What Does Your OC Wear On A Normal Day? Why Do They Default To Those Clothes? Do They Wear Similar Things,

TWIN PEAKS | 1.06

i love them

Glancing over at the male sitting near him, he curled his nose a bit. Adjusting his head back against his backpack as he was trying to silence the crowd around him again. But those few seconds of sleep had seemed to be all he would be getting, all his mind was going to allow him for the moment. Listening to the other reply to him, he continued to keep his eyes closed for a bit, before turning his face into his hand and just staying like that for a bit before moving to sit up, “If you wanted to.” He wondered if that meant he was not making himself much of a target. Which was clearly good, given he was so easy to fall asleep in such an open and public space, amongst a crowd, “Maybe- but I doubt you would have found anything of worth besides a couple of hundred in cash.”

Which he wasn't willing to kill a man over, so he'd just let it be taken and enjoyed his nap. Staring at the other's neck, he wondered just how easy it could have been done while they were preoccupied with their petty thieving. Then, he blinked and looked away, bringing his left hand up to massage his temple as he pushed those errant thoughts out of his mind. Those weren't really his. Or, he thought, was so unlike him. Or was it? Azazel moved to sit up, “You could say I'm living my life on the razor's edge, I guess?”

Levi found himself taking a smoke break pretty often, not even due to the stress at this point. It was just habit. He figured he'd be a little polite and take a break near a bench. Though it felt like everyone smoked nowadays. He watched a couple head towards a booth, shaking his head. "Fuckin' suckers." He muttered under his breath, forgetting that he was in public. Honestly, Levi was just talking to himself, which he did a lot. it probably made him seem a little bit crazy to others. "That's what everyone says. But y'know, ain't nothing wrong with sleeping. Might not wanna do it 'round here. If I wanted to, I could've taken whatever was in your pockets."

@naiveete

Getting up from his spot at the lounge, he moved back to the bar, taking a seat as he waited for someone to take his next drink order. He slouched, leaning more onto his left side as he rested his head in his left hand, enjoying this little moment of bliss he was having, one of the few he could manage to grasp since returning.

Was this a smart decision? No. It was late, later than he might have liked, since he would have to walk home alone, and risk the same thing happening. But he was being careless about that potential. Not wanting to think of, well, anything stressful at all, he opted to ramble, “Did you know-” He started, half just starting to talk to his neighbor, having not really tried to talk to them at all, “Small pockets of air inside cranberries cause them to bounce and float in water...Cool, right?”

He couldn't guess when exactly he even fell asleep, to be honest. Maybe that was just part of what was going on with him these days, he had been having a lot of those moments. Azazel lay with his head pressed against the wheel of the car he had rented for the drive-in. Just some minutes before, he was watching the wide screen, a little annoyed at where his car was concerning it, but he supposed he was just going to have to live with it. Though the longer he sat that, the more he realized, he actually, fucking hated going to drive-ins. Too tired to do anything about it at that moment, he felt himself starting to lull into sleep as things started picking up on the screen.

The next thing he knew, he was dreaming of something far better than what was going on on the screen. Or maybe it was worse, either way, as he drifted farther off to sleep, his breathing picked up, minutes later, a layer of sweat started to form. Twitching here and there, he was having quite an episode, whatever he was dreaming. That was until something suddenly interrupted, perhaps, in his mind, a new horror, at that. Jerking up suddenly, he gasped, his hands pushed against the horn, sounding it off in the drive-in. Panting, he turned to look at Bandit as she was talking. Narrowing his eyes on the her he frowned, “Dammit, Bandit… “ Catching is breath, Azazel rolled down the window a bit, “Pink…dream boat…” Looking confused for a moment, he turned his head, glancing around them before gesturing to the passenger seat.

“Are you planning to crawl over my lap?! Why are you on this side of the car?” He asked in a whispered tone. Then looked toward the screen, yawning at the next question. He rolled his shoulders and shook his head, “I think it's a commercial at the moment, the first murder happened already.” Looking at Bandit as she seemed to bribe him with popcorn, he raised his eyebrows at that, then laughed a bit before mumbling, “Well, unless you're planning to crawl over my lap, you need to go around to the otherside- also, they didn't have candy?”

