I’m posting this in a few places mainly cause i don’t know exactly where to post it lol but also to get a broader range of people to try it

Murder at the Mod Club Chocolate House

The mid morning conversation at Mod Club Chocolate House tended toward the monotonous. On any given day, Steve would be describing his strict routine — Monday: Odds; Tuesday: Improvements; Wednesday: Feedback; then repeat, with only Sundays off.

Norma , another regular, was forever describing her Moding — Boards noon, then complaints until five, followed by inboxes. Nothing after eight p.m. and no Banning ever.

Kelly, from the snack bar, would always have some pammers to complain about. ("He asked me for Bingo and then blamed me ’cause he didn’t win.")

And Rio, the Head mod, was always pointing out someones comments. ("See the way Joe sticks his butt out for people? He’s begging for trouble. I’ve told him a million times.")

But this Friday morning was different. On Friday they had a murder to talk about.

"I can’t believe no one saw it happen," Norma grunted as she squeezed out a set Rares.

Steve was peeling, while Kelly and Rio sat on leather-clad benches and sipped their colas.

"Well, mornings are slow," Rio said, "once we get past the pre-work throng. This time of day it’s often just us Mods and Pamolics." Rio swallowed hard. "The two of you. Poor Joe."

It had been the previous morning, around 11:30, when Joe, the Mod, was found in the upstairs computer room, sitting peeling some upped odds. His form looked particularly bad, since someone had grabbed a mouse and used it to bash in the back of his skull.

"Joe was a bit of a jerk," Norma admitted. "He was always sucking up to the pammers on here."

"Well, some pammers liked his style," Rio said. "That’s what I heard through the grapevine. Joe would make a contests, within a week and have more contests for pammers."

"I suppose he was a good Mod." Kelly yawned. "If you like the overeager to please type. Way too friendly. Always bragging about pammers thinking he was the best. Joe invested in small change, right?"

"Right," said Rio and Steve softly, reluctantly, in near-perfect unison. Neither Person made eye contact with anyone else.

"I hear he was arguing with someone before he got hit."

"I heard him," Rio said. He finished his bottled Cola and tossed it across the floor to a wicker wastebasket. Three points.

"You heard him from upstairs?" asked Kelly with a curious frown.

"You know how his voice carried. I was behind the counter." Rio pointed to the front counter situated by the stairs that led up to the computer room on the second floor. "I couldn’t hear who he was talking to."

"Not even if it was a man or woman?" asked Norma.

"No. But I did hear the mouse slam down. And then it was quiet. I finished my gummies on the computer then went upstairs to check it out."

"That’s right," Steve said. "You’re the one who found him. And there was no one else?"

"No. It’s just that one room up there. Whoever cracked his skull must have taken the back stairs down to the Rare rooms. From the rare rooms, he could have gone anywhere, inside or out. The alarms on the emergency doors don’t work."

"The attacker could have come and gone without us seeing him," Steve said.

"I didn’t see anyone," Norma volunteered. "I was on the Stool in the animal room, watching TV. I didn’t hear a thing until the sirens."

"I was doing my Inbox," Steve added. "Rio came flying down the stairs, yelling at me to call 911." He half-chuckled as he realized something. "You know, I never did finish my messages."

"Well, I missed everything," Kelly said. "I was in the back room, behind the snack bar. People don’t realize all the work that goes into running this place. Inventory and preparation. Like this guy came in yesterday just as I was opening and wanted bingo — immediately. Like it’s just waiting there already to go."

"You shouldn’t have peeled in the morning," Norma said in disgust. "You need the rares to give out."

"Rares are nothing without a good contest," Steve asserted.

And just like that, they were back in the groove, all of them comfortably at home with their own oft-rehearsed speeches. On Monday morning, the conversation varied again. Three of the regulars forgot all about their regular subjects and spent half an hour eagerly discussing the arrest of the fourth — for murder.

