Death is riding into town with armor [Reed]

Sometimes, especially recently, Samael didn’t feel like Samael anymore. Samael was weak and soft-hearted, but Azrael was the angel of death. Azrael was pure power, and unadulterated rage. He was talented and capable and without remorse. He was single-handedly keeping the Reza family in power, and Samael knew it. There was no competing with his counterpart, at least not in worth. No one cared about Samael Odell, except, perhaps Reed.
 
While their relationship had had both ups and downs throughout their lifetime, their friendship was iron-clad now, bonded by blood. Not their blood, necessarily, but blood all the same. Reed was the one person on whom Samael could thoroughly rely, and while he tread carefully around the other, still afraid of looking weak, he trusted him with his life. Sometimes he wondered if they would have ever rekindled their brotherhood had he stayed an auror with the British Ministry. He knew Reed had turned his own life around, from petty crime to the International Confederation of Wizards. Reed knew how to play the game despite himself, and he played it well.
 
Sam had not learned the art of blending into polite society, and doubted he ever would. He was too raw, too temperamental and angry to fake being anything but. Maybe a younger, more naïve Samael had attempted, but even then, he was no-good. There was always something dark under the surface, and it had taken years to come to terms with who he truly was, and what he could truly accomplish if he let the rage take control.
 
Sam had a lot to be angry over, a lifetime of stifling himself and pretending to be the good son to appease his mother, father, and extended family. This was something that came with the Odell name, a burden that many of his cousins wore as a badge of honor. There were a few misfits now, a few like him. His cousins Lorin and Circe had both been some of Samael’s favorites growing up, and they had both become Slytherins. Unlike younger him, they embraced themselves. He had wasted too long, too many good years trying to be something he wasn’t.
 
Still, sometimes he felt lost without the mask and cloak and dramatics. Sam was so mild-mannered in comparison to the spectacle that his counterpart put on. Sam liked the dramatics, really, not that he would admit to many. He liked making a show out of his presence. In so-called “real” life, Sam never made an entrance into a room, and instead skulked along the wall like he was waiting to be asked to dance by someone who never would.
 
That was why, out in public that day, he felt shy, weak, and powerless. He envied Reed’s ability to stay strong regardless of his whereabouts and role to play. Reed had never learned to hide himself, it seemed, and Samael could never un-learn it. He was at their usual spot for their bi-monthly Sunday dinners, a small vegan restaurant in the center of London. He thought it ironic that Reed kept vegan, but knew that it was at least partly out of repentance for his sins and love for Sam’s sister, Phoebe.
 
Sam missed Phoebe, and sometimes wondered if Reed kept in contact with her. He didn’t know if he wanted to know. He might press too much, might watch too closely, might get angry to find he wasn’t treating the woman with all the respect he knew she deserved. Sisters were a sore spot for Sam, both his and Reed’s own. He still watched Reed’s sister Forsythia through glass, maybe more than he should.
 
He was reading the Prophet while he waited for him, reading and article that was absolutely about Azrael and knowing that the aurors weren’t any closer to figuring out his true name. He almost was too distracted to notice Reed enter the door, but he sensed the other’s presence behind him, and turned just in time to greet him.
 
“So, we meet again.” He teased, standing to greet him. “Fancy seeing you here, Stricklander.”  He gave his shoulder a pat, and motioned to Reed's usual seat at their usual table. "Your usual, I'm assuming?"

@Reed Stricklander

Reed and Samael were like forces of nature, similar in as many ways as they were different, and they always found their way back to one another. For years Samael had been the only person Reed trusted. They became friends when no one else would look at them and when Reed dared anyone to look twice. Samael had been in Reed’s shadow, and the Slytherin had let it happen. And then things changed, and Reed had been the one who was lost without Sam. They ran in opposite directions, forging their paths, only to turn around and meet in the center once more. It was like the world around them had turned upside down, spun around, and flipped over to bring them together again. The snake became a Ministry Official and the lion a criminal.

