Fantasy Grim Society - OPEN

[WolfSol]

 
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            It’s dreary being a reaper. The souls are whiny, you have no time for social life, heaven and hell have merciless deadlines, you always lose cell reception in Limbo, and you’ve always got a quota to fill before nightfall. In addition, it’s hard. There’s always some soul eater ruining cases, the Balance, and quotas, the Necromancers stealing your souls and bringing them partially back, there’s the occasional mortal who can see who you really are, and then there is the Grim Council always breathing down your neck. What’s worse, you’re like the magical police of the Underworld, a world saturated with fantasy and magic. Then again, it could be… worse. You’re immortal, you’re almost on the same level as a god, you can grant Heaven or Hell, life or death, and you get a cool scythe and cape! However… it would be different if you could feel human.
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            When you were human, you could feel. You felt the warm, summer breeze, felt the climax of sex, felt the buzz of hard liquor, and felt the burn of emotion. When you were human, you were alive. Now? You’re dead. You don’t feel and if you do then it’s just the coldness of death that you feel, you don’t breathe, you don’t eat or sleep, and memories of the good old times are nonexistent. You’re a partially rotting skeleton with a hollow soul that was either turned by the merciless “grace” of the Grimm Council, by a Necromancer who majorly screwed up a spell, or because you thought being a reaper was cooler then hitting heaven’s happy and worry-free life of nothing but peace. Either way, you’re stuck. Being a reaper… it’s soul-sucking. It’s depressing.
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            Of course, that’s life.
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Note
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Grim Council- Consists of the Grim, the original Grim Reaper, and a handful of ancient reapers. Their word in the fantasy world, the Underworld, is law. They resemble a government of mythological Fates.


Law of Underworld- Soul taking, unless performed by a Reaper on just means, is strictly forbidden. For this reason Necromancy is done in secret and creatures such as Soul Eaters are becoming extinct. In addition, if a creature of the Underworld is caught in their original form and is revealed in front of mankind then that creature will be subject to unimaginable torture. Copulating with humans is forbidden; however, there have been some discoveries of Underworlders getting frisky as of late. Mixed breeds are taboo and are ordered to be killed on sight if discovered.


Grim Society- Reapers that are not from the line of the Grim Reaper, they follow out the original Reaper’s duties. The duties consist of collecting souls, following out orders given by the Grim Council, passing judgement to souls and Underworld creatures, and keeping a tab on all living souls. Reapers may see a soul, may see the soul’s life, secrets, dreams, and fears, and may see the moment the soul dies. They act as fate and as judgement for Heaven and Hell. They have the ability to float like a ghost, but not fly, can become invisible to humans, and can shapeshift into a lively and full human (but this can take a lot of energy and magic), and they can break most magics. They are rather apathetic, and at times extremely depressing. It’s said that if you hug a Reaper for too long, you will become cold and have your soul sucked out. Reapers come in various colors, sizes, backgrounds, and overall appearances. Not all have fallen to the form of a skeleton and not all of their scythes are the original scythes that mankind pictures (some can be simple, enchanted crossbows or talking forks while others can be a shapeshifting boomerang or scythe). The Reaper’s weapon merely represents them and, in a way, is them. With this, if a Reaper’s weapon is broken then that Reaper will die. There is a rumor that some Reapers have deserted and are seeking ways to be human or to overthrow the Grim Reaper (that’s just silly… it’s only a rumor, right?).


Underworld- A vast, magical community that is scattered about humanity in hidden, pocketed dimensions or in plain sight. It’s rumored that there is a faction of magical beasts wanting to rid Underworld of the Grim Council, claiming that mankind should not be protected as magic was first before man.


Humans- Ignorant souls who believe that they are superior. There are a handful of humans who have the sight, where they can see magic and can see shapeshifting beasts in their original forms.

Rules
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1. You cannot kill another character without creator's permission
   
2. No fluff or bunnying
   
3. You may join at any time
   
4. Romance is welcome
   
5. If you've read everything on this post, say French Toast somewhere in your CS
   
6. Multiple characters is welcome
   
7. All magical creatures apply, but no character or creature can surpass Heaven, Hell, or the council
   
8. No one-liners. Please, if you cannot respond with at least a paragraph of five or sentences then do not join. It makes it difficult and not so fun for other.
   

 
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Character Sheet Forum


Grim Society OOChat

 

[WolfSol]

@Cadenach Please post this in the CS forum.

 

[Cadenach]

@WolfSol Fixed it.

 

[WolfSol]

Death/Grim
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An endless void of white stretched on, it devoured the skies, it devoured the sounds, and it devoured life. Yet the eternal white dared not touch the poly-chromatic splatter of colors that washed over the ground. The color themselves were alive, pulsating and breathing, and many a shade were unreal, having not yet been discovered by man. Every now and then the skies would break as if a storm had broken through, a thick and spiraling black enveloping the white. It would only happen for moment, signaling a lost soul, and then the white would force itself back. Humanity, being as childish and as fragile as they were, caused the skies to incessantly and erratically change from black to white and white to black within the breath of a second. 


Throughout this dimension's barren landscape stood a tree. It was as large as the world, branches stretching to eternity, and it too looked devoid of life. Its bark was ash, peppered with white that sporadically pulsed and grew. It acted as a fungus and reeked of death, a decayed and rotting smell. Here, souls wandered for it was the only thing stable in this world of nothing. 


Death watched from afar, watched as naked souls stumbled out of monochrome portals. The souls were gray shells that held no face or any sign of individualistic details, imitations of man, but the only difference were the balls - souls - of single colors that rested within their chest. With just a glance at their souls, Death could tell their sin, their lives, their final deaths, and their final judgement. Out of the twenty that appeared within a second, five of them had committed suicide, three had fallen to drugs, five were shot, four died from a automobile crash, one died of a construction accident, and the last were victims of rape and murder. If Death were human then perhaps it would have felt sorrow or sympathy, something human, but instead if felt nothing. There are no emotions in death.


At its side, a dark purple portal appeared. For a moment it swirled and resounded with whispers, but then a skeletal hand reached out followed by a long, white sleeve. Then a face that was half skull half rot and a meaty leg moved outward. The zombified corpse gracefully moved from the portal, its long, white cloak tattered and torn, and when its second leg left the portal did the portal vanish with a sigh.


"Death," the voice trembled from the half skull half rot of a face, but it did not speak from fear. Age and decay had ripped it of its once beauteous voice.


"Enoch." Death acknowledged.


"It seems that there will be a mass murder today in the mortal dimension. Earth, in Paris, France."


"Do I not have enough reapers?"


"Indeed, there are more than enough to handle such a tragedy, but... Limbo may overflow."


"You worry far too much. What of the meeting?"


"It's been postponed. Both the meeting with the reapers and the meeting with the council. Will you be providing aid during this tragedy?"


Death turned, its hooded cloak hiding most of its skeletal frame, "My reapers can do such deeds just as well. My aid is unnecessary."


"Yes, then will you be seeing God today?"


"God can wait."


