One Night at the Strip Club [Takatori/Zeke]

The air was thick with smoke and the scent of booze. The music pulsated in perfect sync with the lights as the DJ stood in his booth, turning the knobs and keeping the party going. The dancers, nice and petite with what Iaska could describe as "excellent proportions", gyrated and seductively danced on their stage and with their poles, some in other patrons' laps. The nearby buffet brought some pleasant smell to the room; meats marinated in spicy sauces with a thick gravy on top of some sort of potato. Perfect to clot the arteries of the fat bastards that made several of the audience in attendance, already retreating for fifths and sixths.

Iaska was nestled into the corner of the wall and the bar, his head propped onto the wall and his jug stuffed into his crossed legs. The bouncer, bruised and battered outside, tried to stop him from bringing outside beverages into the establishment. He peered over the glasses at the dancers, nodding somewhat in approval but dare not call for since, while he had money, he would not pay for a private dance. He was really here for a nice rest, feet aching from travel. The music wasn't doing too great for his headache, but his sake was as he gulped down more from his large clay jug. It brought a bit of rosy tinge to his cheeks and he rested for a moment, head on the wall.

He wondered, if he hid in the janitor's closet, he would be able to stay here for the night in relative privacy. It aggravated him somewhat, being homeless, y'know. Sure, he got to go wherever, but he had to carry all his belongings with him and his monies so he could never have as much money as he'd like. There was also the problem of not having a place for friends to come visit. He didn't even have friends. He didn't need friends. He had money. That was fine. But! He also had sake. And that was even finer.

Today, he took a trip. Bare feet padding along the cold linoleum of his Petshop, he left without a second thought. Flipping the little sign from OPEN to CLOSED, he left the Darkroot Domain in search of something far more interesting than finding out your memories will be gone again by midnight. The image of the shocking, scrawled sentence in his diary appeared again before his mind's eye, making him shudder despite the muggy conditions. He just couldn't have any of it today. Well, he'd never been to London. For that matter, he'd never been to Earth in general. The Regal Necropolis didn't sound half-bad to his starved ears. He just couldn't deal with life right now, and 'he needed a drink.' Or that's what he guessed, having never had a drink before. The demon inside him would laugh, but the thought of a bar in general was intimidating let alone finding one.

Could you tell? He didn't know what he was doing. But at the same time, the adventure in and of itself was insanely uplifting. (God forbid he get any lower). Speaking of uplifting, the process of walking all the way there was definitely not sounding fun, so he decided to check out his demon form after all. In it, he wasn't himself. He didn't recognize himself, but... It was like what he imagined driving a car would be like. The body was like a vehicle; his mortal form felt more like home. It was how he appeared as an angel, and yet? His wings wouldn't appear unless he were in his demon form. It was a bittersweet irony that left a rotten taste in his mouth. Why have you forsaken me?

He flew all the way there, landed among the littered streets, and ruined sidewalks. Around him was a city he hardly recognized. Pillaged by debris, it was a sad, grey visage of Earth's glory. Not that he had any right with which to judge, but from what he saw, it was entirely the mirrored opposite. What was, wasn't. The clock wasn't ticking. He folded his wings hard against his back, feeling the all too familiar weight, yet distantly knowing all the while that it wasn't the same. He closed his eyes, and long, wheat-colored curls swooped down along his shoulders. His navy and white striped t-shirt stood out horribly against the hellish backdrop. Whelp... wasn't as pretty as he was expecting, but had to keep an open mind!

Pocketing his pale hands, he set about finding that bar of his. Where he could meet people. And talk to people. Didn't matter if they were demons or not. Didn't matter if they wanted to kill him. Nothing really mattered right now. He shed a smile, violet eyes concealing the sadness beneath. THE LOVE NEST, doors open. He pranced in without a care in the world. Let it come. And by prance, he nearly toppled into some guy...and then another. Man, walking was tough. He tripped over a table and face-planted into a woman's bodice. Apologizing profusely, and waving a hand about in redress, he then proceeded to end his frenzy by unceremoniously planting himself near a corner by the bar. Beside him was a man with a jug that smelled so enticing that it made him wonder if maybe he had had a drink before. Perhaps he had just forgotten to write it down? Eyes hooded and intrigued, he tried a kind and gentle smile to get the kimonoed man's attention. They seemed to be on the same wave length at least. What with him being Shuten-Doji, that is.

"Uhm, excuse me, samurai-dono. If you don't mind me asking, what do you have in that jug of yours?"

The day had started as any other. Zeke woke up from under a rock, then found something decent to eat. He required food still, even if he really didn't feel like eating. In fact it had been a while since he DID eat, so he ended up scarfing it all like a starving animal. Yes... he was an animal now, anyways. It had been this way for years.

As he sighed, his hand ran through his dark hair. It was gross. His very life now, was disgusting and a shadow of what it had at one time been. Golden eyes sorted through the passing company, only to ignore them completely. He had no need for them- he'd probably only kill them in the end. Just like everyone else.... His heart sank. Did he have one of those?

Of the past years, was this really the time he was questioning what he was? With a groan at his own idiocy, he slurped down the rest of his soup and got up. Time for the wanderer to wander more.

Somehow he ended up in a bar. Why was he here? He hated people. He hated bars. Why on earth would he be in a bar with people? His lips pulled into a frown (Which was always anyways) and he stepped through the doors. Maybe he could have a drink? He wasn't sure on it, because alcohol was gross enough, but alcohol from Hell was twenty times worse.

Some man he didn't immediately recognize tripped and assaulted a dancer. Zeke would have done something, but he was apologizing. However, he wasn't so sure if that man was being honest or not. HE just shook his head. People were- frustrating.

His own feet led him to the bar. He stood on the other side of a man with a giant jug. Women and men alike were making funky noises to the music and stripping. God- that grossed him out. He did not like when women degraded themselves like that- like she had.

It didn't matter anymore. She was long gone- likely an angel, now and he was a shell. He needed to remain that way or else what he'd done would take over his life and he'd be further depressed. A depressed demon? Couldn't have that.

His hand motioned to the bartender, calling an order. As the skeleton man came over, Zeke made a weird motion of tilting a glass to his lips. "Give me the least disgusting thing you have." It earned a strange look for the skeleton, but he shrugged and slid Zeke something across the table. The smell alone was still nauseating, but in Hell could he expect any good? This was his choice, his punishment. Laughing at himself only momentarily, he tilted the glass and down it went- like gravel. He shook his head in displeasure, then set it down. "Ugh. Never again." Meanwhile the two next to him chattered away.

(sorry forgot about this XD )