Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by Saint Kurt »

The narratives all share the similar themes of travel and separation, thus (almost ironically) tying them together.
Yay! Someone noticed.

That's actually why I kept changing the title so much. Intellectually I wanted a title with the same structure as Even Angels have Scars, but this story isn't as much about Kurt as it is an 'us' story for the circus plus the real theme is just that - what happens when you separate these people that Kurt brought together. How does it affect the people and how does it affect Kurt?

And on a similar note - I realized it might help to actually point out that this is the sequel. Just in case people don't know from the title...

I just realized that the kinds of typos I make are always made in the editing process. How annoying is that? They come from me rearranging sentences to sound better and make more sense and it looks like I occasionally leave an incorrect or extra article behind. I'm going to have to do what I used to do and read the story backwards to weed them out.

Thanks!
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by Rowena »

Kurt predictable? Hmmm....

I've been to the Tate Gallery in London. I don't mean to offend any modern art lovers out there, but based on my personal experience, I don't think Kurt missed much. The place kind left me disappointed. Maybe, like my friend said, I'm too literal-minded to fully appreciate it, but here are some of the highlights of what I saw:

There was a whole room devoted to the debris left over from when an artist blew up her shed. The stuff was hanging from the ceiling by fishing line. There was also a half full/empty glass of water standing on a glass shelf, a row of faucets stuck to a plank of wood, a TV that showed a looped tape of the clear sky, a canvas that had been painted with butter (the image of an animal's head was all but invisible), huge photos of a toilet that had messages written inside it, and a lawn gnome completely covered with cigarettes. The best part by far, in my opinion, was the narrow little room that housed a few of Dali's paintings. But then, I'm a huge Dali fan. :D

Kurt would probably have liked the National Gallery. There's some truly great stuff in there! :D

I really hope he can get into the Louvre! I've always wanted to go there!!!!! It's always interesting how, as long as people think he's in costume, they barely even give him a second glance. But somehow I'm starting to get afraid that things won't be able to go on so happily for much longer...

As always, hugely curious to find out what happens next!!!!! :D :D
"There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, where the sea's asleep and the rivers dream, people made of smoke and cities made of song. Somewhere there's danger, somewhere there's injustice and somewhere else the tea is getting cold. Come on, Ace, we've got work to do."
~The Doctor, Survival

"There's no point in being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes."
~The Doctor, Robot

"If this isn't civilization, why am I standing in a bomb crater?"
~Hawkeye Pierce, M.A.S.H.

Rowena Zahnrei's Stories: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/526713/Rowena_Zahnrei
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by Saint Kurt »

In a strange art imitates life twist I have been working on this while doing a lot of traveling. The result is that I can't post the next chapter because like the characters, it is in a state of diaspora, spread out, not all over Europe, but all over my laptop and my desktop computers.

So, once I marry the two versions, I will post. Just thought I'd let you know that I wasn't dead or anything. I'm still on crutches though. Which sucks. The doctor said end of June. This is the second week in July!

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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by Rowena »

Aw man, that STINKS! Crutches are awful! I really hope your foot is feeling better, though! :)

It's OK about the delay. I can be patient! :D (like I'm really one to talk considering how long I take to update my stories! :blush )

Here's hoping you get off those crutches soon!!! :D

~Rowena
"There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, where the sea's asleep and the rivers dream, people made of smoke and cities made of song. Somewhere there's danger, somewhere there's injustice and somewhere else the tea is getting cold. Come on, Ace, we've got work to do."
~The Doctor, Survival

"There's no point in being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes."
~The Doctor, Robot

"If this isn't civilization, why am I standing in a bomb crater?"
~Hawkeye Pierce, M.A.S.H.

Rowena Zahnrei's Stories: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/526713/Rowena_Zahnrei
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by CurlyyHairGirl »

Aw man, that STINKS! Crutches are awful! I really hope your foot is feeling better, though!
Crutches? Who's in crutches? How did I miss that? Is it you Zam? Man that must suck! I'm starting to think you are accident prone.

The only accident I have ever had was when a teacher of mine slammed the door on my finger when I was about four. My finger was in the door frame, and she didn't see me there. The tip came off, but being a four year old the regenerative property of small extentions allow the finger to heal up enought that people wouldn't notice unless I compared the two pinkies next to each other. my right pinky finger is now 3/4 of a centimeter shorter than my left...I like to call it my call because the nail naturally curls downward.:D Besides that nothing. I just had a fernectomy, so my mouth is sore, but that hardly counts as an accidental injury.:shrug

enough about me...
The result is that I can't post the next chapter because like the characters, it is in a state of diaspora, spread out, not all over Europe, but all over my laptop and my desktop computers.
Sound like my room and all my artwork. *snort* I need to clean my room, and get the scanner fixed

I can't wait for the next updates (from both of you)
(like I'm really one to talk considering how long I take to update my stories! )
PSHHH!! That's nothing against my once every blue moon art post!! *mutters* Stupid scanner.
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by B A M F ! »

WOW.

I finally had some quiet time to just sit down, relax and dig into some of the fanfics in 'FUZZY VISIONS...'

ZAM... your story...that was....WOW. I started reading "Until Death Do Us Part" ... and couldnt tear myself away from my monitor. Wow! So much to praise about your style... Where do I start? Youve obviously and effortlessy captured the absolute essence of Kurt Wagner...

Originally posted by zamweasel
He found his rosary in his pocket and clenched it in his hands, willing them to stop shaking, and for his heart to stop hammering so loud it seemed to be drowning out the music from the party. Kurt shut his eyes, leaning against the cool bark of the tree. "You're safe here in the dark," he kept telling himself over and over, "they won't see you in the dark."
"Kurt perched himself on a low stone wall and watched as people strolled along becoming temporary audiences for each performer and as they left, dutifully dropped coins into various hats and tins. Kurt felt the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. He wasn't going to be hungry for much longer. His prayers had been answered after all"
"....realizing how glorious it was to uncurl his tail at last."
"He could have eaten in the park, but he wanted to put some of his excess Francs in the collection box..."
"The fact that Kurt turned the pages of his books with his tail so he could lay on his stomach and keep his chin propped in both his hands while he was reading"

....SO many little touches like that throughout the story that had me smiling and thinking .. "Aaaawwww....! Now that is why I love this character so much!" Thank you for that ZAMWEASEL!
Looking forward to the next installment!

P.S. Making a beeline to "EVEN ANGELS HAVE SCARS"....:)




BAMF!
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by Saint Kurt »

So I've been wanting to thank B A M F ! for his glowing praise and very nice feedback but I've been afraid to because of this:

On Wednesday July 13th I read his post and thought to myself, "How cool of him, I've got an hour before my train, I should write back". Then I hit "Post Reply", the server went nuts, overwrote part of its own database, crashed and well, you know the rest.

It actually had nothing to do with my posting, but you can imagine my trepidation. :) Anyway, on to the discussion...

It makes me happy that you could jump right into this story and enjoy it because so much of it assumes that you know the characters and events from Even Angels have Scars. When I made the decision to turn the first chapter into a true introduction it had a two fold purpose: The first was to remind you of the players, who they are and the role they play in Kurt's life. But the second is to make you forget that at the same time you are being reintroduced, Kurt is walking down the path so that when Kurt is interrupted, it's not only a surprise to Kurt, it's a surprise to you, the reader as well. But it shows that there was another value to the intro because you got engaged with the story and characters anyway (at least I hope you did).

