Withoutmonsterswebecomethem - Give Me One Good Reason.

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 

@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.

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…

Narcissistic Cannibal - EarlyRise (Cover of a Korn song)

Avan Jogia photographed by Raul Romo for Grumpy Spring 2023

Azazel held his gaze on the other, unbroken, for a time, before he blinked, almost too slowly. Then turned his head and muttered, “The fuck does it look like I just did, hm?” The other usually wore on his patience, but not enough before now to have him reacting anymore aggressively. But notably, at this moment, he was. Of course, at this moment, he had a lot more lore than he had some of the previous times they had run into one another. Azazel moved to rest his head in his left hand, bringing his left elbow to rest on the counter. He still knew not to press more than necessary, lest he end up breaking the mask more than it was able to bend in these conditions. Forcing a smile as Cyrek went on, he shook his head a bit, “Oh. Come now. I'm a reasonable person, even if I'm not your favorite at times. I can be very-ah, companionably.”

He glanced around the bar, sighing at it being one of the few he liked to go to, even if it belonged to the wrong team. Though he had never concerned himself with that, as long as his team was on top of the pile of skulls, in the end. Turning his gaze back onto Cyrek as he went on, he nodded his head a bit, “You think I would?” He laughed, biting on his bottom lip, not sure the other could be trusted to read others. Though he was in no mood to dissuade the others' wrong assumptions, if The Art of War taught him anything, like the most basic and sensible advice in the world, it was to just ignore such attempts at slights by the supposed enemy. Cyrek wasn't seen as a threat to Azazel, however, more like a tick that just needed to be burned off every once in a while to go spin his head in a different direction.

Grinning, Azazel wondered how many of those silly drinks ever really got sold, probably a reasonable amount for them to be on a menu, instead of some secret order a dumb college kid created while high off his ass during a bender for some pledge to a sorority or fraternity. Azazel was an adult, however, long since passed mixing his drinks to create some bullshit, he just wanted to roll his blunts, smoke off the nerves in his living room while watching Care Bears, in the sanctity of his own home. A few shots deep, surrounded by other things. Though he didn't choose to do that, on this night. He was here, instead. Listening to this acquaintance of his trying his best to stand next to him on that pile of skulls, Azazel narrowed his eyes a bit. At least, that's what he assumed, or was it the workings of his paranoia trying to make a threat? He sucked on his teeth a bit, “Powder my nose?” He scrunched his nose a bit, not sure what to make of that comment.

“Aww, Cyrek, do you think I'm pretty? Only the most vain of people powder their noses, though.” He grabbed the drink then, downing it like a champ and huffing out a breath to one side, “It's alright. But it could be stronger.” Tipping the class upside down, he pushed it gently from him, “I bet I could breathe fire, in some circumstances, but, like I said, I'd need something, like--… Gasoline? What do you think?” Though gasoline didn't taste all that pleasant, not, that he had ever tried to breathe fire before, of course not. He had absolutely tried before.

"Alright, then don't order it," the bartender threw up his hands in mock surrender at that, the folly of showperson's charisma ebbing out of his pores, replacing any sense of congeniality with a wrinkle of his brow and a thin-lipped grimace. Half the time, it seemed like it was the agenda of people who walked through the door to make his job significantly more strenuous than it had to be — though, in the case of anyone involved with the Vitellis, he kind of leaned into the inclination that that was their quid pro quo for strife he'd eventually reaped what he sow. "No harm, no foul to me. You'll probably stiff me on the tip anyway." Which begged the question why Azazel would bother entering a biker bar that was arguably outside of the comfort of the family bounds, and there was plenty of alcohol they could get for free at one of the casinos, surely. Now that he wasn't under the guise of playing nice, he let out a snort, reaching for a clean glass to serve him. He didn't feel like getting shit on the job at Azazel's expense, if nothing else. "Think you'd crack for the feds a lot faster than I would. Sure that you got some secrets you'd squeal over."

The laminated sheet clattered noisily back to its resting place under the bar, to be turned down by another dozen patrons before he finally could hightail it home for the evening, or a couple blocks over where the lights on the Strip were crystalline enough to illuminate the shadowed building of the future home of Skratch Records. Thank you. "Oh, surprised you remembered manners." Cyrek certainly let it slip his mind if people gave him reason to. Pouring out the drink, he narrowed his eyes to catlike slits, he slid it over to him, chewing on his inner cheek and itching to reach for the pack of gum in his back pocket and unroll a strip. "Uh-huh," he grunted out, unimpressed with the pass, "Good luck breathin' fire with this, mate. You might be goin' through a lot of drinks if that's what you're after. Might find it easier if you powder your nose in the bathroom instead."

this was honestly so frickin HOT