Every Single Time

It was getting to be a lot, especially with what transpired from the events concerning the Drive-In. With his boss's brother dying, things were, in his mind, progressing very quickly along the designated path. He had to get away from it for a bit, acting normal. Old habits seemed to die hard, as he went about doing this. Slipping easily into the act, as if he were pretending to be someone else, his entire life. Perhaps, he was.

Stopping by the café on his route to excuse himself from whatever was going on concerning the most recent death of a member. The fact that it wasn't just any member, either, was a significant concern. Azazel stood to one side, waiting for his order to be fulfilled, scanning over the rest of the room in the time he had to his thoughts.

The quiet of the café, barely full of anyone at this hour, thankfully. He spotted one that stuck out to him, jotting away in their journal. Turning his head away, he smiled as his drink was finally delivered, “Thank you-” He whispered appreciatively, then glanced back toward the male. A split second or so later, as the other spoke up, he tutted, “Now tell me what I'm thinking.” Azazel replied, taking another drink from his cup. He seemingly carelessly moved closer to the other, studying the male. Not sure why he was even interested at all. Perhaps boredom, honestly, anything to distract himself from one of the other two things currently consuming his life at the moment. “Don't worry, though, I'm not interested in you. Go back to your writing-” He turned away and walked to the other side of the café, still in eyesight of the other.

Sitting near a window, he turned to look out of it as he quietly enjoyed his drink for the time being, slouching and bending over the table from the waist, he rested his head in his free hand, looking quite content and at peace at that moment. Though in reality, his mind was anything but at peace.

@boneyardstarters ; open starter ! date: april 29th location: a quaint café somewhere in vegas

fun fact: your bones always ached the day after a mission. or maybe that was just him. there was always that dull, insistent throb that hummed beneath the skin, nested deep in marrow, as if his skeleton remembered what he didn’t want to; as though his body knew it had never been built to carry this kind of weight. a slight, slender frame that spoke of cathedral halls, faded sonnets, and tragic french novellas; better suited to waste away in verse, not weave paths of blood with someone else’s heartbeat in his hands. and yet. the others moved like soldiers, all muscle and momentum — he was the scalpel in a drawer full of sledgehammers. precise. quiet ( unless he had fully gone off the deep end, which, thankfully, hadn’t happened in a bit ). lethal. easy to underestimate once, never twice — if you didn’t mind losing your throat, that was. still, it left him tired, though he was tired at the best of times. he sat alone in the booth the lémieuxs had always claimed — back when legacy was louder than loss. the cracked leather beneath him remembered better days. so did he. it had seen him at his worst. held him when nothing else did, and continued to do so. it was, in every way, a refuge. the kind of place that knew better than to ask questions. his usual arrived without him asking. refills appeared as if by instinct. they knew his order even when he couldn’t remember it himself. a journal lay open before him, its spine worn and pages crowded with black ink, as the same coffee went cold in front of him — same cup, same bitterness. his elbows rested on the wood, spine curled forward, a soft crescent over the table, dark curls falling over his face like shadows. unbothered, untouched, unseen … except, not really. he let the silence stretch, and then, without lifting his head or giving the pen pause, he finally spoke, “i can feel you staring, you know.”

Grumbling under his breath, he made his way toward the snack bar, finding all this nonsense at the drive-in to be ruining the evening. Maybe. He was still debating it. At least, it was, more or less, keeping him awake. But what was going down was more like an alarm clock going off on your day off from work, and it just would not stop. Perhaps he was thinking a little too much about it, now that he was starting to dip in wellness once more.

A slight layer of sweat had formed on his skin as he made his way as casually as he could muster, his eyes locked on the space in front of him. Even as the exhaustion caused his head to spin briefly for a couple of seconds here and there. It would pass, however, as it had been doing since his return. It always did. Napping helped. However, it did not entirely pass, as he came up to a scene that stuck out peculiarly to him. Quirking an eyebrow at what he was seeing, Azazel didn't need to lip-read just looking at Kael was good enough.

Exhausted brown eyes glanced toward the two standing around Kael's routes of escape, front or back, a sly smirk formed over his lips. Staring then toward Kael, catching the others' gaze toward him in a brief moment, he takes a step back, ducking out of sight behind a structure for cover. Moving to quietly remove his backpack, he dug through it, retrieving the knife he kept in there, figuring it would be easier than the gun he was carrying with him, since they were still surrounded by people. He tucked the knife up his shirt sleeve and then moved to bring his backpack back onto his shoulders.

Walking back out into view, he kept his attention not entirely on the scene, but on the one that had his back toward him. Quickly walking up behind that one he flicked out the arm concealing the blade, now that he was close enough to keep from others seeing him with it and doing anything to warn anyone he was close. Before bringing it to the neck of the masked person by pressing up close to them, he narrowed his eyes from behind them onto their partner, his other hand gripping at the back of the one he was holding the knife against the throat of, jerking it forcefully back to expose their throat more. Cold brown eyes remained on their partner as he pressed the blade against skin, enough to draw blood, “How about you kids go play somewhere else, hm?” He pressed the blade harder into flesh.

Turning his head a little, he whispered into the first masked person's ear, “I'm going to stick this blade deep into your brain, if I can find it- since it's peanut-sized and everything- then, once it's all blended up in there, I'm going to make your friend here watch as it spills out of your nose.” Still staring at the second masked person, “Just so they know what I'm going to do to them,- if you two don't get the fuck out of my sight by the time I count to ten-one…two…-three…” Now all he had to do was hope that Kael got a clue on what he should do next.

weekend of horrors, drive-in, after 8pm / @boneyardstarters

There was a part of him that knew, realistically, he should be a little panicked by this. Stressed out, maybe. Perhaps even a little afraid. But, somehow, the most prominent emotions shooting through his mind were embarrassment and exasperation. A series of mishaps and poorly executed attempts to scramble to gain an upper hand had gotten him into this exact situation but, really, none of it would have happened if the Big Guy back there could have just minded his own fucking business. Perhaps, having only just returned to consciousness, he was too out of it to really accept the weight of the situation. That, and he was in too much pain to think straight. There was little doubt his wrist was broken and it only took the briefest running of his tongue over his teeth to confirm that, no, he hadn't dreamt up that he'd lost one in that fight. (Calling it a fight might have been something of a stretch, given how poorly it had gone.) His mouth still tasted distinctly of iron.