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Lucian McKinney
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With tanned hands curled on either side of the off-white sink, Lucian stared. He squinted steely gray eyes at the mirror until his head hurt from the pressure. His muddy-brown hair was a mess, eyes bloodshot, his beard was coming back in full form, and he was in desperate need of a shower. To make matters worse, he hadn't slept in two days. The bruises under his eyes were getting a tad bit more noticeable to the point where it looked like someone had taken a fist to his face. He closed his eyes, sighed, and tried at forcing a smile. Today would be a long shift which would mean a lot of faking and a lot of empty laughter, smiles, and consideration. Peeking out from his eyelids, he audibly groaned at the nonexistent smile that pulled at his lips. A lot of coffee and espresso would definitely need to be ingested today. With as much coffee as he drank, it was a miracle that he hadn't keeled over from lack of nutrients and sleep.


He pulled away, grabbing the gray polo draped on the back of his toilet as he shuffled back into his bedroom. The dim lights and covered windows did little to help him sift through the sea of clothes for his khakis. He passed the nightstand which was covered with picture frames, most of which had been turned face down to hide painful memories, and scavenged for khakis underneath the bed. The bed, a Queen, had been made and untouched for a number of months. At one point, he had found solace and comfort on the bed, but with the death of his family... the bed was uncomfortable and only made him feel depressed. The couch was his sanctuary now. 


Fingers caught onto rough fabric. He pulled, successfully catching a pair of khakis by the bed railing, before rushing to the dresser for his name tag. It was surprising how scatterbrained he could get in the mornings. One would think that by him working so much, he'd practice keeping all of this work gear in one spot, but he was too tired, too cranky, and far too lazy to practice anything let alone cleaning. 


Stumbling outside of his room, barely sidestepping in time to miss the black cat on the stairs, he pulled the polo over his head and hopped into his khakis. When he had gotten his last foot into the pants did he trip on the last step. He fell face forward into the wall, smacking his forehead into a picture frame that had been turned around. The glass cracked against the wall and the wire that held it in place snapped from the impact. It fell with him, bouncing off his head, and landed with a shatter. 


Rubbing furiously at his throbbing scalp, he turned to glare and curse at the frame, but the smiles and memories staring back at him made him instantly stand up and run off into the kitchen. He didn't want to see her face right now. His exhausted mind couldn't bare it. If he saw her face then he'd surely keel over from exhaustion and depression. 


Without another thought pertaining to food or even to the cat's empty food bowel, he slipped on his black, coffee stained work shoes, and ran out the door. 


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Maria and Lana McKinney
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Maria folded her arms, fingers scraping along human flesh as a numb feeling of ecstasy racked over her. Being in her human form was wonderful, joyous, even if it was fake and long gone. Yet the feeling was fleeting, replaced with cold and death the moment she tried to catch onto a human emotion. Nevertheless, she enjoyed it. It was nice to venture out into the human world and turn into a human. It was nice to be noticed by the living, to feel an imitation of warm flesh at the fingertips. Of course, the shape of her humanoid form wouldn't last for long as she would be in the mortal dimension for only two more minutes before returning back to Limbo. The soul she was to collect would cross the street within thirty seconds, ignoring the traffic sign for pedestrians, and be struck by a bus. In forty-five seconds after being struck, the soul would be released and seek judgement. 


The job was easy and for that she was thankful. This soul didn't have a troubling life so there was nothing to hold it back from judgement. Souls that fought back were annoying and frustrating. Then again, thanks to that, she was always accompanied by her daughter.


Beside her, the ghost of a child stood in absolute stillness and silent. To most humans, she was nonexistent, and to Maria it sometimes seemed as though she was merely a figment of the imagination. The child, Lana, watched the humans scatter around in the busiest part of Louisville, Kentucky. Then again it was hard to tell if she was indeed watching them or simply staring at a fixed point as her eyes were black. It was the only part of her that fell to decay. Beautiful eyes of blue becoming a rotted socket of black that dripped with ooze.


For a moment, they both stood in silence, but when the twenty seconds came, panic and chaos took place. Lana raised a hand, pointing silently to Mark Brevenburg, a twenty-five year old law student who worked as a nurse part-time to help support his pregnant wife. He crossed the street in a hurry, cellphone glued to his ear, and turned just in time to see the headlights of the Greyhound bus.


Five seconds. The bus screeched to a halt, he last set of tires scraping over Brevenburg's body. Fifteen seconds. The bus driver scrambled out of the bus, tears water falling on rounded cheeks, and the passengers all screamed and cried as they too stumbled out of the bus. Thirty seconds. Twenty-seven calls were made to 911 and an off-duty nurse frantically checked for a pulse. Forty seconds. The traffic light intersection was full of onlookers, criers, and beeping vehicles. The soul had been released and was already crying, screaming, and fretting over its dead vessel. Forty-five seconds. Maria crouched down beside the body of Brevenburg, her human form no longer visible. Deathly pale skin glistened as she tapped the hand of Brevenburg's soul, a monotonous voice falling from dried lips, "Mark Brevenburg, twenty-five, employed at Norton Audubon Hospital, married to a Samantha Douglas, death by bus." The soul turned, trembling at the sight of the female reaper. She looked similar to her human form despite the blackened veins around her heart, the cuts in her face from her initial death, and her snow skin.


"It's all right, I'm here to give you peace. Please, come with me." She offered a hand.

 

[idalie]

LAZARUS "LAZ" CARTER
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[SIZE=14.666666666666666px]

[/SIZE]

The day had already started out as a chore. After leading two motorists, and three spontaneous household deaths into the realms of the dead, he escorted an old woman named Linda, who spoke animatedly about being the winner of the local crochet tournaments, as well as her three cats named after brands of confectionery. As far as it was safe to assume, Lazarus hadn't got much of his tether left to give if anyone decided to make a simpleton form of knitting seem more exciting than watching a woman riding a mattress on top of a van till both of them slipped off under the vehicle. He'd decided who his nominee for the Darwin awards would be that year. 
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Yet the mood appeared to worsen throughout the day, as his lunch break was cancelled for the third time that week, and he'd missed his alcoholic support group. Not that he drank. In fact, drinking was altogether impossible when you lack the organs to do so, but he liked the company of people more depressed and insincere as himself. The last time he tried to join the anti-smokers league, it ended with the building being evacuated after he'd accidentally set the waste bin on fire. He hadn't returned since, and nor was he willing to foot the bill with a non-existent bank account. 
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Tapping aimlessly away at his phone screen, reaching level 75 of Candy Crush, Laz approached the scene of murder. Daylight mugging. They'd only meant to steal her purse, yet the young woman smacked her head into the concrete after being pushed down. Blood pooled from her left temple, whilst the shade of her lips paled and breath came to a slow stop. Still warm to the touch. Twenty-One, the student hadn't even graduated. Her name was Penelope. Penelope Hollis. And today was the day she died. A second later and he would've missed her. Pausing his game, he slipped the phone into the inner jacket pocket of his suit and proceeded to approach the shellshocked soul. It was odd, but Lazarus' face (or lack thereof) was sometimes a relief to the demised. A familiarity they had seen plastered over Halloween decorations, ghostly movies, and the depictions of reapers which prepared them for their lanky, skeletal and bored after death guide. "Good morning ma'am. Might seem a surprise, but you're quite deceased it appears. Excellent thing, since it's on my Curriculum Vitae. If you would care to follow me-" And then the tears began. Sobbing and wailing, Laz wrapping his boney arm oddly around her shoulders as he moved her forwards. Attempting to recall those godawful messages people wrote on gravestones. "Uh, gone but not forgotten, just remember. You got lucky. I mean, children in third world countries dream of living to twenty-one! And in university!" His remarks seemed to just make her cry harder. "Just look on the brighter side of things, like how fortunate you are, and - not entirely uh - well - you're not being eaten by soulless beings from dimensions we don't like to bring up in polite conversation. Being dead is all about a fresh start, the circle of life, point A to point B. Maybe point C if you're lucky." The endless rambling of his incredibly failing social skills provided enough time for her to wear herself out and accept the fate she'd been dealt.
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Checking his wristwatch, Lazarus rolled his non-existant eyes toward the sky with a long sigh. He hated Mondays.
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[madame moiselle]

