Thoughts of Cael plagued Ciarán's mind like a virus, infecting him expediently and without mercy. The job that had stayed stagnant, routine, and predictable for a thousand, maybe two thousand years was suddenly seen by Ciarán as something foreign and unusual to him. None of the pieces were fitting together anymore, and the carefully constructed, though still relatively vague, picture Ciarán had created detailing his mysterious existence had suddenly torn asunder. Never before had Ciarán encountered anyone like Cael. Never before had he ever been<i>wrong</i>about a mortal's impending death, and yet Cael had slipped through his fingers like droplets of water,<i> draining draining draining</i>out as he desperately attempted to hold on, only to see him slip through the cracks and fall away out of his reach.<br/><br/>The earth continued to turn, and Ciarán retreated the comfortable existence of his limbo, the endless garden stretching out farther and farther the more he walked, a never ending pathway of wildflowers, fruit trees, and creeping vines. He wandered this ghostly garden with his charges, each one passing on just as the one before, nothing different, though nothing felt the same. Even with things seemingly having gone back to normal after his departure from Cael, Ciarán was changed. He couldn't just stay. Not anymore.<br/><br/>After saying goodbye to a seven year old girl who had lost her battle with leukemia, Ciarán wandered to the distant iron gate. The metal was stark white, bright and bold against the chaotic colors of Ciarán's garden, with pointed finials at the end of each iron rod looking like small, aggressive spears. Ciarán approached the gate, wrapping his hands around a horizontal bar that ran along the top, his eyes searching.<br/><br/>Beyond the gate lay a graveyard. Dark, gloomy, and silent. The difference between Ciarán's garden and the field of buried corpses beyond was staggering, though Ciarán himself felt very little as his eyes weaved between the rows of cracked tombstones and crumbling angelic statues. "Angelique?!" he yelled, knowing, feeling her presence. Was she ignoring him again? He huffed, his patience quickly waning.<br/><br/>"Angelique!"<br/><br/>"Oh, enough out of you!" a shrill voice returned, a dark body emerging from behind a seven foot tall cross, edges falling away and in stony pieces at her feet. "You yell and you yell for me like a needy child. What is it, Ciarán? I am quite busy." Angelique's long white-blonde hair fell like cascading silk down her back, past her velvet-clad backside, edges almost mid-thigh. Her light brown skin was a breathtaking contrast of colors, eyes a deep, turbulent gray. Her black velvet cloak hung about her heavily, though it clung to her body in a flattering way, looking as if it were made for her curvaceous form the same way Ciarán's elegant suits and tuxedos seemed perfectly tailored to his tall, lean frame.<br/><br/>"I have a question," he replied simply, waiting for her to approach the gate, Death to Death. The Other shrugged her shoulders, but she tilted her head closer, willing to listen.<br/><br/>"Have you ever... have you ever met someone who could see you?"<br/><br/>"They can all see us, Ciarán," she mumbled, bored.<br/><br/>"No, no, not like that. I mean... someone who wasn't dying. Someone who could see you as you collected."<br/><br/>Angelique frowned, shaking her head slowly. She was just as old as Ciarán, if not older, though ages didn't mean much where they were from, as time failed to exist on the deathly plane.<br/><br/>"Has this happened to you, Ciarán? Did someone see you?" she asked curiously, raising a skeptical white brow.<br/><br/>"I'm not sure--" he began, but suddenly he stopped. Three? No, five. Seven. Eight. Vehicular deaths, bodies crumbled beneath smashed metal. "I have to go. I'll see you later."<br/><br/>Ciarán was gone, and Angelique was left staring into a pink rose bush, wondering.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">x - x - x - x - x<br/>​</div>The car accident was atrocious by human standards. An entire morbid conga line of vehicles, practically stacked on top of one another, dead soul after dead soul struggling to find their way in the madness. Ciarán collected them one by one, reaching into the mangled remains of their cars and soothing them with simple words of affirmation and a gentle touch. It was tedious work, and the destroyed, bloodied remains of their bodies (while nothing new to Ciarán), was causing the clean up crew many pained expressions.<br/><br/>It wasn't until the last of the dead had been led away, Ciarán combing through the remains of the accident, that he noticed a familiar face among the huddled media crowd, kept back by police barriers. How had he gotten so close without anyone keeping him away? Cael stood in the middle of the group of onlookers, his face standing out from the muddied collection of living beings who had no idea Ciarán was walking among them.<br/><br/>His attention stolen, Ciarán approached, weaving through warm bodies like a swift wind to reach his voyeur. He stopped in front of Cael, looking him over. He certainly was much more lovely without a tube shoved down his throat and a little color to his cheeks.<br/><br/>"What are you doing here?" Ciarán asked, his voice breathy as he slowly reached forward, pressing the tips of his fingers against Cael's stubbled cheek, seeing if he could feel. "You didn't come looking for me, did you?"