Who killed Joe?

list 3 pieces of supporting evidence

Why?
Who’s the butler? i need names and evidence of why they killed him lol
Pam…why Kelly? the only thing is can think of for it to be her is she had nothing to gain from Joe being alive? she complained about him bragging then she conveniently missed everything and also she said that just yesterday that someone was there wanting bingo when she was just opening but Rio states earlier that it was just them there ..hmm this is tough lol

Technorati Tags: benches, bingo, butt, colas, computer room, friday morning, google, mid morning, million times, mod club, morning conversation, norma, odds, poor joe, script type, skull, snack bar, text javascript, time of day, upstairs

I’m posting this in a few places mainly cause i don’t know exactly where to post it lol but also to get a broader range of people to try it

Murder at the Mod Club Chocolate House

The mid morning conversation at Mod Club Chocolate House tended toward the monotonous. On any given day, Steve would be describing his strict routine — Monday: Odds; Tuesday: Improvements; Wednesday: Feedback; then repeat, with only Sundays off.

Norma , another regular, was forever describing her Moding — Boards noon, then complaints until five, followed by inboxes. Nothing after eight p.m. and no Banning ever.

Kelly, from the snack bar, would always have some pammers to complain about. ("He asked me for Bingo and then blamed me ’cause he didn’t win.")

And Rio, the Head mod, was always pointing out someones comments. ("See the way Joe sticks his butt out for people? He’s begging for trouble. I’ve told him a million times.")

But this Friday morning was different. On Friday they had a murder to talk about.

"I can’t believe no one saw it happen," Norma grunted as she squeezed out a set Rares.

Steve was peeling, while Kelly and Rio sat on leather-clad benches and sipped their colas.

"Well, mornings are slow," Rio said, "once we get past the pre-work throng. This time of day it’s often just us Mods and Pamolics." Rio swallowed hard. "The two of you. Poor Joe."

It had been the previous morning, around 11:30, when Joe, the Mod, was found in the upstairs computer room, sitting peeling some upped odds. His form looked particularly bad, since someone had grabbed a mouse and used it to bash in the back of his skull.

"Joe was a bit of a jerk," Norma admitted. "He was always sucking up to the pammers on here."

"Well, some pammers liked his style," Rio said. "That’s what I heard through the grapevine. Joe would make a contests, within a week and have more contests for pammers."

"I suppose he was a good Mod." Kelly yawned. "If you like the overeager to please type. Way too friendly. Always bragging about pammers thinking he was the best. Joe invested in small change, right?"

"Right," said Rio and Steve softly, reluctantly, in near-perfect unison. Neither Person made eye contact with anyone else.

"I hear he was arguing with someone before he got hit."

"I heard him," Rio said. He finished his bottled Cola and tossed it across the floor to a wicker wastebasket. Three points.

"You heard him from upstairs?" asked Kelly with a curious frown.

"You know how his voice carried. I was behind the counter." Rio pointed to the front counter situated by the stairs that led up to the computer room on the second floor. "I couldn’t hear who he was talking to."

"Not even if it was a man or woman?" asked Norma.

"No. But I did hear the mouse slam down. And then it was quiet. I finished my gummies on the computer then went upstairs to check it out."

"That’s right," Steve said. "You’re the one who found him. And there was no one else?"

"No. It’s just that one room up there. Whoever cracked his skull must have taken the back stairs down to the Rare rooms. From the rare rooms, he could have gone anywhere, inside or out. The alarms on the emergency doors don’t work."

"The attacker could have come and gone without us seeing him," Steve said.

"I didn’t see anyone," Norma volunteered. "I was on the Stool in the animal room, watching TV. I didn’t hear a thing until the sirens."

"I was doing my Inbox," Steve added. "Rio came flying down the stairs, yelling at me to call 911." He half-chuckled as he realized something. "You know, I never did finish my messages."

"Well, I missed everything," Kelly said. "I was in the back room, behind the snack bar. People don’t realize all the work that goes into running this place. Inventory and preparation. Like this guy came in yesterday just as I was opening and wanted bingo — immediately. Like it’s just waiting there already to go."

"You shouldn’t have peeled in the morning," Norma said in disgust. "You need the rares to give out."

"Rares are nothing without a good contest," Steve asserted.

And just like that, they were back in the groove, all of them comfortably at home with their own oft-rehearsed speeches. On Monday morning, the conversation varied again. Three of the regulars forgot all about their regular subjects and spent half an hour eagerly discussing the arrest of the fourth — for murder.

