The Devil and His Due

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The Reaper stood over the console of his stolen TARDIS, his hands trembling. He had just killed someone. Taken his first life. It had been exhilarating. His hearts were pounding with adrenaline as his pale blue eyes stared down at blood drenched fingers. He inhaled the bitter metallic smell with a sigh of pleasure. When he had first been given his title, he was quite put off. His mother had chosen it for him. He'd never been allowed any say in the matter. He'd swore he would never live up to such a vile title. But in the end, it's true what they say. You cannot deny your destiny.

He leaned heavily over the console, breathing slow but ragged breaths, a strange smile across those pale lips. Everything was still.. He had landed. He flipped a few levers to inquire where this TARDIS had taken him, but he was answered with silence. The TARDIS would not heed him. She was retaliating against this murderous Time Lord for the death of her pilot. And as if to say as much, she began shutting off her systems; lights, navigation.. even the centerpiece that acted as the thrum of the engine had come to a stop. There was no sound aside from The Reaper's breathing. There was no psychic link between them, No bond. The TARDIS had rejected him upon the death of her other pilot and had seen fit to strand him in the early 1800's France.

In annoyance, he plunged his dagger into the console. The same dagger that was still coated in The Whisper's blood. He turned on his heel and strode towards the door and with a good deal of effort, pushed the doors open. The doors seemed to be made of marble. As he stepped out into the gleaming red glow of the setting sun, he saw that he was in the middle of a cemetery. He turned to glance at the TARDIS. She had fashioned herself into a grand mausoleum. The name that was carved into the name plate was his. At least.. it was his alias.. 'Sinestre'. It was the TARDIS' way of saying she was leaving him here to rot.

“Your humor is rather dull, my dear.” he replied in those low dulcet tones. Now, he needed to find out where he was. But.. There was a problem. The Reaper had never been to Earth, he did not know earth language... and because he had never linked with the TARDIS, nothing was translating. “Oh you are a cruel and witty thing. But I will not be bested.” he remarked as he made his way into the city of Paris. At least The Reaper was a fast learner. He was confident that he would learn the local language relativly quickly. What he did not anticipate was the foreboding feeling that someone... was watching him.

[ OOC: Tag @headofthecouncil ]

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Iblîs, let it be known, was not looking for the Reaper. Well… not quite, anyway. Rather, he was trying to find something that the Time Lord had mentioned leaving in a graveyard. He knew the general year and location of where the Reaper’s TARDIS had first been put on Earth. What he hadn’t anticipated, however, was coming face-to-face with the Reaper. He was behind the smoking mausoleum, not quite thinking much of it being very obviously new.

He heard a familiar language being spoken around the corner, and Iblîs poked his head out from the side of the mausoleum. The pale blue eyes examined the tall and lanky blond muttering in Gallifreyan. Iblîs moved behind a tombstone, not quite hiding from the Time Lord, but not letting his presence be known. It was simply his job to observe at the moment, the fob watch in his trousers burning as it felt the signal of its younger self. Iblîs watched as the Reaper left to explore the city, and he lingered in the graveyard, casting a backwards glance at the TARDIS.

Well, Iblîs was nothing if not curious. And the scent of blood was simply tantalizing. He trailed after the man, the blood leaving a familiar stench in the air. He had met the Time Lord whose blood was spilled – The Whisper. Had the Reaper mentioned knowing him before? He knew that the Whisper and the Witch were siblings, so it was therefore logical that the Reaper would know that as well, but Iblîs could not recall the Reaper talking about him.

Iblîs stood in front of the Reaper, taking his hands and cleaning them of the blood. The blood on his clothes dried and crumbled away. “Hello,” he said, his words in very careful and practiced Gallifreyan. “I’ve been waiting for you.” All right, so he hadn’t exactly been waiting for him, but Iblîs was going for dramatics. And anyway, Iblîs knew that he had already met the Reaper for the first time, so this must have been an earlier once. Still, there seemed to be something off… the lack of magnetic pull. Iblîs brushed it off, waiting for the Reaper to grumpily greet him or give him the signature “get away from me, little imp” speech.

