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Chips and the delightful sound of money being exchanged was what had always brought Ryan to the casino's, especially Las Vegas. Sure, he didn't have all that much to spend, but he was always wary of his money flow. He only ever spent his own money, as his family was low in income as it was. Ryan simply hoped to turn a profit once or twice a month for rent of payments, even food and keeping the roof above their head's. The place seemed packed, though Ryan knew that it wasn't even close from the size of the place. Sighing, Ryan never liked the fact that he couldn't smoke in the place, as it was prohibited in the place. Of course, Ryan wasn't that addicted to the nicotine. Ok, maybe he was, but he could stand an hour or two without a smoke. He liked casino's for a few reasons, mostly just the chance to strike it big and get his siblings through the month or longer. He never expected anything out of it though, hence he spent very little on gambling. Mostly the fact that he was Irish, people always assumed he was gonna bet big or get hammered all the time at the bar. In truth, he would at least have a beer or two, but he was tired of all the stereotypes of America's populous. Sure, not all of American's were like that, but a good portion often used or referenced stereotypes and expected them to be true.

Sighing, Ryan entered the casino, his slightly worn leather jacket gleaming in the moonlight from behind. This was one of the all night casino's, and Ryan was hoping to at least make more than he would be losing that night. He knew it was unrealistic, but at least he wasn't like most people spending piles of money on wasted dreams and poor expectation's. Ryan knew just how the world was, and the fact that he'd never really had all that much money was another deterrent to his plight. In fact, it motivated him somewhat to hoard as much money as he could. To be frank, Ryan never longed for material possessions, but he knew that his siblings needed something to get by, and he'd work tooth and nail to get them just that. Approaching the counter, Ryan pulled his wallet from the back of his faded blue jeans, opening the leather interior and pulling a twenty from the contents of the fabric. Handing it to the cashier, the woman behind the counter smiled to him and handed him a small bucket full of quarter's for the slot machines. Smiling faintly to the cashier and thanking her, Ryan walked off to a nearby slot machine. Looking to his left, he immediately noticed the large hanging sign of a small man in green next to a rainbow and a pot of gold. The text just underneath stating: Luck of the Irish. Rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath, Ryan focused his attention back to the slot machine in front of him.

The fact that this place promoted such a stereotype was typical for a casino, though it didn't make Ryan feel any better about the fact this country was so used to stereotypes and racism. Hell, they made a movie entitled 'White men can't jump' but if they made a movie called 'Black man can't swim' then there was such a big issue. To Ryan, America was all about saving face for it's own glory. Trying to make itself look calm and great with tales of riches and diversity. Sure, they were right, but the fact that the diversity was such a big issue and that America didn't want to piss anyone off by coming off as racist was a bit selfish, and seemed like America was just going for the brownie points. And yet they were always trying to keep others out of their country as if to say: 'we've got what we need, now stay the fuck out.' It was a bit arrogant, but Ryan could care less. This country meant he could openly be himself as an Irishman and if anyone had a problem with it he had the right to defend himself. Of course, that usually ended in a fight, but Ryan normally won, he knew how to fight.

Smirking, Ryan pulled a quarter from the bucket and placed it in the machine, pulling the crank at his side and taking a seat at the stool provided for him. Watching the wheels move about, making their decision whether or not Ryan would get anything out of the money he'd placed inside was up to luck. Though, Ryan knew that it wasn't luck about it, Casino's had the machines rigged in a way to earn themselves the maximum profit while coming off as generous with earnings and a fair game and equal chance to win. The slot's slowed, and stopped at a halt, revealing that he had simply lost his money to the benevolent god of slot machines. Of course, Ryan believed in one God, and one alone, the true God, the one which had given all life and a place to inhabit. Sure, he still swore, drank, smoked, and gambled a bit, but he always went to confession and was sure to be repented. Cursing, Ryan immediately noted that rather then a seven indicating a major winner for the grand prize money, that it was a clover. Rolling his eye's again, Ryan continued to insert his quarter's into the machine.

