Days Like These, He Supposed That Life Would Be So Much Easier If He'd Just Disappeared, Or, Well, If

At the question, Azazel just narrowed his eyes a bit. He didn't have time for this level of stupidity, right now. Maybe it was because he had been gone for such a long time, and had only recently been going back to drinking at places that weren't his house. But, still, he stood silently in front of the other. Thinking that, this, this was someone who would be a great reason for why he hated listening to people talk, “Yes.” Azazel finally answered to having the 'usual'. His eye contact maintained on the other's own gaze, intense, as if he might be challenging the other to say something else just as abysmally stupid as what was just said. Azazel could only imagine it wouldn't take long, and he was right. Because, as Cyrek continued, he could only imagine at this point, just to annoy him, he stood quiet. Listening to what the other said, almost against his will. Tapping his fingers tips on his hands against the surface of the bar, he dropped his head down, sucking in a breath, “No? And, I don't fucking care right now.” Okay, maybe that was a lie. Lifting his head back up, he put on a grin, his head tilting slightly. Blinking, he continued, “They should put you on the case. We'll have it solved a lot sooner, I'm sure.” Maybe he should have toned it down, he told himself. He was simply just on edge, for a multitude of reasons, and Cyrek's yapping, considering their history, wasn't helping level off that edge he was on, “Mmm.” That was all he could initially offer to Cyrek, bringing up the month's specials, suddenly feeling exhausted. Inhaling, he glanced up, considering some thoughts before suddenly turning his head, then looked back to the other just as quickly. Azazel looked at the sheet that was now on the countertop and frowned, “I, hate, all of these.” He commented, unkindly, expressionless. Then placed his left hand on the sheet and pushed it back toward Cyrek. Only to bring his left hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Sure, okay. Okay. Thank you. Just, give me the usual, the hardest stuff you have. None of that crap you're peddling on that sheet. I need something that would let me breathe fire, or that could run a car.”

@boneyardstarters at the mean-eyed cat bar

After giving a PTA mom a covert look of judgment for ordering a Bloody Mary, of everything on the menu of specials, and scraping some asshole's tip in change off one of the booths and side-eyeing the coins to count them rather than look directly into the ugly mug of old George Washington, Cyrek was ready to give his attention to a regular at the bar who wasn't bitching and moaning into his deaf ear. "The usual, or you want somethin' else?" A pair of mismatched eyes hovered over their shoulder to stare at the newscasting of the latest about a victim with no blood and guts, and Vegas' finest doing really fuck-all beyond spinning their heads. "You hear the news? Bet they got no idea who it is this time, either. You'd think they would've pinned down a frequent spot and staked it out or whatever." As if the MC needed the potential for a detective to breathe down their neck more than one already was, but he digressed; small talk about local happenings keyed him up to where they should avoid, and the rumors circulating around. "I got this month's specials out now, too." Reaching under the bar to slap down a laminated sheet for some Boozy Bunny or carrot juice-infused cocktails, the latter of which reminded him of when he'd pureed the vegetable into baby food with a pot and a processor. "Unless someone gets mowed down by a guy in a bunny suit next and we gotta put those on hold, too."

Shifting, he spoke into his cellphone, one of the newer versions of the time. It cost him a great sum of cash, but it was an important purchase. Seemingly only idly chatting, he looked around him, seeing the forming crowd, then nodded his head, “Yeah, yeah. I'll swing by in a bit. I got him something.” Turning his head, he watched the crowd for a bit, narrowing his eyes as he thought he had seen something, but then shook his head. It was just his imagination. Hanging up after a brief moment of goodbyes, he tucked the phone away on his person. Walking out of the crowd, finally. He felt a weight lifting off of him and felt at least a little safer now that things were a little settled down.

Until his forearm was grabbed suddenly. He forgot the facade he had been putting on for a fraction of a second as he froze in place. Slowly, he turned his head to meet his eyes with the blonde who was currently gripping his arm. Swallowing, he lifted his head a little bit. Listening to Samantha as she spoke, he made a face, “Ah, I think so? Why wouldn't it?” He looked toward the snack bar, then back to Samantha. He wasn't quite sure what the woman said next. Ducking his head a little at that, he frowned, “Who is? Where? Are you okay?”

where : alley by the drive-in when : april 21st, before 8 pm who : @boneyardstarters