Who killed Joe?

list 3 pieces of supporting evidence

Why?
LOL no you didn’t..i mean out of Steve,Rio,Norma and Kelly…if you did then we’re both in trouble PMSL
i need a direct reply button lol

i was thinking Steve cause it says he has a strict schedule so if he does Odds,improvements then feedbacks and repeats on thursday he should have been doing Odds not feedback..IE his in box messages
then i was thinking he could have been upstairs came down through the door that doesn’t go off and back in time for Rio to tell him to call 911
Then when he asks Rio about not seeing anyone kinda making sure that Rio didn’t see him

This isn’t the answer it’s just what i’m thinking but i also did think of Rio too but that strict schedule of Steves kinda stuck out for me

Technorati Tags: benches, bingo, butt, colas, computer room, friday morning, google, mid morning, million times, mod club, morning conversation, norma, odds, poor joe, script type, skull, snack bar, text javascript, time of day, upstairs

PROLOGUE
They say you can only trust two people in the world: a child and a drunk.

The swaying figure stood before the door, stumbling in search for his key in what seemed an endless myriad of pockets. It’s odd how you always manage to discover new pockets on your clothes when your drunk at three A.M. After a thorough, all too fruitless attempt to find the holy key, Damaz Sanchez took a deep breath. The former boxer, the once inspired poet, writer, and painter, began to knock gently on the door and call out his wife’s name. Their relationship had been under strain for about a year now…and somehow…well, showing up drunk again…no, he didn’t think this was going to be good.

PRELUDE(PART 1)
What the authorities heard later, on that dark Autumn night, from the front door neighbor coincided with the victim’s report. The neighbor was a gaunt, tired old man who chain-smoked two packs a day and was convinced that The Blessed Little Baby Jesus was currently making his way to Earth on a fiery horse driven chariot.
“I saw everything, yes I did.” He exclaimed “May God and all the little angels strike me down if I didn’t. was standing right there, smoking me a cigarette”
The young police officer, tall and slowly growing in a mustache, was busily writing everything down in a yellow office pad.
“ I could hear my TV show was comin’ back from commercial, see, so as I was putting my cigarette out, I saw him come straight outta nowhere”
“Was he armed?” interrupted the cop.
“yes, sir.“ the old man nodded “Yes he was, He was carryin this big ol stick, looked like one of them police batons.”
A few minutes later, the call was put out to every officer on patrol to be on the lookout for a tall Hispanic man, between 175 to 190 pounds. Approximately 26 years of age. Considered armed and dangerous. Armed, according to the victim and the eyewitness with a blunt object.

PRELUDE/INTRO
30 minutes later, a hit and run was reported near the outskirts of old downtown. Old Downtown was that part of the city where all the old planes went to crash and burn, you catch my drift? Every major city has one. It’s that part of town which consist of the homeless, the hopelessly addicted, a few freaks and crazies and the cheapest, noisiest dive bars. The car left behind was a black 89 ford mustang GT with a primer splotch on the front side panel on the passenger side. It coincided with that in the description of the fugitive. As the sirens blared past all the scurrying citizens of this bizarre kingdom, somewhere in a comfortably worn-in cushion stool sat Damaz Sanchez. In the belly of one of the many bars, a tale of heartbreak was getting ready to be told. He looked tired but relieved. He was sipping a beer, bleeding lightly from the nose. He half halfheartedly smiled at the bartender and began to relate his strange and eventful tale.
The premise is that this guy goes to his house drunk finds his wife gone and suspect her of cheating. (prologue)

Eventually He finds out she is, He stakes them out and attacks the lover (prelude 1)

he leaves the scene and goes to a bar, where he knows the police will eventually come.(intro)
Thanks for your time. I added all those characteristics because in the actual story I want him to be a literary, a failed artist.
But I see that maybe It shouldn’t be all highlighted in one spot.
I dig the ’stash remark. ha ha
Thanks for your time and support Gabe. Im currently entertaining a title or two but nothing concrete. I have most of the story in my head, but what I have on paper is what you read.

Technorati Tags: autumn night, baby jesus, chariot, cigarette, deep breath, fiery horse, fruitless attempt, google, little angels, little baby, mustache, myriad, pockets, police batons, police officer, prelude, prologue, script type, text javascript, tired old man

PROLOGUE
They say you can only trust 2 people in the world: a child and a drunk.