By the end of the night, Ryan had a good sum of money, about double than what he initially came with. It seemed that someone, or something was looking out for him. Walking to the cashier booth, Ryan placed his partially filled bucket on the counter, and was exchanged for cash value. Shrugging, Ryan headed off to the bar, and sat on the open stool. Ordering a beer, Ryan looked back towards the casino, and smirked, the night was going well for him so far. He'd play a little bit more, only planning to spend the twenty he had earned in case the rest of the night didn't fare well. Receiving his beverage, Ryan left the bar, wishing to go back and play some more slot's. Exchanging more money from the cashier nearby, Ryan took a seat at the same slot machine where he had left. Smirking again, Ryan took a sip of his beverage and was about to place the quarter into the machine when he felt a tapping on his shoulder. Turning, Ryan saw the adult, dressed in a dress shirt and slacks. His tie was askew and hanging from his neck, bit's of sweat running down his face. “Hey, come on man, you've been at this slot for hours, and this is MY lucky machine, get lost.” He said, a bit of hostility in his voice.

Ryan chuckled a bit before speaking. “I'm sorry it's your machine, friend, but don'tcha think there's more than just one in tha place, aye?” Ryan said, trying to be generous, hoping to end it with peace rather than violence. The man glared at him, turning and muttering in a low voice. “Figures all you Irish fuck's think everything is your's.” Ryan furrowed his brow a bit. He hated being called out on his race and accent, especially when the comments were negative. Standing, Ryan spoke, his voice a bit loud. “I'm sorry, did ye fuckin' say somethin' to me, or was that you practicin' fer your boyfriend?” He said, watching the man turn around and stare at him, seeing the murderous intent in his new enemies eye's. The man rushed him, throwing a punch that Ryan easily avoided, the Irishman lashing out with a heel to the back of the man's head, watching his slam into the slot machine that he had so desired.

Of course, by that time, security was already nearing for them, as Ryan held up his hands in defense. “Don't blame me, this fuckin' bastard started tha fight.” He said as they approached. Of course, they didn't seem to care as one lunged for him, trying to take him to the floor. Ryan quickly moved to his left as the guard fell to the floor, his companion already sending a fist toward's Ryan. Raising his arm, Ryan pushed the hand away from his face and sent his own toward's the guard, feeling it connect with his face as his hand felt the teeth rattling inside his skull. As the other guard went down, Ryan stood, looking around as about four more bouncer's approached, preparing himself for a fight.
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Location: Casino; Las Vegas, Nevada; 11:00PM
Tagged To: Jophiel
Word Count: 1445 Word's
Lyrics: Demon Hunter – Screams Of The Undead
Notes: I couldn't stop typing......
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The boy who stepped out from between two slot machines dressed in tight pegged blue jeans and a blindingly white tee shirt with the sleeves rolled up high enough to see most of the detail of the Dali-inspired tattoo on his left upper arm barely looked old enough to be in a casino at all. Or at least, by the standards of a normal town he didn't. By Vegas standards, what he looked like was one of the hustlers who worked the seedier casinos off the strip, trolling for businessmen who claimed to come to Sin City for the gambling and whores and actually came for the blow and the boys. He had the look, all self-consciously ambiguous in his Rebel Without a Cause clothes, with that artful pompadour and pouty mouth. Just butch enough that he could play it straight if a Stella crossed his path, but mostly primed to appeal exactly to the kind of gay man who needed to be able to tell himself later, 'but there was something very girly about him...it wasn't like it was really gay.'

Despite his appearance, the kid moved forward toward the brawl between security and the couple of patrons with smooth confidence and calm. Later, watching it on the security tapes several people would comment on how odd it was. The brawl that had sprung up seemingly out of nowhere and the kid who strolled into the middle of it like it was nothing. There was an air of calm that spun out around the young man, like he made the room safer just by walking through it. Something about him, the confidence or the eerie 'everything's fine here' vibe that he put off or something else entirely had the security guards hesitating to intercept him and Jophiel made it all the way up to Ryan's side and laid a gentle hand on the prophet's shoulder. "That's enough of that, I think?" He sounded amused, like the brawl had just been a spot of rough-housing.

