I'm sorry this took so long, but i've been focusing so much on my career lately (I HATE Reality), but here it is- There's a lot of name drops in here, of some very well known demons- Can you guess some of them?- i'm hoping to update more regular now, and with your continued support hopefully I am achieve this. Thankq for your patience.
Chapter 2- Crash the Party.
Sam shook his head feverishly, a deflated sigh escaped his tightly clamped lips. His recently groomed locks, hung limply at cheeks, lacking their usual pristine shine. He groaned internally, the usually quite lengthy walk from his and Jess's apartment, to the southernmost corner of campus, seemed all too 'short' and fleeting in Sam's opinion. Even after all the effort he'd gone to, to prolong the inevitable, here he was, scrutinizing the heavy, rust bitten, metal knocker with obvious distain. Well, this looks cosy.
He'd practically dawdled across campus, adding a miraculous, seven minutes and forty-eight seconds onto their arrival time, and yet, it still wasn't long enough for the youngest Winchester.
A gentle tug on his shirt brought him out of his inner monologue, he looked down at his and Jessica's intertwined hands and stifled a bark of laughter. Her sun-kissed fingers, thumbed lovingly at his own, slotting perfectly into Sam's open palm. He didn't need freakin' comfort; he wanted to leave.
"Aren't you going to knock, Sammy, honey?"
"O'course Jess, I'm just building myself up to it." Sam muttered, defensively; ignoring the bewildered expression that flitted across Jessica's soft features. After another lingering beat of silence, he sighed in defeat, taking a hold of the knocker, "—here goes nothin'" and wrapping it firmly against the door. It opened almost immediately, as if they were expected.
"Welcome to The Cage, ho nuggets." A rather, nasally, and altogether bored voice offered in greeting; not failing to hide her extreme lack of interest. Interrupting your night, are we? "—you got an invite, and a name, sugar pants? 'urry up, I ain't got all day. Without me, there is no party, if you catch my drift?"
The mouthy brunette flashed Sam a lopsided grin, she seemed pleasant enough. But Sam could tell this was all an act; to be as welcoming and humbling as possible, it seemed almost foreign on the girl's blissfully full lips. Her smile fell flat though, due to her almost razor sharp cheekbones; she was all aggressive angles and cut throat corners. Her cheeks were flushed, the result, of an excessive amount of alcohol consumption, her movements sluggish.
"You deaf? Give it, or piss off."
"You soon changed your tune, little Miss Sunshine." Sam shot back, hastily digging around in his jacket pocket, and yanking out the crumpled invite. "There, happy?—and its Sam."
She didn't retort, merely snatched the scrap of paper from Sam's grasp, and gave it a slow once over; like she'd preformed this procedure a thousand times before. She then, without warning, tore it in two, pocketed one half, and returned the other to Sam. She stepped pointedly out of the way, evidently allowing them access. "I'm Meg, Sam. Enjoy your evening."
"I'll try" Sam replied curtly, stepping across the threshold and into the darkness. Once the door had been closed, with a bone-rattling slam, it took a few moments for Sam's eyes to fully adjust.I'm trapped in the fires of purgatory. Help.
The room was bathed, purposefully, in a creepy red fluorescent light, making the space appear, more cramped and dingy, than what it really was. Large intimidating groups, of five or six young adults congregated around the bar, buffet table and sofas. They were the kind of gangs you avoided in the street, for fear of being mugged, or threatened; all leather jackets, and knuckle-dusters. "Oh my-"
Jess tugged gently at Sam's wrist, and with a nod of her head, she began pulling him towards a small cluster of chairs, in a quiet-er corner of the room, beside an overzealous couple, who seemed to be attached at the lips "Over here." She mouthed.
"Oi, watch it!" A gruff voice scolded, as Sam fell through the crowd; trampling folks with his feet. "I'm so sorry." He called out, striding over a puddle of puke. ew. "That was my faul-" but the voice was long gone. Sam hissed out a sigh of relief as they stumbled upon their seats; quite literally.
"I'm stayin' here for the rest of the night." Sam complained.