The swaying figure stood before the door, stumbling in search for his key in what seemed an endless myriad of pockets. It’s odd how you always manage to discover new pockets on your clothes when your drunk at three A.M. and in desperate need to go in your house and use the can. After a thorough, all too fruitless attempt to find the holy key, Damas Sanchez took a deep breath. The former boxer, the once inspired poet, writer, and painter, began to knock gently on the door and call out his wife’s name. Their relationship had been under strain for about a year now…and somehow…well, showing up drunk again…no, he didn’t think this was going to be good.

PRELUDE(PART 1)
What the authorities heard later, on that dark Autumn night, from the front door neighbor coincided with the victim’s report. The neighbor was a gaunt, tired old man who chain-smoked two packs a day and was convinced that The Blessed Little Baby Jesus was currently making his way to Earth on a fiery horse driven chariot. “I saw everything, yes I did.” He exclaimed “May God and all the little angels strike me down if I didn’t. was standing right there, smoking me a cigarette” The young police officer, tall and slowly growing in a mustache, was busily writing everything down in a yellow office pad. “ I could hear my TV show was comin’ back from commercial, see, so as I was putting my cigarette out, I saw him come straight outta nowhere” “Was he armed?” interrupted the cop “yes, sir.“ the old man nodded “Yes he was, He was carryin this big ol stick, looked like one of them police batons.”
A few minutes later, the call was put out to every officer on patrol to be on the lookout for a tall Hispanic man, between 175 to 190 pounds. Approximately 26 years of age. Considered armed and dangerous. Armed, according to the victim and the eyewitness with a blunt object.

PRELUDE/INTRO
30 minutes later, a hit and run was reported near the outskirts of old downtown. Old Downtown was that part of the city where all the old planes went to crash and burn, you catch my drift? Every major city has one. It’s that part of town which consist of the homeless, the hopelessly addicted, a few freaks and crazies and the cheapest, noisiest dive bars. The car left behind was a black 89 ford mustang GT with a primer splotch on the front side panel on the passenger side. It coincided with that in the description of the fugitive. As the sirens blared past all the scurrying citizens of this bizarre kingdom, somewhere in a comfortably worn in soft cushion stool sat Damas Sanchez. In the belly of one of the many bars,a tale of heartbreak was getting ready to be told. He looked tired but relieved. He was sipping a beer, bleeding lightly from the nose. He half halfheartedly smiled at the bartender and began to relate his strange and eventful tale.
The premise is that this guy goes to his house drunk finds his wife gone and suspect her of cheating. (prologue)

He finds out she is and attacks the lover (prelude 1)
he leaves the scene and goes to a bar, where he knows the police will eventually come.(intro)
Your suggestion in consistency is noted and the break in dialogue sounds like a good practical idea. Thanks.
The compliment is fully appreciated. Thanks for your time.

Technorati Tags: autumn night, baby jesus, chariot, cigarette, damas, deep breath, desperate need, fiery horse, fruitless attempt, google, little angels, little baby, mustache, myriad, police officer, prelude, prologue, script type, text javascript, tired old man

I need to locate Pittsburgh Steeler Bar stools ?
I found Embossed ( raised leather stitching ) Pittsburgh Steeler Bar stools at our local store but they sold out and I cannot locate any — the store did not have a supplier - Anyway - They are stools with the Steeler emblem - but again it is raised off the leather -( embossed ) — please help — and GO Steelers

Technorati Tags: bar stools, google, leather stitching, local store, pittsburgh steeler, script type, steelers, text javascript

I was in band practice and my friend was talking and said something really funny and i fell off my drum stool and hit my vagina on the bar that holds it up. It hurt really, really badly. And I am just finishing my period and when I went to the bathroom there was blood all over the place so i changed my pad and now theres like nothing there. Did i pop my cherry? and what does that mean?

Technorati Tags: band practice, google, script type, text javascript, vagina

3 Vampires take stools up at the bar and the waitress comes over to take their orders. "I’d like a pint of blood," said the first vampire. The waitress nodded. "I’d also like a pint of blood," replied the second vampire. She walks over to the last vampire. "I’d like a pint of plasma." The waitress looks down at her pad and confirms the order, "Okay, so that’ll be two bloods and a blood lite."