As for Kurt's character in this story - I did something a little weird with this whole series. I'm not sure where the idea came from but somehow I got the idea to take Nightcrawler as presented in the movie and start sort of grafting his comic book background and personality onto him. I always felt like the character from the film was him and wasn't him - kind of like if you introduced someone to a really old friend but in odd circumstances where they weren't acting like themselves. So maybe it was a desire on my part to explore the answer to: "who is this blue hippie cowering in the corner and why isn't he telling jokes in spandex with a big red arrow pointing to his crotch?" Or perhaps I was answering "Why are you trying to pick up the aloof African Weather Goddesses by praying the rosary and discussing your corporal mortification when you should be befriending the gruff Canadian loner over a few beers?" It could be both. Or neither. I'm not sure - I had to read that through a couple times too.

The result though is that the Nightcrawler in these stories has ended up being always in character and yet he is not like any Nightcrawler in any particular universe. (There is an exception: Except for the fact that I had it written before the solo series was even announced, there are some moments at the end of Even Angels have Scars that are eerily similar to the way Nightcrawler is portrayed in that book. It's a complete coincedence, but it's kind of cool since I like the writing.)

Anyway - thanks for the feedback and enjoy Angels. You're in for the long haul. :)

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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by HoodedMan »

OT: Haha, what a coincidence. Bet you were a bit tense before you clicked 'Post Reply' this time too, weren't you? ;)
ACHTUNG! Alles touristen und non-technischen looken peepers! Das computermachine ist nicht fuer gefingerpoken und mittengrabben. Ist easy schnappen der springenwerk, blowenfusen und poppencorken mit spitzensparken. Ist nicht fuer gewerken bei das dumpkopfen. Das rubbernecken sichtseeren keepen das cotten-pickenen hans in das pockets muss; relaxen und watchen das blinkenlichten.
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by Saint Kurt »

Heh. Just a little. I just remembered I can do something I've been wanting to do for a while but keep forgetting...
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Triumph of the Genius of Destruction

Post by Saint Kurt »

"I'm not afraid of you."





There... Like a preview before I post the next chapter...
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by Rowena »

Looking forward to reading it! Thanks so much for helping to bring this site back up!!!!! I missed it a lot!
"There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, where the sea's asleep and the rivers dream, people made of smoke and cities made of song. Somewhere there's danger, somewhere there's injustice and somewhere else the tea is getting cold. Come on, Ace, we've got work to do."
~The Doctor, Survival

"There's no point in being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes."
~The Doctor, Robot

"If this isn't civilization, why am I standing in a bomb crater?"
~Hawkeye Pierce, M.A.S.H.

Rowena Zahnrei's Stories: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/526713/Rowena_Zahnrei
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by HoodedMan »

Well, I like the title but a rather small preview. ;) I might see where it's going, though. I'm glad you're up to writing again and hopefully you've found all your bits and pieces. Hope you get off those crutches soon! :)
ACHTUNG! Alles touristen und non-technischen looken peepers! Das computermachine ist nicht fuer gefingerpoken und mittengrabben. Ist easy schnappen der springenwerk, blowenfusen und poppencorken mit spitzensparken. Ist nicht fuer gewerken bei das dumpkopfen. Das rubbernecken sichtseeren keepen das cotten-pickenen hans in das pockets muss; relaxen und watchen das blinkenlichten.
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by Saint Kurt »

I might see where it's going, though.
Might you? Hmmmm. I hope not. I make it a point to as unpredictable as possible with my stories.

I suspect that when you find out who is saying that and who it's being said to, it will blow your f-ing mind. If it doesn't I haven't done my job. Either way I'm finally done moving Nightscrawlers so I can actually write again. Yay!

So much for finishing this over the summer. :shakeno

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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by HoodedMan »

Originally posted by zamweasel
I suspect that when you find out who is saying that and who it's being said to, it will blow your f-ing mind. If it doesn't I haven't done my job. Either way I'm finally done moving Nightscrawlers so I can actually write again. Yay!
Awesome! And I wouldn't be surprised if it does. I try to work your unpredictability into the equation but somehow I always turn up wrong and happily surprised... :x
ACHTUNG! Alles touristen und non-technischen looken peepers! Das computermachine ist nicht fuer gefingerpoken und mittengrabben. Ist easy schnappen der springenwerk, blowenfusen und poppencorken mit spitzensparken. Ist nicht fuer gewerken bei das dumpkopfen. Das rubbernecken sichtseeren keepen das cotten-pickenen hans in das pockets muss; relaxen und watchen das blinkenlichten.
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by Saint Kurt »

Hey. Welcome back! Guess what? Nothing is broken.

So, I was almost done writing this when the server committed servercide and I kept trying to work on it, but once again my "nightscrawlers time" for writing was seriously limited by the number of hours spent fixing the server. (Which, last week, ended up being more than the # of hours I spent at work!)

Anyway, I don't know how this turned into such a magnum opus but it took a really long time to write. I hope I make good on my promise.

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Triumph of the Genius of Destruction

Post by Saint Kurt »

"I'm not afraid of you."



It was easy for Kurt to find the entrance to the Louvre. All he needed to do was follow steady stream of people pouring into base of the great glass pyramid that he'd seen from the roof of the cathedral. He'd been right when he'd suspected it would be large, crowded and well lit, but he'd had no idea exactly how large, how crowded, and how well lit it would be until he was standing there. The sun was high in the sky now and it lit the foyer below the glass structure as though it were a spot light, white hot and without a single shadow.

Kurt hung back when he reached a pair of sliding glass doors that opened to admit people onto a spiraling staircase that led to the entrance underground. There were people everywhere. If he went in and walked down the steps with everyone else, there would be no place for him to hide, no way for him to get out. He would be trapped inside with nowhere to run. Kurt started to back away. It had been a stupid idea. He had come to Paris to find information, not to go site seeing at the Louvre. He wasn't even supposed to go into buildings like this; he didn't belong here.

Kurt turned and started to walk away. Then he stopped, a new and even more bothersome idea forming in his mind. Why didn't he belong here? There certainly weren't any rules against him entering public buildings, except for maybe the ones imposed upon him by Margali and more recently, Wolfgang. In fact, he could never remember a time when anyone was anything but reluctant to let him go anywhere outside the protective realm of the circus. He remembered when he was very young, how on a hot day he'd begged and begged Margali not to make him wear mittens on the train, that he would be a good boy and keep his hands in his pockets, and it made him wonder if he wasn't a willing participant in his own segregation. And the way he had thought about the interior as a "trap", it sounded less like an art museum and more like a prison or a war zone.

Kurt frowned. That wasn't what he wanted to be like. He was a trapeze artist for heaven's sake. He was supposed to be fearless, a daredevil, not a caged animal, frightened to leave his protective nest. He whirled around and faced the museum's entrance a second time. His original purpose had been to see art, but now that goal was lost; trumped by the much harder task of simply walking into the building. Kurt tugged his hood further forward and set his jaw as he walked back towards the entrance, once again joining the clusters of tourists entering and walking down the steps.