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At the sound of the child's voice he spun around, rather confused. He could tell at a glance this boy was not like him. Not a Time Lord. He just didn't feel right. But he spoke with an air of bored confidence that so often accompanied one of an advanced age. So he certainly was not human. Then it clicked. He could understand him. He had quite clearly spoken Gallifreyan just then.

The young time lord hesitated for a moment before finally parting those lips to speak. "Forgive my ignorance... But yours is a face I do not recall. Have we met, or is it simply customary to greet others to this planet in such a confusing manner." Short, simple and to the point. This version was not one to mince his words and he often came across to others as rather short tempered. Although, let it be said that.. This incarnation was not known for his patience.

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There was no flicker of recognition on the Reaper’s face. That alone alarmed Iblîs immensely, but coupled with the uncharacteristic hesitation before he spoke, Iblîs was… almost concerned. He crossed his arms, drifting a bit closer as he examined his Reaper. If Iblîs had already met the Reaper for the first time – which he had, when Armand had been the shortstick who’d been the recipient of his Lamp – then this was… not quite a paradox, though something that shouldn’t happen. This one must not have his Lamp – it would explain the lack of pull he’d felt.

“Both,” Iblîs answered slowly, pronouncing his words carefully. “I can go if you like. I probably should,” he said, walking closer. He put his hands on Armand’s shirt and gently pulled him down until they were eye-level. Iblîs hesitated on his own words. There were so many things he’d always wanted to tell him, so many things he wanted to prevent. He didn’t want the Reaper to die – the first one hadn’t deserved to die for a crime he hadn’t committed yet. Iblîs opened his mouth, then shut it again. He wasn’t one to stutter over his own words. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the Reaper’s neck and pulled him into a tight hug.

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This incarnation of The Reaper may have been a young one but he could sense the fluctuation of time around him as easily as he drew breath. He was an anachronistic anomaly. He was outside of his proper time and it had the young time lord tilting his head. What had him confused even further was that just as he made mention hat he should leave, the boy pulled him down and embraced him. His hands rested on his shoulders for a moment, inclined to push him away. But there was a need in that hug. A sadness that seemed to be emanating from him and Thanatos could not help but curl his arms around him and come to a stand, lifting the boy nearly seven feet into the air.

“I will not force you to leave if you do not wish to go.” While he would leave that up to the boy, he didn't want him to go. He could understand him, and while he was curious as to how he knew his language, it was a matter he could uncover later. For now, he just wanted to hold this boy to him. Though he could not even begin to fathom how, he knew they were connected in some way. Even his fob watch was burning in his waistcoat pocket.

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By all accounts, Iblîs had expected to be pushed away. Many of the Reapers’ earlier incarnations had not been fond of him. Iblîs didn’t pride himself on the first impression he had struck with him – he’d never meant to cause so much pain, when all he really strove for was to remove it. His eyebrows twitched, knitting together as Armand returned the hug tightly. He dangled in the air, breathing softly against Armand’s shoulder. He thought the pain would have subsided if Armand hugged him back, but instead it ached at his chest even more.

“I do not wish to,” Iblîs admitted, quietly. It was strange, almost foreign, to him to admit to wanting the company of someone. Still, Iblîs wouldn’t let his pride get in the way of Armand. He pulled back just a little, enough to readjust himself to curl up easier on the Reaper. “Thank you.”

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It was so strange to find himself so easily liking this boy. Yes, 'Boy'.. The young Time Lord didn't know better, so the strange raven haired child was exactly that to him. A child. He could sense the need to be close and while this greatly confused him, Thanatos saw no need to deny him and simply moved to let the boy sit upon his shoulder.

He left his hand to tightly hold his hip to keep him in place, not allowing him to fall. He supposed now, if any time at all, would be ideal to introduce himself. But.. how to do so? His own name, 'Thanatos', was not one to be idly passed around like some trinket. 'The Reaper' was very off putting and might frighten then lad.. What, then, should he call himself? Only one named came to mind. "I am Armand."