HER HEARTBEAT FELT AS IF IT WAS POUNDING IN THROAT, unable to find her voice even after the masked stranger had grown frustrated with her lack of answers regarding any bikers in the area (as if Samantha could've been any help there at all, as her mind was still initially racing from witnessing the bleeding lump of what she hoped was a still living person deeper in the alley). It didn't take long for the masked person to get lost in the crowd and without the pressure of someone demanding answers out of her, the blonde was able to gasp out a, "Help!" before coughing in an attempt to clear her throat to something more understandable and less frantic. One hand shot out to curl around the closest person's forearm, an act of desperation to grab someone's attention in the sea of people. "Do you know if the drive-in has a landline in their snack bar? There's a man and-" How much blood could be lost before a life was? Finding out the question to such an answer didn't seem to be the most helpful train of thought in that moment, but it was where her mind resided. "I think he's bleeding out."

Location: Stargazer Villas Date: April 10, Afternoon Cap: ♾️ @boneyardstarters

Lying on his living room floor, it was cool against the hardwood flooring that made up the surface of his home. Snoozing away the afternoon, a layer of sweat glossed his sickly golden brown skin. A small bit of drool had formed around his mouth on the floor while he had been asleep, probably having been like that for several hours now. He seemed, at that moment, to have found some peace. But after a few seconds, his head suddenly jerked up, letting out a gasp as he woke suddenly. Blinking, he turned his head to look around the darkened room before dropping his head again onto the floor, rolling his forehead into it before groaning, and moving his arms. His left arm had fallen asleep because he had been lying on it for some time now. Pushing himself up into a sitting position he yawned before moving his right hand up, viewing the watch he had on he sighed, “Shit-”

Realizing how late in the day it was, he dropped his head into his right hand, grumbling under his breath about something. Rubbing his right eye, Azazel shakily moved to push himself up from the floor, using his couch to help himself before hearing a knock at his door. Quickly, he had to put his facade back on. Shaking his body out, trying to at least appear as if he wasn't just sleeping, he took a deep breath and inhaled deeply before spending a great amount of his energy to quickly move to the door, opening it and using it for some support, he stared at the person standing on his porch, “Do you realize what time it is?” Leaning out then from his doorway, he looked across the neighborhood, “You better have Thin Mints, or a very good reason to interrupt my personal time.” Azazel continued, harshly, as he moved to pull himself back inside.

this was honestly so frickin HOT

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."

Of course, not everyone was fully aware he had returned. It wasn't like he was trying to broadcast it, either. It was already a problem enough to explain to those he absolutely had to, about his absence, and then return. Without actually having to tell them what it was about. The current goings-on were a graceful distraction from all of that, however. People were more interested in their fun than in asking why he was away so long, what he was doing, and why people thought he might be dead. Clearly, he wasn't dead, but maybe he contemplated it at this point. Sweat coated as he stepped into the bar, looking somewhat sickly but quite presentable. All he had to do was tell himself he was fine, and the mental fortitude he was forcing on himself did the rest of the work. Moving to take a seat as he saw a familiar head in front of him, he grinned at the exclamation. Then, reaching over, he playfully pinched Faye's cheek, gently, before pulling his hand away from her face.

Then flagged down the bartender currently working, thankful it wasn't Cyrek. He supposed the other might be out having fun, or something he didn't want to think about at the moment. Maybe if he were lucky, the other might be face down in a ditch, and out of his hair. Okay, perhaps that was undeserved. He didn't wish anything too awful to happen to his…acquaintance. But, lately, his former irritation with the other seemed to reignite itself, with the other's previous actions perhaps being a little more unresolved for him than he previously thought. Azazel turned to properly face Faye, then said, “Did you miss me?” He asked as his drink, the usual he ordered, was placed in front of him, “Finally, some good liquor.” He muttered, gulping down the whole shot. Toying with the glass, he winces a bit, then continues, “Surprised you didn't see me before now, what have you been doing?”

event: weekend of horrors

location & date: the mean eyed-cat bar, april 21st, 1996 @ 9pm

closed starter: @withoutmonsterswebecomethem

a rather large throng of individuals occupied the mean-eyed cat bar this particular evening, but as expected, in blatant honesty. after all, it was the weekend of horrors, indicating the turnout consisted of a variety of characters and personalities, far and wide in between. some were dressed clad in cartoon themed attire, a group of young men donning each of the teenage mutant ninja turtles while some sported a flared out collar and a mimicked dribble of blood trailing from the corner of their lips. bringing the corner of her shot glass up to down the contents of vodka, faye couldn't help but to smoothly chuckle to herself upon the keen observance. oh, the irony. lips twist up to form a soured expression after the thick liquid cascaded down her throat, a brief shake of her head triggering corkscrew coils to fly about as though the action itself would aid in minimizing the alcohol's strength. but that wasn't the point at all, she was here for a purpose and that was to become under the influence. luckily for faye, her heightened sensitivities would allow that to take place quite easily. slamming the glassware down onto the mahogany surface, her thoughts come to a pause once she notices a familiar form settling down beside her, bambi like eyes widening by just the smallest fraction before she exclaimed, "pinch me!" talk about seeing a ghost.