He stopped just outside the doorway again, but he refused to allow himself to turn away this time. Through the glass he could see that the steps led down into a brightly lit foyer with tables and benches and a small café. Along one edge people were queuing up to enter the museum. He watched several more groups enter and walk down the steps. He shut his eyes. How was it that he had walked across what he was nearly positive was Hell, barefoot, and yet he was afraid to enter an art museum? The thought made him laugh. Kurt opened his eyes and looked down at his feet; at least here he had shoes on. Kurt smiled at his own joke and when the next group of people walked through the sliding glass doors he stepped in behind them.

Kurt wasn't sure if it was the interior of the museum or maybe just his coat, but it was too warm and seemed to have much less oxygen than it did outside. As he descended the spiral staircase he took one last glance back up towards the door and the plaza above, but he didn't turn around.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


It was like being fifteen years old again. Well, it was like the good parts of being fifteen anyway. After dumping their gear off at Drew, Kyle, and Brett's "Europe Extreme" tour paid for hotel room, they'd changed, grabbed three more bikes, and took off to tour Berlin California style.

As the three of them raced through the city jumping over curbs, park benches and each other, setting off car alarms, and generally making a ruckus, Christian realized how lonely he was as the circus' sole cyclist. Confined to a tiny circle beneath the big top he'd forgotten how great it was to go out with a bunch of buds and just ride.

Not only was he digging the riding, Berlin was the city where he'd "found his talent" so to speak. He'd come to Germany as a failure with a couple of bikes and a useless college degree that was probably going to get him work as a translator at best and a career in food service at worst. He expected to go nowhere fast, but instead his life had opened up. And thanks to his command of the German language, his quick wit, and the fact that the average German citizen wouldn't know a "bunny hop" from an "abubacas" even if it jumped up and bit him he'd found his calling. Within a few months he was making a decent living as a street performer with write-ups as a "Berlin must-see" in several tourist publications.

Just being in Berlin again was exhilarating. There were so many old haunts that Christian wanted to visit, so many people he wanted to drop in on. Plus he wondered if anyone had taken over his spot in the plaza where he always liked to perform. It had been so easy to leave. He had always wondered how hard it would be to come back. It turned out it wasn't hard at all. He was here and it was awesome.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Kurt waited his place in line, his hand wrapped around the crumpled remains of his earnings from performing in the park, a few paper bills and several coins. He hadn't checked the cost. He hoped it was enough. Now that he was in the building it wasn't so bad. It was true that there were a lot of people there, but nobody was bothering him; it seemed that Wolfgang had been right so many years ago in the airport, they were all too involved with their own business to be concerned with him. No one gave him a second glance.

He watched the people in front of him passing money to the ticket clerk in return for slips of paper and then passing them to a second clerk to walk through a gated entrance. It seemed easy enough, similar to the train even and Kurt had seen that dozens of times. With his hand still in his pocket he practiced keeping his sleeve over his fingers as he would need to do when he passed the money to the clerk. When it was his turn he shuffled forward with his head down and pushed his money forward.

"I'd like to come inside to the museum please," he said.

"One adult?"

"Um, yes," Kurt said, realizing that that must have been what he should have said.

"Special Exhibit?"

Kurt froze. "Um, Je suis…" he stammered, not sure what the ticket clerk was asking. Did he want to know if he, Kurt was a special exhibit or was he asking something else?

"Do you want to see the special exhibit of paintings from Hungary as well? It costs an extra two francs," The clerk asked with a weariness that told Kurt this had happened before.

"Oh," Kurt said trying not to laugh at his own stupidity. He put his hand, still wrapped up in his sleeve, over his mouth to cover his smile. Margali's family was from Hungary; the special exhibit sounded interesting. "Yes," he said, "yes, I'd love to."

The ticket clerk gave Kurt a funny look as he handed over Kurt's tickets and his change. Kurt scooped them up into his sleeve and still smiling, started towards the entrance to hand his tickets over. He couldn't believe how easy this had been. He was going to tell Margali and Wolfgang that the next time the circus was in a big city like Berlin, Prague, or even Paris again, he wasn't going to stay behind so easily.

"Excuse me! Hey, you there! Stop! You can't go in like that." A gruff voice called out. A large hand clapped down on Kurt's shoulder as he felt his insides turned to ice. The smile faded from his face. It had been too easy. He should have known; he should have expected that it wouldn't stay that way.

Kurt didn't know what to do. Would it be better to teleport or simply try to run? He didn't like the idea of teleporting in a public place like this, especially when he wasn't sure where he was going, but when he looked around at the security guards stationed at various points in the room, running didn't look like an option either. He was trapped.

His earlier trepidation at the entrance had not been unfounded after all. Cursing his recklessness, Kurt took his sleeve wrapped hands out of his pockets, and holding them up like he'd seen bank robbers do in Wolfgang's old movies, he said, "Please don't hurt me, I just wanted to go look at the museum." Kurt slowly lowered himself down to his knees adding gravely, "I surrender."

"Huh? You surrender?" The security guard looked confused. "You have to check your backpack," he said.

"My… My backpack?" Kurt asked almost in disbelief. He looked up. Something was wrong with his backpack. Was that all? He felt his face flush with embarrassment. How stupid he must have looked. He stood up quickly.

"No backpacks in the museum. You have to check it there." The guard pointed to a counter across from the ticket clerk's that said "Coat and Bag Check" over it in several languages.

"Check it?" Kurt asked. He was trying not to sound too quaint and clueless, but he had no idea what the guard was talking about. He furrowed his brow staring at the racks of bags and coats behind the counter, a woman in a Louvre security uniform standing watch over them. "Will I be able to get it back?"

"Of course," the guard said, giving Kurt a suspicious glance, "you'll get a tag for it. It works just like any other coat check."

Kurt could feel his ears getting hot now. This was getting embarrassing. He gave his hood a furtive tug to make sure it was covering as much of him as possible. The security guard gave him another suspicious glance and tried to peer around it. Kurt turned away from him.

"Thanks," he said, "I'm, um, not local." Kurt pulled his arms out of the straps of his pack and dropped it on the counter where it was exchanged for a plastic tag with numbers on it. He added it to the tickets in his coat pocket wondering how many other civic rituals he didn't know about. He suddenly felt like a storybook hero transported to a strange land with all sorts of unusual customs and etiquette except that this was Paris, and not some far away place.

"I figured," the security guard said, smiling for the first time. He walked with Kurt all the way through the ticket check and into the first gallery of the museum. Kurt tried to ignore him, but finally risked a glance behind him.

"You're all right then?" The guard asked as if to reassure Kurt as much as himself. It was odd that even here complete strangers were still asking him if he was all right. Kurt wondered if they would ever stop.

"I'm fine," he said, an automatic response, spoken a little too quickly. Kurt paused, considering. Finally he added in more even tones, "If ever you're not busy when Circus Gehlhaar comes to play, visit us. Ask for Kurt Wagner,"

The security guard looked thoughtful a moment, pointing a finger at Kurt as though trying to remember something.

"Circus Gehlhaar," he said at last, scratching his chin, "I remember them I think. Came and performed last year right? I took my daughter to see them. She was absolutely wild about "The Incredible Nightcrawler". You know him?"

Kurt smiled and for a moment turned to that the guard could catch a glimpse of what Kurt looked like beneath his hood. "Yes," he said, "very well. Tell you daughter he says hello."