@withoutmonsterswebecomethem at the weekend of horrors, april 21st after 8PM

Bang, bang, bang, it was a thunderous incantation of her knuckles and a closed fist smacking against the driver's side door of the first familiar face that she had found, waiting for the snoozing driver to stir like a bear from hibernation, and when their eyes caught sight of movement inside, they bent themselves at a damn near ninety-degree angle to get their face as close to the window as they could without squishing their whole-ass cheek up against it and smiled widely, giving another knock for good measure. "Hey! Sleepin' beauty. Ya got room for one more in there? I ran out'a pocket change to spend on one'a these nice rentals and my pink dreamboat's in the shop." No, she wasn't talking about a man, or a woman, or anyone, for that matter — who was going to have the audacity to tie down Bandit Vaddhana, queen of sequins and glitter? — merely her beloved car who owned the two halves of her heart. It was with great disappointment that she found herself a bit crushed by the warbling of the screen and the distorted voices, a picture-in-picture she hadn't paid for appearing, and she pouted her lips. "Did I miss the flick already? Or is this some kind'a commercial break?" she ventured, her eyes wandering in the direction of the silver screen, and making a face. A little rude to interrupt a showgirl's only chance at horror comedy, but if they went back after the fact, she forgave them. "Anyway! I got popcorn with half ya name on it if you'll share the ride."

“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.

Diverting his gaze, of course, not wanting to give her much reason to try and assess what may or may not have been going on with him these days. Though the sunglasses, despite being inside, stayed on his face. He still had dark circles and wasn't feeling his best. At her smile, he listened to Faye as she replied to him. Nodding his head a little along with her words, and laughing lightly at her return pinching gesture. Waving his right hand playfully, he says, “No reason to. Really. Nothing to be concerned about.” Azazel wouldn't say that was the truth, of course. But he couldn't remember all too well what had happened, perhaps he was even, he imagined, suppressing it.

Watching her drink down her shot, he lifted his left hand up to his face, resting his head in it as he leaned onto the bar top. He just wanted this. A return to normal, though, how much it did for his current abundance of nervousness and paranoid-things, like thoughts, sounds, sights. Waving his right hand as the bartender came back, he got another shot. Then turned his head, adjusting it slightly, “What? Can't a guy just go no contact for a bit?” Pausing, his brows knit together briefly, before he put on a smile, “You could say it's been about the same for me. Busy. Like a little bee.” Clearing his throat then he reached his hand out as his drink was placed in front of him. Staring at it for some time, “Just got to get back into the usual motions, ugh. Vacations over.” 

Lifting the glass, he tilted his head back as he brought it to his lips, downing the shot. Then gently placed it back on the bar top and, turning his head to look around. After tonight, things were not seeming right. He swallowed, then asked, “Been a weird night, huh?” Just to keep the conversation more present, though he knocked his head a little, “Guess this whole fest is always a little weird, though, you know? I remember coming out as a teenager, it used to have some unusual things to buy. A lot of aliens. But then, what do you expect? It's Nevada.”

a far more genuine chortle of laughter tumbles its way from between plump lips as Faye registers Azazel's response, the prolonged absence of companionship threatening to sink its way back into a sense of familiarity for her. having wondered about the man's abrupt leave for so long - pondering over what if's and what happened's - it was quite difficult to not miss him to a certain extent. of course, the ample time to linger over an acquaintance's hidden whereabouts would be drastically dwindled down after being swept up into more tasks for The Cactus Cats, or assisting in rearranging the haunted museum. to put it more simply, Faye was a busy, busy woman with heaps of responsibilities on her plate -- an aspect she wasn't necessarily in opposition to considering it made her feel like she truly discovered a place she could call home. but lately though? she deemed herself to be grateful for the minute relief now that the Weekend of Horrors event was swinging in full effect throughout Vegas, Stella and Cyrek long before then having been swamped with obligations of getting their records shop officially up and running for business aside from other duties.

pearly whites on display, the petite woman retaliated, "paint me just a tad bit concerned." dainty hands playfully feigning coolness as she brought her index finger and thumb close together to mimic a pinch gesture, afterwards quickly beckoning to the bartender on shift for another shot to be filled with her preferred vodka. directing her attention back towards the dark haired individual, her gaze scanned over the being perched next to her. it wasn't every day you went from often greeting a neighbor to noticing and growing accustomed to their mysterious departure, and he didn't seem to especially exude the indication of wanting to delve into the subject, so she'd leave matters well enough alone. grasping the same glassware to consume the clear booze within it, Faye swiftly tossed the tiny cup back before bringing it back to the wooden surface with a resounding 'thud.' raising her hand up to swipe the excess liquid away from a corner of her mouth, she replied, "and here i thought i had a knack for falling off the face of the Earth. i've been peachy - keeping busy, per usual - better now that my drinking buddy is back in town, and you?" God knows she wasn't going to prod, but if he was willing to open up to her as previous drunken sessions demonstrated, then who was she to turn away from him?

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.