Whatever Source It Was That Drove The Universe Forward Conspired Against Him, That He Was Certain Of

Bring It On (2000) dir. Peyton Reed

Missy telling off the cheerleaders practicing at the eleventh hour requested by anons

this was honestly so frickin HOT

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.

Knocking his head lightly from side to side, he had agreed. Though anything was usually comfy for him, as he could fall asleep like a baby on solid concrete, or a spiked bed, perhaps, even? Azazel was never one to have a hard time getting to sleep, most of the time. He was a very good sleeper. Not so much lately, with what was rattling around in his head, “Well, it is your couch.” He noted, in amusement, “You can sleep on it if you want.”

Rubbing his left hand against his neck, he let Andrea go on, with a few nods of his head as he stayed quiet. Though he was not much of a coffee drinker, he had drunk it from time to time. Most people were a lot more social when they drank coffee. Or, at the very least, liked to drink coffee socially. Just like, most bars were full of people who only drank socially. He had to guess. “I am a sleepy person, so a good night's rest is an important part of my day.” Though he had no intention of letting her, let alone anyone else, know what was going on with him. It was a torment, but Azazel could imagine worse if he allowed himself to be unburdened by that torment.

Or maybe that was just his imagination. Glancing around, scanning over the crowds, he swallowed thickly, not sure who might be watching, with a crowd like this. Anyone, anywhere, here, could be. He had to play this off naturally, taking in a breath, he turned his head back toward Andrea, “Oh! Really? I passed by there, the store itself, the other day. Looks like it's having trouble getting off the ground.” But of course, the owners weren't, in his opinion, the most reliable. So he was surprised it hadn't burned to the ground or been condemned yet. But the 'child labor' was a nice touch. He knew it wasn't actually what was going on, but he was being a bit of a pessimist, “Nothing, sadly. Which I usually do. I guess there's been a bit of a slump?”

It was always nice to see a familiar face, especially when it is a friend of hers. She began to think of extending her break to hang out with him, she needed it after how long the day had been for the blonde. "I mean it is a pretty comfy couch, I have fallen asleep on it quite a few times myself." She chuckled. He looked like he needed the nap that she had disturbed, but she wasn't going to pry unless he wanted to talk about it.

"There is never a bad time for coffee, unless when you are trying to get a good nights rest." She took hold of his hand and helped him to his feet before letting him fix up his bag pack. "It's been pretty tiring if I'm being honest with you. I haven't been to many booths been working at the record store booth most of the day. Needed to take a break from it all. What about you? Find anything good?"

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."

Vampires burn up in the light of the Sun. Not any other Suns, just the one.

NASA scientists theorize this is because vampires committed an affront towards the Sun many eons ago, and the reason we haven't encountered extraterrestrial life is because they're all vampires.

Narrowing his eyes on the other as she excused her waking him up, Azazel clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth and then closed his eyes again, adjusting his head on his backpack as he did. Not going back to sleep, that was done with now. Though the sight of seeing someone adorned with cat ears, drawn on whiskers, and a bit of red on her lip was, in thought, amusing, he would tell himself. But as she went on, questioning about vampires, his eyes shot back open.

Sitting up then, he looked at her, then, “You've got red on you.” It was what he said at first before turning his head away, squinting out into the crowd. Lifting his left hand up, he unhooked the sunglasses hanging off his shirt and deftly moved to put them on as he put some time between his comment before answering the vampire question. Azazel pressed the middle finger of his right hand against the nose piece of the glasses, then leaned back in his seat, “I guess, maybe, for you. That it might be. I'm not so sure, for me. Maybe I'm being self-destructive.”

He grinned, then, turning his head back toward her, now ready to reply to what she said about blood suckers, generally vampires. Despite the fact that his skin crawled, he knew they weren't real. But there was something, something swarming inside him, denying this belief in him. Azazel then looked up and, as casually as he was sitting, he spoke, “Vampires aren't real. So unless a big fucking mosquito is making it's rounds in this crowd, or probably a vampire bat-” Pausing, he knocked is head to one side. Though vampire bats weren't technically known to actually suck blood, if he were remembering his studies correctly, “Most I gotta fear there is a bad case of rabies, though, not blood loss.”

WHILE THE ONGOING EVENT HAD CERTAINLY CAUGHT HER INTEREST as she couldn't recall the French countryside she grew up on ever holding one that seemed comparable to a mid-spring horror fest, Simone was partially annoyed that she was forced to wander through crowds that her uppity social standing usually had her avoiding as the places she frequented happened to be expensive just to stand in most of the time. Her clients were not the type to plan an entire trip to Vegas for an event that felt partially reminiscent of Halloween, thus, she had no real reason to peruse around except for her own curiosity as the foreign born had clearly never once celebrated the spooky holiday herself as a child. The simple cat ears on her head and whiskers drawn on to her face atop rosy blush was not melting under the Vegas sun thanks to expensive makeup it was etched on with, but the same sadly couldn't be said for the cookie of a fanged mouth, as the red icing that represented blood was threatening to melt off and onto her hands, much to the travel agent's dismay as she rushed to take a seat on a bench and pull some tissues out of her bag. "Ah, then I do not need to apologize for waking you if you were only resting. I would think it impossible to fall asleep with everything appearing so fantasmagorique. You are not fearful of those that suck blood?" A smile crossed her face, as if amused with her own question.