He answered the security guard's look of surprise by putting his finger to his lips and winking conspiratorially. Then Kurt turned, and quickening his pace followed a small knot of people toward the gallery, eager to begin his first ever exploration of an art museum.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The members of Circus Gehlhaar live a life subdivided into routines. They had routines for arriving at a venue and routines for leaving. And within the leaving and arriving routines were subroutines to handle the individual tasks of setting up and taking down one's living quarters as well as the larger higher profile tasks of putting up and taking down the tent and performance equipment. Most of the time they did this work without even thinking about it; it was all part of life for them and it meant that the real living happened in between the routines except in those rare cases where the routine itself was special.

This was one such case.

Over the years since they had come the know Father Dietrich, the empty lot below his church had come to feel like home. The shows they played there were always better and hours between them were always a little less hectic. Even during their non-stop eighteen month Les Chansons tour before, they hadn't minded stopping in Hamburg and now, with the tour over, returning to Hamburg seemed like the most obvious thing in the world.

As Wolfgang walked through the trailers and caravans there was a palpable difference between the way they were setting up now, and they way they did when the circus had just arrived in the middle of the night where they only had a few hours to make the place livable and catch some sleep before showtime. Everybody was relaxed and in a good mood. Everybody, it seemed, except for him.

He stopped outside his own trailer in time to see Maria's backside emerge from the door as she swept out the floor. It was always so strange to him to see her doing housework. She always looked to him like she belonged on the runways of Paris with her long tanned legs and silky black hair that fell nearly to her waist. He put her arms around her so she couldn't return to her work. He could smell the perfume she liked to wear combined with the subtle and even pleasant musk that told him she hadn't bathed yet that day.

"What are you doing?" Maria asked.

Wolfgang was silent for a moment, staring off into the distance with his chin on Maria's shoulder. "Kurt's not here." He said after a long pause. "Father Dietrich said he never showed up. We don't know where he is."

Maria furrowed her brow as though trying to take this in and turn it into good news. Finally she said, "yet. We don't know where he is yet."

Wolfgang looked out towards the roadway. "I don't like not knowing where he is." He said.

Maria started to squirm out of his embrace in an attempt to return to her housework. "You don't like not knowing anything," she said. "What did Father Dietrich say?"

"He said God looks after Kurt."

Maria picked up her broom and matched her gaze to Wolfgang's, looking out at the empty road leading toward the church. "Then we'll just have to trust Him," she said. She opened the door to the trailer.

"Trust who?" Wolfgang asked, "God or Kurt?"

"Exactly." Maria smiled enigmatically as she shut the door behind her.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Kurt sat down on a low wooden bench in a small side gallery where he could still see the artwork, but was out of the way of the milling throngs of people passing through. He was tired and his feet hurt, but he felt relaxed. The low hum of so many people speaking French at once reminded Kurt of his childhood when the circus had consisted of almost equal divisions of French and German performers. All his memories from that time seemed softer, strangely gilded by the idea that it was only a matter of time before all the other blue people with tails showed up, that he was completely normal, only a matter of time.

Kurt sighed and looked around, wondering where to go next. Out of habit, he nearly pulled his feet in under him to perch on the bench's edge, but quickly thought better of it. Besides the fact that he couldn't really "perch" comfortably with shoes on, he had wandered in and out of the Louvre's maze of galleries for nearly two hours without incident. He didn't want to draw attention to himself now.

Actually, it was the shoes that were bothering him the most, the shoes and the hard floors. Kurt had never spent an entire day in shoes like this, walking on hard flat floors instead of running and climbing barefoot from the ground to the variety of surfaces and footholds the circus offered and he was beginning to see what everyone complained about. He stared down at the simple black shoes that now seemed like a pair of jail cells for his feet.

"They're Pradas," Wolfgang had said to Kurt after he had outgrown his last pair, "You'll like them."

Kurt had had no idea what that meant, but Pradas or not, he couldn't wait to get home and take them off. It was with a slight pang that Kurt realized that he had no home to go to here in Paris. His Circus Gehlhaar trailer was a long way away and if he found himself unwelcome at 22 Rue la Verrier, he would be spending the night on the street and then performing in the park the next day to earn enough money to eat before beginning the long journey back to the circus.

Kurt stood up. As nice as this little sightseeing trip was, perhaps he had spent enough time here and it was finally time to reach his destination. As he started towards what looked like an exit, he put his hand in his pocket and felt a second slip of paper. He pulled it out and looked at it, wondering what it was for. The Special Exhibit of Hungarian Art; he'd totally forgotten. He had paid for it. He couldn't leave without at least seeing it. Kurt looked around, wondering where to go until he spotted a wall map with directional arrows. Following them dutifully he made his way towards the special exhibits gallery.

It wasn’t far to walk and as Kurt wandered through the gallery, which had been hung with works from the National Gallery in Budapest, he tried to find some link back to Margali within them. There were a lot of portraits and it seemed to Kurt that the Hungarians were very fond of painting each other. He liked the landscapes best not only because they reminded him of his own travels around Europe, but also there was the additional fascination of the names of the places; names like "Felsöbánya" and "Zebegény". But as much as Kurt tried, he really couldn't see any connection to his foster mother in any of the paintings.

It made sense of course. Margali had grown up Romani and as a young girl, she, her mother, and her sister had been cast out to wander Europe alone. She was no more Hungarian than she was French or German.

As he meandered through the various displays of painting and sculpture, Kurt wondered about his own family. Were they the same as Margali, "Citizens of Europe" rather than claiming a particular country of origin? Amanda and Stephani had different fathers, and of course Kurt was not related by blood to any of them. And though their fathers were gone from her life before either of their children were born, Margali's only concession to their identities was to give the children names from their countries of origin. Thus Amanda had an Irish name to go with the red hair she had inherited from her father. Kurt could remember how when they were children people occasionally made awkward attempts to fit him into the family by saying that he and Stephani must be brothers. And while it was true that they had both inherited their dark curls from their fathers, Stephani had inherited his from his swarthy Italian father. Thus he had Margali's father's name "Stephan" with an "i" added at the end to make it sound as Italian as his father was.

Of course, Kurt thought with a smile, the joke had been on all of them because as it turned out "Amanda" wasn't a particularly Irish name at all, and while there were plenty of boys named "Stephano" in Italy; "Stephani" was really a girl's name. Not that it mattered anymore. Walking through the Louvre, Kurt suddenly appreciated the "patchwork" feel of his foster family more than ever. None of them quite belonged anywhere and it made it that much easier for him to fit in.

Kurt drifted aimlessly through the gallery not really stopping to scrutinize each painting, but rather taking the works in as a whole. He didn't really like Hungarian art, he'd decided, or at least he wasn't any more or less impressed with it than any of the other art he'd seen that day. He wished Wolfgang or Maria was with him. They actually knew about art. He was sure that if they were with him explaining things, it wouldn't seem like such an overload or at least he could have understood why one painting was significant when compared to the others around it.

He stopped to look at a small black and white charcoal sketch that stood out only because of its simplicity in a room full of colorful canvases. It was a delicate sketch of a nude man on russet colored paper. He stepped up for a closer look and saw that the artist had used the two colors of chalk to show the dark shadows and highlights on the man's body, letting the paper provide the mid-tones. Kurt had seen Wolfgang turn out a dozen sketches like this in an hour, but there was something familiar about this one. Then he noticed that the artist had taken his white chalk and with just a few scribbles had outlined a pair of wings. It was not a man at all, but a drawing of an angel.