~Azael, the Angel of Death~
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"Did I hear that cursed word again? The G word? You know how much I hate the word."  A handsome man appeared, draped in a bloodred cloak, his wings stretching out behind him. Yes, he was an angel. But don't get confused. This isn't your typical holy, sinless and angelic angel; this was a fallen one. An angel disgraced in the presence of God, and sent  to Hell to rot, and forced to work for the Grim Council. His angel wings were darkened, stained, signaling his place, his sin. Instead of the golden tresses the heavenly angels were blessed with, Azael's were black as night, as black as his heart. His pale blue eyes were cold and ruthless, displaying no warmth, only cruelty and mock.
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Azael sighed, as he approached the other two. He did not dare to utter the name. In fact, every time he tried, an unbearable spasm took control of him. He would constrict in pain, and learn his lesson. He was too dirty and dark to speak His holy name. Despite his arrogance and obvious confidence, nothing scared Azael more than Him. 
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He strode in, a smirk on his face. "So sorry for being late," Azael excused himself, a filthy smirk on his face. "I was...occupied." Azael would never dare admit that he had been tangled in a recent love triangle with two human women. Both exceptionally beautiful, but unfortunately, bitches. He had killed one, and left the other pregnant with another bastard child. Azael never really cared for all the women he's hooked up with. They were only there to grant pleasure and excitement; something Hell was lacking in. It was the same process every time; he would meet a girl, have a one-night stand, and leave before anything happened.  Relationships were easier to break than to create after all.
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Turning to the twenty newest batches of souls, his lips twisted into a sadistic smile.
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"Well, well, well...let's see now. Who shall I take with me down under?"
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@HumansArentReal
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@WolfSol
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[fuil]

Jack looked at the crowd as he sat on a bench eating a twinkie. He saw the accident and was now watching as a reaper called to the soul. He has seen this type of thing many times before but it was always interesting to see the reapers and there morbid appearance. The woman would look like a human if it wasn't for the black veins and cuts on her face. He was about to leave when he saw the child by the woman's side, her mostly rot free body. The only thing that gave her away was the eyes that had turned into pools of black ooze. He took one last look and got up and walked away towards his home. As he walked away he hummed a sad slow tune. A large mad smile plastered to his face as he thought about what to make for dinner tonight.

 

[DarkSlayer]

ZANE ANTHONY
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Immortality is a romanticized human ideal. After all, who wouldn't want to live forever? Not aging, unchanging, and eternal? Doesn't sound too bad, does it? Throw in a title like, "Reaper" and a large scythe, and most would happily sign their apparently empty mortal lives away. Of course, you're never told the entire truth. Not until the pacts been made anyway. If you knew the truth, you'd take whatever fate you were destined and stick to it, because the truth is that immortality as a Reaper is a hollow, empty, and often times solitary existence; for the skeletal guise you are given is not symbolic, it is only the truth. Your body is dead, as a skeleton would be dead. Unfeeling, save for the emptiness and the longing for what you remember of being able to feel. And as the years fly by, with you reaping for the Council, you begin to lose even those memories. Immortality, like this, rots. If you're still unconvinced, allow me to set the scene for you.


A young boy, badly bruised with a shallow cut over his eye had pulled himself out of a wrecked car and was now trying to do the same to his mother, who lay motionless in the driver's seat. No matter how loud he called for her, shouted for her, she didn't awake. I could already imagine the newspaper headlines:

This Monday Morning: 
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a horrible accident on an American Midwestern overpass, where two vehicles, a luxury sedan and an Acura, collided near the exit ramp. The Acura skidded out of control and plummeted off of the overpass, landing hood first and killing the driver, a young woman. Her son, while injured, survived to tell the tale.
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I wanted to feel bad for the child, wanted with all of my being, but the eternal numbness, as well as seeing those tears and longing for, even envying them, all but snuffed the want out. I would rather feel pain and sorrow than this nothingness within. Dead eyes moving from the boy, I found quite a familiar sight: a now dead soul attempting to cling to a loved one, but finding them intangible.


"Look, I'm right here! Please, I'm right here!" The woman sobbed, attempting and failing over and over to embrace her son.


"He can't hear you." I spoke, making so that the living couldn't see or hear me. The woman jumped before turning towards me and her face grew pale, if that were possible. It was the usual routine; she would beg and plead for her life, to stay with her loved one, and above all else, to not hurt her, as if I were some kind of monster. I'll spare you the crying and the pleading for that reason. 


"It's out of my hands." I said simply, knowing how I appeared to her: a black cloaked being with a pair of useless wings and a large sword on my side. "Your time is up, your thread cut early." I held out a skeletal hand towards her. "Accept it or not, you'll come with me." If I hadn't done this a thousand times or could feel a need to use compassion, I would have handled it differently. Maybe even explained things. But death was not kind. Kindness and compassion were used by those who could feel, not the dead. A reaper reaps, that is all. If possible, the thought seemed to numb me even more. I shook my head; I had a schedule to keep.


Whether out out of fear or reluctant acceptance, I'm not sure which, the woman attempted to get we sobs under control and took my hand. 

 

[PastelBeauty]

Lei-Mei Collins
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"Hey Baby! Shake that nice a.. for me a bit closer."  Lei-Mei rolled her eyes as her body twirled around the pole before she came to do gymnastic splits on the dance floor.  The bass seeping into her skin and body making it seem like her whole body was pulsating and vibrating.  She obliged to the man only to "accidentally" kick his drink into his lap with her pointed heel, she smiled seductively as he cursed and stared up at her with lust and loathing.  Lei-Mei finished her routine before sashaying off the dance floor collecting money thrown towards her.  The extra money from the gentlemen, ha excuse more like pigs, served her as her tip and it was a bit more extra spending cash, the real money came from the club owner who praised her for her outstanding performances as usual then she got to leave.  Lei-Mei couldn't stand being here any more than she could stand the slobs of men either coping a feel or just down-right being drunken slobs and foolishly being bold and feeling her on the spot. 