The mad, illogical calm that Jophiel projected might actually have been enough to defuse the situation if the drunk who'd started shit with Ryan had really been just a drunk. Unfortunately, he wasn't, and the body that had once housed an auto detailer of average intelligence and below-average impulse control and now housed something much, much darker suddenly threw off the three security guards who were pinning it and hopped up to its feet so that it could hiss at Ryan and Jophiel with its eyes bled out to inky black.
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Notes: Casino Death Match!
Location: nameless casino in Vegas
Tag: Ryan
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Ryan was sure he was fucked. Basically it was three on one, but hey, Ryan had taken those odd's and won before, so why not now? The fact was that he knew exactly where he was supposed to be in world, and the fact that he was a Prophet meant that he couldn't get killed or put in jail, right? It wasn't that he was relying on the angels, though he had always believed in their existence as a Catholic, but the fact was he had an out if things got bad. Of course, Ryan wasn't expecting what happened next. The bouncer's hesitated. That kind of thing usually never happened, but Ryan was a bit pissed. “What's the matter, boy's? Ya scared an Irishman's gonna beat you t' a bloody pulp?” He said, taunting them, smirking and looking among them.

That was when he saw the boy stroll into the crowd of bouncer's and patron's who were watching for the hell of it. Confused, Ryan looked towards the man as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Of course, Ryan felt the calm-ness trying to invade his body. Pushing his hand aside, Ryan laughed. “This fuck started it, don' go blamin' me now mate.” He said. It was amusing for people to try and stop him from fighting. There were only two people that could actually stop him in a fight, and one of them normally encouraged or even started the brawl to begin with. Neither his brother or sister were present, so there was no way in hell he was stopping for this guy trying to go Obi-Wan on his ass. Looking closer, Ryan recognized the gaze of the man, the distant stare, the strange aura projected by him, though there was a usual way of testing this, in his opinion.

“Tusa cancrach aingeal? He said in his native tongue. If this man was an angel, then he should understand what he had just asked, as it was a standard question. Of course, simply asking if the man was an angel was beyond proof, though it couldn't hurt to ask. Than again, if the man was an angel then it would be great benefit, as he could simply teleport the two away from the scene with ease. Reaching into his back pocket, Ryan pulled the pack of cigarettes from his jeans, grasping a nicotibe stick and placing it between his lips. Grasping the lighter, Ryan flicked the top open and pushed the flint, watching as flames spewed from the tip and light his cigarette. Smirking, Ryan took a drag, pulling the cigarette from his lips and blowing smoke towards the bouncers in a taunting manner, quickly lowering his smirk into a face of aggression.

Ryan watched as the drunk threw the bouncer's away, his eyes black as soot. Sighing to himself in annoyance, he spoke to the man next to him. “If yer here ta help then, you want the demon or the boy's here?” He muttered, quickly turning his head side to side, hearing the bones pop, a bit of relief washing over him as he prepared himself for the coming assault.
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Location: Casino; Las Vegas, Nevada; 11:00PM
Tagged To: Jophiel
Word Count: 524 Word's
Lyrics: Demon Hunter – Screams Of The Undead
Notes: Yeah, let's go for the death-match then!
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Well now, wasn't this a cocky little Prophet? It must be nice to be completely sure that if he ever got into trouble help would just arrive to preserve him and his precious abilities. It wasn't in Jophiel to actually dislike his charges, he was quite literally built to love them, but you can still resent the people you love now and then and Ryan's attitude irritated the angel in a distant sort of way. Not that it stopped him from answering, "Sea, tá mé. Jophiel atá orm. Cuir bheith socair." And not that it kept him from stepping directly in front of Ryan as soon as the demon showed itself. This was his job, and personal opinion had no part in it.

It wasn't actually a response to Ryan's question when Jophiel launched himself directly at the demon, though it had to look like one. It was just that the angel doubted that the security guards could do anything to the prophet that he couldn't heal easily enough. The demon was a whole other story.

