Azazel Held His Gaze On The Other, Unbroken, For A Time, Before He Blinked, Almost Too Slowly. Then Turned

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.

Two: Is there a problem?

Eight: Oh, nothing Shakespeare couldn’t turn into a really good play.

As he finally caught sight of who it was that was at his door, he blinked away what remained of his sleep. His neighbor, Alice, he didn't imagine to be much to fret over. Until recently, glancing to one side, a few errant thoughts sprang to mind as to why she would be knocking at his door. Momentarily, his overthinking going to the worst, his heartbeat speeding up, he tapped a finger to his door knob, trying to put all his concern in that one part of him, appearing relaxed from Alice's point of view, “Oh. Right.” Azazel answered before looking back into his house, trying to remember if he had anything like that in his house. But of course he did, sugar seemed to be a standard in households, “No. You're not. I was-” He pauses, what was he doing? Napping in the middle of the day? It sounded like he was some kind of bum if he gave that answer, “Just getting ready for work, actually.”

He paused again to yawn again and pulled back from the door, waving her in, “Come in, or just stand there, I'll see what I got.” He then answered as he made his way to the kitchen, “Mind the mess, I'm waiting for the cleaning service to get here.” Azazel warned of the dark stains at the entrance to the house, before he disappeared into the kitchen, the sound of a couple of cabinets opening for a moment. Then he came back out, holding a pack of sugar, “Not even opened.” Though he couldn't say how long it had been in his cabinets, either. Whatever got her away from his house quickest, before anyone could see her, seemed to him to be the best way to go about this. Given the circumstances about the other.

Alice felt quite silly but in the midst of baking the cupcakes that she'd promised to make for Rhea's daycare (why had she agreed to do that again?), she realized that she didn't have any sugar. And now here she was, at her neighbor's door, literally asking to borrow sugar. She thought that was just an old saying but sure enough, here she was. Alice didn't really know Azazel too well but she figured that he seemed nice enough. Perhaps it was just the journalist in her but when he opened the door, it was pretty obvious that he had just woken up--and his question only further confirmed that. Do you realize what time it is? "Uh... Yeah, it's 2PM... Sorry to bother you, Azazel, but I was wondering if you had any sugar I could borrow? Or rather, have, I guess, since I can't really give it back? But if I'm interrupting something, I'll just go ask someone else," she said, wanting to get out of his hair. He clearly wasn't in the mood for visitors, which was fair enough.

Narrowing his eyes on the other as she excused her waking him up, Azazel clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth and then closed his eyes again, adjusting his head on his backpack as he did. Not going back to sleep, that was done with now. Though the sight of seeing someone adorned with cat ears, drawn on whiskers, and a bit of red on her lip was, in thought, amusing, he would tell himself. But as she went on, questioning about vampires, his eyes shot back open.

Sitting up then, he looked at her, then, “You've got red on you.” It was what he said at first before turning his head away, squinting out into the crowd. Lifting his left hand up, he unhooked the sunglasses hanging off his shirt and deftly moved to put them on as he put some time between his comment before answering the vampire question. Azazel pressed the middle finger of his right hand against the nose piece of the glasses, then leaned back in his seat, “I guess, maybe, for you. That it might be. I'm not so sure, for me. Maybe I'm being self-destructive.”

He grinned, then, turning his head back toward her, now ready to reply to what she said about blood suckers, generally vampires. Despite the fact that his skin crawled, he knew they weren't real. But there was something, something swarming inside him, denying this belief in him. Azazel then looked up and, as casually as he was sitting, he spoke, “Vampires aren't real. So unless a big fucking mosquito is making it's rounds in this crowd, or probably a vampire bat-” Pausing, he knocked is head to one side. Though vampire bats weren't technically known to actually suck blood, if he were remembering his studies correctly, “Most I gotta fear there is a bad case of rabies, though, not blood loss.”

WHILE THE ONGOING EVENT HAD CERTAINLY CAUGHT HER INTEREST as she couldn't recall the French countryside she grew up on ever holding one that seemed comparable to a mid-spring horror fest, Simone was partially annoyed that she was forced to wander through crowds that her uppity social standing usually had her avoiding as the places she frequented happened to be expensive just to stand in most of the time. Her clients were not the type to plan an entire trip to Vegas for an event that felt partially reminiscent of Halloween, thus, she had no real reason to peruse around except for her own curiosity as the foreign born had clearly never once celebrated the spooky holiday herself as a child. The simple cat ears on her head and whiskers drawn on to her face atop rosy blush was not melting under the Vegas sun thanks to expensive makeup it was etched on with, but the same sadly couldn't be said for the cookie of a fanged mouth, as the red icing that represented blood was threatening to melt off and onto her hands, much to the travel agent's dismay as she rushed to take a seat on a bench and pull some tissues out of her bag. "Ah, then I do not need to apologize for waking you if you were only resting. I would think it impossible to fall asleep with everything appearing so fantasmagorique. You are not fearful of those that suck blood?" A smile crossed her face, as if amused with her own question.

SHADOW OF THE TOMB RAIDER (2018)

@boneyardstarters Location: Weekend of Horror Booths Date: April 27, Afternoon Cap: ♾️

It had been such a long and exhausting weekend. He just wasn't finding the joy he usually would have in these kinds of things, which made it all the more tiring, he gathered. Reaching out a hand toward some items at a booth he was currently looking around in, he ran his fingers delicately along the tops of some items, frowning as he realized he couldn't feel happy or excited about any of it. He felt nothing at all at the moment. Pulling his hand away in a sluggish manner, he turned and left the booth, wanting to find anything that could inspire some amount of joy in him. But only found himself becoming more exhausted as he passed several booths. It was later in the afternoon, but he felt like he had been up for hours. For the most part, he had been. Coming to sit on a bench, he absently moved to curl up on the empty space and quickly started to drift off. Even though it may not last a long time, he managed to doze off for a moment before a voice directed at him suddenly had him jolting back awake, “No- I wasn't-… I wasn't sleeping. I was just resting my eyes.” Azazel muttered in response as he lifted his head and looked around.

“Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.”

— Sylvia Plath