When the Lord Cries, it Rains... [STORY]

"GET OUT!!!"

Rafael stood. Confident. Defiant. Smile.

The priest opposed him, face maroon in rage and disgust. Steam poured out of his ears, earsplitting whistle, as if he was a kettle. The floor shook and trembled, the robes on his chubby body just about ready to light on fire. Yet no matter what he did now, Rafael was in control. No-one could run his life, his mind, his thoughts. He felt just like when he was with that girl, control.
Explode old man, he thought.

"GET OUT OF MY CHURCH!!!!" Bellow, bellow, bellow.

The grin upon the young man's face grew. He turned heel, purposely taking his time as he headed for the door. The walls towered over him, the nuns cowered at his whim. They held a young girl in their thin, thickly covered arms. Her eyes wide, blank, her neck black where the rope had sunk in. She was naked.
It took much force to get the heavy, old, damp wodden doors open. Rafael could hear their whispers, the angels, cast in stone, as they recited their exorcism prayers in his direction. He cast one last long look at them all; they seemed so tiny.
Not even closing the door behind him, he ran. His golden eyes blurred in the hard rain of the outside...rain?

A mere 30 feet from the door of his childhood his heart skipped a beat and he stopped flat. The rain sank through his clothe, to his fresh skin, right through to his soul. It ran down his hair, like a loving caress he never felt. He opened his arms, remembering the girl.
He had smelled the fear the instant she saw him, he wanted more of that. More fear, more fear, more control, more things he yearned for. But now he had no roof over his head, and the rain pounded every inch of his body, penetrating right through him. He knew there was a bus stop somewhere, far away from the doors to his childhood, and he always had a few dollars in his pockets. Was this rebirth?

For the next day to come, the warm rains never stopped. Soaking the ground, making every tree, every flower, every blade of grass surrounding the path he followed bend painfully low, their leaves and petals muddy from rubbing the soil. It seemed they were begging for mercy, kneeling under the powerful tears that kept coming, crashing down from the sky. Yet the young man on the footpath walked strong, not falling in the gloom, his beige shirt transparent and heavy from the constant downpour. He had to keep his head low, as the torrential rain blurred his golden eyes. The high humidity made Rafael feel lethargic, sleepy, warm, and wet. He had walked through the night, following the now small, spindly path. He knew there was a bus stop somewhere down the road, but knew not how much father he would have to travel.
The mud squelched beneath his naked toes, running in between them.

Then, the path stopped. Clean.
Rafael paused, looking down at his feet, on the edge of the path. Raising his head he caught a flash of a tall wooden thing, not even an inch from his nose. He fell back with yelp, into the tall, dirty grass. He had come face to face with a great big wooden wall. The path seemed to continue its way, underneath the old wood that stood in his way. Fear and excitement flooded through him faster than the downpour; what did this wall mean? What does it contain? Does it hold a bus stop? He stood back up, his buttocks now covered in mud.
Rafael put a hand on the structure, held his head low once more, and followed where the wall took him.
Through the crashing torrent, from afar he heard voices, people yelling. He looked around, or so he tried, constantly washing the rain from his face. Of course, the sound had to come from above him, so he made his hands go above his eyes in a baseball cap-like fashion. Above stood a great big wooden tower, with a great big man on top of it. The man spotted Rafael from below, shouting something incomprehensible past the walled area. He then vanished in a flash, almost appearing in front of the young, dirty, sinful man.

"Oi! You! Get outta here!!" he barked, his voice seemingly a whisper in the rain.

The place was worse than the church.

Everything was absolutely perfect. The lawns were trimmed, the houses white and clean. Not a single thing that would remotely seem out of order, not even a chair on a front porch was out of it's place. the hairs on the back of his neck rose; at least the church had some cobwebs hanging around loosely, this place was picture-perfect. The weather seemed to improve things slightly, he didn't want to see the place while it was sunny.

They came to another house, this time the man that led them opened the front door. Rafael guessed it was his home. He wrinkled his nose ever so slightly, of course not letting the man see him do so; it was not proper etiquette to let some-one know you do not like their home. Everything once more was too perfect. Rafael imagined the man replacing things exactly where they belonged, following the lines in the dust (if there was any..). Rafael found himself bored. As expected.

The man did not touch Rafael this time, only beckoning him away from the storm on the outside of the house. He stepped in after a few moments of hesitation, he got the urge to displace one of the chairs from about an inch, but refrained in doing so.

