a little caution to the wise; don't be hasty
Azazel exploded from the earth, dirt flaking off the oily black-yellow of his self as he rose into the sky. Elation and a deep-seated rage made him spiral faster, faster, faster, surging forward towards the city on the horizon. He was going to destroy those Winchester boys this time around, no second chances, no listening to them mumble and cry. The old plans are all moot, anyways, and Azazel isn't one to tolerate failures. This time around, they're going down. (Oh, won't they be surprised to see him, little warriors for their daddy, and the crushing guilt they'd feel at failing him.)
First things first, though, regardless of plans of vengeance-- he needed a meatsuit.
Barreling into the suburbs, the night shrouding him but for the yellow streaks in his blackness, Azazel found one soon enough. A young man pulling out the trash, and he's Azazel's now. No finesse to it, just a burning anger, a choked off scream from the human-- Ivan-- and Azazel flexed his fingers, rolled his neck and cracking it, eyes flashing for the briefest moment the color of his soul when he settled into his new home. The boy fought against him for a moment, but Azazel stomped him down quickly, irritated, pushing him into a corner of his mind, leaving him there to rot.
With one last crack of his neck, Azazel moved on. There wasn't a single debate on what to do next, after all-- find the fools that used to work for him and bring them to heel, if any of the idiots were still alive. Fairly simple. They have a punishment coming, too, but the Winchesters would be number one for him until they were bleeding out in front of him, crying mournfully for each other.
Whistling softly, Azazel slung the thin hands of Ivan into his hoodie's pockets...new clothes, second order of business- there was a finesse to the job that wasn't suited by a ratty hoodie and old jeans. It took him half an hour to get into the city proper after hitchhiking(ripping a man out of his old BMW and stabbing him with a branch, watching the life drain from him, wasting blood but venting the worst of the rage is important)- what city it was didn't matter so much as finding some useless hobo no one would miss and making a call was.
The woman he caught sight of first, though, was more intriguing than the drunkard down the alleyway, and Azazel slowed himself to a stroll, cadence to his steps the same as ever, despite the change in meat-suit, eyes glinting as he watched her. It was easy enough to tell she wasn't human, and, hey, the Winchesters could wait for a night when he had prey like this to hunt and use and abuse.
Wasn't exactly who what he'd planned to do(kill) with his evening, but the first rule Azazel found that held credit in his life was 'never pass up a good thing' and there was so many things he could use her for-- entertainment, mainly, but she'd do for what he needed to make his little call, the most important business. All the fun he could have? Just a bonus.
Caution was the second rule of choice, and his gait remained slow, deceptively peaceful as he approached with a rolling lilt to his steps. There was always the chance that she was someone to be reckoned with, though the elation of being topside kept his confidence boosted(he was powerful, in his own right).
The deep-seated anger born of ruined plans that had been built and built upon for years faded away easily, a new job narrowing his focus- the start of everything, for the second time. "A lady such as yourself really shouldn't be out so late at night." Azazel murmured when he caught up to her, quiet drawl adding a chiding quality to his voice and he rolled his head to the right, urging her own gaze to follow his, to the dark shadows of the streets, at the flickering street-lights and the general lack of humanity around. Absolutely perfect.
"Now, let me say one thing before anything happens," Azazel held up a hand as he inched forward to angle his body, bringing them both to a halt. "I'll even give you the benefit of the doubt. Say you've got some brains upstairs in that head of yours. I'm generous." A lazy grin, eyes flashing bright like a lightning strike. "We'll even say you've already assessed the situation, nice and clear, and have got a handle on things." Azazel spread his hands in a gesture of good faith that he didn't even try to mimic in his voice. Instead, he raised a finger, then spread them as he leaned forward towards her. "But I've got some business to take care of, and you're the lucky winner."
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