http://lordofthesouth.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
lordofthesouth.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
neutral_omens2005-08-05 02:26 am
lordofthesouth.livejournal.com) wrote in neutral_omens2005-08-05 02:26 am
(no subject)
Date: August 5th, 1999, Early Morning
Setting: Tadfield Manor, Lobby
Status: Public
Summary: In which Belial ponders the perks of working closely with alcoholic beverages.
Sunrise, he thought, should be made illegal. It probably would be, if anyone could get the rest of the universe to cooperate.
The lobby was devoid of anything vaguely resembling a living being, and smelled, very faintly, of antiseptics and cold metal. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but after being immersed in smoke-filled pubs and dingy back alleys filled with the pungent scent of old garbage and transients, the cleanliness stung his nose. Better than sulpher and brimstone.
Belial approached the main desk, holding a crumpled bit of paper that looked to resemble something cross between a job advertisement and a laundry list, and scanned it for any sign of activity. Nothing.
"That won't do," he muttered, materialized one of those bell-type things he'd seen on hotel desks in picture shows, and rang it twice.
Setting: Tadfield Manor, Lobby
Status: Public
Summary: In which Belial ponders the perks of working closely with alcoholic beverages.
Sunrise, he thought, should be made illegal. It probably would be, if anyone could get the rest of the universe to cooperate.
The lobby was devoid of anything vaguely resembling a living being, and smelled, very faintly, of antiseptics and cold metal. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but after being immersed in smoke-filled pubs and dingy back alleys filled with the pungent scent of old garbage and transients, the cleanliness stung his nose. Better than sulpher and brimstone.
Belial approached the main desk, holding a crumpled bit of paper that looked to resemble something cross between a job advertisement and a laundry list, and scanned it for any sign of activity. Nothing.
"That won't do," he muttered, materialized one of those bell-type things he'd seen on hotel desks in picture shows, and rang it twice.
no subject
He ran his fingers through his hair and wondered who this 'Rachel' fellow was. Sounded like some saucy French barman fresh out of school. Rachel.
Belial's hand abruptly jerked and he pulled out several strands of hair at the name. Well. Perhaps not.
"No need to follow decorum," he said lightly, taking her hand in his briefly and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm on holiday."
He released her hand and swept his long black hair back over his shoulder. "I'd love to see the place."