welcomed her into Salem, Massachusetts.

At first glance it wasn't much. If not for the multitude of signs pointing towards museums and historical 'sites' related to the Salem Witch Trials, Charani would have pegged it as nothing more than yet another sleepy New England town. Definitely not the meeting grounds of the next supposed Horsemen and Horsewoman. In fact, the whole place stunk of tourist kitsch.

Nose wrinkling, Charani paused at a stop light to let a group of people cross and tried to surreptitiously check for a fiery horse. Couldn't miss him, she mentally mused. Which meant that, of course, he wasn't around. "Oh, now you decide your presence is no longer needed! That's it, I'm calling you Mizhak*," The last part was muttered, since one of the women had seen her shouting at nothing and was trying to usher the others across faster. "You're such an ass. If they try to burn me at the stake it's your fault." Hah! Wouldn't they be in for a surprise. Unless they tried the dunking method first, which, could she drown now? Best not the test that theory. _((*Wicked))

Following the main road pointed her in no particular direction, and her burned map only showed Salem rather than a specific location. Since Charani had no clue what she was looking for, she decided horses might be her best bet. Hers was obvious, so hopefully the others' would be too. Either that, or she had officially lost it and this was all some wild goose chase created by a broken mind. She wasn't sure which was worse. Maybe mamă was right and I am just a curse. 

By the third almost full loop of the surprisingly small city, she was fed up with everything. There were no obvious signs, the horses was no where to be found, hers included, and people sitting at cafes on main street were beginning to give her strange looks. Was it the constant circling, the obvious talking to herself, or the possibly crazed look in her eye? If it was 1692 she was sure she'd be tried as a witch. The tourists did have the right idea though. Food.

Finding a little café was easy since they seemed to be everywhere. Finding a parking spot was a different story since it seemed everyone and their mother had decided today was the day to try lousy diner food. Slamming her car door shut, she winced and patted his hood as she passed. "Sorry." Taking a deep breath of stale air, Charani mentally prepared herself to keep cool, calm, and collected. Which might be easier if it wasn't for the man and woman suddenly appearing on the other side of the lowrider Charani was parked beside. They were rather entangled, trading words between obscene kisses that had Charani giving an exaggerated gag. All she heard was "boss", "husband can't know", "desired for so long", and "gave up fighting my internal battle" before giving an indignant squawk and hightailing it for the diner.

Had she not been preoccupied by the disturbing scene, she might have realized the dimming sunlight. Instead, she pushed her way into the busy diner, trying to just not think of anything until either the horse showed up or some other 'sign' quite possibly slapped her in the face. 

𝕁𝕠𝕙𝕟

If you have cancer, why'd you say it like you just won the goddamn lottery? It took John all his willpower not to blurt it out.
What Leah said was heartbreaking, but the way she said it was even worse. She was smiling as if it was a punchline to a joke and he was supposed to laugh.
Before she could add anything more, John was out of her car and looking to jump in front of the nearest available cab on the street.
"John! Wait!" Leah called him as she got out.
"I hope you get help - whether it's for cancer or somethin' else..." John managed to reply before getting in the taxi. His nostrils flared and his New York accent was more palpable than usual. "Goodbye, nurse Summers. Clearly, you're better off without me."