"Thanks Harvey.  I was getting pretty close to rent payment."  She fluttered her eyelashes in mock damsel in distress and Harvey just laughed waving her off before returning to handle a rather rowdy customer.  Lei-Mei slipped her hip hugger jeans up and over her thighs and buttoned them up before slipping on her long sleeved, obsidian colored, shirt on over her sparkly gold bra that she wore for routines and slipped on her hoodie/jacket for warmth in the brisk New York air.  IT was particularly windy for today and out of the corner of her eye Lei-Mei thought she saw a ghost on the corner of 5th Blvd. and Martin Luther King Jr Blvd.  East Harlem, New York...a busy town with crime abundant and men leering at women for a piece of flesh and one-night stands abundant with homeless and drug addicts.  The Big Apple.  More like The Big Dump.  She sighed closing her eyes and flagging down a taxi to head home. 


"Ey, didja hear? Mass murder in Paris, France...more deaths in Manhattan. Eh? Lady you listening?"  Lei-Mei did hear. She crossed her legs and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes. I did.  All of it tragic....but it is the world we live in now.  Not really gonna change murderers and rapists and all the other evil people in the world.  There is no chance of ever capturing them all, not enough prisons to hold them all.  East 106th st please." She stated as she leaned on one hand, the taxi driver shook his head and scoffed.


"Pretty Pessimist aren'tcha?"


"You have no idea."


She whispered as she looked out and saw every now and then ghosts or balls of white either next or hanging about streets and people.  Lei-Mei had a headache if she tried to focus to much on the ghosts, an ache where she had been shot, starting up every single time as well.  She rubbed the ache absentmindedly till she arrived home and paid the taxi driver the tab and strode inside her home to hopefully put all this ghostly, grey death behind her and numb her headache with Tylenol.

 
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[poutysunshine]

Logan's hand flew to her phone screaming at her - currently doubling as her alarm and connection to social medias. Staying in a cheap, beat up motel wasn't ideal but it had decent water pressure and it was a place to sleep besides her car. She had arrived in this city a couple of days ago and landed herself in a coffee shop with a man who not only smelled like coffee but drank enough of it for a small military. Yawning and stretching she stood up heading to the shower. Logan had gone out the other day and bought some hair products because there wasn't any in the motel. Turning on the water she stuck her hand to feel the warmth and jerked back at the ice running onto her fingers. Her mind trailed to what she had to eat - a granola bar, a bag of nuts, and a water bottle. It seemed like a better idea to get something from the shop than to go with her options. Logan slipped her hand back under the water and sighed as the warmth engulfed it. She stripped off her clothes and got under the water, running her fingers through her hair. Thoughts flew through her mind about Brinly and she wondered if she could call her later but doubted after the curt email her mother sent her last night about how she was well and how Logan had no reason to check up anytime soon. She spun in the shower - she'd get her back after she truly got back on her feet. Feeling clean, much more awake, and refreshed she stepped out wrapping a towel around herself. Logan took a hand towel and wiped the condensation off the mirror to look at her reflection - tan, light brown hair, and pale green eyes but somehow different from what she was use to always seeing. How can one person become unrecognizable to themselves? She ran her hands over her face and walked into her bedroom - she opened her suit case looking for something simple to wear. At some point her mind became made up on white crop top, a pair of black jeans, her white sneakers, and her over-sized denim jacket. Checking the time she decided it wouldn't be a bad thing to head slightly early to work and headed out the door to her bronco. It took a few cranks but the sucker started up and she turned on the radio. If she had learned everything from being on the road so much it was to appreciate all scenery because it changes between every place.


She arrived at the coffee shop and bounced on her feet. The idea of getting there early wasn't very bright when you weren't one with the keys. She clapped her hands when she saw Lucian arrive and waved. 


@WolfSol

 

[WolfSol]

Death
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Enoch turned, its good eye glaring at the imitation of an angel. The fellow had a clear distaste for the fallen sort, finding them a mockery. Why, in God's name, did reapers have to work with such filth? It was bad enough they had to deal with sinful souls... but possible STD ridden rats with wings? "What 'G' word, God? God's name?" It mocked, its raspy voice chortling in a fit of laughter, but to anyone's ears, its laughter sounded like metal grating on metal. It would've continued, sneering at the fallen bastard and his weakness to His very name, but its laughter and antics were cut short when Death raised a skeletal hand. It wasn't the hand alone that silenced it, but more so the feeling of pressure that lingered in the atmosphere. 


"You were fornicating with man, again?" Death's voice fell an octave, an imitation of disapproval riding on its tone. If there was one thing Death didn't fancy, it was mixed fornication between supernatural beings and mortals. It had limits on the souls and caused judgement to vary where it should not. Of course, it didn't bother Death to the point where it felt he need to interfere; however, it wouldn't stray from showing visible and audible disgust. It turned fully, cloak whispering against rotten bone. Azael's sex drive long forgotten with the pass of a second, Death waved a hand behind it to the tree that stood over the lost souls. "Eleven are to be judged by Hell out of the twenty that have appeared; however, one hundred and sixty-two will be collected and will be in need of their final judgment at the Gates of Hell in fifty-six seconds. Do as your occupation of a fallen commands." It spoke dryly, absently as it plucked a smartphone from its sleeve. For a moment, Enoch watched in silence and shock as Death attempted to unlock the phone. Skeletal hands were a terrible burden on cellular screens, especially when it came to touch sensors. 


When the phone ceased to open, Death only sighed and slipped it back within the folds of its cloak. Giving one last look in the general direction of Enoch and Azeal - it was rather hard to tell where Death looked thanks to its obscured features, "I will depart for a time. Do not need me." With its words, a purple smoke began to coil around it.


"But God, God can't wait, Death." Enoch persisted, but Death merely shrugged before it was enveloped in a puff of purple smoke.


@Esther_Silvers


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Lucian McKinney
​

He really hated driving. Lucian's fingers clutched the embezzled steering wheel tight to the point where his knuckles turned white. Was it so damn hard to use a freaking turn signal, to merge? Dear Lord, what about speed? "It's thirty-fucking-five, dammit!" He screamed at the top of his lungs to the red Chevrolet Cavalier, but the driver continued its trek at a painful twenty miles per hour. Again Lucian ran a hand through his mess of hair, frustration bringing up a string of curses to fall from his lips. Road rage was only one of his setbacks these days. Lack of coffee was a big one, of which he'd hopefully fulfill once he got to the shop... if he ever did considering the shit traffic today. Yet when the red Cavalier and his wee Nissan Versa pulled up to the intersection, Lucian regretted his childish antics. He hadn't been paying attention to the traffic ahead of the red car or the fact that there was more civilians on the sidewalk than normal.


