Tragedy

Disclaimer: I own all of these people, I swear I do! If you don't believe me, ask them! :: Kyria and Dane start backing away:: On second thought, just listen to me. I own them, really. Don't steal them please, they like living with me, really they do....

Chapter 1

I knew that tonight I would be getting no sleep. There was too much stench in the air tonight, and my apartment was too hot to close any windows. I would lie awake until my alarm clock went off, screaming like a banshee on crack until I finally roused myself and dressed for work. Not that there was a job for me to do, it was a miracle I ever had enough money to keep myself in the sad little studio apartment that I had found, but it was better than a box on the street, even if it weren't much bigger.
Walking down the streets of New York saddens me. Pimps and their hookers, druggies and their wares, little girls selling themselves because it pissed their parents off. They all had this desperate look in their eyes, calling out to me to save them as if they could see what I really was. But I had stopped trying to save everyone a long time ago, simply because no one wanted to be saved anymore. Just because someone asked for something didn't mean they really wanted it in the end.
Its what I do, healing people. Whatever they have, an illness, a wound, a hurt inside them that no therapist can touch, I can make it go away. I can't raise people from the dead, I'm not a necromancer or an animator. My name is Daniel Fortman, but I have always preferred to be called Dane. Just so I know that the crazy lady on the corner screaming for Daniel isn't trying to get my attention. I'm an angel.
Well, more like ex-angel. I quit a few centuries ago, seeing as I didn't agree with the way things were going down here on Earth, and even though I begged and begged, no one would let me come down and do what I did best. So I quit and ran. Or ran and quit. All I know is I did both of them and now I'm here and I can't get back. Now I can use my powers freely and for whomever I feel like instead of being sent down to do jobs for holy people and the like. Only problem is people get kind of weirded out when they find out you have wings and the ability to be able to heal with a touch. They start screaming when you glow too. It's really annoying.
So I've been down here for about 500 years, five to take a few decades. I don't make friends, I don't work, I just wander from place to place and be disgusted at what the world has turned into. I'm not sure if God ever had a sure, concrete idea of how he wanted Earth to be, but I am sure this wasn't it.
It's too late in the day for gunshots to be ringing, but they do. Each one thuds through my body, hitting me squarely in the chest and stomach, and the pain doubles me over where I stand. Except it's not my body that dies. If I'm close enough to a person and they get hurt, or are hurt, I can feel it without trying. This was only a block or two away, because the pain clears fast and I start to run towards were the shots sounded from. My long trenchcoat flaps behind me and in that instant, I don't really care if my wings are spread to the world or not.
A car nearly hits me as I round the corner and I stopped, rolling across the hood and landing safely on my feet as if nothing had happened. The car keeps going, and I am glad. The men in the car are probably the ones that killed whomever it had been, but revenge was not my job, but Loki's. I sped up, and nearly tripped over the body.
There were two, but I soon realized that there was one body and one person. A body indicates that it's no longer living, or so it helps to think so. The woman laying over the body was shaking, her face pressed to his stomach and her hair falling all around them, her pale arms surfacing out of the whole dark mass and thin fingered hands clenching themselves over and over. A pool of blood has already started to pool under the body, so I knew that they had hit something vital.
The man was gone, I could not help him. I wished I could, because the woman's greif was cutting through me like a knife. Anything to make it stop, to make her stop crying, to make me stop feeling it all.
I looked at him and nearly gasped. The lines of his face were beautiful, nearly feline in the shape of the cheekbones and chin, the nose long and straight, but a bit snubbed at the end. He was pale, the streetlight shining down on us making the hollows of his face seem shadowed. Light blond hair the length of his chin spilled back, pooling on the pavement. A few strands fell across his cheek and I felt the strange urge to brush them away. His eyes were half open, glazed as if he had been expecting the death. They were the most striking green I had ever seen. People talk about having green eyes, but never had I seen the true green of this, as if he had stolen a cats eyes.
He had taken care of his body, the lean lines of his arms and legs showed that. He had worked out. Not enough to make him look like a mini Arnold, but enough that the muslces would have looked smooth and sweet if he had been moving. He was shorter than me, but that's not a hard thing. I'm a bit taller than normal.
I crouched down and took off the jacket so my wings spilled out behind me, full and feathery white. It felt good to stretch them, and as a itch started in the upper bend of the left one, I realized that I had slacked off in grooming and oiling them. I gave them a fast once over and called it good for the moment. I had other things to deal with.
I placed my hand, long fingered and thin as the womans, on her elbow and she jerked away, raising her head and looking around wildly. Her hair, I could see now, was ebon black and curled naturally, creating a dark halo around her small pale face. Her eyes were wide and almond shaped, a cool sappire blue with darker rings around the pupil, making them spectatcular. Dark, tear wetted lashes fringed her eyes and lent a cat like quality to them. I looked closer and saw that she was the kind of woman whose eyes didn't get red and puffy while they cried, making them all the more beautiful. Gold glittered at her throat and wrists, bracelets and a matching necklace. Either she had had no make up on or she had rubbed it all off, but her lips were as pink as a rosebud, and about as full and sensuous looking as one too.
Her crying stopped the second that she saw me, and then she closed her eyes at the sight of my wings and licked her lips tentatively. Her throat convulsed as she swallowed. Her voice was breathy and trembling as she spoke. " Oh God."