heaven has no taste. [ active. ]

[ineffabilities.livejournal.com]

Character(s): Aziraphale, Ulquiorra, and anyone who wants to join them.
Content: Ulquiorra is looking for Aizen. Aziraphale is trying to forget this incident, with help from his good friend Mr. Strongest Liquor You've Got. Action!
Setting: Porfavore's.
Time: Afternoon.
Warnings: None.

So, an angel walks into a bar.

Well, not exactly. But having this particular angel drown out his troubles (with "something stronger than tea") is about as bad a joke as any that could ever start with such a ridiculous line.

No sooner had Aziraphale learned to use the strange journal-contraption he had been given at the gates than he'd gotten himself into worlds of trouble with angels, demons and fallen alike. In fact, trouble didn't even begin to cover the situation; as if having one Lucifer Morningstar was bad enough, this place had two. It was possible that neither of them were from his world and that, with any luck, neither of them had attempted to bring about the Apocalypse. But he did not doubt, nor did he underestimate their power. (Or their temperament; he'd be damned if he ever met a friendly Satan.)

The only bits of information he'd gleaned from his various encounters over the journal's "network" of sorts was that A.) this place was called Paixao; B.) there was no escaping it; C.) restaurants and hotels were in no short supply; and D.) the natives would accept anything shiny as currency. Alright, so the last one he hadn't learned from the journals; he figured that one out when a waitress insisted that, for a glass of brandy, he could give her his watch. He had to insist upon some other form of payment then.

It was a strange place, this world, and it was strange in the worst possible way. He hadn't been there for more than a few hours and already he wanted out. He wanted to settle in the back room of his store (which he hadn't closed before he left, and someone could very well waltz in and take whatever they wanted without paying). He wanted to mull over the prices of first-edition books and wonder what he could possibly do with them all. He wanted a good sushi restaurant. Most importantly, he wanted Crowley: he would know what to do in a situation like this, or at least he would do a good job pretending.

The angel groaned, rubbed his temples, and asked the much-too-exciteable waitress for a glass of their best white wine.

Aziraphale had never known a world beyond the human world. Beyond his human world, beyond Earth. Sure, there was Heaven. And he couldn't say he knew Hell, but he knew of it. This place, however, was entirely out of his element. And he wasn't even going to begin to think about all the other worlds there could possibly be, although the thought crept into his mind every so often. He was dead set on pinpointing this Paixao to some strange and remote location on Earth, but he couldn't think of any place like it. It simply wasn't Earth. He could feel it.

But then, it wasn't Hell. Not that he had ever known what it was like, but he had a feeling that if he really was Down There, his arrival would not have been so anti-climactic.

His white wine nearly finished, his face set into a deep frown, he thought about what he knew. Everyone here looked the same. Everything here looked the same. People were trapped in this dreadfully boring, wretched excuse for a world with no way out and no means with which to entertain themselves, other than those blasted journals. He had a demon on his trail, claiming to be his superior, and two Morningstars of ill disposition that had taken a particular interest in him. Duma, the fallen angel of silence, had taken to making signs that a fellow with a detachable head explained as emoticons, and another woman had weasled his true name out of him. And this place had no sushi restaurants.

If he didn't know any better, he would say this was Heaven.

"... oh, bother."

Aziraphale ordered some more brandy this time.

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[kyklojos.livejournal.com]

[ineffabilities.livejournal.com]

[kyklojos.livejournal.com]

[ineffabilities.livejournal.com]

[kyklojos.livejournal.com]

[ineffabilities.livejournal.com]

[ablindalley.livejournal.com]

The plan was nothing short of brilliant. Since Desire left its realm, there had been little worth waiting out for. There has been little worth plotting for. Desire is here in this place too, but perhaps it is still involved in an unfinished little game. That is acceptable, Despair can wait. And while she waits, she can perhaps make herself useful in the little game of Mad Hatter's.

Despair's lips stretches into a smirk as Belial knocks on the door before fluttering away in the form of butterflies. That reminds her of the youngest one, perhaps she is here as well. A thought crosses Despair's mind about how there must be someone behind this city, but she waves it away just as soon as it comes. She does not want Desire to be comparing her to Dream; he would be working hard at uncovering the secret behind the city if he were here.

Responsibility. She has no need for that. All Despair needs is a soul capable of despairing. The White Rabbit seems to be the perfect candidate.

[satanofpride.livejournal.com]

Mad Hatter had felt in a cruel mood since sie found out an angel (those pure, unstained children of Heaven) was breathing the same air sie did, walking under the very dome projected a beautiful sky and overall was in the island without a stake to fear.

What could a Satan do?

Open season to hunt White Rabbits, but of course!

Tracking down his aura was simple enough for a demon of Belial’s rank. It was more difficult to travel the distance without being sensed, the Lady Despair and hir. Porfavore’s wasn’t too close to the cafe the pair had previously occupied with Lord Lucifer.

Belial had bind her time, patiently tormenting the angel, convincing him how irritating (but ultimately harmless) sie could be. Then, a joker appeared on the deck: A demon named Crowley who claimed to know him. This could be a lucky day, pawning the demon to do hir job would be a great ploy.

Upon finishing a recent ground of electronic torture, Belial had knocked the door and left the scene in the shape of swallowtail butterfly that extended bright, poisonous wings and blew through a window into the bar. The smell of bakery and pleasant atmosphere inside Porfavore’s made the building an ideal playground.

Mad Hatter materialized hirself in a corner of the kitchen, shifting hir clothes to appear a waitress with a skirt just a little below the knee, a black shirt and a cutely small hat above hir red hair.