Like anything as powerful as the pair of them, eventually, they had met again. This time, they weren’t children, and neither was weak. They were men now, and the only shadows were the ones they cast in their wake. Reed understood Samael like no one else ever could because he had known him before. Before he’d thrown himself into the unknown, and remade himself in the fires, and come out stronger. And now he was posed to be the next King of Knockturn Alley, and Reed was more than satisfied being his right-hand-wizard. The devil’s red right hand, as it were.

Entering the bar, Reed nodded to the busty witch behind the counter and headed for the reserved table. He shed his overcloak, revealing the Marchesi suit he’d picked up just last night, and offered Samael a smile. “Evening, brother,” he spoke as he pulled out the chair and pulled his pant legs before taking a seat. The motion was unnecessary as Marchesi suits never wrinkled, and the fabric always had enough give to afford maximum flexibility, but some habits never died. “Yes, and make it two,” Reed checked the time on his silver watch and turned back to Samael. “How’s business, then?”

Brother. It always felt good hearing it said so casually. Reed had a sister, himself, a fiery healer and activist that he ached for. He missed being called brother, like the had been when he was young. Phoebe didn’t see him anymore, and neither did his parents, cousins, or anyone else. Even so, as much as he loved Phoebe and longed to protect her: Reed was more of a sibling to him than she had ever quite been, and it was complicated to say. Reed taught him a lot. Reed knew him, knew the dark parts, and stayed by his side. He trusted the other with his word. Reed was nothing if not a businessman, with a businessman’s values. The terms of a deal were concrete; a man had nothing but his word. Reed would not lie or betray Sam. He was, in truth, his brother—as blood as blood could be. 
 
“Tisk tisk, Reed.” He teased. “Business is for after dinner, naturally.” He smiled; a bit playful but also a bit serious. It was hard to eat well after talking details of Samael’s brutality. It really was brutality, even as it was artistry. He was the angel of death. Soon, their drinks arrived. Samael liked to be clear-headed and did not often imbibe many substances or even alcohol. He liked sparkling water and on special occasions a light beer with mild alcohol content. He liked coffee, tea… nothing too strong. He sipped at his beverage and waited for their usual fare. Vegan, though. It was so unexpected from someone who looked like Reed, though Sam knew what—or who—had introduced him to the concept. Of course, it was his sister, and he wondered if Reed still saw her. He left it alone, though, afraid to pick at it too much. 
 
“But, how have you been?” He wondered. “Is your brother improving?” He wondered. Reed had mentioned to Sam about Basil’s near-death experience, and had been irate at him over it, but Samael knew Reed was simply worried sick about it. He never reacted so violently to things he didn’t care about. Sam worried faintly about how his sister Forsythia would have taken it, but knew better than to ask about her. It did no good to poke the bear. 

It was easy for Reed to keep the frown from reaching his eyes as Samael pushed off the business conversation. It was easy for Reed to follow Sam’s lead and instructions because he believed in Samael. And for a man who never followed, it was the highest sign of respect when Reed agreed. The business was always the most important topic to Reed, but he was willing to be patient for Sam.  Reed’s large silver rings clinked against the glass when their drinks arrived, and he took a quiet gulp, watching the waitress over the rim of the glass as she sashayed back to the bar. Dinner, then business, then pleasure, he made a mental list for himself and smiled at Samael.

Skipping the first question and groaning dramatically at the second, Reed took another gulp from his glass. “Basil is unreachable.” He began to explain, but it wasn’t a complaint, Reed was a grown man, and he didn’t whinge on about his problems. He either solved the issues or set them on fire and made new trouble for himself, but he never whined. “I think this last overdose might have shaken him, though,” Reed couldn’t exactly hate his brother for being stubborn, not when Reed saw the same stubbornness in himself. No one could tell Basil to stop if he wasn’t ready.

When he’d first learned of what happened to Basil, Reed had gone straight to the source. Trashing Torrence Regan’s apothecary and demanding he stop selling to his brother, but that hadn’t done anyone any good. Basil would find another source, Torr had reminded him, and Reed knew he had to find a better way. “Boy needs a distraction,” Reed answered a question that Samael hadn’t asked and gave his best friend a knowing look. While he had no intention to feed his brother to the wolves of Knockturn Alley, Reed couldn’t help but wonder if a purpose might help him get free from the death grip those drugs had on him.

