O.D. 1.14.2000 [12:35 p.m.]

(Another Az and Chance one, pretty short, but nice and edgy.)

[Azra'il]

Fri 00:15 CET 3:53am: no matter where one went, raves are still raves. Just as noisy. Just as overflowing with various illegal substances. Just as wild. Smells like teen spirit, Nirvana would say. Smells like Chance Solomon, Azra'il would say.

Well--he couldn't exactly smell her. But he knew she was here, nonetheless. Call it intuition, coupled with eight centuries' worth of practice. Or maybe he just knew her well enough to start looking at the nearest, largest party. Likewise, he knew her well enough (or knew his senses well enough) to cut a beeline straight for the thick of crowd, where hundreds of drunken (...fools, idiots, nincompoops...) ravers were packed so tightly that they, really, had no choice but to slam-dance. This wasn't a party. This was a battle. And...surprise, surprise...guess who led the assault.

The angel-devil lingers at the edge of the roiling masses, picking Chance out effortlessly despite the madness of the strobe lights and the surge of the crowd. He watches her, silently amused--and here we have Chance Solomon, Homo sapiens chancis, drunk off her ass in her natural habitat...--for a moment, two, before wading into the fray. Dancers are...err, 'gently' ushered aside as he plows through to her and takes her by the shoulders, stilling her.

He positions his mouth by her ear and shouts over the music, "Let's go."

[Chance Solomon]

Fri 00:29 CET A grin, a snicker, a goofy smile as she turns to Azrail, his dark and light rendered invisable by her inattentiveness. So drunk it is amazing she can stand. Her eyes finding his relaying nothing but the dilation of alcohal induced vision. She swings towards him her lower lip caught between her teeth for a moment composing herself enough to speak. "Hmmmmm Long line at the emergency room" Her breath like vodka lightly accented with Jack Daniels.

[Azra'il]

Fri 00:38 CET He sniffs lightly. A guy could get drunk off that breath. "There's a longer line for a Cessna flyover of the pyramids," he shouts back, jingling a ring of keys in her face, "but you and I just skipped to the head of that one. Come on." His hand slides down to her and he pulls her out of the core of the crowd. "Let's go. Before your boss figures out his fleet is short a plane."

[Chance Solomon]

Fri 00:48 CET As usual he got her attention. damn him, he definately had the most enticing offers. She turns once to glance at the band..the drummer giving her the eyes--((drummers yum yum)) and then too Az..Fuck it, she grabs the keys and wobbles to the door--Hell, she's never hijacked a plane before.

[Azra'il]

Fri 00:53 CET Warm as the sultry Egyptian night was, it was still about ten, twenty degrees cooler than it was inside. He ushers her to a small, sporty convertible (rental or stolen?) and hauls it around in a fishtail that sets car horns everywhere blaring, pointing it at the recreational-craft airport. "I hope you know," he calls over the wind noise, "we're not coming back."