The demon observed hir target from the kitchen’s door and waited for him to notice Despair before making hir entrance.

[kyklojos.livejournal.com]

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[ablindalley.livejournal.com]

Finding the White Rabbit in the cafe is fairly easy; angels always did have a distinct smell. Deliberately, Despair pays no attention to the fake waitress waiting at the kitchen door. The demon may come into the scene whenever sie wishes. Ignoring the unpleasant attention that the other customers are giving her, the Endless takes a seat behind the Rabbit.

Aziraphale. An interesting name for an angel, it sounds almost menacing. However, Despair admits that the being himself is hardly intimidating. Rather comical, in fact. Watching the angel's back, Despair watches and she waits.

[satanofpride.livejournal.com]

When one of those blonde creatures (of the bubbly kind) was about to come out of the kitchen, carrying a bottle of whisky and two glasses on a silver tray, it was the chance Belial was waiting for. Sie appeared behind her, swiftly retrieving the tray away from the waitress and gracing her with a killer smile. As far the Mad Hatter understood, these beings were fairly empty, but their minds were weak to hypnosis. With ease hir vibrant blue eyes fixed on hers.

“One will be taking this, lady. You should take a rest, a long nap,” the Satan of Pride suggested in a murmur. The waitress nodded dumbly and took steps backwards, losing herself in the back door of the bar. Belial didn’t care what the woman understood with hir innocent advice and came out of the kitchen with the tray on hand, adding a bucket of ice.

With a natural attractive aura that oozed in the sins of lust and vainglory, many heads were turned to study intensely the ambiguous red head “waitress” that just exited. Each motion was a careful step of seduction Mad Hatter had learned in hir days of angel. In a brief scan of the building, the demon noticed Despair, sitting just behind Aziraphale.

Ah, clever position, lady, approved Belial, heading to Endless’ direction first. Smiling, Mad Hatter left an empty glass, the bucket of ice on her table and a menu. “Tell me your order, Ma’am. The House suggests the specialty, here in page three you can find the options of beefsteaks…” the demon added, reclining on the table, losing the balance of the whisky. Belial let go a theatrical gasp and dropped the bottle on the angel’s general direction.

[kyklojos.livejournal.com]

[ineffabilities.livejournal.com]

[ablindalley.livejournal.com]

There was simply no other way to describe the whole scene other than theatrical. The audience is already seated, silent and waiting for the story to unfold. The music is beginning already, deep and menacing in the actors' minds. And of course, the actors are in place, ready to make their lines echo in the theatre. The only thing left to do is start the show.

Despair merely smiles coldly as Aziraphale finally realizes that the Hatter is already here. Fear is not despair, but all one needs is a little nudge to step from fearing to despairing. In response to the Hatter's earlier request for her to order something, Despair mutters hoarsely, "I would like one White Rabbit, if you please." Her frozen grey eyes are upon Aziraphale.

[satanofpride.livejournal.com]

The Rabbit’s companion looked interesting too, sie had taken a moment to study the Arrancar (a mere glance of piercing blue eyes), a feel of a corrupted soul, a dead spirit but not quite was printed in his aura. But, he lacked a heart, thus made him unappealing even if he had a soul begging to be corrupted more.

“A little spill is not,” Mad Hatter frowned, posturing shame and pulling an aromatic handkerchief in order to rub the stain. “You should come with one to make amends,” sie murmured, grinning further when Aziraphale recognize hir. “Fear not.” Not yet. “Does one look fearsome, White Rabbit?” the demon asked, batting long eyelashes. “Ah!” Sie whirled and regarded Despair saddened. “The kitchen has run out of rabbits. But…” Belial’s expression darkened in mischief, those moments the mask of jester looked more sinister than amusing, layers of face porcelain-esque façade to hide skin. “One could get you one if the lady insists. How would you prefer it? Raw or well cooked?”

[kyklojos.livejournal.com]

[ineffabilities.livejournal.com]

[ablindalley.livejournal.com]

One corner of Despair's lips curls upwards at the Hatter's response to her request, almost mirroring hir face if not for the extravagant display on hir mask. Her skin pales in comparison even to the color grey itself. She turns to the Rabbit's companion, a little unhappy that he will not be staying for the performance. Any grand exhibition needs at least one or two audiences, correct?

The angel huffs indignantly and Despair's attention is once again on her intended prey. She leans back a little, knowing that he cannot escape them no matter what he thinks he is capable of. Despair is not underestimating him, of course not. She knows that angels are much more challenging than humans, but they are also more entertaining.

"How can a game last too long when it was meant for eternity?" Despair whispers with a voice like crackling dry leaves. The other corner of her lips curl up to form a sneer.

[satanofpride.livejournal.com]

Belial laughed at his statement. The angel was so cute, enough to devour him alive. Most angels sie had the “pleasure” to meet had been corrupted within, pretending to be pure. It was a pity, Mad Hatter reflexed without sympathy that this one had to truly fall. Sie removed hir hat and brought a rabbit ears out of it, depositing them on Aziraphale’s table.

“A gift. Better than the costumes,” the demon added, turning hir heels to share a table with Despair. The bubbly waitress would return, if she lived, or someone else would see to tend them both. It was not yet time to cook or kill, it was the moment to wait until the real hunter arrived.

((OOC: Sorry! I was having rl issues to reply before ;; I was thinking that Crowley could join them? Because Belial isn’t going to do the work, rather give it to him. He knows where Aziraphale is)).