**Under A Killing Moon [open]

[roman]

LIFE IS A TEST AND I GET BAD MARKS
Now some saint got the job of writing down my sins

THE STORM IS COMING, THE STORM IS COMING IN

Tonight is a special occasion. The demon has decided that living in the shadows just isn't his thing anymore. He's someone of great importance. He is the first human actually born into this world. He is Cain, the first murderer. Everywhere he stayed, his whole life, the ground would die below him. He was tortured for thousands of years in Hell, on the block while Noah's arc was the only that held living creatures. He returned to Earth through the Devil's Gate and found a meat suit that fit his needs. He took up the man's job, kissed and fucked his girlfriend until she ended up in a mental institute speaking of Hell and demons. He told her he would protect her every night as they laid in bed while the warm sensation of his hand stroked through her hair, laying the seeds of madness.

The demon looked at himself in the mirror, his eyes pure white. He fixed the collar of his black button up top, rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. He looked good and he knew it. His facial hair was stubble, the five o'clock shadow having crept upon his jawline and cheeks. In a pair of simple black slacks he headed out of his apartment and onto the streets. It was a little past eleven o'clock, couples and groups already on the sidewalks going to their respective places be it the bar, a strip club, or back home so they can go to bed. Roman had decided he wanted to go out, watch the people interact-- maybe stir up trouble.

He wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do. But he knew he was going to hit Spice, the newest bar/nightclub that opened in the area. He hoped they had good whiskey or else he'd be very disappointed. He's an easy going demon as far as the worse ones go. He liked Earth, he thought it was beautiful and far better than Hell. Don't get the demon wrong, he loved being in Hell once he was use to it, once it served it's purpose. Earth had humans. They were far more entertaining than the souls damned to the downstairs. He was able to drink, have sex, and watch television when he wanted. Life is so much more simple when you're a demon.

His blue eyes catch the glances of many women, most with their boyfriends. He didn't chose the meat suit he thought he'd get laid in the most. No, it took a lot of planning and watching. He inhabited a college frat boy when the Winchesters, Bobby Singer, and Ellen Harvelle allowed for the Devil's Gate to be opened. He wanted a to live a life and he found it in Wayne Arkham. He was a manager at a local head shop, many friends, tons of bongs. Roman found he liked to smoke marijuana. He felt if Lucifer, the demons, Angels tried it, they'd chill out. Everyone is so hellbent on destroying this world when they could let it live out. Destroy itself or continue to allow the humans to do so. In matter of fifty years, Roman believes the last bit of oil will be pumped from the soil. Mass chaos will occur, people murdering, stealing, raping. They will end themselves. Everyone should sit back and let them do what they were programed to do.

The club is located downtown, the music barely heard outside unless the door was opened. Roman passed right on by without a single problem, it was free admission as it was opening weekend. Inside the club was amazing. It was all dark wood with mirrors draping the walls

Various stages are in the building, tables to sit and dine on steak while two girls go at it on stage sexually for dollar bills, tips. It was the ultimate club. Dinner, drinks, naked girls. He's a lucky man. Roman moved towards the bar and ordered a whiskey straight. He glances around the room attempting to decide who he wanted for the night.

"Here ya go," the bartender said while she set the glass on top of a napkin. "That will be $4.00, please?" Roman nodded while he pulled his money out and handed the pretty girl six dollars total. He sipped at his drink and was actually pleased with what he tasted.

"It's gonna be a good night."

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NOTEZ;
Anyone feel free to jump in.
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AMANDA THE PIRATE * at Caution 2.0!

