windfall | what i desire most, what i fear most

— Waaughhhh!!

[ The tell-tale flap of wings beating through the air. That dull, listless voice. There's only one singular person that could be there at that same hour as planned.

However, for some unfathomable reason, his memory of those plans jettison from his brain, and in that moment, Denji recoils and yells out, the trousers he's holding flying up into midair, along with the leather wallet he'd been fishing out. He drops into a striking stance — extra stupid because, being so far away, it's not as if Angel is anywhere within distance for a brawl — and jerks around in a circle, fists up, searching for whatever fly on the wall decided to speak up.

When his sights land on Angel, Denji stares. His fists lower. ]

Oh. It's you. What took you so long?

[ Be cool, be cool, be cool. ]

The pants are — [ Think, Denji! What kinda lie would Power make up to save face? ] Uh, I dunno. I just took 'em. [ Okay, never mind. ] I was in a hurry!

[Did he take awhile? He thought he was actually on time for this. Either way, it's not like it's unusual for Angel to be late, so he doesn't mind that, nor the fighting stance Denji takes at his appearance, to Denji's benefit. He hops down from the railing and descends the steps. It's cold... He should have brought a jacket. Why did he bring a pair of pants and not a jacket? He could have used that.]

You didn't have to hurry... He'll probably still be crying by the time you finish. [He points behind himself to the window.] Let's go, before anyone yells at us. [It's still open. Hopefully no one will close it before he can get back. And if they do... Ahh, he'll cross that bridge when they get to it.]

...Is that usually how you react when you see a devil? [Never mind, he'll comment on it.]

No way! Instead of waaughh, I go arrghhh and then die! Devils aren't scary. [ He hastily bends to gather the pants, the wallet, and anything that might fallen out in his, uh, distress. Whether it's to preserve his dignity (he never had any) or a force of penny-pinching habit (likelier case), it's a very scrupulous response from Denji. ] Ghosts, though? [ If Angel's decided to get a head start on his escape to the main street without him, he'll catch up easily enough — but if he's decided to wait for him, Denji will begin leading the way. ] Gives me the heebie-jeebies. But I could probably kill one.

[ So what about the Ghost Devil? ]

Knew someone who was signed with the Ghost Devil once, but I never really got to see the thing in action. [ Outside of maybe the faint outline of an arm. Otherwise, he was pretty much dead to the world throughout the duration of Ghost going toe-to-toe with the Katana dude… ] So I dunno if I'd find 'em creepy or what.

[That matches closer to what he would expect from Denji's reaction to a devil's presence. Why is he bringing up ghosts, though? Are those on the same level to him?]

Mmm... I don't think you could kill a ghost.

[He follows a few paces behind Denji, stretching his arms and yawning. This is way past his bedtime. Usually he's fast asleep by eight.]

You need a special sort of weapon to cut through a ghost... Like what he has. [His partner, that is.] But those sorts of things will only come to you in dreams, so don't bother trying to steal that from him, too.

[It hasn't escaped his notice that he has Aki Hayakawa's wallet. He's probably going to be pretty annoyed by the end of this, but hopefully he can see it's out of a semblance of care. It's nice that he has someone like Chainsaw around, Angel thinks. Someone who cares about him.]

I didn't steal. We're just gonna buy the same stuff Aki would if he knew how to live a little!

[ … ]

And, waaait, really? Ghosts only work at night? [ His nose wrinkles. Chainsaws are way more awesome than some measly blade. If only there were a way to like snort something that would help him kill ghosts in his sleep. Man. ] So I just have to die in my dreams, too, huh… That's a bummer.

[ For something that's a bummer, he doesn't actually sound that broken up over another type of death potentially being added to his repertoire while he pauses at the crosswalk. Watches as a few free-wheeling motorcyclists joyously laughing and yelling down the street, a cool gust of air blowing past with them. His head turns, bangs whipping in his eyes as he intently follows their trajectory, reminiscent of a dog considering giving chase after a car.