He scowled, slumping deeper into his hardback chair, uncomfortable and hot. Jessica opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by Sam's actions. He folded his arms across his chest lazily, in a, 'Don't talk to me, I'm sulking' gesture; this decision was final, and he wasn't about to start an argument about it, so the pretty blonde reluctantly clamped her mouth shut, with a deliberate pop. The pair sat, making idle chit-chat for the better half of twenty minutes. Sam's gaze trained on the carpet, refusing to make eye-contact with anyone other than Jess, as a precaution. He didn't want to end this 'swell' evening, on the wrong side of a fist to the jaw.
"You'll ace that Law School interview Sam, I just know it."
Sam sighed doubtfully, his eyes straying from overtly hideous floral carpet.
"I uh, I don't know-"A shadow flickered in his peripheral, the absence of light quickly drawing his attention. He readily dropped the conversation, without a second thought; his eyes falling onto a pair of slim, denim-wrapped calves.
Jessica's inane babble answer faded into the background; simply becoming a string of white noise, as Sam observed this stranger from afar, or rather, the radical dance moves she was strutting. His mouth twitched in amusement.
"Sam?" Jess hummed.
The brunette lifted her long arms into the air, her fingers skirting across flesh, her movements fluid. "Sam!"
The youngest Winchester blinked and with a flash of wavy chestnut hair, the mysterious dancer was gone. His eyes frantically combed the dancefloor, searching everyone's faces, but no one seemed to resemble her. He hurriedly pulled out his wallet, his mouth suddenly dry. "I-I'm getting a drink?" He was already halfway out of his seat, and taking a stride towards the bar, his question abrupt and frankly, meaningless. "You want a drink, Jess?"
"Uh, Bicardi and Coke?" She called carefully in response, utterly mystified.
Her answer fell on deaf ears.
"-Excuse me?" Sam bellowed, motioning impatiently at the young, clearly unqualified bartender- trying unsuccessfully to gain her attention. She was evidently more preoccupied with playing tonsil hockey with another young patron, dressed quite untastefully as a priest, than to serve him; she tugged playfully at his white clerical collar, giggling sloppily. Sam sighed, patting her gently on the shoulder. She whipped around, with a growl, tugging the priest along by his rosary beads, and gestured wildly to Sam, her slit-like eyes silently telling him to grab his own drink. I'm busy, her hostile posterior exhumed, her mouth never detaching from her friends.
Sam quickly hopped over the bar, hastily grabbed a bottle of cheap malt, and then made his unwelcome goodbyes.
He took a cheeky gulp, as he moved carefully across the room, not having any particular destination in mind, the liquor burning his throat, he winced. He sat uncomfortably on a dark set of stairs, leading precariously to the second floor, where he decided he dare not venture. He delved into his whiskey, deciding that this party ultimately sucked.
"Lookin' for a date?" an altogether too-sweet a voice inquired, drawing Sam's immediate attention, his hands tearing anxiously at the label of his whiskey bottle. For a matter of seconds, he silently hoped the voice belonged to the outrageous dancer from earlier, he was sourly disappointed, when his eyes were greeted by a striking blonde. Sam's mouth hung open in objection. With a lustful flick of her tongue, she was sat beside him, not awaiting an answer.
"You look a little lost…?" She questioned, toying with the hem of his sleeve. Sam promptly ignored her, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Definitely sucks, he mused. She seemingly fed off his coldness, pressing her hardly concealed breasts into his shoulder, and giving them a little jiggle for wasted-effect.
Sam quickly stood up, and was beginning to process of rejecting her advances, when he was shoved to the floor, with a painful thud, by two firm hands. "Shit." He grimaced.
"Get your fucking hands off her-!" The seedy-looking man sneered, his face green with envy at the pair. Sam sluggishly pulled himself up off the floor, and dusted off his trousers, he was decidedly much taller than his accuser, but still, he didn't want any trouble, not when he feeling more and more exceedingly uncomfortable in his environment. He quickly started in the opposite direction, but was forcibly turned around by a lardy hand, which had been waiting behind him. A gluttonous man, greedily stuffing his face full of slimy sandwiches (Note to self: Avoid the buffet), shoving him back towards to the other two.
"Sorry," Sam pressed, hands held up in surrender, eager to get out of this altercation. " I didn't-" The three were swiftly joined by four others. Sam's stomach dropped in apprehension. He was surrounded by one of the gangs he was hoping to avoid, each member as terrifying as the next.
Sam cursed, staring at each of them in turn.
Seven of them. I'm screwed.