And if the future king himself might be able to help facilitate such a purpose.

Sam smiled a little at Reed. He didn’t mean to play boss in that moment—he thought of Reed as an equal, at least in a personal sense—but was glad that Reed was going along with him anyway. There was a time and place for business talk, and the tunnels below Empyrean was that place. Sam tried, and failed, to keep his business persona and his real-life persona separate. He really, truly, was rather mild-mannered. He liked music, reading, quidditch. He liked nice food. He didn’t imbibe much in alcohol and never touched drugs. When he was with Reed, he ate healthy, vegan, food. Alone, he ate healthfully and worked out at the gym. The only difference between him and any regular man on the street, was that when he went to work, he killed people. He had to compartmentalize that. He needed it, for his sanity. He knew he wasn’t a good person, but he liked to pretend that Azrael and Samael were different people—despite both being angels of death and destruction. He wondered if his parents really knew what his name meant, or if they just thought it was a fun variation of Samuel. He was pretty sure it was only the latter. They pretended to be religious folk, but they were far from devout. He doubted they’d ever read the text. He had. 
 
Samael had always felt kinship with Basil, for some reason. It was likely because, in his youth, Sam had been softer and Basil was very soft despite his persona. Two sides of a coin, maybe. One was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, the other a little lamb in wolf’s clothing. Basil was a lamb, if nothing else. He was not completely innocent by any means. He had hurt others’ feelings and been a fuckboy all around, but he was gentle on the inside, delicate, and would never truly kill. Sam, on the other hand, had the look of someone soft-spoken and mild-mannered, but would snap a neck in the blink of an eye, and had gotten used to it. He didn’t like hearing about Basil being in trouble. 
 
“Hmm….” He thought. “He’s a potioneer, isn’t he?” He asked. “Perhaps Empyrean needs another potioneer for the bar?” He asked, raising a brow. “Most of the cocktails served there are legal, anyway. Just… enhanced, a bit.” He shrugged. “Anything that isn’t explicitly legal is in a legal loophole. Nothing too hard. Certainly, no muggle drugs to be found there, and we don’t sell outside the shop.” He knew that Basil used to be a dealer for Asclepius’ apothecary run by the Banes, and was pretty sure Reed knew that, too. 
 
“Unless you were hoping for something more personal? I don’t need an assistant, but I’m certain we could put him to work doing something.” He shrugged. “If you think he has it in him. I think Basil’s a little lamb, soft and sweet and delicate. He lashes out like a hurt animal. He doesn’t have the fortitude to do the kind of work we might need him for. I don’t doubt he could sneak around, but he couldn’t hurt a fly.” 

"Perhaps," Reed answered deliberately vaguely and took another sip from his glass. There was a chance that working at Empyrean could be good for Basil. At the very least, he'd be around enough eyes that Reed could keep better tabs on him. But at the very worst, he'd be able to get his hands on even more poison than was already accessible to him.

"I may have lined up a position for him at Saint Anselms," Reed neglected to mention the deal he'd made with Torrence Regan or that it was Torr's drugs that had been a part of the problem in the first place. It wasn't as if potioneering at Saint Anselms would be any better or different than brewing up cocktails at Empyrean, but something about it made Reed feel more settled. Maybe because he thought Torr owed him (not that the Irish wizard would likely agree), and Reed always collected on his debts.

For the moment, Reed had imagined that he and Samael were on the same page, that Basil should be distracted but not put in the line of fire, but the man's following words had Reed looking dead at him. "I don't want him doing the hurting, Sam," They agreed about Basil's disposition, but it didn't matter because even if his younger brother did have a penchant for bloodlust, Reed would not have allowed it. Reed had seen first hand what that sort of power could do to a man. How it twisted and turned them into a gnarled version of themselves, he had become such a thorn before. And he wouldn't have it for Basil.

Reed respected Samael's position, and his leadership, but family was one of the few places where Reed would draw the line. Only because he knew his best friend would understand, and expected it would be the same way were they speaking of Pheobe. "Haven't you got some paperwork type bullshit he could do, the boy's a menace, but he's decent enough with numbers?"