fandomtownies | The Devil's Nest, Monday Night

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The Devil's Nest, Monday Night

Lucifer was not behind the bar tonight. No, tonight it was Mazikeen's job to handle customers. She was less than thrilled.

Instead, he was sitting at the end of the bar, smoking a cigarette and being an annoyance to his ever lovely consort. It was a fun night.

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Order a drink

Have a seat

Dance

Because the world won't end on my watch.

Are you sure?

Really really really sure?

Wilson wanted to go dancing. And this time he was insistent that the angel come along with him. Well actually, he didn't need to be that insistent. Aziraphale jumped at the idea, and was happily shooed off toward the Devil's Nest, with instructions not to get too drunk before the young doctor showed up from whatever errand was keeping him behind.

Aziraphale had protested that he had no intention of getting drunk, but thinking back on the day, and the fact that not only was his very last class of the semester over but he'd also be losing some dear friends to graduation, a bit of scotch did begin to sound appealing. So he arrived at the club a little bit on the emo side, and politely requested a glass of Glenlivet from Mazikeen.

Followed by another glass, and then a third. Possibly a fourth. Definitely not more than a fourth, though. After all, he'd promised not to be too drunk.

Well...he was an angel, after all. Surely a fifth couldn't hurt.

Bother Mazikeen? Why would anyone want to do that? Kabuto certainly didn't. He waved to her with a cheerful smile. "Good evening!"

Mazikeen narrowed her eyes at the ninja. Nodding grudgingly in acknowledgement that it was evening. No word on the pleasantness of it yet.

Lucifer watched calmly, idly wondering if a sixth or seventh was on its way. Nothing was quite as amusing as a drunken angel, really.

He raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale and lit up another cigarette.

Wilson finished up his little ~~handwavey~~ errand and made his way down to the Nest. He had been about a half an hour longer than he'd expected to be and had a sneaking suspicion he was going to find a certain angel trying to take a bath in his cups.

Sure enough, as he came through the door and spied Aziraphale at the bar, not trying to chat Mazikeen up and with his hand around a scotch glass, the young doctor could only shake his head and chuckle affectionately.

Shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, he walked up to the bar.

"Watering down good scotch with tears, is a crime against HIMSELF."

Aziraphale answered the raised eyebrow with one of his own, and spent a moment wondering if there was a question he had missed.

Then again, the Adversary did like to do things like that. Like...not asking questions. Or...asking questions but not telling you what they were. Or...something...

Maybe he would have that sixth glass. Just to clear his head.

"I like your scotch here," Aziraphale announced, just because he thought he ought to try and be conversational.

He was friendly. Or at least, he seemed friendly most of the time. But it really wasn't a bad idea to be nice to the consort of your...boss. That was the word.

"Can I get a screwdriver, please?" Keeping it simple and relatively safe. For now.

Looking up from his ~~sixth~~ ~~seventh~~ latest glass of scotch, Aziraphale smiled.

"No tears, love. Jus' a bit of scotch. You know I can hold my drink better'n you can. Dancing now?"

To be honest, he rarely asked questions without telling others what they were. Which isn't to say that he hasn't before.

"I can tell. Though I do believe it was meant to be savoured a bit more than you seem to be doing."

She pointed to the sign that announced that the club carded. Like her Lord's new toy was going to get any special treatment.

When Aziraphale's accent dipped down into the West End of London, Wilson knew his lover had been deep into the scotch.

But he couldn't really blame him and he knew it really wouldn't hurt the angel...much after all and he also knew, it was one of the stages of grief, of having to let go.

So, since the Nest did seem to have a rather nice beat tempo bit of music playing, Wilson's walk became more of a sway as he dance stepped his way up to the angel. Walking his fingers up along power biceps, he shot a wicked look over his shoulder and turned towards the dance floor.

"If you think you're up for it," he invited with a 'come hither' smile.

Kabuto sighed, shaking his head. "...Oh, all right." There was no trying to get past her; he knew better. Even if he thought it was bull. Oh well.

"Oh. Er...quite."

Aziraphale slowed down a bit, and didn't just toss this glass back like he had the previous one. "Had my last class today. Final projects. Miss Lang hugged me."

How cute, he thought he could get a drink from her? She smirked at him and placed a Shirley Temple, complete with little pink umbrella, on the bar in front of him.

Vindictive? Her? Never!

So he was getting a moody drunken angel tonight. How lovely. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting Miss Lang."

Aziraphale would have vehemently denied that his accent did anything of the sort, but then the angel was pretty good at ignoring inconvenient truths.

He returned that come-hither look with a pleased smile of his own, though, and abandoned the scotch for more interesting pursuits.

"Always up for it, James. If you think you can keep up."

Kabuto gave her a very flat look. "...Cute." He'd still drink it, but that didn't keep him from being mildly annoyed.

"She's one of my TAs," Aziraphale explained to his scotch. And then remembered that it hadn't been the drink who was talking to him, and looked up at Lucifer.

"An' a good friend. Lots of bad things lately. Possessed by a witch. But she's a good friend. They're all my friends. I like teaching."

That last might have sounded a bit defiant.

Of course he would. He was nowhere near well enough liked by Lord Lucifer that her opinion of him wouldn't cause her master to drop him if she expressed any sort of dislike of the ninja.

Perks of being with him for a few thousand years.

She smirked again and started to polish a few glasses.

Yes indeed, dance.

Well, at least some places it was called dancing. A hint of salasa, a touch of tango and a whole lot of sex on legs, Wilson did indeed know how to distract his lover from the angel's melancholy moods.

As his feet hit the dance floor, he turned around, facing the advancing angel, knees slightly bent to allow his hips to move with languid, fluid rolls, Wilson cocked a finger and beaconed the sweet angel down the path of temptation.

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The Devil's Nest, Monday Night

The Bar

The Lounge

The Dance Floor

OOC

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Re: The Dance Floor