He wanted to answer the man with a snooty "well gee, you don't say." but instead replied something a little more polite;
"Thanks. I thought I was a goner." Maybe he should have said something about his house, but somehow he knew he would not be able to say anything polite, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Um, I don't suppose you have or towel or something....I um, wouldn't want to get anything wet."

Rafael's brilliant golden eyes followed the man's dirty footprints on the floor. He gave off a slight sigh of relief; no more perfect, thank...the lord, he guessed.
There was a sort of reassuring tone to the man's voice, and Rafael untensed his shoulders. He took the clean white towel, and rubbed his wet head dry. Through the towel, he took a good look at his host; the man must have been in his late thirties, maybe even in his forties. His hair was slowly greying, maybe due to the stress of having a keep a perfect house perfect.

Momentarily, looked away from his guest, and Rafael caught sight of a small mirror. He frowned, passing a hand through his jet-black hair. Thinking, he sleeked it back; it freed the hair from his face, showing his eyes, and the mad determination behind them. He liked his hair like that, and kept it that way.

He stood there, half in the living room, half in the entrance as the man sat down on a straight backed chair. There was a sort of question behind the man's statement, and Rafael almost felt obliged to tell him what he was doing here. He shifted his weight form one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable at the question.

"I was, well, looking for a bus stop." he paused, frowning, not truly wanting to say more, but the authority in the man kept him going. "I'm coming from..." he could muster the courage to say the truth. He knew it would get him kicked out. Rafael supposed he could say at lest part of the truth, it would definitely seem more credible. "...the church, out past the forest. I was visiting Father Andrews, to give him a hand around the church, and the orphanage." There, at least that was out of the way. He still felt as if he may not have said enough. Rafael made half a face, thinking about the church again, the angry whispers from the statues of the saints seemed to have followed him all the way here. He quickly glanced over a shoulder, stepping mnore into the fire light.

The young man jumped just about three feet in the air at the cracking noise. He whirrled around violently, realising that the noise had simply been a log falling in the fire. He caught a glimpse of the man that was now sitting in front of him, facing the fire; there was a sort of calculating face going on there, and Rafael could almost smell the doubt. He spoke of Father Andrews; recognition in his voice, he knew the place. Okay. The sentence spoken hung in the air, like a bad smell in a small closed room. It made Rafael nervous, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Best not say anything else.
His eyes followed the man's stride to the kitchen, then he turned back, placing a hand on his shoulder. He cringed, not as violently as the first time, suddenly uncomfortable. Yet the pat was not truly invading, it was friendly, and the man had tried to make it reassuring. There was a flash of a small smile on the boy's face; not the okay so I see you are friendly smile, but more of a oh my why are you touching me smile. He crossed his arms and stood ground. Watch him. Watch him carefully.

He had forgotten about the bus stop. He knew it wasn't much farther, and wanted to continue walking, but it seemed that this man, father, would not let him go in this weather. He wanted to protest, to tell him that he would be fine, that he like the rain, but the efforts were futile, as they did not even happen.

As James prepared some food which had come out of a few small, very plain boxes, he mentionned something about the boy's name. He had not caught it.

"Well, I never mentionned my name. It's Rafael. Or Raf, for short, if you like. Either or, it doesn't truly matter, I know you will not be speaking of any angel..." a sort of akward laugh, because that last part was sort of out of place.

The pot hissed, turning the man's attention from the boy.

Thank...god, he supposed. The tables seemed to be able to turn quickly in this place, and Rafael did not want to get in any trouble. Maybe he shouldn't talk at all.
The warmth from the fireplace washed over him, giving him the impression of stepping into a nice bath. The house wasn't so bad; with a bit of motion coming from James and the fire, it looked more alive, less perfect. Soon, the smell came tiptoing about the young boy's nose, tickling his hunger like a mouse does to a tiger.

Had his mouth been open, a dribble of spit might have come careening down his lip.

Decent food wasn't exactly popular back at the church. And this soup, no matter how simple, no matter how plain, smelled much better then what he had been eating for the past 17 years. He fidgetted silently. The man gave him permission to eat, but he was unsure how to proceed.
So he slowly made his way to the table on the left, sitting down quietly, not wanting to disturb the atmosphere. His hands were shaking, not from fear, but from anticipation. He was so excited at this bowl of soup, his eyes alight, forcing back a gigantic grin.