Technorati Tags: bloods, google, last vampire, pint of blood, plasma, script type, Stools, text javascript, vampires, waitress

Ok I’m trying to reupholster a bar stool I have at my house. It’s a simple round pad, but I have a square piece of fabric that I’m going to use to cover it. How would I cut the fabric in a way that it will fit over the round edges of the stool with a minimum number of folds. If you have any advice or know of any links to such patterns please post them. Any help is greatly appreciated! Thanks!

Technorati Tags: bar stool, fabric, google, script type, text javascript

i have four bar stools with padded vynel seats that need to be upholstered is there any hints for a nice job thankx

Technorati Tags: bar stools, google, nice job, script type, text javascript

A ten year-old boy was walking down the street when a big man on a black motorcycle, pulls up beside him and asks, "Hey kid, wanna go for a ride?" 
       
  
    "No!", said the boy, and he kept on walking. The motorcyclist pulls up to him again and says, "Hey kid,, I’ll give you if you hop on the back" 
       
    
  "NO!" said the boy and proceeded down the street a little quicker. 
       
     
 The motorcyclist pulls up to the boy again and says, "Ok kid, I’ll give you and a BIG bag of candy if you hop on the back for a ride." 
       
   
   At this point the boy turns around to him and screams angrily, "Look Dad, YOU bought the Harley, so YOU ride it!!
————
cheerful truck driver pulled up at a roadside cafe in the middle of the night for a dinner stop. Halfway through his meal, three wild- looking motorcyclists roared up–bearded, leather-jacketed, filthy. 
       
   
   For no reason at all, the selected the truck driver as a target. One poured pepper over his head, another stole his apple pie, the third deliberately tipped his coffee over. 
       
      
The truck driver never said one word, just stood up, paid his check, and left. 
       
     
 "That truck driver sure ain’t much of a fighter," sneered one of the bikers. 
       
     
 The girl behind the counter, peering out into the night, added, "He doesn’t seem to be much of a truck driver, either. He just ran his truck right over three motorcycles."
———
A biker walks into the front door of a bar. He is obviously drunk, and staggers up to the bar, seats himself on a stool and, with a belch, asks the bartender for a drink. 
       

      The bartender politely informs the man that it appears that he has already had plenty to drink, he could not be served additional liquor at this bar, and could a cab be called for him? 
       
    
  The biker is briefly surprised, then softly scoffs, grumbles, climbs down off the bar stool and staggers out the front door. A few minutes later, the same biker stumbles in the SIDE door of the bar. He wobbles up to the bar and hollers for a drink. 
       
      The bartender comes over and, still politely - but more firmly, refuses service to the man due to his inebriation, and again offers to call a cab. 
       
  
    The biker looks at the bartender for a moment angrily, curses, and shows himself out the side door, all the while grumbling and shaking his head. 
       
   
   A few minutes later, he bursts in through the BACK door of the bar. He plops himself up on a bar stool, gathers his wits and belligerently orders a drink. 
       
     
 The bartender comes over and emphatically reminds the man that he is clearly drunk, will be served no drinks, and either a cab or the police will be called immediately. 
       
  
    The surprised biker looks at the bartender, and in hopeless anguish, cries "MAAAN! How many bars do you work at?!!?

——–
A biker arrived at his bro’s house to get ready for the big run that weekend. His thoughts were on the run as he walked up to the porch, he couldn’t help but notice the hugh dog sitting next to the door. 
       
  
    When his bro answered the door he asked, "is that your dog?" 
       
   
   "Yea, I got him for the ol lady", was the response. 
       
      "No kidding. I always kept my mouth shut bout your ol lady but, I gotta say, nice trade"

——-
A dumb blonde went to a soda machine. She inserted two quarters and pushed the RED button. She heard some noise, and saw a can of Coke emerge. 
       
  
    She then started searching her large purse for some more money. About this time, a biker came up behind her, and waited patiently for her to finish. 
       
    
  She located a dollar bill and inserted it into the machine. More noises. She then pressed the Green button, and was rewarded with a can of Sprite. 
       