"Another fool got hit by a car, huh?" He sighed, cringing as he caught site of a stretcher being lifted into an ambulance as he and the red car drew to a stop at the light. His eyes trailed the scene, a dented car and a massive pool of blood, partly thankful that the accident was not where he had to turn for work. When the light flashed green; however, he didn't press on the gas. Instead, his gaze caught on a child that stood by the vehicle of the accident. She was pale, deathly pale, and her eyes... spots of black. Her body phased in and out of view, dark brown hair spiraling and cascading around her in nonexistent wind. Just a glimpse of her put the hairs on the back of his neck on end, brought a chill to his bones. Yet, when he noticed her, she was gone. Like the blink of an eye.


Fantastic. Maybe he should have listened to his grandmother and taken his medication... "See what lack of coffee does to you, McKinney? Makes you see crazy shit." He muttered, the honks of equally irritated drivers pulling him back to earth.


After the intersection, traffic thankfully moved with relative speed and smoothness to where he arrived at the coffee shop a little too early. Forty-five minutes before his shift. Right as he pulled into the small, closed in parking lot, he spotted a familiar Bronco that had surely seen better days. He sighed at the sight of it. It would have been great if he didn't have to fake being a happy right before his shift started. 


Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he headed out the car and to the shop's back door to start off the hellish day. Oh, but of course, before he could even scrounge through his pockets for the keys, did his grandmother's Ole McDonald ringtone sing. Lucian groaned, fingers finding the cellphone much easier than the keys as he plucked it from his pocket. "Yes, Oma?" His voice was brisk as he pulled out the store keys with his other hand, glancing up from them only once to raise a brow in greeting to the girl with the old Bronco. "Yes, I put on underwear today. Huh?" He searched through the identical keys, "No, I didn't feed the cat. Was in a hurry. Yeah, yeah, I know. No. Yes, fine, I will. I'll get you your mail later tonight. Listen, I'm at work. Yeah, bye."


@poutysunshine


-----

Maria and Lana
​

Maria offered a smile, but it only made the soul of the man cry harder. He'd already started begging, promising, bribing. "I'm a good man, please, I-I need to at least see my newborn's smile. Be there to see them born. I-I didn't do any-anything wrong! I'll give you all my money, my assets. Anything. I know people! I-I'll do anything. Please, I don't want to die!" His words fell on deaf ears as she gently touched his shoulder. She'd heard it all, seen it all, and no matter how much they came and went with their mortal emotions and empty words, she felt nothing. Hell, she couldn't even imagine sympathy even if she tried. Nevertheless, she patted his shoulder like one would to a child on the head. It seemed enough, a breaking point for the man as he quickly fell into her and  wrapped his arms around her shoulders in an awkward hug. 


She couldn't even feel the tears that pelted her back.


"It's all right. Everything will be okay now." She stroked his back, each brush of contact allowing her to peek into his life. He suffered from occasional anxiety and depression, worried that he would never be able to support his wife and evolving family. "You've done so much already. It's enough." Phrases that his soul had desired to hear from the very beginning. "You've had a good life, did a good job. It's okay. There's nothing more that you can do. It's enough." She repeated them in a whisper, soothing the soul's cries until they fell to whimpers and then silence.


Only when the soul became fully calm and able to unlatch himself from her, did she offer her hand again. At first he hesitated, guilt and shame still lingering heavily on his conscience, but when she repeated the phrases that he'd wanted to hear, he took her hand and followed her until they vanished from the mortal realm. Yet when they arrived in Limbo underneath the tree, he refused to let go of her hand.

 

[TokumeiNoJorogumo]

Black clouds swirled against a dark sky, and the breeze made no noise as it rushed across her body, though not a hair on her head moved as she continued to the place of her birth into this time. The sea of souls was unlike the oceans of the mortal world, It's water was like that of the northern lights and moved as it would, as if it had a mind of it's own,and what looked to be stars beneath it's surface were in all actuality very deadly notions. Some consisted of suicidal thoughts, others of murder and adultery, betrayal and hatred... Down the trail she continued to walk, a weather beaten dirt path that led straight to the waters edge. Black, almost charred trees weeped their ichor on either side of her path and small spiders with their eyes seemingly gouged out yet not bleeding, watched her quietly, their maroon coloured mandibles clicking and twitching, as if they were scolding her from straying so far from any sort of civilization.  Unfettered she moved through the brush that grew over her path, her bare feet relishing in the feel of the luke-warm ground, the dirt grinding between her toes and the soft moss- like plant life that grew here.
​

It was home for her.
​

The only home she had ever known besides the void.
​

Soon she broke free of the forest, the treeline meeting a wide, empty, flat area and a smooth cliff face that fell straight down. Before heading down the face of the cliff to the beach hundreds of feet below she looked out on the sea of souls.
Bubbling masses of lights flickered around beneath the surface of the water, some deep, some shallow, some grouped some alone. Yet all of their lights were visible. 
​

Will o wisps tangoed around the surface of the water, dancing with an in-auditory beat, their aura's visibly and flashing lightly with each movement.
​

Home...
​

 
​

@WolfSol
​

 

[madame moiselle]

~Azael, the Angel of Death~

 
​

Enoch's mockery made Azael wish he could send the bastard to Hell instead of eleven that are to be brought to the Underworld. One hour of suffering in that inferno, and Enoch would shut his trap for sure. Azael managed to keep his mouth shut, but couldn't help but send Enoch a murderous glance. Quite literally a murderous glance. If only the being weren't dead, Azael would've killed him there and then. He knew Death was disgusted by Azael's leisure activities; it was very evident in it's voice. But Azael took no care. He glared at Enoch for the second time before disappearing with eleven back to Hell. 
​

Once he was done his fallen duties, he would go back to Earth, just as he always did. Cause chaos, death, pleasure...
​

 
​

 
​

 

[TokumeiNoJorogumo]

Tokumei sighed, a dulcet tone, sweet with the feeling of love, though she felt very few emotions.
She looked to her left to an ancient, crumbling set of gray stone steps that led to her portal. She walked the few steps to them and stepped onto them, the feeling changing from soft rock to a rough, almost concrete like consistency. A few earth minutes later, about thirty or so, she reached the bottom of the stairwell, the ocean of souls lapped at the shore and she looked, again, out over the sea just briefly enough to catch a glimpse of a storm rolling in. Even purgatory could have bad weather. She decided to hurry and shuffled off towards the other end of the beach.  Another thirty minutes later, she came to a halt in front of a cave, black, just above the waterline. She descended inside. The cave was dark, but she knew where to go for she could now see in shadow terms. Every detail was a white shadow, flickering yet permanent, almost like a strobe light that didnt move. She descended a long flight of steps into the blackness before turning down an ancient darkened corridor.
There in the distance was a core... It pulsed with energy and an unearthly light, even for purgatory. She was beneath the sea. 
Her body began to quiver, her veins tightening as she began to change, her blood became cold and  Her form became as light, shifting, morphing, twisting into a different physicality. Yet she continued forward in a walking motion, her changing form phasing in and out, like a ghost in a bad earth movie. 
​

In but a moment she saw it, the beginning of the sea of souls, almost like a mist, but this was no ordinary mist.  What many did not know was the sea of souls actually consisted of the raw emotional power of every dead human. Think of it as a emotional energy dumping ground. As soon as she hit the mist her form came to her, bursting into existence like what the humans called a "Supernova". She moved through it as if stillwalking before she reached the core and was sucked into the shadow vortex, falling, flying, it was all the same as she was transported to hell. 
​