Kurt looked at the plaque mounted beside the sketch and felt his heart begin to beat a little faster. He couldn't take his eyes of the name of the sketch that was so unexpected here, in this place that until moments ago, seemed to have nothing to do with him or his family.

The artist had titled the sketch, "Demon".

"Everybody knows demons and angels are one in the same," Kurt whispered under his breath, finally knowing why it was that he recognized the nude's curly dark hair and aquiline nose. Had Azazel once had… wings?

Now Kurt suddenly had a purpose. Was this a sketch from life? Had this artist actually seen Azazel? He looked around the gallery. Perhaps there were other paintings by the same artist. Maybe they would give him more clues as to how, and why, in this Special Exhibition of Hungarian Art at the Louvre, there was a drawing of Azazel.

The exhibit was quite large and as Kurt quickly traversed the paintings he began to wonder if he wasn't being silly. Perhaps the angel's appearance was just a coincidence or maybe in the Hungarian language the word for "angel" was the same word as it was for "demon". It could have had nothing to do with Azazel or Martuska Szardos or…

Kurt stopped, his mouth open in surprise.

Or it could have everything to do with it, he thought.

He hadn't seen the painting since he was eight years old and even though it had only been a color plate in a book about art that Lars had stolen from the circus' cook, it had frightened him. Now, seeing the same painting, only this time 14 feet wide and 18 feet high, it frightened him more.

Kurt took a few surprised steps back and turned away. Maybe Martuska had lied to him. Perhaps all this had been for nothing and now Azazel, instead of just showing up at inconvenient times, was going to haunt him for the rest of his life with little tricks like this one. Kurt frowned, but when he looked around he noticed he wasn't the only one looking at the painting. It was so large that half a dozen people could view it at once with a comfortable distance between them. They could see it too, which meant he wasn't imagining it. And, Kurt remembered, these were 19th Century Hungarian artworks which meant that this painting was made a century before.

Turning back around he couldn't help but stare at it. The details of the painting had been burned into his mind long ago, but it was different seeing it so large. The figures of the priest, angel, and demon were larger than life sized locked in their permanent struggle of vanquishing and being vanquished. But there were other details that Kurt hadn't been able to see before in the tiny color plate and these made the painting even stranger to him. There was a robed man atop a mountain of skulls holding aloft a key while another man kissed his feet, a nearby crucifix lay carelessly tossed aside. A woman mysteriously hovered between the demon and the angel as though mediating their dispute. All around them a battle raged with a variety of weapons each more deadly than the next. The priest, Kurt realized was not even looking in the direction of the conflict, but appeared to be running away.

Kurt didn't know how many times people came, viewed the painting, and left, while he stood there, but a thought was forming in his mind as he looked at it. Kurt had never considered himself much of an art aficionado, but now he wanted to grab the people next to him and explain the different parts of the painting to them as he made each discovery. The longer he stared at it, the more he understood.

The battle being fought was not a war at all, but rather a series of individuals fighting and discovering which one had the weapon of advantage, culminating in a swordsman throwing aside his cutlass as a bullet pierced his chest. There was not just one man with a key atop a mound, but many. These were kings who had been given power and were now proudly holding it up for their subjects to see. In the meantime a woman, naked on the ground offered up her child to a man who did not want it. The painting showed a world in chaos that Kurt as a child had always thought was supposed to be hell, but now he realized it was this world. The painting showed the state of the world after it had been granted the gifts of technology and warfare. And presiding over this world, watching what it did with those gifts that he had given it, was Azazel.

The Triumph of the Genius of Destruction. Kurt hadn't known the name of the painting when he was a child because the book had been written in English, but now, written along side the giant canvas in French, German, English, and what he assumed was Hungarian, it made perfect sense.

Azazel was the angel.

Kurt thought about Azazel's words to him standing in the church yard not even a year ago.

"I brought war and weapons to this Earth." Azazel had said. "I brought science and technology. All the things that the humans use to corrupt and pollute this planet of theirs was mine once."

And so here it was for all to see, Azazel's gifts to mankind and what mankind had done with them. Kurt averted his gaze as he slowly unwound his rosary from his pocket. He stood there for a few moments, running the familiar beads through his fingers as and staring at the crucifix as he thought. Kurt looked up, understanding now that the expression on the angel's face was the all too familiar arrogance and not the determination to vanquish evil he'd thought it was as a child. He stared unblinking into the painted Azazel's eyes and it seemed as though he was speaking to the being itself.

Azazel may have triumphed once, but it would never happen again.

"I'm not afraid of you," Kurt said. "I am not afraid."






Author's note: The two pieces of art described in this story are real. I really saw The Triumph of the Genius of Destruction on tour at the Louvre when I was 21 years old. It really is that large and it was almost like you could walk into it or something. I think I stood there for like half an hour just like, "whoa".

When I started writing Even Angels have Scars, I knew exactly which scary angel/demon painting Kurt was to find in Lars' book, but I didn't post a picture of it until now because I wanted to tell this story first.

Anyway, here they both are:
The Triumph of the Genius of Destruction

Demon (sketch)

Both of these works are by the Hungarian artist Mihály Zichy. They are currently on display at the Hungarian National Gallery in Budapest.
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by Rowena »

Much awesomeness! I loved the little character study at the beginning. Brilliantly done. I liked Maria's enigmatic response as well. It made me smile. The guard made me nervous, though, especially when Kurt let him see what he looked like under his hood!
The painting showed the state of the world after it had been granted the gifts of technology and warfare. And presiding over this world, watching what it did with those gifts that he had given it, was Azazel.
That's a very scary notion. I wonder if the people who worked on the movie "Flight of Dragons" ever saw that picture. *shiver* At least Ommadon was vanquished in the end--by science no less!

Excellent chapter! Extremely engrossing, not to mention disturbing! Kurt might claim not to be afraid, but I'm getting nervous. Can't wait to see what happens next! :D
"There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, where the sea's asleep and the rivers dream, people made of smoke and cities made of song. Somewhere there's danger, somewhere there's injustice and somewhere else the tea is getting cold. Come on, Ace, we've got work to do."
~The Doctor, Survival

"There's no point in being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes."
~The Doctor, Robot

"If this isn't civilization, why am I standing in a bomb crater?"
~Hawkeye Pierce, M.A.S.H.

Rowena Zahnrei's Stories: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/526713/Rowena_Zahnrei
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by Saint Kurt »

Thanks Rowena. I was kind of expecting more response about this chapter to be honest - not only because it took me forever to write, but because it's the first time that the story ties back again to the events in Even Angels Have Scars. I guess it just goes to show that sometimes stuff sounds differently in our heads than it does on paper (or in pixels).

I never saw Flight of the Dragons, but like I said I did see the real painting. Imagine my consternation when I discovered that it was not a normal part of the Lourve's collection. :)

I just started reading Dan Brown's "DaVinci Code" a few days ago (I think I'm the last person on the planet who hasn't read it) and I realized that I have been engaging in the same repurposing of art, religion, and history that the author does. I don't know about the DaVinci Code but in my story it's like 99.9% fact and then I make up just enough so that it fits in the story.