So cool… Maybe one day he'll get his own of those and take Makima on a ride like that.

The crosswalk timer still ticking down, Denji casts a glance to his side, making sure that Angel's caught up to him now. Wouldn't wanna lose his accomplice in this. He looks at the work slacks in his arms. ]

Hey. I don't wanna carry this anymore. You hold it.

[They don't only work at night, Angel considers stressing, just when you're asleep - but he decides against it when he settles for probably dying in his dreams. Which is a strange conclusion to come to. Does he think he can die in a dream? ...Can you die in a dream? Maybe Angel will try that out tonight. Probably better than getting hit by a motorcycle.]

[He's rubbing at his arms when he pads up to Denji's side, still a step or so away, and only half glances at him when he tries to offload the pants on him. Angel doesn't even move to turn toward him, only making a slightly peeved face at the idea.]

No way. You're the one who brought them here.

[It's so cold, it's not fair. Why did he come out like this...? What was he thinking? Ahh, he just wants to go back to his shitty little cell and crawl under the covers. His feet feel wet, too. This whole trip was so stupid. He looks and feels like a drowned cat and it's not even raining.]

I'm not carrying any of the bags, either... Your shopping list is way too long.

[ His eyes narrow — first, at his lack of reaction, and second, at his lack of cooperation. What's with this guy…? The ice cream and the air flyer were his ideas, he should at least hold those things! What a sucky partner-in-crime. Maybe he really should have tracked down his fiend roommate instead. But whatever, who's being burdened with what can be a bridge they cross once they get there.

The pedestrian lights signal at them that it's safe to pass through the street now, but Denji doesn't move yet. Stubborn. ]

Sheesh, you're bustin' my nuts here, man! C'mon, you don't even have to actually hold it. Just stand still —

[ And suddenly, with a flourish of his arms, he shakes the pants straight, looping the sleeves around Angel's neck until he's fully swathed in the fabric, looking very much like a soft-serve ice cream cone. Denji's hands planted at his hips, he steps back to admire his work. ]

There! Work smarter, not harder!

Hey - Wait a -

[Angel starts to fumble at the proximity, trying to step away, but the pants are like a lasso and he can't quite move once the legs are around him and a moment later he has a pants scarf. It smells almost poisonously like Aki Hayakawa. Like they invented a new detergent filled with his scent. It's enough to make Angel want to gag.]

You're crazy... Don't you know how dangerous that it?

[Of course not. Someone like Chainsaw will just claim he can't die, anyway. Angel doesn't know if his ability would work on Denji or not and he's not keen on finding out any time soon. He notices the walk signal is flashing and, surprisingly for who he is, hurries to get into the street, unwilling to let Denji get close like that again.]

Ugh, this smells so weird... You didn't even have to bring his pants here, so you should be the one who has to suffer with them... [Angel doesn't remove the pants-scarf, however. Just looks miserable about the situation as he crosses the street, his wings drooping behind him.]

What's dangerous?

[ Angel’s right. Denji may be green around the ears to this whole immortality shtick, will still yowl in pain if a tentacle pierces through his back and ruptures out the other side, but something like losing a few months from touching him or whatever has no temporal permanence for him. The dying cells of this body will just be replaced the next time he bites the dust — a kind of Ship of Theseus, or so that's how it's been explained to him. He still doesn't really get it.

Also, hey, where's he going without him — ]

Yeah, I bet it smells weird! His crotch was in there, [ Denji says, unhelpfully, pace quickening to catch up with his strides. He may have carried the pants in his arms, but it's not like his face was snuggled into it the way Angel's is. ] I'm pretty sure he, like, wipes, though, so don't worry.

[The more Denji talks, the more Angel keeps thinking about sitting down flat on the ground and just dying. Right now, it would place him right in the middle of the crosswalk so maybe a car would hit him and he'd die on impact. Probably not, though.]

Chainsaw-kun...

[When they're fully across Angel slows down significantly, his whole body drooped as if hung on a clothesline as he stares at Denji.]

Has anyone ever told you... you're really gross?