The devil's chasm was a large hole far from the entrance to hell, in a deeply wooded and heavily charred area.  It was named for one reason, that whoever fell would never return. of course there were many rumours in hell as to why, the main being that satan had forbidden anyone to enter. Truth was, anything that entered without the consent of tokumei or the void would be eternally swallowed, erased from physicality, doomed to float in unconscious essence forever. It was here she emerged, her black wings outstretched and her legs laid back against her chest as she rocketed forth, past the treeline and up into the sky. Her wings gave off a shadowy smoke, and her eyes betrayed her, white as her aura.  Her forked tail dithered slightly in the wind as the speed from the force of the portal began to slow, and she forced her wings tomove, the muscles contracting, pushing her fourth into the sky as she angled her streamlined body just right to aim for hell's manor.
​

 
​

@Esther_Silvers
​

 
​

 

[madame moiselle]

~Azael, the Angel of Death~

 
​

Hell's manor echoed with the screams and cries of agonized souls. The mansion was eternally huge, as well as dirty. One would walk the darkened halls and sense the overpowering stench of death, blood and sin. The walls and floors were stained with the blood of thousands of mortal souls, Fear and pain as in the atmosphere; hope and peace were non-existent here. There was only eternal torment and tragedy. Azael had lead the eleven of the twenty unfortunate souls down one of the many twisted halls of Hell's manor. Each hall had over a dozen doors; each one leading to torture rooms. One could be a room of scorching fire, or flesh-eating maggots, or cauldrons of scalding, boiling water. Who knew? 
​

If one was not from this inferno, trying to find your way around is impossible. Unless you're a fallen angel, or a demon, that is. Azael navigated these halls with ease, and sent each soul to their eternal torture. Most of the time, he loved to watch as souls were tortured; their screams a symphony to his ears. His duties were to torture the mortal souls. This time, he craved to be back in Earth. Missing one day of work shouldn't be too bad, right? The truth was, Azael missed work days daily, but did a good job of hiding that fact. Wanting to leave the damned place, Azael made his way to the entrance of the builidng.
​

Where should I go? wondered the fallen angel casually. Los Angeles? Their casinos are legendary. Or maybe New York? The place is teeming with nightclubs. As Azael was struggling to decide, a shadow caught his eye. In the dark, cloudy and stormy sky, flew a sleek, black dragon, heading straight for the manor. 
​

 
​

@TokumeiNoJorogumo
​

 

[TokumeiNoJorogumo]

~Tokumei Sol-Lunara~
​

​

 
​

Tokumei was soon just above the courtyard, a waterless fountain was overgrown with sickly plants, and she landed noiselessly near it, her feet gracing the ground gently, only a bit of dust knocking up from her effortless landing. In a split second the dragon form exploded silently and forcelessly, leaving just black dust where it once had been to float for a moment before beginning to settle. From this mist she walked, her form standing out in this place as much as a star in the day time.  A wreath of white laurels adorned the back and sides of her head, her strawberry blonde hair shining, and her whitish blue eyes glistening with energy were the first thing to appear as she emerged from the mist. An owl, soulless, lifeless was perched upon her shoulder, it's eyes would forever stare, for she had not willed it life. And it was an extension of her. She had fully emerged from the cloud when she saw the fallen angel. Probably on duty, but it was of no concern to her. Where was lucifer in any case? She approached him, with the intent of passing him, silently but noticeably lost in thought, even with the howls of the tortured coming from the mansion.
​

 
​

@Esther_Silvers
​

 

[madame moiselle]

~Azael, the Angel of Death~

 
​

Azael watched with interest as the black dragon landed gracefully near the broken-down fountain. His interest peaked as the dragon soundlessly converged into a cloud of black powder, and from it, emerged a youthful, stunning lady in which Azael had never seen before. Her silky hair glowed in the gloominess of Hell, her eyes bright with energy Hell was unfamiliar with. A crown of laurels sat elegantly on her head, and it seemed the winged creature perched upon her shoulder, was lifeless. It's dark eyes stared right through Azael, but the fallen angel was anything but intimidated. 
​

There was no doubt that this girl was an outsider. Azael knew she was an angel of some sort, and he felt a jolt of hatred, despite never even meeting her. It was a natural sentiment, but Azael hated it. Every time he set eyes upon an angel, the memory of what happened that fateful moment thousands of years ago on Heaven always resurfaced. 
​

Is she a messenger? he wondered, as she passed him, obviously looking as if in deep thought. A sudden idea popped into his head, and Azael smirked as he studied her retreating figure. Worth a try. 
​

 
​

"You won't get far," he called out to her. "No outsider can navigate through Hell's manor, not without the help of someone who actually lives in it. You may as well go back, unless you want to lose your way forever."
​

 
​

@TokumeiNoJorogumo
​

 

[TokumeiNoJorogumo]

~Tokumei Sol-Lunara~
​

Tokumei hadn't gotten much past the fallen one before he spoke. As much as he tried to conceal it she felt the hidden malice in his voice,his words practically dripped their venom. She turned her almost dead looking gaze to him, before walking back a few steps, until she was face to face with him.
 
​

"I am here to see lucifer. Son of the dawn. But first i have come to observe the mansion. Go about your business, adultering and what have you. You have no business here."  
​

 
​

As hateful as the words may have seemed, she was monotone, though her voice had her ever present dulcet tone, like aged honey and ichor. (Which was also one of her favorite drinks.)  Her face was almost alluring, the white laurels suddenly phased in and out, which she was used to. Since she was no longer in the void, but an extension, parts of her body would phase wherever she was,from time to time.  She again turned to go, her body fluidly twisting like a snakes, and her grace unmatched by many angels. Her hair hardly moved, only the tips quivered as she turned, and the pale skin of her back looked almost transparent, paper thin, only visible due to her backless gown. Her large Buttocks swayed tantalizingly as she turned, her voluptuous hips rocking as she walked away,
​

 
​

@Esther_Silvers
​

 

[madame moiselle]

~Azael, the Angel of Death~

 
​

Azael narrowed his pale blue eyes slightly as she answered him. Her words ere insulting, yet her voice held no mockery. When she turned to stare at him, she had a dead look in her gaze. Made him want her even more. He couldn't help but stare after her as she walked away. The way her body moved; he was becoming even more hypnotized. Erotic fantasies filled his head, just as they always do when he met sexy women. 
​

Azael shook his head a little. No. He couldn't. She was an angel; a being too righteous for him. It made resentment flow through his veins. Clenching his jaw, he turned around to go. He would find better women. 
But something made him stop. He didn't really know why; he just stopped. Was it her alluring body? Her dead personality? Nevertheless, the fallen angel turned around, intending to approach her. It was strange; Azael was usually the one who charmed and tempted women, not the other way around. Somehow, this girl had managed to put him under a spell, something other woman had failed to do. It was one he could not break.
​

