➥ PSL | devil in the suburbs

[nestingdevil]

It sat between two worlds; between the bustle of the city and the normalcy of an American suburb. A den basked in a devilish red glow - a beacon for everything and anything that crawled out of the proverbial 'Pit. A place washed out in wicked lights that seemed to draw them in like a moth to flame. Creatures from the dark, slipping from the winding road to enter those double doors.

The Devil's Nest.

Because the name said it all - there was no reason to hide there, no reason to put on airs, to tow that line between humanity and the opposite. No - all fangs were out, clicking against cheer-battered glasses and open with laughter. Stained with stale smoke and the after-dark criminals had their fill. All under the watchful eyes of a creature that shouldn't have been there.

That shouldn't have existed in the first place.

But there he was; smooth clad, tossing out drink after drink to the tune of dished out cash. To the tune of coin flipped onto the bar top and he thanked them with a wide grin. With teeth to set even the most-hardened of them back. Because he wasn't like the rest; didn't flinch at the sight of a stake, didn't hiss at the show of a cross. Instead, it was always that smile. That terrible set of jaws that made whispers: "He's not from here."

And they was right. The cruel hard truth, though the monster in question had no need to hide the fact. Merely laughed, spiraled his hand out and raked them in with a crude-cut hum. A sultry sort of noise that seemed to coil from his gut rather than his throat. That seemed to churn from within that horrible core of his.

Yet, they still came. If not just to see what the devil was offering.

Greed huffed through his nostrils, body bent over the battered top of a wood bar. Marks dotting the surface, a history written without words. Scratches that belonged to a more sinister lot and fingers traced the lines as he spoke. Shoulders and spine sinking forward as empty-socket shades swallowed his would-be customer. Reflected them back as a dare.

"Straight to the point, huh?" The homunculus spoke with a tongue at his teeth, a touch of flesh against those points and he made no hide of his nature. Desire and want poured into each click of his would-be daggers, every twitch of his eyebrow, and he rolled his hips against the back-face of his bar. Yet, the stranger in question watched right back; frightful yellow eyes matching that dare, but fangs bit against a lip. The edge of fear practically deafening.

"Not exactly human, friend," he started, even as the tip of his finger ran against the side of his company's drink. Touched the left-over dregs of liquor there, caught it against the skin. "-homunculus. Ever heard of it?"

Comments

[misterbrief]

"I'm not one to dance around the subject." His finger goes up for another glass, even though he'd rather just take the entire bottle for himself so he wouldn't have to stop to ask for a damn drink every time he finished one. And for a Saiyan, it took a lot and it wasn't all too clear if a single bar could hold enough liquor to satisfy his needs. Living on Earth gave him some bad habits, starting with a cold one after a work out occasionally. But, he did put a lid on how much Jack slid down his throat from time to time.

Not a good person to make angry when intoxicated, you see. Things tended to break.

"The name might of been crossed by me before. Seems how you're the only one I know that fits the bill."