#x. azazel

"You should undress." His voice was nothing more than a whisper and the jaw didn't move. The claws scraped across the fabric of the person's top without leaving any marks. He slowly dragged his long tongue over half of their face, wrapped it briefly around their ear. Multiple of the eyes littered across his head and body watched without blinking, the rest idly observing the surroundings.

"I, for one, welcome the commercialization of any festival and holiday that includes edible sweet stuff," Azazel said with his mouth currently full of chocolate. Some poor children had had their egg hunt ruined when he took the eggs right in front of their noses. "People are spiritually dead anyway. Nietzche is right. God is dead and you have killed him. Not literally, obviously, and unfortunately."

     Azaz’el gave a dramatic sigh. The massive head was resting in his bony hands where he had taken up space on the ground. “Do you ever just like... really want to suck a dick?” The husky voice broke the silence. His legs were folded under him and he tilted his head to the side. “Or several dicks. Just like... a couple of great dicks, y’know?” He shifted his hips, stretched out his hindlegs to the same side. “Someone should suck my dick.”

"What are you wearing? You look ridiculous.” As the resident (fallen) angel of style, he was allowed to judge. The comment was followed by a snort as Azazel eyed them up and down, wrinkling his nose like he had smelled something bad. 

    “Worthless! Aaaaanyway.” Crossing his arms, he finally turned to the priest and let his hips rest against the counter top. An eyebrow quirked and he looked the man up and down. “Komer.” He spat the word. Priest. Disgusting. “Shalom leka. I let myself in. Obviously.” One of the perks of being a celestial entity. He had tried the church earlier, but this stupid island and its inhabitants with their strong stupid faith had kept him firmly outside. It was annoying. So, he had waited for Pruitt to finish his job and ‘ambush’ him. 

    He bounced just like a goat would, rammed his huge skull into Metatron’s side. “Guess! What!” He bounced away, tripping around on his hooves, the golden charms jingling softly. “I found a new cult! People worship me! Me!” Azazel reared, aiming his forehead once more at the other angel to ram him again.

    The other person could maybe save face. It was probably too late. They would realize their mistake, sooner or later.