"On the contrary," he answered, nearing her, his voice smooth. "I feel as if it is my duty to personally escort you to him. I'm afraid the staff here don't really appreciate tourists. As a bonus, I know exactly where to find Lucifer. I can tell this is urgent." 
​

 
​

@TokumeiNoJorogumo
​

 

[TokumeiNoJorogumo]

~Tokumei Sol-Lunara~
​

She had only gotten a few feet down the hallway, her bare feet padding along when the angel was back. Apparently he couldn't get the hint. But this was not the time to argue, The son of dawn had called on her. She listened to his proposition, and decided it couldn't hurt.
​

"You have your intentions no doubt, fallen one. Keep to your word. "
​

And without waiting she began to pad off again quietly, her feet gracefully moving across the aged and dirty red carpet. A blood stain her, some dirt there, Fecal dribblets here AND there... The usual. Interestingly enough it seemed this angel did not know who she was. She would prefer to keep it that way, in all honesty. The shadows were most often her friend, and in many cases her cloak, her protection, her SANCTUARY. She could not risk that being taken from her. Continuing down the corridor, lit by burning candles harboring small blue flames,  the moans, groans, and screams pervaded the hallway as she trekked. She osberved everything, and she was passing a room filled with eyeless crows, pecking at the genitalia of some rapists and paedophiles.
​

Fleshy bits that had not been devoured graced the floor, and they had not even the strength to groan. All that escaped was a weak whistle from their mucusy, bloody lungs.  She did not stop,  only graced them with an uncaring, unapologetic glance.
​

The next room was filled with snakes, and it was a somewhat special room... What made this room special you ask? If you were to look inside, it was filled with sand and vipers, and it was made especially for those who were christian but turned from god. The vipers took turns leaping to the people strapped to the walls, their fangs sinking into the legs of their victims. But these were not ordinary vipers. Where on earth the hollow on their fangs were use for spouting venom, here it was used for withdrawing blood. They took turns in the pits,eating, sleeping. Hoohah. One of the men, apparently still coherent, saw her by chance and his eyes shot open. 3 vipers hung from his legs like scaly leeches. "An.. angel? HA. HAHA. HEY HEY-" His voice was clearly manic and desperate, "Please, youve gotta get me outta here. Please i-"  But he stopped as she turned to look at him.
​

Maybe it was her dead stare. 
Maybe it was the owl. 
But his eyes grew wide and he started screaming and babbling something along the lines of devil's mistresses. Ignoring the crazed souls banter, she waited for azael to lead the way, still observing the soul coldly.
​

 
​

 
​

@Esther_Silvers
​

 

[Aio]

Ella Vesik


Ella sat hunched over a small table on the floor, pen in hand as it hovered over the blank paper. She had been in that position a good ten minutes or so, racking her head for something to write. Her hair was tied up into a loose bun as strands of curly hair fell around her face. Squinting her eyes to make the page blurry before opening them back up to make her vision clearer. The rumble of electric fans in the background, moving the warm air in her tiny apartment around but never seeming to be doing its job in cooling her.


*Beep Beep Beep Beep* Ella's phone's light flashed a couple of times as it buzzed on the ground beside her. She groaned knowing it had to be her father asking when she was going to send money his way. Without looking at the ID Bibi answered the phone and immediately started talking. "No dad I don't have your freaking money. In case, you care to know I have had a rather dry spell and it doesn't help you calling me twenty-four seven. Honestly, I think you can survive a week without gambling or satisfying your beer gut. Now please stop calling me I've had enough!" Normally her father would have interjected her speech well before she could start it so she was surprised to find silence on the other end of the line.


"Dad?" She asked, pressing the phone against her ear in case she had missed him speaking though instead of the drunken slur of her father she was met with a rather gruff, making Ella glad for once that no one could see her. Her face was most likely a shade of red, her eyes wide and fearful as the person spoke on the line. "I'm sorry this is Ella Vesik correct? I was calling on the interest of hiring you to do the photography of our magazine." It was as if Ella had forgotten how to speak making Ah... and Uehh...'s before making a full coherent sentence. "Yes yes, this is her. I'm so sorry for my language earlier. Thank you for the offer. Just send me what you need and I'll be sure to look at it." With a bit of light conversation before she hung up and looked down at her paper. Photographs scattered around her with blurs taking up most of the photographs.  The spirits were starting to become more aggressive, and it showed in her photography.  


Ella's stomach growled slightly as she stood up and grabbed her coat, deciding to get some fresh air. Placing her camera around her neck before grabbing her phone and ear buds before heading out the door. She wore ear buds purely out of a need to drown out the deceased. Her phone beeped, signaling that her recent assignment was sent out to her. She made her way out of the building, keeping her head down as she made her way down the street. She heard the cries of the deceased, turning up the sound for her earphones. Although the louder she turned the sound up the angrier the spirits would be. "It's not my fault you didn't go when you had the chance." She mumbled after she spoke most of the spirits disappeared moving on to other seers. Although one insisted on staying with her, popping up in front of her every now and then, attempting to gain her have her attention. After a few minutes, Ella stopped in front of a coffee shop, wishing to take some photos of it for her project.


Her face red with anger as the spirit kept pushing her. Ripping out her earphones as she looked at the spirit. "Will you just leave me alone?" She growled, causing most who were near her to stop and look at her. Some had looks of sympathy while others had pure horror on their face. By now Ella was used to it so a few looks never really bothered her although she did not care for the stares. "What? I see dead people." She spoke to the ones who stare, smiling when they looked away and continued on. With the spirit and others went she had time see the time the store opened, although she was less than pleased to see it did not open for some time.  So Ella decided to take matters into her own hands, knocking on the door as she looked inside. Before she could do anything she needed permission to take some photos of the establishment.

 

[poutysunshine]

Logan nodded in return to his brow greeting but not quick enough before his eyes were back on his keys. She stepped back out of respect and waited patiently as Lucian juggled his phone conversation and finding keys. Withholding her laughter at his statement about underwear she looked down and smiled amused, obviously not completely out of earshot. His grandmother seemed to call him often and ask several questions. He was the oldest thirty something year old she had ever met and wonder of why he was passed her thoughts when around him. She pushed those thoughts aside. Her eyes caught the key amongst all the rest, "Third key on the bottom." The first day there she memorized what it looked like. "Did you see the sunrise this morning? It's really beautiful here and the coffee is astounding." Logan lightly made conversation but withheld waxing poetically about how much she loved the sky. She trailed in behind him and twirled a few times, the shop smelled like cinnamon and various coffee strongly. She hadn't held down a normal job in such a long time but this one was rather nice and hoped was held by her to keep it for a while. Logan swung her jacket on the rack they had for them - it had tiny little paws as the hangers and she couldn't love it more. The coffee shop was like stepping in a fairy tale or movie with all of its cuteness. "What will it be today Lucian? Chicory? Brazilian? Or all of the above and more since you drink so much coffee man?" Logan rambled on getting behind the counter and tying an apron around her waist. She liked anything she could put art on or with a biscotti. She ran her fingers through her hair and slid it into a ponytail. Logan ran her fingers over the coffee bags, mumbling "Eeny meeny miny.." her fingers stopped on one as she landed on "moe". She started up the coffee machine and poured in the beans, leaning on the counter and listening to the sounds becoming more ritual and almost comforting.

