just us, just us

@Thoth

Tybalt was leaning up against Angelo when he felt that little shift in posture, and a change in his body language. He was rather comfortable where he was, but pulled back just a little at the sudden switch. Oh boy, what was wrong this time? And he was just starting to cuddle up to him, too.

The way he said his name was borderline unsettling. He'd never really heard that tone of seriousness in Angelo's voice before, and having that translated into his name made him go on full attention. There was a pause when he asked, and Tybalt began to file through 'Genovese' in his head.

The problem was, he'd lived for so long that he had issues pinpointing anything immediately. Hell, he'd lived in Italy for some time about a hundred years ago and he'd known a few people by that name. Nothing truly rung a bell when it came to importance, because he assumed that was what Angelo was implying.

"Like... Genovese, as in the crime family?" He was half joking, his mouth tugged up into a tiny bit of a smile. He didn't really believe it, but aside from a few aristocrats in Italy, that was all he could come up with.

@Thoth

He also hadn't seen Angelo really flustered before. Hell, when they were being shot at, Angelo had seemed downright calm. That was a very good thing in a partner, so it was unsettling when whatever Angelo wanted to tell him was worse than bullets brushing past their cheeks. He was definitely on alert now, back straight, his hand just barely touching Angelo's wrist.

Like the crime family. As in yes, that crime family.

As in... well... fuck.

At first his expression remained the way it was, that small smile lingering for just a few more seconds before it melted away into a thin line. His expression hardened, becoming distant, rather similar to the look he gave him the first time when he saw the lack of glow in his soul.

"Oh." Was all he managed immediately, the idea still rolling over in his mind. So he was part of a crime family, perhaps not by birth but by how he was raised. But just being raised like that, as a guard no less, didn't warrant the tarnishing on his soul. He must've done something else, right?

@Thoth

Word vomit. It was little more than verbal diarrhea. Angelo was obviously trying to regain his bearings after that doozy of a bomb. Christ, he was, or had been, in a crime family. He was supposed to be guarding someone important within this crime family. Had he done something terrible? Was that what the vision of the bedroom was? Or the vision of the door? He wasn't sure.

Part of him wanted to ask outright. Demand an explanation of why his soul was so sticky and grey, but he knew Angelo didn't know of those powers yet. The issue was, Tybalt wasn't big on the whole forgiveness thing. Not because he had no empathy, but because it simply wasn't wired too well into him. He was meant to judge and punish, not to forgive.

He continued to regard him stoically, even when he tried to lighten the mood. He was unimpressed to say the least and maybe a little let down. He was hoping his intuition was wrong (even though it never was) and that his powers, after so long without use, had been weak or peering into things that weren't important.

He stayed silent partially because he didn't know what to say, partially because what could he say? In fact, he voiced just that. "I'm not entirely sure what to say..."

"I mean... I was made to judge, after all." A pause. "To judge and to punish, specifically."

@Thoth

Angelo's expression changed, darkened, became frustrated and gloomy and Tybalt wasn't too surprised. Not many reacted well to being judged, let alone being told they were being judged. In a way, he was used to it. His judgement, in heaven, was law. He weighed souls, tested them for their purity, then cast them to hell or ascended them to heaven. People weren't happy when he told them they'd wronged, and Angelo would be no different.

Tybalt didn't flinch, not at the tone of his voice or the intensity in his expression. "Yes. Yes, I would tell him that he is wrong." If Angelo was straight to the point, then so he would be as well.

"There's little sense in speaking in hypotheticals, however." His tone was stoic and cold, almost distant. In fact, very distant. It was the same voice he used when putting souls on his scale, devoid of emotion. His job wasn't to grow emotionally attached, hear their stories or their reasons, listen to all the grey areas of right and wrong.

And perhaps that was what caused his wrath, and his unfortunate downfall. He had little room in his heart for the pity, the mercy, the excuses... He felt irritated even thinking about it, so he cast that aside.

"I don't know very much about you, but you're..." A pause to think, mulling it over. "You're an odd one. Your soul is heavy, for just a guard." He was aware that Angelo wasn't completely clued in on his secondary ability, but then again, nobody at the station really was. He didn't want to add any more weight to that pile, though.

"I think I just need time to think it over."

@Thoth

In this way as well, Tybalt was the exact opposite of Angelo. While Angelo became upset, angry and frustrated, Tybalt turned cool and distant, emotionless to the highest degree. He separated himself from the grey areas of morality, instead reverting to what he was used to: judging everything in black and white. He became angry, but it was a different kind. It was the seething, broiling kind that simmered just underneath the surface.

He moved too fast. Angelo was on his feet and immediately, absent of thought, Tybalt moved to defend himself. Or more like his wings did the job for him; he honestly hated to bring them out so suddenly, but they sprang to life out of pure instinct as opposed to conscious thought.

The tarnished feathers wrapped themselves around him, cocooning him in a protective embrace minus the left side of his lower body where the wing was entirely missing. He knocked over the remote and a book sitting on his coffee table as he did so, but he paid it no mind. They parted, just slightly, to reveal his face and to allow for him to talk, but that had to be a conscious effort. He shouldn't have brought Angelo to his house.

"You had a choice once you grew older, Angelo. You could have redeemed yourself, as you did when you came to the island. Or tried." His voice wasn't like it was. It was commanding, with an air of finality to it. It was the voice of an angel, one that judged the ultimate fate of a soul. "But instead, you try and justify your actions."

Another pause, silence in his head, then he let out a breath. Wrath. This was his unyielding wrath, fiery and pitiless.

"But... you can still be good. You can still be redeemed." He was scraping for it here. He was digging into the very bottom of his heart, trying to show some ounce of empathy. "You are a good person, Angelo. The choices in your future are still there."