Thanks for reading everyone. I'm back to my latest distraction from writing - trying to let Marvel know that we Nightcrawler fans are most unhappy with their editorial process of late.

thanks!
-e
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by HoodedMan »

Originally posted by Saint Kurt
I just started reading Dan Brown's "DaVinci Code" a few days ago (I think I'm the last person on the planet who hasn't read it) and I realized that I have been engaging in the same repurposing of art, religion, and history that the author does. I don't know about the DaVinci Code but in my story it's like 99.9% fact and then I make up just enough so that it fits in the story.
OT: Don't feel bad. I haven't even started it yet, because I'm an uncultured buffoon (according to my friends) :P.
ACHTUNG! Alles touristen und non-technischen looken peepers! Das computermachine ist nicht fuer gefingerpoken und mittengrabben. Ist easy schnappen der springenwerk, blowenfusen und poppencorken mit spitzensparken. Ist nicht fuer gewerken bei das dumpkopfen. Das rubbernecken sichtseeren keepen das cotten-pickenen hans in das pockets muss; relaxen und watchen das blinkenlichten.
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by CurlyyHairGirl »

Originally posted by Saint Kurt
I was kind of expecting more response about this chapter to be honest - not only because it took me forever to write, but because it's the first time that the story ties back again to the events in Even Angels Have Scars.
I actually wrote out a big ole long post on this chapter, unfortunately I wasn't logged in at the time. So, stupid as I am, I hit the quote button and typed a really long post praising it's alltogether goodness and depth I could never achieve in my own writings and forgot to type in my Screen Name and password before hitting 'post reply'. Naturally I didn't copy the post (this has happend to me countless times now, I should know better) and everything was lost. I told myself I would get back to it later, and it idn't happen so I'll do it shortly.
I guess it just goes to show that sometimes stuff sounds differently in our heads than it does on paper (or in pixels).
Are you saying that you think your art (writing is a form in itself) is not good enough??? Shame on you Zam!

Here goes...

I loved how you wrote about Kurt's feeling of being 'trapped or caged' ant the internal conflicts that it brought up in the museum. Ex. He believed that because he was a trapeeze artist, that he should naturally be fearless towards anything but doubted himself because 'e felt 'caged', and didn't understand this.

I loved how you wrote in his little personal habits such as how he would normally perch himself on somthing but had to resist the urge to do it on the museum bench, and how he wanted to ditch the shoes...badly.

What I thouroughly enjoy is the depth yoyu went into while writing Kurts thoughts about the painting and sketch, it gives the reader the feeling of actually knowing the character, getting to know the character the way you see him and the way he sees things...very deep. And in addition to the lovely descriptions of both pieces of art you have provided us with visual stimuli to further burn thisgrand piece of work into our noggins...it gives a sort of reality to the story that you just don't get from just reading.

BTW, It was a loverly touch that you added, the guards daughter liking Kurt's performances and Kurt's reaction to the guard asking if he knew the incredible Nightcrawler.


I want to write more,I do, but I lack a good attention span...the computer is in the TV room, I got a serious sunburn from being at Six Flags today and I need to tend to it, and I have to see my grandmother. My Gaffer died at 11:51 am while my sis, dad, and I were in Valencia, we didn't find out till 8:47pm. It's tough on her and on us. If I get more time tomorrow, I'll try to complete my review, this is a rundown of the lost one.


-Trying to stay my chipper self and life life as usual, EMO:)
one name: Bruce Campbell
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by Saint Kurt »

Hello and thanks so much CHG for such an awesome and in-depth review. You have no idea how happy things like that make me. I triend to run that little contest in my own thread but it seemed to gain minimal interest, however one of things I aways thought would be could would be to run a contest on Nightscrawlers with prizes for best/most feedback as well as prizes for the contest entries themselves.

So as always, thanks for reading. Enjoy this next chapter:

-e
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The City of Lights becomes the City of Brotherly Love

Post by Saint Kurt »

"I let myself in. I hope that was okay."


It was evening by the time Kurt found Rue le Verrier and made his way to the narrow three flat with the number twenty two over the door. He sat in silence for a long time. He'd finally done it. And then with a sigh and a small smile he pressed the buzzer for flat number 3.

There was no answer and when Kurt looked up at the window to the third floor apartment, he could see it was dark inside. Even so, it wouldn't be hard to get up there and have a look inside. Kurt glanced up and down the street to make sure he was alone. He could have easily climbed the exterior of the building, but that would have taken too long. It took just a fraction of a second to teleport himself to a spot just above the height of the third story window. He hung in the air a moment and then caught the decorative stonework around the window on the way down.

Holding on tightly, and bracing his still shod feet against the window ledge, Kurt leaned in and pressed his face against the window, trying to see inside. He was looking for anything familiar that would let me know if he had come to the right place or not. Unfortunately, it was difficult to see anything in the dim interior other than the outlines of the furniture. He would have to go inside. Turning back to the street once again to insure that he was still alone, Kurt took a deep breath and teleported inside.

It was a simple one bedroom flat with a cozy sitting room and a tiny separate kitchen. Kurt was standing in the middle of the sitting room floor and he gratefully stepped out of his shoes and dropped his rucksack by the door so it would be out of the way. Not daring to turn on a light, he surveyed his surroundings in the dark, taking soft deliberate steps as he moved.

It looked like a comfortable enough place. There were shelves with a lot of books and a desk in the corner with a lot of papers and what looked like a computer on it. The kitchen was small and looking inside it made Kurt realize he was hungry again. It was tempting to take a piece of bread, or a slice of cheese from the brick he saw sitting in the refrigerator, but he wasn't exactly sure if he was in the right place yet. There was nothing familiar about the slightly sagging but comfortable looking couch in the sitting room or the neatly made double bed in the bedroom. The apartment could have belonged to anybody.

The glint of a glass picture frame on the bed's nightstand caught Kurt's eye and he went in for a closer look. He picked up the first of two framed photos; it was a posed family portrait taken outside in the branches of the tree. Margali sat leaning against the tree's broad trunk with her children gathered around her. It had been taken during one of Stephani's first visits home to the circus from school, almost eight years ago. Staring at the image of his own unblemished face in the picture in unconsciously brought his hand up, tracing the now healed lines that decorated his skin. Kurt put the picture down and picked up the second.

This one was a newer photograph of himself, Stephani, and Amanda sitting on the steps of Father Dietrich's Rectory in the snow. He smiled, remembering that Brin had taken the picture shortly after James had proposed to her. It also reminded him that he only had a certain amount of time. He needed to get back to Hamburg in time for Brin and James' wedding. Kurt set the second picture back on the nightstand and returned to the sitting room. At least now he knew he was in the right place. He sat down on the couch and slid his rosary out of his pocket to wait.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


"Did you really grow up in a circus?"

"Would I lie to you? I swear that I did."

"What kind of circus was it?"

Stephani shrugged. He usually saved the subject of his childhood for around the fifth or sixth date, but he really liked Sophia. He'd already had several classes with her at the Sorbonne. She seemed like someone who would understand, someone who wouldn't make fun or think he was lying. So even though this was only their second date, he'd told her, not everything, but a little bit.

"Just a traveling circus like you see in the summer," he said, turning and walking backwards so he could face her while they talked.

"Did you perform?" Sophia asked, her head turning this way and that to take in the sights of his neighborhood as she walked him home from dinner.

She seemed serious now, Stephani noticed, which was good. He shook his head.

"No, I had a brother who was an acrobat though," he said.

"Really? Was he older than you?" Sophia asked as they climbed the steps to his front door.

Stephani fitted his key into the lock. "Younger actually. Do you want to come up or are you…" he let his voice trail off when Sophia stepped through the door with a coy smile. Stephani followed her through and let the door close and lock behind him.

