TWIN PEAKS | 1.06

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.

How big is Azazel's wardrobe? Do they wear things threadbare, or can they afford new clothes often? Are they any good at mending and repairing their own clothing?

I would say it's a fairly decent-sized wardrobe. Azazel is into several fashion styles and adjacent styles, usually the more expensive styles. He is sentimental enough to keep older clothing that he's probably worn often and taken a great liking to. But makes enough money that he can also afford to buy new and/or expensive additions to his wardrobe if he wants to. I'd imagine that Azazel is one of those students who took Home Ec, and so learned to sew from that, and had developed a fairly excellent ability for it, though rarely has to use it these days. Though, I could say he doesn't just have to resign his sewing skill to just clothing…

springs preserve > las vegas, nevada

found on reddit

and the artist's tumblr: @nullxface

Smoking, Azazel pulled his cigarette from his mouth, glancing out toward the drive-in as something started to happen, he scrunched his nose, “Well, things could be worse… I guess.” He muttered with a stream of smoke drifting out from between his lips, with little enthusiasm in his voice. After a moment, he blew out the rest of the smoke trapped in his lungs, turning away. Then dropped the cigarette, flicking it toward the ground, staring down at it as he stomped on it. Just at relatively the same moment, someone bumped into him, making him stumble a bit. The next moment, gaining his balance once more, he turned to face who it was as they spoke.

Staring at their hair a moment, then looked to her face, “I'm fine--” Though, he stopped himself from saying more as she spoke on, “Well, if you're any good at Frogger, the streets might be one of the safer places.” He suggests. Before waving out his left arm, staring after her from behind his sunglasses. Then turned his head, looking over at the masked men, and their dogs. No extreme reaction on his face or in his actions to what was going on at the drive-in, because he really couldn't be bothered to care much about it, it had nothing to do with him, “You first?” He offered, not really sounding like he was in any rush to get out of there. Perhaps he was just being too confident.

( weekend of horrors, april 21st, shortly after 8:00 pm ) @boneyardstarters

Cassandra couldn't have devised a better excuse to wander the strip freely if she tried, beyond thrilled for the evening crowds to get lost in during her clandestine evenings out that weekend. But even despite the comfort she found in the surging throngs of people spilling out of fluorescent establishments, she still donned her usual disguise, the blonde wig firmly in place, lest she run into any of her family's associates during the festivities. The last thing she needed was any of her father's lackies reporting back on her whereabouts and movements, which would no doubt prompt a barrage of questions she would rather not answer. So you can wander around Vegas at all hours, but you can't be bothered to leave your apartment during the day? Instead, she opted for anonymity, anything to find some answers. But it seemed that she had underestimated the reach of the Weiss family. Her eyes catching on the commotion brewing over at the drive-in across the street, of vaguely familiar figures clad in dark clothes and masks (accompanied by dogs that would surely pick up her scent), Cassie swiftly turned on her heel towards the opposite direction. But not before she collided with an unsuspecting person on the sidewalk. "Shit, are you okay?" she blurted, shooting a paranoid glance over her shoulder towards the masked guards, hoping to get out of the area as soon as possible. "We should probably get out of the street, yeah?" Anything to keep from being recognized.

A Day To Remember - Better Off This Way

When you fall I’ll be the only one who looks away  When you call I’ll be the first to tell you I can’t stay 

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.”

Of course, he wasn't privy to knowledge he missed during his long disappearance, which he was annoyingly being hounded about here and there since his mysterious return. So he wasn't so much pointing out to her that it was there. Though he was preemptively warning her, due to others having great observation and seeing the stains whilst they came to hound him about what happened to him. Why the stains were there, and where he had gone. All of which, he really didn't answer. Or lied about. As he was coming back to her, he noticed Alice stepping back out from his doorway.

Holding the package of sugar out to the other then he offered a smile to his neighbor, trying not to let his internal turmoil fog his overall masking. There was a lot he had to hide, and he couldn't let even the next-door neighbor see too much, “Dogs. Am I right? They find one stick in the yard and just have to maul it. But I can hope she won't run full force into the door again.” He sighs and decides this is a better lie than anything. If she didn't know what was going on, she didn't need to know. So he nodded at what Alice had to say and shook his head, “No. Keep it. I don't think I'll be using it any time soon. Better to be used than continue to sit on my shelf.” Shrugging at this, he thought, just for a moment, it was odd she even offered to bring it back? She was trying to poison him, he guessed. Well, he wasn't going to let her get the chance. He winces a bit, turning his head away at the invasive thought, and scrunched his nose, “Well, bye.” He closes the door on her and as he goes back into his house.

A moment later, he peeked out at her from the blinds to make sure she was leaving his property. Hopefully, before anyone thought too much about her presence on it. Once he was sure he was in the clear, he pulled back and tugged the curtain back into place to cut off the world again. Bringing his right hand up to his lip, he nibbled at his index fingernail, pacing as he muttered under his breath about what she was really there for. But took in a deep breath upon recognizing that she hadn't taken him up on his offer to come inside, so she couldn't have had any ill intentions, right? “Of course not. She's just some random neighbor who needed sugar, that's all.” He whispered to himself. Again, he checked through the blinds to see if she was gone.

I was just getting ready for work, actually. She nodded, thinking to herself that she didn't really believe him but that it also really didn't matter that much in the grand scheme of things. Sure, there were certainly times where Alice was terrible at not minding her own business but this wasn't one of them. Whatever Azazel was up to, it really didn't concern her. Honestly, she wasn't even sure she knew where he worked but why would she? They were simply friendly neighbors, saying hello to each other in passing. Really, she was the one that looked silly--who doesn't check if they have enough sugar before they fucking bake?

When he half-heartedly invited her in, she hesitated for a moment. She was sure he was harmless but she couldn't be fully certain. She did step through the threshold, but only a foot inside the house, her eyes glancing to the dark stains that he'd drawn attention to. She felt her stomach lurch a bit and while he was in the kitchen, she stepped back over the threshold, preferring to wait outside. She didn't think she wanted to know. When he came back, she put a sweet smile on her face. "Thank you so much, you're a life-saver! I'll bring the rest back once I'm done," she said, reaching out for the bag of sugar. Though, privately, she wasn't sure if she'd even do that.

“All I feel are the assaults of apprehension and terror at the thought that I am the only one who is entirely unlike the rest. It is almost impossible for me to converse with other people. What should I talk about, how should I say it?—I don't know.” -Osamu Dazai, No Longer Human, 1948.