[Coming from the guy who eats corpses.]

Yeah, that Hayakawa guy told me just this morning. [ As well as any other day. ] How'd you know?

[ He doesn't even let Angel answer that one, his expression twisting a bit, as if an abrupt realization punches him square in the face as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Earnestly, before he can hear any wrongful conclusions drawn about him: ] I wipe, too, by the way. It's Power who doesn't!

[ Somewhere in the city, a certain blood fiend drinking from an emptied tin of wet cat food pauses in her slurping from an to sneeze. The stray cats she'd been sharing her meal with eye her. ]

Anyway, it's not as cold, right? With that thing on.

...I guess not.

[It still smells weird. It's not the smell of balls or shit, just Aki Hayakawa's smell. Learning Power doesn't wipe doesn't suprise him. One time Aki complemented Angel on his flushing of the toilet after using the bathroom and he couldn't help but wonder what kind of image of devils he had thanks to the blood fiend.]

Are you really gonna buy all that stuff you listed? I heard people say that he cries a lot, you know. [Seems like a waste, in other words.]

Well, yeah. [ He stares forward, distractedly, at the remaining stretch of road, as if calculating how much longer they'll have to keep walking. There should be a store not too far from here, and afterward, they'll probably have to hail a cab back. ] You already came out all this way with me, so why not?

[ …Well, Denji's not without his selfish reasons, either. He wants to see the flash of shock and gratitude on his face when they get back at him being able to plan and execute this super secret thing right under his nose. Not to mention, from being able talk his partner into tagging along, too! Then he'll be able to get a good night's rest, wake up to some grub, and Aki might even smile at him a bit. That might be nice. ]

Since he cries way too much, we gotta get him a buncha stuff to keep him from crying for at leeeast a month. Maybe two months! Plus, he's your partner. Isn't it easier to work with him when he's not all mucked up in the head?

[That totally tells him he's going to get saddled with carrying stuff. What a nightmare of an evening and he's not even asleep yet.]

He's always kind of mucked up in the head. [If it's not one thing, it's another with him. He's either upset about the world or upset about all the dead people in his life. Or upset that Angel isn't doing something or other. Man, that guy never stops being upset, it sounds exhausting.]

I can tell when he's had a fight with you or the blood fiend. [Very easily.] ...But I can tell when he had a nice, quiet evening at home, too. Even his topknot looks a little peppier.

[He pulls his sleeves over his hands. It's not too crowded, but when they enter a store, he always does this by habit. Once done, he looks at Denji to deliver his conclusion.] I think you affect him more than you realize.

[ "Angel looks pretty funny like this," is what Denji's distracted expression seems to transmit as he listens to the devil, watching his hands shrink inside his sleeves the way he imagines a turtle's head would retreat inside its shell. Travel up, there's his neck swathed by the trousers. Pan in behind him, and then, like the cherry on top of this lukewarm strawberry sundae — his wings. The clerk will probably still let him in, right?

But when Angel finishes positing his deduction, Denji stows that thought, along with his amusement, away, to look down at him from the narrow bridge of his nose. Gauging. ]

…I think you sure pay a lotta attention to him.

[ It's not accusing, just his own drawn conclusion set side-by-side with Angel's and his strangely clinical breakdown of his observations of Aki's behaviorisms. Truthfully, he's not sure what to make of the idea — that Aki takes all the crap that happens at home with him to work, that it can dictate his day and his performance. The dumb and inconsequential, the restful and carefree. It makes sense that it'd have some influence because, like, they live with each other. But that's nothing special.

Feeling awkward, he rubs at his neck and begins to continue leading them back on their way. ]

The same could be said about work, right? Like if there are days where he's able to chill out, it's only because the job wasn't too shitty for him. And stuff like that only happens when things are goin' good between you and your buddy.

[Angel doesn't accept or refute the observation. He can feel Denji staring at him kind of intently, but he brushes it off as the idea that maybe he's actually thinking about what he's said.]