Where did that leave him now? Sat at the drive-in theatre, between two of these big bodyguard-looking guys with no obvious means of escape. To put it simply, he was fucked. Perhaps he might have tried to make a break for it himself but there was little chance of him not getting caught in the best circumstances, never mind right now. It's clumsy, maybe even hopeless, but his only bet now was to try and catch the eye of a passer-by. There were enough people around, after all.

Oi. Look over here, he mouthed, trying to keep his posture stiff enough that the two people he was sat between did not catch on. Now, knowing his luck, the chances of him catching the eye of someone could lipread were fairly low but perhaps the desperate look on his face would speak for itself. You wanna help a guy out? I'm a little stuck.

what will azazel do… if they're being threatened?

Bringing his right hand up to pinch his nose, Azazel squeezed his eyes shut, hearing the threat, especially from someone who looked like they belonged in an amusement park entertaining children. For a split moment, an intrusive thought invaded his mind amongst the irritation that was consuming him. He imagined just pulling his gun on the other and firing point-blank into their head, especially given the idea that they thought he could be threatened. He'd been running with the Vitelli gang long enough now that he had heard plenty of threats, most of which did next to, if not a single thing for him. It was not that he was not scared, of course. It was simply who the threat was by, and most people he knew were not all that threatening to him. Once the invasive thought had left him, he put on a smile, offering brightness to mask how brutal he could be if any threat to him became real.

Azazel laughed, hollow, “Well, why don't we cut the chit-chat, and you get to doing that? Hm? Until then, I think there's still a place for you at the kids' table. Kay?” Turning away, he rolled his eyes and walked away, as if tempting them still to do what they threatened, instead of just being words that did nothing for him. He had a lot more things to worry about these days, than some petulant child trying to mouth off to him when one broad backhand and a few loose or knocked out teeth could send them scattering away to go whimper and whine in a corner, then cry 'wolf' because their mouth was writing checks it couldn't cash. Azazel couldn't care one bit about little dogs when there were plenty of bigger, more feral dogs to focus his efforts on. Those were less likely to talk a big game and act on their greater desires. Azazel knows to strike the shepherd, not the sheep. So he tries to lay his plans on those who act, rather than those who talk, when it is the advantage to do so.

I am a human being, capable of doing terrible things.

In Memoriam- Globus

Eram quod es, eris quod sum Memoria in aeterna Pulvis et umbra sumus, redivivus

I was what you are, you will be what I am In everlasting remembrance We are dust and shadow, come back to life

Intj

Vampires burn up in the light of the Sun. Not any other Suns, just the one.

NASA scientists theorize this is because vampires committed an affront towards the Sun many eons ago, and the reason we haven't encountered extraterrestrial life is because they're all vampires.

Having not been asleep for long, if much at all, the moment had passed him by with the voices nearby. Moving to sit up on the bench, Azazel leans back against it, sliding down more to get a little more comfortable. Yawning then, he brought a hand up before moving to stretch out a bit, raising his arms over his head and holding them as he stretched his spine a little. Then, dropping his arms back to his sides, he lifted his left hand to unhook his sunglasses from his shirt, which hung by one of the temples at the hinge. He places them on his face, covering his eyes, and turned his head toward Willow, then the child they were sitting next to, for a moment. Before looking again back to Willow, a grin formed over his lips, “Wasn't much of one, to be honest.” He replied, the grin gone in a second, before he looked away again.

At Willows' further comment, he nodded, not saying anything for a long moment before replying with a, “Yeah, but I'm not in those places, I'm here. Shopping, I guess.” Moving to grab the backpack he brought with him, he brought it closer to him, looking around the crowds of people that continued to flow through the afternoon from booth to booth. An uneasy feeling washing over him, his skin began to feel a little prickly, turning his head, he faced Willow once more, “Having a prosperous day shopping? Enjoying the spooky event?” He asked, again looking between the two who sat near him, before looking away again. He could have sworn someone was watching him. Somewhere.

what more could a socialite ask for? the usual glitz of las vegas was replaced by something darker, stranger, and entirely more theatrical. the streets shimmered with a strange kind of magic, part carnival, part nightmare; costumed strangers mingling in the crowd, lines growing at the vendor booths as people were eager to get their hands on spooky sweets or odd little treasures. and while willow loved the noise and the novelty, nothing compared to meadow’s joy. sweet, wide-eyed meadow, practically vibrating with excitement as she looked upon the chaos with the kind of wonder only children possessed. her laughter bubbled up every time a monster waved at her, or someone dressed in a tacky vampire costume jumped out at someone else; let the ghouls and goblins roam — so long as meadow was enchanted, it was perfect. letting go of the little girl’s hand as she hopped up onto the bench to eat her spider candies, willow tucked a few loose strands of pink behind her ear, not concerned with the other who’d taken up the empty space beside them, until— “are they sleeping?” meadow asked. “hm. looks like it,” willow answered. oh! not anymore, it seemed. “don’t mind us, we’re just crashing your snoozefest a little,” she quirked a brow at the other, more curious than anything else. “there are better places to sleep, y’know.”

SHADOW OF THE TOMB RAIDER (2018)