Withoutmonsterswebecomethem - Give Me One Good Reason.

Days like these, he supposed that life would be so much easier if he'd just disappeared, or, well, if strangers around him did. What was he even looking out for? Was anyone around him at the moment, or that would be for the rest of the day, even be worth this much hypervigilance on his behalf? Almost everyone seemed to be going about their day-to-day life, and he was just standing in place, smoking, and letting his imagination get the best of his mind at the moment.

It was completely silly. He was better than this. Was. He was better. But since the early morning hours he woke up out in basically no man's land, feeling as awful as he did then, and just as awful now, and more, when he had to keep up appearance and deal with the onslaught of questions, or trying to keep the facade going so that rumors could not dominate the narrative. What was the narrative, though? That everything was normal, still? What was supposed to be normal now? Azazel sneers a bit, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette, frustration coming then.

Closing his eyes, he adjusted his head, trying to steer the sudden assault of intrusive thoughts from getting the better of him. He was safe, he was home, nothing had changed. He was still him. Yet nothing seemed at all right. Everything still seemed so wrong. His nose started to feel ticklish after a second, a sneeze suddenly escaping him, breaking his composure with it. Bringing his free hand up, he covered his mouth and nose, sniffling slightly. It wasn't a cold, it wasn't allergies, he had none. But now he had to think, was this sneeze going to be another sign that something was wrong?!

Catching himself, he laughed under his breath. He was being irrational it was just a normal sneeze, nothing wrong with that. He brought his hand away. There was nothing wrong with walking, no one should be or would be out to get him, at least, not that he could remember at the moment. He started walking again, he still had things to attend to, despite his thoughts and feelings toward things around him.

It wasn't too hot out today, and he was thankful for that. Thankfully, even more so, he chose to wear an outfit that wasn't going to let him be bogged down with whatever little heat there still was. After a bit of walking, he adjusted his glasses again, continuing on his bath to who could tell outside of the moment, aside from him. Azazel still, however, had a thin layer of sweat forming over his body, which thankfully his clothes did not show due to their showy looseness and presentable, colorful appearance.

Coming up to a hobby store along the strip, he took another moment to glance around. A guy stood on the sidewalk, trying to get someone's attention. A woman was walking her dog. A child was being led along by their mother into another shop along the road. A woman with a Walkman strolled by, followed by a man making his way to his truck in the opposite direction. Azazel looked back, wondering why he just couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched.

Pulling the door open, he made his way inside, sighing as a blast of cold air hit him. He smiled weakly at the person standing at the register, who gave him a small greeting and asked what he was looking for, “The usual.” Azazel replied, moving to jot down his order on a forum at the register, “Wood. Sheets of metal.” Tucking a hand into his pocket, he pulled out a sheet from his work to order less easily accessible items, “This stuff here.” A moment or so later, he was finished with his requests and turned to look around for more items that would be on hand that he didn't need to order to go straight to his house.

Once he collected those items, taking nearly forty or so minutes in total to complete his shopping, he walked back out of the hobby store, putting his sunglasses back on as the sun continued to bring pain to his eyes just by being in the sunlight. It was, he had guessed, certainly due to his now never-ending state of exhaustion. Letting the bag hang at his side in his left hand, Azazel again continued on his journey.

The will-o-the-wisp, silent venturer a few feet dutifully behind, and sorely lacking the expertise of someone whose profession relied on stealth and grace, the eloquence of ballet's training shaped her up to be deadly enough. Making tracks with enough pace to keep up, her gangly legs forced to slow down as to not draw attention to herself, her eyes were trained on the broad figure traipsing along, a fine hairline of tension palpable in the body language, how the other toyed with their sunglasses and seemed to rouse at the barest hints of tension sparking in the air.

Her dark eyes snapped away as she drew closer and he swung around, trained ahead as if she were walking through the downtown of Las Vegas like anyone else would be on a sunny afternoon, the dry heat beating down with its harsh rays and onto her skin, soaking up the vitamins and the acrid disdain for the warmth. Sleepy Hollow was cold and rainy. Nothing like here, where there was little reprieve where the rain alone was reprieve from its inclemency, and few and far between.

The idle wonderment of where he would go next was there, itching the back of her brain — the mild fixation with the oddities that presented in the other's physical condition, as if the life force tethering him was being siphoned out by an enigma, could have seen her time better spent, and there were limits. Salem didn't want to know where he lived, or menial details — she wanted to know what was attached to him, whether it was a spirit's whim to manifest in the physical realm or a demonic vice — like a computer gathering information. What made him tick.