@WolfSol

 

[madame moiselle]

~Azael, the Angel of Death~

 
​

Azael lead her down the current hallway they were in, and watched as she noticed a soul, still conscious it seemed, begging her to help him. The soul was in the room for those believers who changed their minds in their lives before death. That sin required them to be here; a room of sand filled with venomous vipers, tormented by their stinging poison and the agony that comes after. Azael loved to lead Christians astray. He loved to see their faith deteriorate, see them reject God and follow worldly things with no meaning. That way. without faith, they were almost too easy to manipulate. He did all the time to Christian girls. He would convince them that this wasn't serious, make them lose their precious virginity, and leave them in a faithless state.


One cold look from the angel girl, and the soul began blabbering and screaming almost incomprehensible words. Azael managed to piece together 'devil's mistresses', but that was the limit. He knew he couldn't ponder on it any longer; it seemed the messenger was impatiently waiting for him to lead her to Lucifer.  


"Let's leave him, shall we?" suggested Azael as he closed the door to the room. He lead her down a multitude of corridors, always making it seem that they were lost, when in reality, they were far from lost. They passed by demonic entities, fallen angels and disturbed spirits. As Azael led the angel girl closer and closer to Lucifer's domain, the screams of agony became louder, more painful. Blood stains were everywhere, and the weight of sin in the entire area was so powerful, an angel would faint from all the darkness. For the angel girl, she just kept on phasing in and out repeatedly. 


Soon, Azael and his companion found themselves staring a massive, dark oak doorway, humans' skulls decorating the frame. Azael knew the Prince of Darkness was in there. He glanced at the angel girl. 


"Before you go in, I would like you to know that my name is Azael, the Angel of Death. Would you care to grant me the pleasure of knowing yours?"

 
​

@TokumeiNoJorogumo
​

 

[WolfSol]

Lucian McKinney
​

Lucian muttered incoherently as he slipped the phone back in his pocket before adjusting his undesired attention back to the task at hand. Pausing when Logan spoke, he hummed in response as his fingers trailed along the ring of keys till he reached the third one. How she knew which one it was was beyond him. The keys seemed to grow daily, half of them no longer used while the rest were either duplicates or broken. Sure enough, she had the right idea. The third key turned, locks shifting, and the backdoor creaked open with a unpleasant pop at the hinges. He'd have to look into that before the store owner came in later today. "Thanks." He breathed in a show of relief as he offered her the open doorway only to follow after her. "And no, I didn't." His words were brisk, tired. 


Immediately, he was hit with a wall of tantalizing smells that startled him from his groggy attitude. Rich coffee suffocated him and he gradually breathed it in until he almost choked. Of all the things that could ever go wrong in his day, the smell of coffee always made it better. Even if the caffeine and bitter taste lasted for a short while. He made a beeline to the backroom to the small, dilapidated office that was full of old grinders, broken espresso machines, and a computer that was never used due to its slow processing speed and missing fan. Flipping the switch above the monitor, the little coffee shop came alive with instrumental music. The sound made the burgundy linoleum shiver, the off-white walls vibrate. Another flipped switch, a panel underneath the radio, enveloped the shadows with light that illuminated from caged orbs. The bulbs radiating with a golden hue. When he stepped out of the office, he grabbed an apron from the sink counter, and headed back out just in time to hear Logan's rambling and discover that yet another bulb had busted over yet another table.


"Dammit," Lucian swore. It had happened last week too. The damn glass had poked holes in the padded chairs, scratched the table underneath it, and had burnt the linoleum. Now, another damn set of chairs, table, and spot of floor was ruined. The store owner would be overjoyed... fuck, the bastard would probably blame him for the damage. Yes, like he woke up every morning plotting ways to make the La Charmant look like a shit fest of broken bulbs and scarred furniture. Not that he had to try, the place was rundown despite its steady income, and there was always a problem somewhere in the electrical system. 


Crouching over the mess of shattered bulbs, he picked up the big pieces of glass with a steady hand. He only tilted his head back in acknowledgement when Logan spoke again. It caught him off-guard how talkative she was today. Why... why did she have to be so conversational today, of all days? Nevertheless, at the notion of coffee, he finally gave her a glance over his shoulder and cut his finger in the process. "None of that fancy stuff. Straight classic on ice, six shots of espresso. Hold the creamer. If you're going to make the pastries, save me a scone of some sort, would you? And see if anyone is supposed to come in today, 'sides you."


With the bigger pieces of glass in hand, he stood just in time to hear a horrid sound. A knock on the front door... "What the fuck," Lucian grumbled audibly, "it's too early for this shit." Yet, like a good little store manager, Lucian stalked to the door. It wasn't fun juggling bulb guts and keys, but he did it anyways. With the door finally unlocked after a good minute of muttered curses and tries at multiple keys, he stared the possible customer down with a scolding gaze. "We're not open."


@poutysunshine @Aio


-----------

Death
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It appeared from darkness, materialized from wisps of thick obsidian and deathly tendrils of white that appeared only to die off with a bone-chilling sigh. The darkness lingered longer than the white smoke only to fall like dust upon Death's heavy cloak. Here, in Hell, Death felt solace. Perhaps it was because the colors of Hell were drained, depleted and dry of life. Hell felt empty, nothing, and to it... Hell felt like home. For a moment it stood, hollow sockets staring at the begrimed, vine covered gates of Hell with a seemingly blank gaze. Soon the underworld would erupt with newly judged souls thanks to the influx from the mortal dimension and the screams of the damned would rise up into a fortissimo. Oh how it wanted to be present when such sinful beings came, but it was only here for business. Such business that would be brief, probably mundane, and incredibly undesired. It always was when Lucifer summoned Death due to boredom.


With a creak and groan of bones, it moved like a ghost over charred, rotten earth. Its cloak roared to life, flapping about its skeletal flame in a wind that never came. When it met the gates head-on, it felt a mock form of sorrow Cerberus was nowhere in sight. Sad, it did enjoy playing fetch and conversing about Lucifer's failures with the three-headed dog. Then again, even if Cerberus were present, Lucifer and God were top priority. Gates of Hell opened wide like a ravenous mouth and its hinges resounded with a soul wrenching screech that only tickled its funny bone as it continued to the manor that towered over the hellish realm.


"Azael, Sol-Lunara." It greeted in a rasped whisper, as it trekked through the manor, and down the tarnished carpet. There had been a time when the carpet had been pristine, but... that was before God froze Lucifer's accounts. Death paused only once to stare at the angels. It had met Sol-Lunara countless times, and it had yet to speak the entirety of her name. "Be wary of the souls," It warned her, "they're much darker than they once were." And with that it continued on, bare feet of bone click-clacking down the hall like a woman's clunky heels until it reached the massive, oak doors.


@TokumeiNoJorogumo @Esther_Silvers

 

[madame moiselle]

(OOC Just a question: is my character Gabriel accepted?)
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