[But he shrugs when he brings up the idea of work affecting him in turn. An endless cycle. Wouldn't he know about that.]

I don't think he ever has days when he relaxes at work. ...You've seen him.

[It's part of why their partnership is so strange. Strained at the same time as it is productive. It's very weird. Leave it to Makima to put together the laziest and most fastidious members of the division.]

It's not like he wants comfort from me when he's in a bad mood. [Nor would he offer it. Not really his jam. He definitely doesn't care at all about human suffering. Almost as an afterthought, he adds,] But I guess he doesn't really want it from you, either...

…Of course he doesn't.

[ Hunched forward, fists shoved into his pockets, he kicks at stray pebble in his way. One of his hands plays with the flaps of the stolen wallet. It kinda is cold out, he thinks to himself, perhaps forcefully, to keep himself from putting too much thought into the conversation at hand. ]

Good thing, too, because I wouldn't hand that sorta thing out for free. I'm not runnin' a charity for sad saps here.

[ And yet, look at both of them risking their hides and Aki's hard-saved earnings to do just that. Who knew hypocrisy could be so heartwarming. ]

And I'm not sayin' he relaxes at work. Work sucks! Anyone who loves work is a dumbbell. I'm sayin' that when nothing happens, when stuff goes well, he brings less of work back home with him.

[Angel hums. Like he sort of believes him but sort of doesn't. There are good and bad days, sure, but it's hard to tell when it comes to Aki Hayakawa. But the days when he comes in after dealing with a Power attack or Denji playing a prank on him in the middle of the night... That's way more obvious than the sudden flash of pain in his eyes when he sees Angel with his arm ripped off.]

[He decides not to think about it and instead stops suddenly, turning his head to look across the street. There's a vendor on the opposite sidewalk at a cart of kebabs of beef and pork. Angel stares openly at it before looking towards Denji, expectantly.]

Maybe he wouldn't be so depressed if he had more meat in his diet.

[Just an idea. They could even test the meat to see if it's good enough.]

[ For a beat, Denji just returns the look, uncomprehendingly. The guy's usually pretty balanced about including protein, grains, and vegetables in his meals, what is he talking about…

And then belatedly, the unmistakable waft of cooking skewers hits his senses, which is a kinda funny sight to behold because his eyes immediately bug out at the scent of food. That's right, he hasn't gotten to have his usual nightly snack yet. ]

Oh! Yeah! Maybe he would. [ … ] But you're carrying this bag.

[ Denji drifts toward the cart without even bothering to look both ways to make sure there are no incoming vehicles. There are only a few people ahead of them waiting in line. It wouldn't take that long. Plus, the glaze on the kebabs look really good. ]

[See, this is why Denji is smarter than Aki in some ways. Aki doesn't let him cross the street when there are no cars and instead makes them walk all the way to the crosswalk. Angel follows after him and looks a little relieved he's convinced Denji to give him a small break after a grueling five whole minutes of walking.]

[Even though he can tell the guy manning the cart knows he's a devil and looks a little freaked out by the sight of him (or maybe it's the get-up), he doesn't try to conceal his nature and instead holds up three fingers and looks to Denji expectantly. Like he said, no money. Denji is his bank for the evening.]

[ This thread is definitely going to be a repeat sequence of Angel looking at Denji, Denji looking at Angel, and then Denji looking down at Aki's credit card in his hand, because that's basically what happens right then. Except for one thing: He holds up four digits in front of Angel's three slender ones (again, as dangerously close to touching skin like the last time), beginning to pull the plastic rectangle from the wallet's sleeve, but comes to an abrupt halt when the street vendor shakes his head. Tells him they only take physical money.

Denji blinks down. For one reason or another, there isn't any in the wallet. Maybe he dropped them earlier or maybe there was never any in there first place, whichever the case, he grumbles as he starts pulling out a crumpled assortment of coins from his pockets and slams it down in the man's awaiting hands. As they're walking away, he tucks a block of meat between his teeth, dragging the the piece off the skewer: ] This is pretty good.