Slowing down, the medium pushed her hair against the wind's plight to billow it into her face, warmth staunch to her fingertips, astounded that sweat didn't come away and slick her fingers when she wiped her visage. Letting out a breath, she gathered her bearings and dug her hands into her pockets, removing a Walkman and a pair of earbuds, figuring it would add to the image that she was on a leisurely stroll and didn't want to be bothered.

Bring It On (2000) dir. Peyton Reed

Missy telling off the cheerleaders practicing at the eleventh hour requested by anons

what will azazel do… if they discovered a dead body?

“Take a look over it. It could just be a drunk guy, you never know. Then I would make sure if I know them are or not. But ultimately, since I'm discovering the dead body, I'd just manipulate someone to report it to the police from a payphone and make it someone else's problem. Or just let someone else discover it. Either of those can easily disassociate and distance me from the entire thing. Because dead bodies are gross and I don't like them, which, I imagine, is the case for most people. But ultimately, it would be really cool not to be caught being around dead bodies and cops. You never know who could be watching, trying to pin some shit on you. But-maybe that's what's happening, it's a set up… I hate this planet.” Then he'd probably orchestrate some elaborate scheme that gets whoever set him up to discover that dead body, whether that's the truth or not, of the situation, killed, or, more likely, caught by police or something, themself.

Placing My Neighbor Totoro onto the counter as she greeted him like that, he lifted his head a bit, raising his eyebrows, “Uh, huh. She's forgotten me.” He feigned being upset by this idea. Closing his eyes, he continued on, a bit dramatically, “I guess, that's what I deserve.” Dropping his head down, he held his gaze focused on the surface of the counter of her workstation. Before finally lifting his head back up, eyeing the other then laughed a bit. Not too much, but just enough. Picking his head back up, he pushed the tape closer to her, returning to his usual chilly demeanor. Turning his head to look around the store, he went on, “Snacks don't sound bad, though. I guess.” Azazel went on, not sure what to say now, about the business itself. He turned his attention back to the other then, “So, how's Kenny been doing today, besides playing games?” He could still see the thing was on, but it was hard to make out what was going on on it. It really needed something to backlight it, “Not interrupting any important evolution time, am I?” He tapped a finger onto the counter surface, before pointing.

“No- wait, scratch that. We are pretending to be strangers, right?- Let me get into character--” He clears his throat then, rolling his shoulders, before placing his hands onto the counter again, giving looking Kenny in the eyes, a very serious look on his face, “Hallo, young mediocre video store babysitter! I'm here to rent this movie for my kid. Have you ever seen it before? Would you recommend it for six-year-olds?” He managed to say, in a voice like he was reading the line, like some energetic hero giving a speech to his allies. Clearly just being playful, with the other. An unusual comfortableness for doing so, from him. But as it was just Kenny and him in the store at the moment, he felt comfortable acting like this. Though if he were to be honest, the tone he had used really was killing his throat.

@boneyardstarters kenny + ??? : april 5, blockbuster video @ midday cap : ∞

the register was lonely up until 2 o'clock, when the high schoolers were relieved from their studies and flocked to the store in search of a flick to get them through the grueling nature of algebra coursework. not that kenny could relate - she was a professional at neglecting her studies, and she didn't envy anyone who had to devote any of what could be their free time to it. she much preferred sitting on her ass all day and preoccupying herself with either her gameboy pocket or assisting a wayfaring stranger in selecting their perfect joint for family movie night. she was doing the same thing as always: leaning back in the spinning chair behind the counter, propping her brand new sneakers up on the flat, recently cleaned surface, and indulging in some well-earned true silence after she discarded her processor in favor of focusing on evolving her charmander. whenever the bell dinged and signified the presence of a new customer, kenny didn't blink an eye until their shadow eclipsed her handheld console. "shit," she murmured, pushing away from the counter and completing a full spin in her chair before she caught herself and went to scramble for her processor. "sorry, my bad," dumb laughter left her lips as she slid the implant up to where it'd snag on her skull. "aloha. what, uh, what can i do ya for? let me guess... something to do with movies? or are you just here for the snacks like me?"

Shifting, he spoke into his cellphone, one of the newer versions of the time. It cost him a great sum of cash, but it was an important purchase. Seemingly only idly chatting, he looked around him, seeing the forming crowd, then nodded his head, “Yeah, yeah. I'll swing by in a bit. I got him something.” Turning his head, he watched the crowd for a bit, narrowing his eyes as he thought he had seen something, but then shook his head. It was just his imagination. Hanging up after a brief moment of goodbyes, he tucked the phone away on his person. Walking out of the crowd, finally. He felt a weight lifting off of him and felt at least a little safer now that things were a little settled down.

