Michael Langdon (badfate) wrote in onewaythreads, @ 2019-01-17 06:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | azrael, michael langdon |
Who: Michael Langdon and Azrael
What: The Anti-Christ and the angel of death hang out in a biker bar
When: Evening, January 17th
Where: Limbo
Rating: Should be low-ish
He’d sensed them as soon as he’d arrived. Their virtue was thick as molasses, seeping through his pores and into his veins so that he felt it in his heart and in his bones. If he sat still in a silent room, he could almost hear his father screeching at him from the abyss. Danger. Stay away. Do not approach. Words of wisdom, warnings that were instinctively a part of his DNA, cautions that dear old dad would’ve thrown his way if only he were here.
When Michael left Jim’s mansion for the night, he was restored to his former glory, shining blond hair and bright blue eyes, clear skin, expensive clothing, a purple tie, a black wool coat with a velvet collar. He no longer looked like a street urchin, but instead, like somebody with a purpose, like a young man who had a place in the world and a reason for being. Strangers stopped to offer him a second glance. The Uber driver opened the door for him and apologized for a tear in the seat that not even Michael—with his perfect eyesight—could see.
At the curb, the car delayed, the driver peering out through the window, watching until the boy disappeared into the bar. As a father, he felt some sort of objection rising up in his throat. This was no place for a kid, and despite Michael’s elegance and his self-assured, charismatic disposition, he was, in fact, just a kid.
Michael took no notice of his driver’s concern for him. The man was background noise and nothing more. He hadn’t paid attention in the car, when he’d rattled on and on about his daughters and his toddler son, and he hadn’t paid attention when he’d quizzed him on his reasons for going to a place like Limbo. Michael had no time for him and he didn’t have enough interest to make the time.
He took his seat at the bar. Some of the other patrons turned to assess him and he ignored them too. His eyes were seeking out the bartender, and all the while, he was trying not to show his excitement, trying to keep himself from shaking in anticipation.
“You promised me juice,” he called out.