[ It's kinda chewy and overcooked, but Denji can't really tell the difference between a bad skewer and a good one. He peeks Angel's way. ]

Hey, quit draggin' your feet, we're still gonna walk and eat, alright?

[When Denji looks back to him, Angel hasn't moved an inch. He stepped aside once he had his three requested skewers as Denji dug around for money in his pockets. He's contentedly beginning on his second one while standing at the edge of the sidewalk and only turns his head when Denji speaks to him.]

No way. I need a break.

[They've walked like two blocks.]

Besides, that human always says you're not supposed to walk and eat at the same time. It's bad manners or something. [Not that Angel specifically cares about that, rather it's a convenient gotcha when he manages to get Aki to buy him food. He takes another bite and sighs, mumbling with his mouth full.] This is way too good...

Haaah?! Excuses! We've got places to be, you lazy ass devil! [ He wrenches another bite from his skewer and then swings its tip out to point at Angel, nearly jabbing the charred stick into his chest. Sure, anyone with at least one eyes and partial vision intact could be able to tell Angel for a regular human, but should Denji really be announcing what he is in public? Probably not. But he keeps going. ] Chicken wing devil! Slug bones dev — gghk!

[ Almost as if karmic retribution for calling Angel names, the piece of meat he just tore off without chewing properly lodges itself right where his esophagus begins. His face reddens the more he tries to breathe around the obstruction. Hoping the force will knock it out of place, he hits a fist to his sternum, to no avail. He could maybe gesture at Angel to help him, but eh, even halfway to passing out from a lack of oxygen, he's not fully convinced the guy would pick up on the cue. Or ignore it in favor of finishing the rest of his skewers. ]

[Nothing Denji calls him is any worse than what Aki calls him, so aside from the epithets being a bit more creative, Angel doesn't respond or seem fazed by them. At least until...]

Hey... [Is he choking? Oh god. For real, is he choking? What do you do when a human is choking...? He has no idea. Can't he just spit it out? Should he cut a hole in his throat? Mostly he's concerned because he's pretty sure this would ruin Aki Hayakawa's day even more than it already is if he dragged Denji's lifeless corpse home and asked for some blood to bring him back with, but he's also realizing he doesn't really know what you're supposed to...]

[Suddenly his eyes light up from a memory. Smacking someone in the back because they swallowed a bone while eating some fish. He can't place where the memory came from, where he saw this occur, but he remembers the smack to the back clearly, a full, five-fingered slap. Standing upright he moves the few steps over to Denji and, after securing his sleeve over his hand, smacks his back hard just once - but honestly Angel's definition of "hard" is more like a teenage girl's who has never lifted more than schoolbooks. He takes his hand away and leans forward to look at him.]

All better?

[ Choking is probably up there on the list of easiest ways to go for Denji. Like, after the initial knee-jerk retaliation of his body trying to squeeze air back through to his windpipe passes and that pleasant airiness hits his head before he loses consciousness, arriving at death is like rowing a boat through still waters. He doesn't know when his knees give out, but they do, landing with a thump as the whites of his eyes begin to show, tears leaking from strain of trying to breathe; some of the onlookers buzz with concern, wondering if they should intervene, but Angel's curious appearance seems to be enough deterrent. Damn, Aki's probably going to be so mad he died for not chewing before swallowing the way he's always telling him to —

And then he feels a weight driving into his back. While not exactly forceful, it's enough for the offending piece of meat to cough out, rolling against the sidewalk and picking up dirt. Denji's eyes flutter as he intakes one long inhale, or two, or three… Please stand by.

When his vision finally clears, it drops to the meat he'd choked on, gross with spit, plus the bag of skewers he'd dropped. Casually, as if nothing just happened, he reaches over — his hand moving past the bag, that's probably still fine, and picking up the cut of meat. Then, dropping it back into his mouth, this time his jaw opening and closing in exaggerated movements as he properly chews now.

After a moment, his gaze drifts toward Angel, as if he only just now heard him. ]

Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks.

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