Until his forearm was grabbed suddenly. He forgot the facade he had been putting on for a fraction of a second as he froze in place. Slowly, he turned his head to meet his eyes with the blonde who was currently gripping his arm. Swallowing, he lifted his head a little bit. Listening to Samantha as she spoke, he made a face, “Ah, I think so? Why wouldn't it?” He looked toward the snack bar, then back to Samantha. He wasn't quite sure what the woman said next. Ducking his head a little at that, he frowned, “Who is? Where? Are you okay?”

where : alley by the drive-in when : april 21st, before 8 pm who : @boneyardstarters

HER HEARTBEAT FELT AS IF IT WAS POUNDING IN THROAT, unable to find her voice even after the masked stranger had grown frustrated with her lack of answers regarding any bikers in the area (as if Samantha could've been any help there at all, as her mind was still initially racing from witnessing the bleeding lump of what she hoped was a still living person deeper in the alley). It didn't take long for the masked person to get lost in the crowd and without the pressure of someone demanding answers out of her, the blonde was able to gasp out a, "Help!" before coughing in an attempt to clear her throat to something more understandable and less frantic. One hand shot out to curl around the closest person's forearm, an act of desperation to grab someone's attention in the sea of people. "Do you know if the drive-in has a landline in their snack bar? There's a man and-" How much blood could be lost before a life was? Finding out the question to such an answer didn't seem to be the most helpful train of thought in that moment, but it was where her mind resided. "I think he's bleeding out."

Hearing the little voice, Azazel paused in his stride, turning his head, he looked down, cold brown eyes staring down intensely at the small child as she spoke up to him, wondering why she was out here at a place like this, alone. Instantly, that coldness melted as he was reminded of his own son, of similar age, he supposed, to this little girl. He glances away then, playfully, “Oh I just might!” Expressively, he brought a hand to his chin, his index, and thumb forming into a check mark-like form under it, “Well Marceline, as an artist myself, how could I say 'no' to such a polite request?” Bringing his free, left hand, to his hip, he moved his right hand from his face, only to stop playing the moment Lyonet came stumbling out.

His coldness returned as the girl's mother came out, “It was nothing. She wasn't bothering me.” He replied to the girl's mother, leaning his hip more into his left hand, slouching slightly as he huffed out a slightly amused breath as Lyonet called the little girl a custodian, “Oh.” Azazel mumbled. After Lyonet told him it was just a joke, he quirked an eyebrow, “Couldn't tell.” He remarked with the smallest trace of a sarcastic tone in his voice. Azazel turned his head away, staring elsewhere for the moment as the other went on, “Alright, then, what can you help me with while you're stuck in business limbo?” He asked before looking back to Lyonet once again, before pausing to think for a moment, “Not really much for community service, actually.”

But, letting out a breath, he realized he needed to distract himself, anyway. Staring at Lyonet, he knocked his head toward her, prompting her a bit with a, “What kind of stuff are you guys still needing help with?”

@boneyardstarters lyonet + ??? : april 10, skratch records @ mid-morning cap : ∞

mix-ups with mars' school schedule typically didn't result in this kind of catastrophe. alas, there lyonet was, harboring her seven year old on the front steps of her workplace, all because she had neglected to remember it was a fucking teacher work day. she had resumed her pesky habit of inhaling snow every weekend, and prior to that she was relatively adept at arranging comfortable boarding for her daughter. however, that was before she swore reina to secrecy upon her relapse being unveiled and very callously reminded the kitchen witch exactly how fortunate she was to be entrusted with mars' care: 'at least i still have custody of my kid' may or may not have been uttered; which, of course, was enough guilt that would stick with reina for the remainder of her natural life. digressing, it was far too late in the day for lyonet to unload mars unto her older sister, so, the little girl was now a temporary employee of skratch records. at least, the bare bones of it. while lyonet idled inside and hid from the major renovations, mars manned the front curb. it didn't occur to lyonet that her very outspoken child would attempt contact with a wandering stranger until she heard her daughter's squeaky little voice say: hi, i'm marceline! but everyone calls me mars, or marcie, or mar. we're not open yet. do you want to help paint? quickly, lyonet stumbled off the step stool she was on while clumsily painting and scrambled out front, converse skidding on the concrete. "alright, miss mars," she cleared her throat loudly as she plucked her daughter up off the ground. "sorry about that. she's just our custodian," she joked halfheartedly. "that was a joke. kind of. can we help ya with something? we're, uh, not quite off the ground yet, but... we've got fresh lemonade if you wanna help out."

Blink 182 - Wishing hell