@boneyardstarters Location: Weekend Of Horror Booths Date: April 27, Afternoon Cap: ♾️

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.

i love them

Grumbling under his breath, he made his way toward the snack bar, finding all this nonsense at the drive-in to be ruining the evening. Maybe. He was still debating it. At least, it was, more or less, keeping him awake. But what was going down was more like an alarm clock going off on your day off from work, and it just would not stop. Perhaps he was thinking a little too much about it, now that he was starting to dip in wellness once more.

A slight layer of sweat had formed on his skin as he made his way as casually as he could muster, his eyes locked on the space in front of him. Even as the exhaustion caused his head to spin briefly for a couple of seconds here and there. It would pass, however, as it had been doing since his return. It always did. Napping helped. However, it did not entirely pass, as he came up to a scene that stuck out peculiarly to him. Quirking an eyebrow at what he was seeing, Azazel didn't need to lip-read just looking at Kael was good enough.

Exhausted brown eyes glanced toward the two standing around Kael's routes of escape, front or back, a sly smirk formed over his lips. Staring then toward Kael, catching the others' gaze toward him in a brief moment, he takes a step back, ducking out of sight behind a structure for cover. Moving to quietly remove his backpack, he dug through it, retrieving the knife he kept in there, figuring it would be easier than the gun he was carrying with him, since they were still surrounded by people. He tucked the knife up his shirt sleeve and then moved to bring his backpack back onto his shoulders.

Walking back out into view, he kept his attention not entirely on the scene, but on the one that had his back toward him. Quickly walking up behind that one he flicked out the arm concealing the blade, now that he was close enough to keep from others seeing him with it and doing anything to warn anyone he was close. Before bringing it to the neck of the masked person by pressing up close to them, he narrowed his eyes from behind them onto their partner, his other hand gripping at the back of the one he was holding the knife against the throat of, jerking it forcefully back to expose their throat more. Cold brown eyes remained on their partner as he pressed the blade against skin, enough to draw blood, “How about you kids go play somewhere else, hm?” He pressed the blade harder into flesh.

Turning his head a little, he whispered into the first masked person's ear, “I'm going to stick this blade deep into your brain, if I can find it- since it's peanut-sized and everything- then, once it's all blended up in there, I'm going to make your friend here watch as it spills out of your nose.” Still staring at the second masked person, “Just so they know what I'm going to do to them,- if you two don't get the fuck out of my sight by the time I count to ten-one…two…-three…” Now all he had to do was hope that Kael got a clue on what he should do next.

weekend of horrors, drive-in, after 8pm / @boneyardstarters

There was a part of him that knew, realistically, he should be a little panicked by this. Stressed out, maybe. Perhaps even a little afraid. But, somehow, the most prominent emotions shooting through his mind were embarrassment and exasperation. A series of mishaps and poorly executed attempts to scramble to gain an upper hand had gotten him into this exact situation but, really, none of it would have happened if the Big Guy back there could have just minded his own fucking business. Perhaps, having only just returned to consciousness, he was too out of it to really accept the weight of the situation. That, and he was in too much pain to think straight. There was little doubt his wrist was broken and it only took the briefest running of his tongue over his teeth to confirm that, no, he hadn't dreamt up that he'd lost one in that fight. (Calling it a fight might have been something of a stretch, given how poorly it had gone.) His mouth still tasted distinctly of iron.

Where did that leave him now? Sat at the drive-in theatre, between two of these big bodyguard-looking guys with no obvious means of escape. To put it simply, he was fucked. Perhaps he might have tried to make a break for it himself but there was little chance of him not getting caught in the best circumstances, never mind right now. It's clumsy, maybe even hopeless, but his only bet now was to try and catch the eye of a passer-by. There were enough people around, after all.

Oi. Look over here, he mouthed, trying to keep his posture stiff enough that the two people he was sat between did not catch on. Now, knowing his luck, the chances of him catching the eye of someone could lipread were fairly low but perhaps the desperate look on his face would speak for itself. You wanna help a guy out? I'm a little stuck.

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."

With his eyes barely opened, he looked at the other as she spoke after clearing her throat. Azazel exhaled before opening his eyes and darting them around the space around them, sure he wouldn't get any sleep now. Tucking a hand under his head, he pressed it against his backpack he had tucked under his head, and listened to the other, closing his eyes for a moment more before starting to push himself up. Sitting, he slouched, before bending at his waist, bringing his right hand to rub his right eye, a yawn leaving him as the request penetrated his ears. He should say 'no', he didn't know her, it would have made sense.

But as he looked up at her again, he got a slight sense of the little sloth, even if just in part. Resting his head in his right hand, he mustered up a grin, trying to rest his right elbow against his right leg, but that only made everything more uncomfortable. So, instead, he sat up straight again, leaning against the back of the bench he had come to rest on. It was a strange request. But he supposed he could entertain it, or a little while, even if his paranoid mind was lighting up with all sorts of red flags. It did that regardless, making it hard to focus on the real ones, from the ones he might be gaslighting himself with.

Regardless, Azazel took a deep breath, rubbing his hands for a moment against his thighs and then forced a grin, trying to hide how nervous he was deep down, “Sure! Why not? You're not wrong, I suppose-” Pausing, he looked around, regardless of his internal thoughts, it was still true, it was lonely in the crowd. He had known this better than he would like to admit, being alone in a crowded room, having been a place he resided often. Taking his backpack, he stood and pulled the straps over his shoulders, patting the bottom of the pack, adjusting the contents inside. Then he moved his hand quickly out in front of him, gesturing for the other to lead the way.

marisol had always loved halloween. the spookiness, the fun tricks. at westbeth, they used to have trick or treating, but musical. where you had to hum a tune in order to get candy. this wasn’t westbeth, but it was her new home. Browsing the stalls, she found a few trinkets that caught her eye, that she picked up along the way. after a while, though, she felt loneliness creeping up inside her, and she knew she couldn’t brave this alone.. coming to a bench, she noticed someone sleeping, and quietly cleared her throat. “not to interrupt your rest,” she says sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head, “but i was wondering if you wanted to hang out, together? it’s kind of lonely being out here alone, surrounded by people. i get that's kind of an oxymoron, but, hang out with me? please?" wow, way to sound desperate, solly.

My eyes burned, tears clawing their way to the red brims. I didn't have time to pity myself. If I did, if I gave in to the pain and betrayal and fucking sadness, I didn't think I could pull myself back out. What is an angel without wings? What is a monster without teeth?

Blood So Brutal - Emily Blackwood

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 

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."