      She fumbled with the change in the Return slot, and put it back into the Deposit slot. She then pushed the Orange button, and received a can of Crush. 
       
  
    The biker then asked her, "Are you finished YET?" 
       
      She then replied, "Finished, Nothin’! I’m still winning!"

Technorati Tags: apple pie, biker, bikers, candy, coffee, dad, google, harley, motorcycle, motorcycles, motorcyclist, motorcyclists, pepper, quot quot, roadside cafe, script type, target, text javascript, truck driver, walking down the street

http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://img.timeinc.net/aolhome/i/design/sl/03/05/SL0305127l_3_l.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.southernliving.com/southern/da/result/0,24880,784319,00.html&h=240&w=320&sz=30&hl=en&start=2&um=1&tbnid=JShX-SPEdismPM:&tbnh=89&tbnw=118&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dorange%2Bliving%2Broom%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den

What color of sofa should I use. I have a black leather daybed similar to this one http://www.thefurniture.com/store/proddetail.asp?prod=Zuo-Ibiza-Daybed-500095&cat=108 and unfortunately I have to keep it in my living room even if it does not match the decor.
I have a glass TV table for my huge plasma tv. Its a rental place so I cannot change anything. There are lovely antique gold light fixtures on the walls. Also I have 2 beautiful rugs- one is a lovely navy blue rug with deep red and cream design on it and another rug that is deep red with cream on it. I dont know which rug to use. The floor is hardwood. I could buy a different rug too. I now need to tie the whole look together. Orange walls, white ceiling, blue rug. deep red rug/other rug, a black leather daybed. I am thinking abt adding a palm tree and need to get bar stools for the kitchen island and a long narrow coffee table. Its a one bedroom 850 sq ft rental.
I always wanted a tropical look but it wont work here I guess. I need lots and lots of help please.

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A highly timid little man, ventured into a biker bar in the Bronx and clearing his throat asked, "Um, err, which of you gentlemen owns the Doberman tied outside to the parking meter?" A giant of a man, wearing biker leathers, his body hair growing out through the seams, turned slowly on his stool, looked down at the quivering little man and said, "It’s my dog. Why?"

"Well," squeaked the little man, obviously very nervous, "I believe my dog just killed it, sir." "What?" roared the big man in disbelief. "What in the hell kind of dog do you have?" "Sir," answered the little man, "it’s a little four week old female puppy." "Bull!" roared the biker, "how could your puppy kill my Doberman?" "It appears that your dog choked on her, sir."

Technorati Tags: biker bar, body hair, disbelief, doberman, female puppy, gentlemen, giant, google, hell kind, leathers, little man, parking meter, script type, seams, text javascript

A highly timid little man, ventured into a biker bar in the Bronx and clearing his throat asked, "Um, err, which of you gentlemen owns the Doberman tied outside to the parking meter?"

A giant of a man, wearing biker leathers, his body hair growing out through the seams, turned slowly on his stool, looked down at the quivering little man and said, "It’s my dog. Why?" "Well," squeaked the little man, obviously very nervous, "I believe my dog just killed it, sir." "What?" roared the big man in disbelief. "What in the world kind of dog do you have?" "Sir," answered the little man, "it’s a little four week old female puppy." "Bull!" roared the biker, "how could your puppy kill my Doberman?" "It appears that your dog choked on her, sir."

funny?

Technorati Tags: biker bar, body hair, disbelief, doberman, female puppy, gentlemen, giant, google, leathers, little man, parking meter, script type, seams, text javascript

A timid little man ventured into a biker bar and, clearing his throat, asked, "Um, which of you gentlemen owns the Doberman tied outside to the parking meter?" A giant of a man, wearing biker leathers, his body hair growing out through the seams, turned slowly on his stool, looked down at the quivering little man and said, "It’s my dog. Why?" "Well," squeaked the little man, obviously nervous, "I believe my dog just killed it, sir." "What?" roared the big man in disbelief. "What in the hell kind of dog do you have?" "Sir," answered the little man, "it’s a little four week old female puppy." "Bull!" roared the biker, "How could your puppy kill my Doberman?" The man said, "It appears your dog choked on her, sir."