"So why didn't they let you be an acrobat too?" she asked as she climbed the stairs.

"I could have, I guess, but he had… sort of special skills. Up one more," Stephani said when Sophia stopped at the landing for the second floor and looked at him questioningly.

"That doesn't seem fair," her voice drifted down through the stairwell.

"No, it was fair. He got to be the star acrobat; I got to go to school. We both got to do what we wanted."

He climbed the rest of the steps to where Sophia was waiting. She stepped aside to let him put his key in the door. He smiled and opened the door. "After you," he said.
"It's so dark," Sophia said as she stepped into the tiny entranceway. She made a motion as though reaching for the wall but her hand brushed against Stephani's lips instead.

"I know just the perfect light," he said stepping into his sitting room suddenly. "Not too bright, but just enough to, Whoops!"

It all happened so fast that Kurt had no idea what to do. He had fallen asleep sitting up on the couch, but the thump of someone tripping over his backpack, the lights coming up, and a woman's surprised shriek woke him. Kurt leapt to his feet, the rosary sliding out of his hand. If this was Stephani's apartment then why was he hearing a woman's voice? He hadn't made a mistake had he?

"Who left those things there?" A voice Kurt recognized asked in French. It was Stephani, his back to him, sitting on the floor where he'd fallen and pointing at Kurt's shoes and rucksack.

The woman, still standing in the doorway pointed at Kurt, but instead of shrieking spoke in a barrage of rapid fire French that was so fast and angry that Kurt couldn't make out a word of it.

"The devil?" Stephani asked in confusion. He twisted around to where Sophia was pointing and Kurt was standing and grinned. "Kurt!"

"Hi," Kurt said sheepishly. "I let myself in. I hope that was okay."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Twenty minutes later Sophia was gone and the two of them were sitting at Stephani's tiny kitchen table. It was hard for Kurt not to simply grab the loaf of French bread, begin ripping pieces off it, and stuff them into his mouth, he was so hungry. Instead he carefully cut off another slice and gratefully accepted another hunk of cheese from Stephani.

"Thanks," he said, "I'm sorry I scared your friend. Was she…" Kurt trailed off, not sure how to ask. Did Stephani have a girlfriend here in Paris or maybe they were more than that? Suddenly his brother's life seemed completely closed and foreign to him, as though Stephani lived on another planet instead of just an occasionally far away city. What made him think Stephani would even care about his problems in the circus?

Stephani gave him a shy smile and shook his head as though answering Kurt's unasked question. "Her name is Sophia We've been on a few dates. I've known her for a while from classes. I like her, but she's so…" It was Stephani's turn to blush and leave the sentence hanging. Kurt waited for him to finish, but instead he leaned across the table and tugged on the long fur on tip of Kurt's chin.

"This is cute," he said. "When did this start happening?"

"Stop that," Kurt said, slapping Stephani's hand away. "It's new. If I don't cut it as long as the rest of it every few days, it grows like crazy."

"I kind of like it," Stephani said. "It suits you, and the 'van dyke' is very in at the moment.

"I wouldn't mind borrowing a pair of scissors," said Kurt, feeling more and more insure about it.

"No way!" Stephani said with a crooked grin. "You're at the height of Paris fashion. I won't allow it."

Kurt cupped his chin in his hand self-consciously. He shook his head in frustration and hopelessness. "I think it makes me look like I'm going to try and bargain for your soul," he said.

Stephani's expression shifted to seriousness as he the appraised Kurt's whiskered appearance. "Well, there is that," he conceded at last, "But I think you pull it off quite well. I mean, it could have been worse. You could have passed through puberty and sprouted wings or scales or something."

Kurt laughed and shook his head. "I suppose I sure consider myself lucky, " he said with a small smile.

Stephani started laughing, but then his face grew serious again. "I just can't believe you're here," he said sounding almost awestruck.

Kurt smiled. "Me neither."

"I never thought you'd ever get to see this place," Stephani said and stood up. He leaned against the narrow kitchen entranceway and gestured out past the small kitchen where they were sitting into the cozy sitting room beyond.

"What do you think?" Stephani asked, "Not bad for a gypsy kid from the circus is it?"

With the lights on the apartment was much different. The kitchen was very clean and white with very little ornaments beyond a single red vase on the table and a few pots and pans hung on hooks on the wall. A warm orange glow from lamps that focused on a few areas, the desk, a reading chair, and a one by the couch lit Stephani's cozy the sitting room. It reminded Kurt a little bit of their old caravan only much more well appointed. While their caravan had had a threadbare lived in appearance, everything in Stephani's apartment was clean and well kept.

Kurt shook his head. "It's amazing," he said.

Stephani narrowed his eyes. "Speaking of the circus," he said, "how did you get here? And how did you get in?"

Kurt looked sheepish for a moment and didn't say anything.

"I climbed. And came in through the window," he said after a little while, answering the second question first since it seemed like it would get him in less trouble than the first one. "You know, 'bamf'," he said imitating the way everyone said it sounded when he teleported and miming a small explosion with his hands. Kurt stood up and joined Stephani in the sitting room.

"Is that picture of us in your bedroom from Father Dietrich?" he asked pointing towards Stephani's room.

"Yeah, he sent it to me a few months ago," Stephani said.

"It's a really good picture. Mind if I look at it again with the lights on? It was really dark before and I couldn't really see it."

"Kurt?"

Kurt stopped with his hand on the door to Stephani's bedroom. "Yeah?"

"How did you get to Paris?"

"Did Father Dietrich send you any extras because I'm sure mom would really a copy. She doesn't have any recent photos with all three of us."

"How did you get here Kurt?"

Kurt sat down on Stephani's chair and pulled his feet in under him. He was silent for a long time as he stared at the pattern on the rug on Stephani's spotless floor. He wanted there to be dirt there. Paris, and especially Stephani's apartment was too clean, too organized. Kurt wanted there to be dust and trucks and noise and people running around trying to get too many things done before show time. There was nothing familiar here, nothing that felt like home. "I ran away from the circus," he said finally. "I ran away to come here and find you."

Stephani's eyes went wide as he sat down across from Kurt. "Mom's going to pissed as hell," he said. "But how? How did you do it? And why?"

Kurt nodded his head in agreement. Margali was going to be angry, but what could he do? The circus wasn't making sense anymore. He was embarrassed and ashamed over what had happened with Christian's friends and had no idea how to apologize, everyone kept watching him all the time and asking him if he was "okay", and to top it all off Wolfgang had gone insane. He had to leave if he was ever going to make sense of any of this. He told Stephani about what had happened on the last night of Les Chansons on the path away from the main tent, then about Wolfgang's reaction to it, and finally his journey via mail car from Germany to Paris. He found talking about it made him feel a little better, not quite like going to confession, but it was similar.

"That's incredible Kurt. You're like an American hobo," Stephani said. "So you ran away to get away from Wolfgang and from these people who turned out to be Christian's friends?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, that's not it. I…" he paused. What was it exactly that was bothering him. He'd been pondering it the entire time he'd been traveling in the back of his mind and he still hadn't quite put it into words.

"I think it's that I don't know who I should be afraid of anymore." He said finally.

"What do you mean?" Stephani asked. "You don't have to be afraid of anyone. Or, is it because of what happened to your…" Stephani's voice trailed off but he gestured to his face. "Mom wrote me about what happened to you, about her sister I mean. You're okay right?"