Jophiel slammed into the demon, knocking it to the ground and ending up tangled up with the man who outmassed him by at least a hundred pounds and would seem to have been able to break the skinny boy like a twig. But looks can be deceiving, especially in this world, and when the two men came out of their rolling-over struggle the angel was kneeling over the much larger man with a huge knife that he couldn't possibly have been carrying even sixty seconds earlier.

The blade in the angel's hand straddled the line between knife and short sword, and awkward-looking to the modern eye. Too heavy, too thick, with that exaggerated pommel and no cross-guard to speak of. It looked like it would be clumsy and difficult to wield, a fantasy-movie construct with no place in the real world. But the Roman gladius was the sword that conquered the known world, and Jophiel had been wielding his blade in this form for more than a thousand years. In his hands the chunky, clunky blade moved dizzyingly fast and accurate and had the fire-limned blade pressed to the demon's throat in a matter of moments, his other hand pinning the thing's head back to the carpet as he began the short process of banishing it back to Hell where it belonged.
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Notes: Whee, random violence.
Location: Casino in Vegas.
Tag: Ryan
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Take this from my consciousness
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Ryan nodded a bit, this angel was serious. As the demon reared it's head, Ryan stepped back as the angel stepped in his way. It was natural, as it was his job to protect him. Ryan hadn't meant to seem exactly rude, and he knew he had come off that way. He was just pissed off, and that normally ended with him in a VERY bad mood. He was Irish and that was how he was. He'd normally kick everyone's ass, but seeing as the angel had the demon, Ryan could settle for the guards.

Turning to them, Ryan raised his arms to his waist and held his hands out, motioning his fingers in a 'come on, let's see what you got' motion. Glaring them down, Ryan stepped forward as one guard charged him. Balling his hand into a fist as the guard came at him, Ryan smirked and quickly sidestepped him, grabbing the back of his suit and practically throwing him across the room, or at least a few good feet. As he turned, Ryan nearly caught a fist in the face, barely avoiding the momentum and lashing out on his own, kicking the newly joined guard in the gut, grabbing him by the shoulders and slamming his head into his.

As the guard fell, Ryan noted the three remaining guards as more approached. Turning to the angel, Ryan looked on as the demon was exorcised. Moving back towards the boy, Ryan looked at him from the corner of his eye, breathing a bit heavily to dispel the rage. “Thanks fer tha' then. Sorry fer bein a dick earlier, somethin abou' fightin' sets me off then. You think we can take 'em?” He said, referring to the guards that were moving towards them. Raising his arms and twisting his head, hearing the pop's from his neck bones, Ryan glared at the suits in front of him, readying himself for a fight.
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Notes Sorry for the VERY long delay.....
Location Casino; Las Vegas, Nevada; 11:00PM
Tagged Jophiel
Lyrics M.I.A. – Avenged Sevenfold
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And please erase my dreams
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Jophiel eyed the approaching guards and shook his head, "I try not to fight random humans. The odds aren't exactly fair. Come." He laid a hand on Ryan's shoulder and started guiding him through the crowd and toward the nearest exit from this part of the casino. Even as the guards were shouting roughly about where the hell those bastards had gone, Jophiel and Ryan stood calmly in front of the elevator doors, waiting for the car to arrive. When it did, he guided Ryan inside and hit the button for the top floor. The LCD display asked for him to insert a key card for access to the concierge floors, Jophiel fed a cocktail napkin that he happened to have in his pocket (a man had written his cell phone and room numbers on it and slipped it to him while he was first approaching through the casino) and the computer blinked happily and started them up toward the top of the building.

Three minutes later Jophiel was using a business card from a dentist in Hartford, Connecticut as a key card to get them access to one of the high roller suites and led Ryan inside. "No one ought to be looking for us up here, and at least it's a private place to talk and patch you up."
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Notes: Life with Angel: Just plain weird.
Location: High Roller Suite at the Luxor
Tag: Ryan
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