Technorati Tags: biker bar, body hair, disbelief, doberman, female puppy, gentlemen, giant, google, hell kind, leathers, little man, parking meter, script type, seams, text javascript

Ok, this is just a random story idea I came up with off the top of my head. If it’s no good, I want to know now so I don’t write more and realize it totally sucks. Constructive criticism?

Black. The color of night, of darkness, of demons and devils. Everything was black here. The clothes, the lights, even the music sounded black. Leave it to Gabe to negotiate a place such as this, a place where we would stick out like sore thumbs, our gold hair flashing like traffic lights in the glare from the disco ball. I’d just barely been able to convince dad to let us dress in dark colors.
I stuffed a baseball cap over my short hair, laughing to myself. Angels in black, dad must be loving that.
Keeping a firm grip on Gabe’s hoodie I dragged him through the crowd, searching for the darkness among the black, a spot where even the strobe lights failed. I was sure they could see us already; to their eyes we must shine like stars plucked from the night. Angels never did learn to be discreet.
“Smells like demon,” Gabe whispered in my ear, just loud enough to be heard above the music.
“Then we must be getting close.”

Lilith tapped styled nails against the tabletop next to her drink, the beat running against the music, but somehow more powerful. With her other hand she fiddled with one of her ear piercings, brushing back her black and red hair to do so.
“They’re late,” she snapped, crossing her legs, though how she could with pants as tight as hers I had no idea.
“They’re coming, can’t you see them?” I told her, trying to discreetly copy her movements.
“Shut up Luc, I don’t have the sight, remember?” she hissed, downing the rest of her drink in one go.
Giving up on attempting to cross my legs I lifted my beer, gulping down some less out of thirst and more out of boredom. Idly I played with the cap, sending it spinning in circles. The glow was getting closer now; I caught a brief glimpse of Sera’s face among the humans, a cap casting a shadow over her features. Gabe was behind her, a huge black hoodie sagging on his shoulders. Their dad must be loving that.

We broke through the crowd when we reached the bar, the darkness almost a tangible thing, though I knew I was the only one who could see it. Gabe didn’t have the sight. Luc was closest, spread out across two stools, beer in one hand, cap in the other. There was a devilish smile on his face, his shaggy black hair hiding one of his crimson eyes. He wore a tight black tee over baggy black jeans, one muscled arm raised in greeting.
“Hey, ‘sup Sera, Gabe,” he laughed, setting the bottle on the counter.
Lilith bristled from behind him. I took a moment to study her. She was as beautiful as her brother was handsome, long black and red hair, piercings on her ears and eyebrows, a frown on her lips. She wore tight black jeans and heeled boots, along with a leather jacket and tank top.
“Get to the point, dad says we’re to be in and out in less than an hour, and it takes longer to rise than it does to fall,” I said, perching lightly on a stool next to Luc. I’d always preferred him to his sister.
“It’s just a letter than needs delivering,” Luc said, pulling a blank white envelope out of his pocket, no address, no name, nothing. But I knew who it was for.
I snorted. “And this requires us how? Tell your dad to get an imp if he needs a messenger.”
“It’s of the utmost importance, trust me, he likes us meeting as much as your dad does, he wouldn’t do it if he had another option.”

I watched as she took the letter with a look of disgust, like it carried some disease. But nevertheless she slipped it into the pocket of her sweatshirt. Gabe just stared at it blankly. Never much for talking that one, I don’t think I’d ever heard him string two words together. His sister was much more interesting and I had to admit, though dad would flay me alive if he heard I’d even thought it, beautiful. She had short blond, pixie style hair and delicate features. Her lips were huge and as she chewed them in anxiety, I had the strongest urge to kiss them.
I shook my head minutely, trying to get my brain back in working order. She might be beautiful but she was an angel, dad would kill me and then send me to tally souls for a century or so. Deskwork. Shudder.
“We’ll be going then,” she said, grabbing her brother’s arm and pulling him away into the crowd.
I watched her go, watched her glance back not once, but twice, confusion playing with her face. I smiled to myself. Maybe soul-counting would be worth it. Just to feel those lips on mine.
I don’t mind if you don’t like it, say that, I just need honest answers.

And the names are my bad joke.
Sorry if it’s at all confusing, it’s stuff that would be explained later on if I wrote more.

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