Kurt nodded. "Did she tell you about what happened in Brighton?" he asked.

Stephani knitted his brow. "A little. I mean, Amanda called after it happened and then after they found you she called but it was like…" Stephani knitted his brow even tighter.

"What?" Kurt asked.

"Well, I already knew you had been found." Stephani said and shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe it's just one of those things. Family members always say stuff like that. Anyway, what about Brighton?"

"I don't know," Kurt said. "I don't remember anything. One minute I was standing and looking at the water and the next I was in our trailer and Father Dietrich was there. If I don't remember what happened to me how can I prevent it from happening again?"

"I don't know," Stephani said.

"Neither do I."

"So that's what you were afraid of on the path? You were afraid those friends of Christian's were going to attack you?"

Kurt nodded. Even just talking about it here in the warmth of his brother's apartment miles away, he could still feel the same cold pit of fear in his stomach.

"What about Wolfgang then?" Stephani asked.

"I still don't understand what Wolfgang was talking about," Kurt admitted.

Stephani sat in thought with his chin in his hand for a few minutes. "Well, you're here now," he said, "What is it you want to do?"

"I want to find out more about 'mutants'. What they are and why they are discriminated against. I came here because I need to use the library." Kurt said.

Stephani looked surprised. "The library?" he exclaimed. "Surely you could have used a library somewhere in Germany. Why did you come all this way?"

Kurt shook his head. "I couldn't. Not really. If I'd asked mom or Amanda I don't think they would have let me go and they certainly wouldn't have brought me what I needed. They never tell me anything. And I couldn't ask Wolfgang."

"But they aren't the only people in the circus. What about James or Brin? What about Christian? Kurt, you were going to leave for Father Dietrich's the next morning, why didn't you just wait to ask him for help?"

"Father Dietrich is just like mom," Kurt said. "They're always trying to protect me. But what if I want to protect myself? You're not going to be like them are you? I'm tired of running and hiding all the time Stephani."

Stephani sat in silence, staring at Kurt as though he couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.

"Can you help me?" Kurt asked after several unbearable moments of silence.

"I'm thinking," Stephani said.

Kurt was silent for several more minutes. He slumped down in his chair. Stephani was going to say "no"; he had come here for nothing after all. Finally Stephani stood up and began pacing around the room thoughtfully.

"We don't have a lot of time," he said, "The library at the Sorbonne is closed for the night and I've got tickets for the first train to out of Paris tomorrow. And now we need to get you train tickets as well. I don't know if it's possible Kurt."

Kurt stared down at the floor. He had wasted so much time. Had he not taken all his various sight-seeing detours he would have been here hours ago. Now it was too late. Or was it?

"Is the library far from here?" Kurt asked.

"Not far," Stephani said. "I can walk there. Why?"

"It's just that, I'm pretty good at getting into places after dark," he said with a sly grin, "given than I can't go to church during the day and they lock the doors at night."

"You mean break in?" Stephani said incredulously, his eyes going wide.

"We wouldn't steal anything. We'd use it just like a regular library," Kurt said. "Please," he added in response to Stephani's doubtful look.

Stephani looked past Kurt out the sitting room window as though he were looking at the library, sizing it up, thinking about the possibilities. "You're crazy," he said without looking away.

"I know," Kurt said.

"Do you know what could happen if we got caught?"

Kurt shook his head. "We won't get caught," he said.

"How do you know?" Stephani asked. Though his body language was neutral, Kurt could see him mentally wringing his hands. Stephani was so much like his mother that way except that whereas Margali did seem to enjoy a good fight once and a while, Stephani liked to live in a world that was safe, one that he could control.

"I just do. We won't." Kurt stood up and looked out the window as well. He could see he smudges from his own oddly shaped footprints from when he had clung to the window and tried to see in. Stephani said nothing but Kurt could see by the look in his eyes that his mind was already in motion.
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by Rowena »

I really liked this chapter. The brothers meet at last! The scene with his girlfriend was well done, and I really liked how you described Kurt fighting to eat politely despite his extreme hunger and the moment when he looked at the picture of his unscarred features and raised a hand to his face.

I did spot several wording-type errors, though. Mostly minor things. For example, you wrote at the end:
He could see he smudges from his own oddly shaped footprints from when he had clung to the window and tried to see in.
...but at the beginning you had:
bracing his still shod feet against the window ledge, Kurt leaned in and pressed his face against the window, trying to see inside.
Another is:
"I suppose I sure consider myself lucky, "
and my favorite was:
He was looking for anything familiar that would let me know if he had come to the right place or not.
I could tell from that how deeply involved you were in your story. I've done that too! :D

This was a really great chapter. You managed to make their meeting touching and awkward, yet familiar. Fantastic job! :D

:bamf
"There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, where the sea's asleep and the rivers dream, people made of smoke and cities made of song. Somewhere there's danger, somewhere there's injustice and somewhere else the tea is getting cold. Come on, Ace, we've got work to do."
~The Doctor, Survival

"There's no point in being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes."
~The Doctor, Robot

"If this isn't civilization, why am I standing in a bomb crater?"
~Hawkeye Pierce, M.A.S.H.

Rowena Zahnrei's Stories: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/526713/Rowena_Zahnrei
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by fourpawsonthefloor »

Loved the scene with the girlfriend - I really enjoy laughing through a story and you manage to always keep that touch of humor in things - even through more serious scenes. It is a nice relief.
The only critique that I have is a bit nit picky - but it jumped out at me - in one paragraph you wrote:
"It reminded Kurt a little bit of their old caravan only much more well appointed."
then a few lines down:
"There was nothing familiar here, nothing that felt like home."
Now I am thinking that you were more meaning paris, than the apartment, but because the lines right before it are speaking of the apartment it seems as if the two sentences contradict each other.
Its not something I would have noticed if they weren't so close together, and not a huge thing.
I also enjoy how you leave most chapters leading into the next - so that you are sitting on the edge of your computer chair waiting desperately for the next one to get posted. Its a lot like waiting for the next book of a favored series to come out, a little painful, but you get such a rush when it finally comes in.
It definately keeps me checking in for updates. :)
Outstanding work Emily!
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chicory
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Until Death Do Us Part -- sequel to Even Angels Have Scars

Post by chicory »

Hey! There's an extra chapter here that's not posted on fanfiction.net. I know because I've been keeping an eye on this one - it's on my list.

I'm not trying to be rude or anything, I just really, really like this story and wondered if you'd given up on it or just got so busy that you didn't have the time to work on it anymore.

Anyway, I was really pleased to find that there was an additional chapter here! I :love Kurt's relationship with his brother and the subtle differences in the universe that you've created compared to the movie's version.

I found this site before, like sometime last spring, but I found it again when I followed the link on the other site, something like a couple months ago. There's lots of great stories here! I've tried to write a few times but it takes more talent (and patience) than I have - so I have just that much more respect for people who actually can pull it off!

The only question I had was about the Triumph painting. I don't see the demon figure in the painting (the winged man looks kinda scary - but he has wings and I don't see his counterpart :? I checked the part of Even Angel's Have Scars where Kurt first saw the picture, but I was still confused about what frightened him.

Sorry if this is disjointed or too long, I'll stop now :bamf
For those who believe, no explanation is neccessary. For those who do not, no explanation is possible. ~Gino Dalpiaz
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