Rafael lifted the spoon, almost too eager. "Y-you have no idea how g-good this smells." he blurted out, dunking the spoon into the soft grey bowl, finally lifting a bite to his open maw.

Oh. My. God. Is that...celery? Could those be carrots? And is this....cabbage?! He swallowed the bite, barely chewing, and coughing the whole way down. The soup was hot, but he didn't care. He took more spoonfuls, letting each sit in his mouth, tasting the broth, feeling the texture of all the different vegetables...he paused. But, I don't like these vegetables...I have never liked them. Yet these were beyond anything he had ever tasted, very different from the plain, overcooked, and sometimes under cooked, vegetable back at the orphanage. They tasted...like vegetables! Not a single trace of carboard....

"Fank you DJames. Fis ish amaifing!" he said, somewhere during a mouthful.

A dramatic wind rushed past his young body, ripping the door open, ruffling his sleek still wet hair. It swam right through his damp clothe, biting on his skin, blowing the steam away from the top of his soup. He shivered violently, jumping even, looking up at the door frame from his bowl almost angrily; who dares open the damn door and make him cold again??

Bright gold eyes crashed with a pair of blinding blue ones. There was a tense moment. This instantaneously faded to silent delight from the part of Rafael. Oh ho ho~

Carefully, he studied the young girl's features; her white hair contrasted sharply with her deeply tanned skin, like white chocolate and milk chocolate, standing side by side, hand in hand. Yet it was the emotion that emanated from her body that enticed him to smile; it clearly spoke of disgust, distain, unwelcoming, and downright questionning her father as to why is HE here. That little frown on her face made his own grin spread wildly; he ran a hand through his hair, sleeking it back, forgetting that he was cold.
This was FAR more entertaining then the soup, no matter how delicious it was.

Now, being the polite child he was, he stood from the table, walking slowly to Noir, facing her. He...wasn't any taller then her, maybe they were the same height, not that he ever cared.

He knew he had to be careful. He did not want to raise her father's suspicions. Now he had a reason to stay here for a few days. He extended a hand to the young woman, keeping his posture friendly, open. However his smile had a nasty sort of quality to it, thankfully he wasn't facing James, so this would go unnoticed.

"Hello Noir, it IS a pleasure to meet you..."

Those little nails digging into his hand curled his lips farther, exposing his row of straight, white teeth. Such disgust, he could feel it, see it, smell it, almost taste it. It raised the hairs on the back of his neck, made him swell up ever so slightly.
As soon as it happened, it was over, and she let go of his hand. He held it there for a moment, injesting the feeling, wanting more. He knew he would have to wait, and he knew that patience was a virtue, that he would get his moment.

He turned back to sit down, his expression miraculously back to the nervous, jumpy child he was supposed to be. And excellent immitation of himself when he met James for the first time. It was as if he had never had that grin on his face, never acted strange in any way. Oh hey, he picked up his spoon, slowly, letting it sit in the vegatable broth, before raising it to his lips and taking a hefty bite.
Was there an offer for a longer stay? Normally, he would have stuttered and spluttered, and said no right off the bat. He thought that, to make it look as natural as possible, he should do just that. But instead, he paused. A quick glance up to Noir; her hiss of distain, and her general attitute.

No. He had a reason to stay. He then proceeded to do this exact set of moves;

He looked down at his bowl of soup, thoughtfully. Glancing upwards at James, he opened his mouth, hesitant.
"I...I think I would like to thank you somehow. I mean...you stopped that guy from crushing me...and you bring me to your household. You offer me food...is there...." there was an awkward pause, as he fidgetted in his seat. "...Is there anything I can do to repay this? I can...I can work! I can...help or something...." he put on a hopeful kind of expression, sincere to the untrained eye, and hard to detect for even the trained one.

The bus can wait~

"Yes! I'll help her!" he shot a quick glance over to Noir who was standing in the living room with an increadulous look filled with utmost hate. He passed her a quick wink, turning back to James in a flash, eyes alight, fire shooting from the back of these. He sleeked his hair back once more, giving him a determined look. The smile on James face this time really reassured him. It was not the same smile he had received previously from...other people.

The young Rafael was ravished, tummy filled with food, no-one here to bother him, and a prospecting and interesting young lady. This day was pretty good after all. But he felt he should further get to little miss Noir.

