What Will Azazel Do... If They're Coughing Up Blood Out Of The Blue?

what will azazel do… if they discovered a dead body?

“Take a look over it. It could just be a drunk guy, you never know. Then I would make sure if I know them are or not. But ultimately, since I'm discovering the dead body, I'd just manipulate someone to report it to the police from a payphone and make it someone else's problem. Or just let someone else discover it. Either of those can easily disassociate and distance me from the entire thing. Because dead bodies are gross and I don't like them, which, I imagine, is the case for most people. But ultimately, it would be really cool not to be caught being around dead bodies and cops. You never know who could be watching, trying to pin some shit on you. But-maybe that's what's happening, it's a set up… I hate this planet.” Then he'd probably orchestrate some elaborate scheme that gets whoever set him up to discover that dead body, whether that's the truth or not, of the situation, killed, or, more likely, caught by police or something, themself.

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."

At the voice demanding something of him, he opened his eyes a crack, glaring slightly at the rudeness of it, before giving his excuses. Afterward, however, the narrowed gaze remained. Azazel wondered what some people had against sleeping outside, it wasn't that bad. Clicking his tongue, he moved to sit up and looked around as Hux went on. Not really concerned with the danger, he moved to stretch and laughed hollowly, “If it's dangerous in the middle of the day, I'd hate to see how dangerous it will be when the night comes.” He wasn't too concerned with direct danger at the moment, though. No one would be stupid enough to propose many issues at this time of day. If they did, the knife in his backpack might help dissuade them. Crossing his arms over his chest, he's sitting, slouched, against the bench and watching Hux.

“What danger do you see right now? Hm?” Quirking an eyebrow as he asked this, he wanted to know what the other might consider a danger in the afternoon, to someone snoozing on a bench, crowded by people as they made their way from one booth to the other. Though he wasn't so ignorant as to not realize that, if someone intelligent were to attack at this time, with this crowd, they could very easily slip off. But still, the odds weren't likely, as he had nothing worth stealing, anything that could be stolen, he considered, was maybe a handful of Benjamins, and little else. Which he wasn't too concerned with losing. Azazel held his gaze intensely on Hux, before he continued, “Well? Where's the danger? Is it in the crowd around us today?” He teases a bit.

Of course, he wasn't silly enough to not factor that, percentage-wise, there had to be many dangers in the crowd with them, that day, or any other day, really. But, he was aiming at a more direct target of threat, possibly Hux himself, for even having brought it up in the first place. Azazel's gaze held, dark abyssal pools, staring back at the other, watching Hux intently. Waiting for the others' answer.

Easy food is always appreciated, specially after fate decided to keep other people coming this way for some reason. Hux was just an animal, he had no problem on accepting that, but as the apex predator, he still had some sort of control.

If there's something Hux is good at is at remembering faces; trauma built him that way and there's some recollection of seeing this person around the strip. Call it a sudden rush of benevolence or the idea of crippling guilt, but he knew that if he was there, others with way less decorum could or would be here soon. "Hey. Wake up". Voice deep and and intense unblinking stare, one could've swear there was a strange glow in his eyes for an instant as he towered over the other resting on the bench. "Shouldn't be sleeping here. It's dangerous. Go home".

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…

AVAN JOGIA as Johnny Johnny & Clyde (2023)

What does your OC wear on a normal day? Why do they default to those clothes? Do they wear similar things, or do they change it up?

He is often wearing more elegant and/or practical outfits. This is frequently his daily attire, predominantly suits, but anything along those lines tends to be what he's often seen to be wearing, no matter what. Typically appearing in respectable outfits, more than in filthy or excessively expensive, or fancy outfits. Azazel defaults to outfits of this style because he likes to look presentable, and perhaps even at times blend into his surroundings. He will certainly change what he wears, but keep within the same style of what he's into wearing. Due to the weather becoming hotter, he's wearing more loose and showy outfits. Generally, in cool, wintery, or lighter colors, regardless of temperature conditions. He has been known to also dress in grunge, gothic, and biker aesthetic styles, especially when he was younger. But these days he sticks mostly to suits when working, or simpler outfits on his days off. Examples.

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