The reality of John Sanson's destiny as the Horseman of Death was finally sinking into his consciousness now that he was on his way to Salem. The vision of the Reaper, the earthbound spirits that watched him, the cryptic horse that spoke in a thundering voice - that may have all been a hallucination. Indeed, John would have been overwhelmed with relief were that the case, even if it meant a lifetime of intense therapy and medication. But the train ticket now in his hand was real - the train company confirmed it.
John took his seat and scowled as he struggled to process everything that had happened in the past few hours.
Here's The Update on Channel Four: Instead of organising his mother's funeral or trying to talk a sick nurse to her senses, John H. Sanson was going to a New England town historically famous for condemning unpopular women to death. Why was he going there? Despite the fact that his mother, Genevieve Sanson, was diagnosed by the modern medical establishment as "mentally disturbed", throughout her life she was never known to be a trivial woman. Everything was about purpose and order for her. If her dying wish was to get her son to Salem, perhaps he would find something there that could explain who Momma really was and why all of this was happening now. Was War, Famine and Pestilence going to be there too - were they waiting for Death? Why did Momma say those things to Leah, how did she know? It was all too much of a coincidence and too disturbing to be true.
I wonder if the people of 17th century Salem would consider Momma a Devil-worshipping witch or a God-fearing Christian mystic. Would she have burned at the stake? Or would she have gleefully joined in the witch hunt?
So many questions asked, yet John couldn't hear any of Momma's answers in his mind. He had no idea what she would say anymore.
Might as well listen to some music, fill the void. John thought to himself, and took out a pair of earbuds connected to his phone. Only the most dismal and dissonant metal tracks in his Spotify playlist could relax him now - the foreign language vocals were so guttural they didn't even sound human, but his ears derived pleasure from the pain.
He had no idea what the people stuffed in the train cart were buzzing excitedly about, or that they were all on their way to viewings of the upcoming solar eclipse, away from the large cities.
Exhausted and weakened from hunger, John rested his head against the window and drifted to a nap-like state, significantly shortening the duration of his journey to Salem.

AWAKE TO THE END.

The cavernous voice of the pale horse pulled John back to alertness.
Outside the window was the Salem train station - the pale horse waited for him there, unseen by anyone else. In fact, people moved right through it as though it was a glitch in a video game.
Does "it" have a name, I wonder? John considered the horse for a moment. I will have to ask.
Taking out his earbuds and sighing heavily, John rose from his seat and followed the other passengers out of the train.
There was a strange smell in the air when John stepped onto the station platform, something like burning hair or charred meat. It was subtle but unpleasant enough to make him frown. This isn't what train stations usually smell like, not even in New York. It reminded John of that one time a few years ago when he got high while frying bacon in his old apartment; he burned the meat so bad that the next door neighbour felt compelled to call the fire brigade. John didn't think it was a big deal at first, but the stench lingered even after every surface and article of clothing had been deep-cleaned by professionals. He got evicted shortly after.
Despite all this, thinking of bacon also reminded John of how shockingly hungry he was. Famished, even.
He wandered the area outside the train station looking for anywhere he might go for a decent meal, not noticing the horse was gone again (getting used to it popping in and out of existence now). He spotted a rather inconspicuous diner some distance across the road. On his way towards it, John passed by a group of people leaving the diner, and overheard them chatting about the timing of the solar eclipse. At the front of the diner were some tables and chairs, which looked to have been brought in from the inside, and people were crowded around and staring towards the sky through their makeshift viewing glasses. It made John pause for a bit and squint up at the sky - something he's not in the habit of doing very often. There were no clouds, and a dusk-like haze was slowly descending over everything. The sun was still bright, however it couldn't really be called "sunny" anymore.
John didn't know much about eclipses, and he could care less about witnessing this once-in-a-lifetime event when all he wanted to do right now was stuff his face with something juicy and substantial. He was prepared to pay everything he had on his card just to have one damn good meal. Squeezing past the spellbound viewers, John opened the door into the diner, not expecting to get hit in the head with a chiming bell.
"Son of a-" John rubbed his head, feeling more angry than stupid. He was used to ducking door frames and suchlike because of his tall stature, but having to watch out for chiming bells was a new low. He was going to have to talk to the geniuses in management about this. Who needs a bell anyway? Even Taco Bell doesn't have one.

Looking around at a less than busy diner, John was pleasantly relieved that most folks were heading outside now, giving him more seats to choose from. There was one vacant table by the window - an ideal viewing location too.
Now, what's on the menu?

Kit

Earth was worse than he remembered. At least before, when humans were but a mere twinkle in his father's eye, the world was lush and prosperous. It was healthy. Now the land was in a state of decay, drained of everything good by the mortals who thought they were above it all. Before, when Kit stood beside his siblings against the demon horde, he'd hated the dullness and lifelessness of earth; nothing but either green, blue, or orange depending on the location. Void of the ethereality of Heaven. Now, he'd give his pinfeathers to see the old world.

Standing at the edge of a human town, Kit shifted uncomfortably in the clothing one of the tailors had outfitted him with. He was used to either a tunic or armor, both breathable and easy to maneuver in. These were tight and unseemly, and Kit wanted to have a talk with whoever supplied them. It was bad enough he was one picked for the mission pertaining to the Horsemen, but he would be forced to be uncomfortable for the duration of it.

