At The Question, Azazel Just Narrowed His Eyes A Bit. He Didn't Have Time For This Level Of Stupidity,

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…

this was honestly so frickin HOT

being a GM is really fun because sometimes you can make your players go through some really traumatic Evangelion bullshit, but other times you can force them to go bowling for no reason

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.

Two: Is there a problem?

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

More awake, he was hearing the way this stranger spoke more clearly. Raising his eyebrows as he more appropriately placed it, even in the awkward way the other had said things, he stuck his tongue into his upper lip slightly, thinking. Turning his head away, his nose curled, and he clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth gently next. French. Great.

Though he could suppose it had nothing to do with that at all, not even remotely. But it was more amusing to him - No. He had to be serious. He was a grown man, his mind had to think about serious stuff. Business stuff. Stocks. Writing Checks. Doing taxes! WORK!! He couldn't be silly. That's what the medicine was supposed to help him grow out of, growing up. Closing his right hand into a fist, he was thankful he knew what his 'problem' was, in the end. ADHD. Not that most around him understood growing up. Forcing him to rewrite his code.

“Ah.” At her question, he was pulled from whatever train of thought he was in at the moment to remain stoic, and not give in to the amusement that tempted him in these thoughts. Turning his head, scrunched his face a bit, “Yeah. Sure. I think so?” He stared toward the rest, “The dye they use could still be pretty nasty for the fabric, though.” Not that he would know. Azazel's jaw tightened a moment as she went on. It sounded like she was spoiled. His mother wouldn't have been so inclined to just immediately replace things that got ruined, if she ever desired to or not, he and his siblings just had to live with it. Which, he supposed, was probably why he took care of his clothing, “I hope she doesn't.” He whispered inaudibly under his breath.

Though his icy-ness thawed somewhat at Simone's next comment. Closing his eyes, his mind flashed back to when he fell from a significantly high branch back at his childhood home. Everything went black after a small moment of pain. Then, waking up to his mother staring at him, tears of joy brimming in her eyes as she moved to cuddle him- Azazel let out a breath, opening his eyes and looking toward Simone, “Let them look. I'm not their concern.” Shrugging then. Though it did not escape his mind to wonder that, if anyone were watching him sleep, it would be odd. Odd enough to be concerned by it, but not scared. Or, perhaps, scared, and annoyed to the point he might act out badly about it.

But that was just the exhaustion talking, bringing his left hand up, he ran it over his head, annoyed by how short his hair suddenly was lately. Reminding him of things he just wanted to forget. Entirely. Moving his hand away from his head, he laughs under his breath at her comment, “Vineyards.” He repeated, taking note, assuming she may have done something involving one, “They can get pretty nasty, especially with the shit they can transfer these days.” Especially here lately, people were quite terrified of the bugs. But Azazel enjoyed bugs, so he wasn't too put off.

At the comment of his either being fearless or stupid, his right eyebrow twitched as he remembered instances of people calling him stupid, or worse. Till he became a great way to cheat on homework, of course, for a price, “Maybe I'm too confident.” He grinned, brushing the anger off, it was silly to be angry over such an innocent assumption. It wasn't that this stranger knew what was attached to that word, for him. Watching Simone for the moment, he looked toward her offering, then, reaching out, he took it gently from her, inspecting the piece, “Besides, life's not exciting without a bit of stupid in it, you know? Sometimes, you just have to be stupid, to learn-” Tossing the offered piece into his mouth, he chews.

Following her gaze as he chewed, to the other attendants at the events, he makes a face. Though he was sure that was what most people would fear, being robbed, harmed, normal stuff. Things humans did. But humans were just as much monsters as anything the ones they were dressing up as, now, here on these fairgrounds. He swallowed, then nodded his head, “Anyone could be a monster. Anyone here is capable of doing anything more than robbing you of blood. And that's probably not even the worst someone here could be capable of doing-”

Azazel's gaze glazed over for a moment, almost as if he were lost in a memory. But none come into his mind, only a feeling of dread, of something lost. Pain. Emotional distress. Blinking it away, he forced on a smile, “But it's too early for the real monsters who would do that, or anything worse, to be out. Just make sure you're home before the streetlights come on.”

IF HER (UNWILLING?) COMPANION WAS ANNOYED WITH HER intrusion, it went unnoticed by Simone, who had never been one that was very keen on paying close attention to the comfortability of others around her. She never went out of her way to disturb others, that would only be cruel, but she also didn't spend much of her mind on the ease of others, either, a characteristic that had been instilled upon her by two doting parents who taught her that the world revolved around her herself rather than the sun. As a bit of bright red icing dripped from her hand to her skirt, her lips turned down and a sigh heaved from her mouth at their accurate commentary. "It is good that it is only made of sugar, correct?" It was a poorly phrased, and made, joke at the vampires rumored to be lurking around that the French one made no waste of effort to poke fun at, but the minor jest displayed on her face was quickly replaced back with disdain. "I hope my mother can get me another skirt like this." As much as she adored her designer clothes, it was the ones gifted by her mother that she cherished the most and the one she currently adorned was of that group. "You could wake to someone staring at you. That could be scarier than many other, no?" Though, he was clearly not wrong about it being impossible for her to fall asleep in such a situation; she was practically the princess that could have slumber disturbed by a simple pea, the way she chose to sleep in complete darkness with only a white noise machine. Taking a bite of the cookie, her eyebrows scrunched with interest at the passionate opinion, mostly as she didn't have much of one herself. "Mosquitos may be just as scary. They were no good on the vineyards." Breaking off a piece of the generously sized cookie, she offered a bloody tooth, that was far from the chunk she had bitten out of, to the other, almost as an apology for the interrupted nap. "You sound quite fearless...or stupide." Her eyes trailed to some of those in the crowd dressed as the exact mythical creature. "Not just of those. I would fear someone would rob me of more than blood."

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 

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.

springs preserve > las vegas, nevada