[fieldbox="Magdaline, olive, solid"]
The metallic flick of a cigarette lighter echoed through the dark and empty alleyway. The metal zippo gave off a few feeble flashes of light, enough to illuminate the slender young face of a girl in her mid-twenties. Her expression was hard and frustrated however, as her thumb repeatedly rolled across the flint wheel, a black cigarette between her lips. She let out a long, exasperated sigh, running a hand wearily through her short black hair. She looked down at the zippo in her palm. It had an elaborate cross etched into it. She tucked it away inside the pocket of her peacoat, fishing out a small matchbook, tearing out a match and striking it, and it caught fire. She cupped the flame, protecting it from the cold night breeze as she lit the end, her pale cheeks hollowing as she sucked in the first drag, sighing a cloud of smoke out through her nostrils. She dropped the used match into a puddle beside her, and it sizzled into darkness.
The woman took another hit, turning her head to look out of the alleyway. The city was bright and bustling, people walking back and forth through the ice and snow, getting their holiday shopping done, arms loaded down with different bags from the stores around them. Her brows furrowed together in deep contemplation as she watched the various people walk past. She looked up as a few snowflakes fluttered down between the buildings. A fresh layer was starting to form. It was twilight, and it was only going to get colder, and the snow only thicker from here on out.
She gazed forward at the brick side of the building in front of her, before she walked up to it, and knocked on the cold, hard surface three times. She knocked quietly, and the wall was pretty solid. But a few moments passed before one of the bricks receded backwards to reveal a little hole, and a pair of yellow eyes squinted out at her,
"Waddya want, human?" barked a croaky voice.
"I just wanna drink, c'mon let me in," she said, pulling a piece of blank paper out of her pocket and showing it to the pair of eyes. As the beady pair of yellow eyes scrutinized the paper, black ink started to appear, as if beings soaked through from underneath.
The Chubby Cherub
Writ of Admission
There was a moment's hesitation, before the eyes disappeared and there was the sound of a deep scraping, and cracks appeared along the wall, in the shape of a door, and a black handle like a snake slithered out where a doorknob would be, curving down. She reached down, before pulling open the door, which was surprisingly light for being the side of a building. She walked in, and as the door closed behind her, she looked down, where the yellow eyes were. A short, angry looking imp, with a sagging belly and leathery brown skin with a head that came up to her mid-thigh was standing there, a footstool tucked under its arm,
"Better put that smoke out," he croaked again, his voice box emitting an almost comically deep voice in comparison to his tiny frame,
"The boss quit, and put a ban on smoking in the establishment." He placed the footstool down before climbing back on top of it, pulling out the brick that was used as a peep hole. He gestured at the opening,
"Go on--out it goes," he grunted.
The woman looked down at the black cigarette for a moment, before flicking it out through the opening. It landed in the snow on the pavement, but didn't quite go out. The imp pushed the brick back into place, before scuttling off to a corner to await for another customer to come by. The woman tucked the admission paper back into her pocket, it was blank again. She walked down a narrow hallway, before coming to an elaborate oak door. As she pushed the door open she was greeted with a large, parlor-like room, with a large fireplace, a bar, and a stage where slow jazz was being played. All manner of creatures were here tonight. Goblins, warlocks, witches, wizards, half breeds, hags, even a vampire lurking the corner. No one noticed when she walked in, except for one of the servers, a tall girl with long, ash-blonde hair, and large, peircing blue eyes. She seemed to glide as she walked,
"Oh, hey, Magda. You want your usual? I can find you wherever you end up sitting," the girl said, in a high silky smooth voice.
Magda gave a polite wave and smile to the fallen angel, "Yeah, that'll be fine, Angela, thanks," she said, as she made her way to a corner of the parlor, where there was a round table with a round booth curled around it, as well as some curtains for private conversations. She sat down, fingertips strumming on the tabletop. She was hoping to meet someone here that evening--someone who had information. She had gotten an encrypted message that they had a new case for her. Encrypted in a way where she knew this was someone who wasn't ignorant. Perhaps it was a trap, perhaps not. Either way, it was very unlikely that a full-on fight would happen in the Chubby Cherub. The owner of the establishment, an old half-demon by the name of Levi, had strict rules of peacekeeping in his house. She pulled out her pack of smokes and placed them on the table top looking down at them before scoffing. Why on earth would a half-demon quit smoking? [/fieldbox]