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[azrael]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding:0; margin: 0; background-image:url(http://i1029.photobucket.com/albums/y353/shockwavesyndrome/thisiswar.png);background-repeat:repeat-y;width: 450px;height:600px;] It was times like these that being angelically endowed wasn’t such a great thing. The lights hurt his eyes as he tried to peer through them, which was almost ironic. Being born of the light, and yet in the right conditions, human-made artificial light still made him wince. He paused for a moment as a few shapes stirred in the light, his eyes slowly adjusting to the room to try and make out the beings that shifted between the white. Azrael supposed he should have felt some sort of modesty, but he stood absolute, water trickling down his chest and dripping off various points of him, splashing and creating a pool on the floor. Hushed whispers made their way around the filled room, only some of which Azrael managed to hear, a little smile crossing his face as he placed his location. Apparently, relaxing in a shower was no longer an option. It lead to being soaking wet and centre stage at a club. More importantly, he was naked. He cleared his throat, glancing down for a moment and quirking his lips in thought, before leaning over and taking the kindly offered drink tray from a member of staff, who was shaking like a leaf. Sure enough, Azrael had managed to appear out of nowhere, a quite usual thing for him, but perhaps not for the people that had inhabited the bar. He raised the tray a little in thanks, before placing it over himself as a makeshift shield. It had been a good evening, or at least, he’d thought it had been a good evening. It had been up until this point, at least. He blinked for a moment, before his eyes widened, remembering the man that was more than likely still curled up in his bed. He’d have to get back to that later, for sure. But for now there was the pressing matter of being clothes less, and more than likely six ways to east across the country. The music in the club stopped, and it seemed like all eyes were now on him, which, more than likely, (and considering the rather insubstantial circumstances,) they were. His power fizzled at the back of his brain, the unwilling jump having taken it out of him for a moment, leaving him to deal with the situation at hand, being unable to simply disappear again. “Sorry! I… Do apologise.” He took another glance down at himself, clearing his throat once more as he stepped from the stage, people parting around him as if he was a raging bull. “No-one going to give me a coat?” He mumbled, walking calmly toward the bar, the enochian characters burning down his spine, leaking a pale light into the deep, dark lit areas of the club. Azrael tested his tongue against the roof of his mouth, considering simply blasting his way out of there, but his powers were still dull, they were still attempting to ignite, and besides, the girls in the place weren’t actually bad to look at, and apparently they weren’t going to stop looking at him, either… If it was for the right reasons or not. Upon reaching the bar, the bartender offered over his apron, and Azrael took it with a little nod of thanks, giving him back the tray and wrapping the material around his waist, pulling out a stool and sitting on it, making the half-mumbled excuse that he had to ‘wait for a friend to come and pick him up’, the nightlife in the club still giving the appearing artist awkward glances, but it had nonetheless attempted to move on. In every truth, Azrael hadn’t actually noticed the demon yet. Not that it would honestly offend or disturb him if he did, unlike most of Heaven’s cast, he personally did not have a stick wedged so far up his ass that he could taste the wood. He’d done his share of deals, he’d done his share of killing. There was no two ways about it, no matter how annoying most of the host of Hell were, sometimes they became useful. Sometimes. Even then, every single one of them knew how to have more fun than those upstairs, so to speak. Azrael had become quit the household name in both camps, the angel without a side. The angel that was playing for both teams. His eyes grazed upward, admiring the display of alcohol for a moment, debating trying to talk his way into a free drink or not, settling on not, leaning forward and placing his still-wet forehead against the bar, huffing a sigh. It was going to be a long night, that much was clear at the very least. 782 words | roman | have a naked azrael. this template was made by ZOE of caution 2.0 !

[roman]

LIFE IS A TEST AND I GET BAD MARKS
Now some saint got the job of writing down my sins

THE STORM IS COMING, THE STORM IS COMING IN

Roman smiled at the cute redhead down the bar from him, he raised his glass at her. He looked at every woman in the eyes, a smirk ever present on his face. He took his time to study every small trace of the jaw, how their brows raised while talking, he observed the curves of their body. They were works of art, God created a masterpiece. They come in all different shapes and sizes, all ripe for the picking. One could be shy, one could blow your head off, one you could take home to mom. Not Roman's mother, no, she was the first woman created and she's been dead a while.

There was commotion from the other room and instantly his usual blue eyes rolled back as he ducked his head down. Angel. One of his greatest enemies is just in the other room. Was his first outing in centuries that big of a deal that he should need a welcome wagon? His white eyes rolled down returning to their normal shade. No, Roman wasn't a big deal anymore. Lucifer and Michael are the rage. He was just some demon to them at the moment. Never mind his previous life as Cain, the first son born unto Adam and Eve. He was just Roman Fuller now. He knew the angel could tell when something unholy was in the room. It didn't seem as if it was in a hurry to come smite the holy hell out of him.

He sipped his whiskey and blinked after a glance to the side.

A man, the uncomfortable presence, was walking into the room and towards the bar with the server's silver tray. An angel, was walking into the room and towards the bar with the server's silver tray. Angel. Not Smiting. thisface.

Luckily the bartender offered up his apron to the naked man. Everyone around looked confused, asking each other questions while pointing. It was rather odd. Usually when angels striked they had a clothed vessel. But once again, this one didn't seem like the others all too much. There would have already have been an insult or damnation thrown upon the demon. He would already be back in Hell or he would be altogether dead. Unknowingly, the two had a lot more in common than the pair knew. Roman had no concern with the war. He just wanted to look after himself, sex a few women, kill a few people and be done with it. He didn't like Hell. He doesn't like Hell. It's a place for many demons but he doesn't fit in that category. Earth has so many things that a person, demon, angel would want.

The humans have delicious food, beverages, amazing drugs, alcohol, sex, clothing, no permanent fire. It was God's greatest creation in his eyes aside from women. Roman's gaze drifted to the angel after some time. He looked frustrated, almost helpless as he gazed at the shelves upon shelves of alcohol. A variety of drinks to chose from. It's only here the creations get as serious as the damage in the wallet. He preferred to not spend the human money on alcohol from the bar but on lap dances, food, clothing. He never paid for sex, he always took it if he wanted it. What would an angel drink? Holy Tonic? Gin and Cross? Maybe that'll be a good leader he thought as he approached the man, a headache approaching.

"I've wondered this since the day I drank my first swig of alcohol, what is an angel's preference? He asked while he sat down next to the naked man.

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Azrael, others.
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