"You don't mind me helping you I hope?" he asked gently, turning rather smugly to face her. There was a sort of hunger behind his rather large grin, and his bright golden eyes scanned her through and through. All while he was turned away from James, naturally. He wanted to see if she would keep playing her father. He hoped James would not notice his act, this was always a slight lingering thought, he was quite close to a goal, a reward, he would have to play it smooth to keep his trophy.

He wanted to see her seethe. That hatred. He loved it. He wanted more. He wanted it to turn to fear. His powerhungry demon craved a reaction out of little miss Noir.

I knew you wouldn't. You have no choice.

He looked around the place, turning towards James. Maybe he should help? Give himself a name. A reputation. That might be a start.
"Do you want a hand with that Mr......James?" he asked, pouncing to his feet in a mock enthusiasm. His small body made it's way to James' side. This was his way to perhaps make little Noir jealous. He, a stranger, was helping Noir's father, and doing her job for her. He hoped this would attract the girl among them.

Suddenly he wondered where he'll be sleeping. He brushed this thought aside until James mentionned something about that. It was only evening, and Rafael wondered at what time these people went to bed. They looked like they might get up with the chickens, which was more then fine in his opinion. He had a hard time sleeping anyways. He'd have to see.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rafael eyed Noir. Yes. Eyed her. Through and through. He commited her angry racoon expression to memory, making sure that he would remember it forever. He stuffed the anger from her voice into a pocket somewhere in his mind.

Out of the corner of his eye, the young man watched little Noir, who seemed to be avoiding the situation. He could feel a slight pang of jealousy, sparking from her little hating structure; and it was exactly what he was looking for. Studying the young woman, constantly analysing the situation between her father and her, and himself.

"A little," he answered after what could be interpretted as a moment to thing, but in fact was a moment to come back to this instant where someone was asking him a question. "I did have to walk pretty far...". And he stopped saying anything more. The sentence was cut off quite abrubptly, in a strange manner. As thought he ight have continued on talking. Instead, Rafael followed Jame's lead towards the smallish hallway of their home.

Why was everything so...clean and orderly? He didn't even step foot in Noir's room and the hairs at the back of his neck rose. This room was just like the one he was stuck in back at the orphanage. He made a small grimace, while James was talking and not paying attention to him.

"I-I-I'm slee-ee--..." the words that were coming out of his mouth were incomprehensible, nervous, and it might have sounded like his voice was having a seizure. Rafael paused, grinding his thoughts to a halt, and reorganising them into a sentence. "I'm sleeping here?" he questioned, the little episode forgotten in an instant and calmness returning to his person.
Of course he wanted to push Noir's buttons as far as he could, but this room sent his mind elsewhere, and he was back in the orphanage. Hedidn't even notice the small hiss from Noir, nor the reassuring murmur that he wouldn't have been able to distinguist anyways.

Slamming his brain back to reality, he caught a small "alright" coming from Noir, and this caused him to turn to little Noir, slightly confused, facing her directly. He shot her a smile, which only reached his lips, passing right through his eyes without stopping. A very unpresent smile.

Such unnerving calmness; he must echoe them. There must have been something he didn't know going on between little miss Noir and her father, everything seemed too... or actually not enough raccoon anger exuding from her. There was a sort of sweetness in her voice, much like when a person speaks with their pet, little coos, the hairs on the back of Rafael's neck rose. He looked at James with a mask of cool collection, pursing his lips ever so slightly, this expression soon shifting into a light and fake smile, trying his best to demonstrate a hint of sleepiness.

"Oh..." he breathed, watching Noir slither away into another room. "Yeah, your place is kinda small..." was all he managed to respond about his house; once again biting back any snooty remarks.

With the a similar uncertainty to a small animal being presented to a new home, Rafael eased himself into Noir's room; it was so small, so bland, with a single place bed, clean and crisp white sheets, perfectly made and trimmed around the edges. The boy ran a hand through his already sleek hair, feeling uneasy about the whole situation. With another step and he was next to the bed, not daring to place a hand on the sheets. He turned to James again, this time forgetting himself and smiling a very detached smile.

"Thank you...I'm sure I'll be able to sleep." This was most certainly a lie, however it did not show. He carefully sat down onto the bed, repressing a shudder of disgust at the perfectness of it all, masking this with a carefully inserted yawn.