The death of the original Horsemen had caused a ripple effect in Heaven, a sense of foreboding falling across the shoulders of the angels. Some of the oldest cherubim had wept, for they remembered the Horsemen when they'd been homed in Heaven, before humans deemed them evil and cast them into Hell. They'd not been corporate beings at the time, but little was in Heaven. They'd still been there, been felt and cherished like all of Gods creations. Kit remembered them, but he'd had little to do with them. He was saddened, of course. He might have been created to be a warrior, but he did not enjoy death. However, that did not mean he was interested in babysitting their little bastards.

To his dying breath he'd blame Gavriil for this. His brother, while a subordinate in ranking, was Kit's favorite while also being his biggest headache. Gavriil was his opposite in every way but kept Kit from becoming too much of a killjoy. At least once a year he'd find himself being wrestled to the ground and forced to tussle with his cackling brother or risk getting his feathers plucked. And while he'd never admit it, he enjoyed these bonding moments. Even if it did seem to mean the higher ups thought his interactions with Gavriil meant he'd be a good fit to grapple with these new Horsemen.

Still annoyed by the order, the angel watched as a darkness started falling over the town.

And it starts.

Charani

The table Charani had picked was small and dirty but gave her a decent view of the room. Grimacing at the wilted piece of lettuce drying on the tabletop, she carefully flicked it off. Surreptitiously, she tried to see if she'd hit anyone, but only noticed that the room was dark. Darker even than the tinted windows would indicate. Momentarily confused, she finally paid attention to her surroundings and balked. How had she missed a whole ass solar eclipse? Was she really so focused on her sudden flaming problems? "Wow," Charani murmured, scooting her chair to the other side of her table so she could see outside the windows better.

People had flocked outside to see the oncoming phenomenon, leaving a few more seats in the diner empty. Maybe she would go gawk too, if she had some safety glasses. Sure, she was now being snarked at by a demonic looking horse, but a solar eclipse was much more enjoyable. And less likely to set things on fire.

Trying to peer past a man in overalls, she was suddenly overcome with a deep chill. Sitting back to try and take a deep breath to alleviate the sudden ache there, she was surprised when her breath didn't come out as a fine mist. Yet as soon as it had come, warmth burst from her core and spread quickly outwards as if it was chasing away the cold. The napkin sitting on the table burst into flame. Squeaking in dismay, she swiftly patted it out since fire no longer seemed to burn her. Luckily the diner was cheap, so the napkin was small and thin and easily extinguished without fanfare. Wincing, she peered around with wide eyes to see if anyone had noticed, but luck was, for the first time that day, on her side. Everyone else seemed enamored with the eclipse.

So stupid. She mentally grumbled, running a hand through her hair and giving it a rough tug and spreading ashes through it. The bell above the diner door rang, followed by a near curse. The only reason she'd even paid attention in the first place was the guy's height. Immediately she was both envious and appalled. She was annoying average at 5'7'' and always wished for a few more inches, but at the same time she also didn't want to get a concussion every time she walked into a room without looking. Besides the height, he was both eerie and weirdly pretty with his sharp cheekbones. But the creepy factor won out. He looked like a vampire, or death warmed over.

Death.

With a grimace, Charani mentally kicked herself for thinking rather uncharitable thoughts. The guy probably just wanted to come in, eat a crappy meal, and watch the solar eclipse in peace. Not be profiled by a woman who was possibly crazy. About to drop her forehead onto the table, she remembered the lettuce at the last minute and jerked back upright. She needed food, like, yesterday then she'd got find a motel and sleep the weirdness of the day off. Maybe things would be clearer in the morning. Less weird too.

And speaking of kooky. The person who entered the diner had a fursuit head on, masking their face. A curdling feeling started in her stomach, burning its way up like terrible acid reflux the longer she looked at them. They found a table and sat down, swinging their legs like an overgrown child while scrutinizing the menu. Trying to swallow down the nausea, Charani suppressed a gag and attempted to flag down a waiter or waitress for a glass of water. Yet like the cold, the sickness started to abate quickly. But where the flames could warm her rapidly, they could do nothing against an annoying persistent upset stomach.