Recognizing the familiar voice, he grinned, keeping his eyes closed another moment or so before turning his head into his hand. Andrea wasn't someone he'd been planning to run into today. Not that he was going out of his way to run into anyone, or anything, as of late. Since what was going on with him lately was making him a bit more distant, even if unconsciously so, most of the time. As Andrea went on, he continued to press his face into his hand, remaining lying down, “Your couch is a hell of a lot more comfortable than this bench.” He shifted and pushed himself up so that he was sitting and rubbed his hand to his face, then brushed it over his head, not really fixing his hair, since it was a bit too short still.

“Coffee doesn't sound half bad right now.” Reaching out his hand to his friend, he took up their offer before moving to stand and grabbing his backpack with his other hand. Pulling the straps over his shoulders, he adjusts it and knocks his head, “How's your day been going? Finding anything in these booths?” Azazel asked as he stretched a bit, holding his arms out in front of him, cracking his fingers as he held them together.

Andrea had been helping out at the Skratch Records booth, usually taking care of the records but every now and again found themselves chatting to people that came by the booth. She decided to take a break, she needed it, also she wanted to have a look at some of the other booths. However while on her way to one of the booths, she noticed a familiar face fast asleep on one of the benches. "Hey there sleepy head." The blonde let a chuckle escape from her lips watching as he woke up with a startle. "I think you said that when you fell asleep on my couch. Wanna grab some coffee, I could use some and you look like you might need some too." She smiled holding out one of her hands to him.

Two: Is there a problem?

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

Waiting patiently for the other to show up, he knew it might take a moment or so, given which neighbor this was. He supposed he had a lot more in common with them, now, than he did before. Though in spite of that, he wasn't turning into more agoraphobic behavior, he had to keep up appearances, in the face of constant hounding on where he had been for so long in his absence. Azazel breathed, bringing a hand up to brush against the potted plant, trying to keep that same energy even now.

Seeing a movement at the blinds, he tilted his head a bit. Then looked to the door the moment the other came to and opened it, “Hey-” He glanced away, looking across the neighborhood, sure others were again watching him. Watching them. Closing his eyes a moment, he laughed a bit before opening his eyes and staring over at Alice's place, “Yeah. Everything's…well, great? I guess? Considering everything.” Adjusting the potted plant, he turned more toward Seokmin, giving the other his full attention, “Just been out watering my yard-and noticed I had too much-uhm, stuff. So I'm taking it over to a friend's. But wanted to stop by, check in-” Glancing toward the stack of papers, and having remembered the overgrowth of the yard, he figured the other was alive, but that it was good to check, just in case, “What about you, get out lately?”

existing somewhere between collapse and endurance, seokmin moved through life like someone walking a fraying tightrope: careful, numb, always bracing for the inevitable fall. survival, after all, was still survival — even if it had long since ceased to resemble anything like living. the lawn had grown wild, grass in need of a cut; a few sun-bleached newspapers forgotten about on the porch, their headlines irrelevant now — not that they’d ever been read in the first place. and yet, there was something almost charming about the chaos. a scattering of stubborn plants clung to life, climbing trellises and curling along the siding; to some, it might have even looked like a quaint, overgrown cottage, tucked into its own little jungle. it was a nice place to return to after a long day ( or night ) at work. luckily, there was no need to leave the shelter of his humble abode tonight. his security jacket hung untouched by the door, a silent confirmation that, for the next twenty-four hours, he could exist separately from the outside world — just the way he preferred it. which made the knock at the door all the stranger. who could possibly need him now? whatever it was, it seemed urgent enough — the noise grating. reluctance settled in his chest. seokmin moved soundlessly across the room, pausing by one of the windows to peek out of one the blinds, lifted just enough to see without being seen. always cautious. always on edge. it was only his neighbour. still wary, but less so upon seeing a friendly face on the other side, he unlocked the door and opened it. “hi, azazel,” he greeted, clearing his throat. “what, um… is everything okay?”

Narcissistic Cannibal - EarlyRise (Cover of a Korn song)