Rocking around the Rockefeller Christmas Tree was becoming dull, so instead of loitering and waiting for her to come to him, he sought her out the only way he could. All he did was close his eyes and ask the powers that be for her whereabouts ... and then with a flutter of wings, there he was. Well, he was near her location; he couldn't just pop out of nowhere right in front of her, now could he?

He stood on cement stairs, spray-painted black; the walls surrounding the narrow flight of steps were also painted black, and were adorned with posters that advertised films, concert tours and various other entertainment events. Behind him, leading upstairs, was a double layered glass door, with a laminated placard flipped around to read "CLOSED" from the outside. Downstairs, which he was now pursuing, led to a tiny, dimly lit room - it probably bore the perimeter of a king sized bed - with three doors, one on each wall. One read "Utility Room", another read "Fire Exit", and the other read "THE HAUS OF THE ÜBER ELITIST". The universe was telling him that she was in door number three, which came as no surprise.

Twisting the handle, Castiel pushed inwards, and although the door had only opened as much as a whisker's width, music already managed to blast through the small gap he created as clear as day. Automatically, he pulled the door back shut in surprise. What on earth was going on in there?

Without further hesitation, Castiel threw the door open, and was met with the pounding sound of a song about a bad romance.

It was an underground dome, painted white. The Minimalist influence was unmissable; it was spacious, clean, solid and simple. It was like being inside a giant white disco ball, or rather, a giant golf ball. As soon as he absorbed the overall aesthetic impression of it, he realized he was in a record store! Thousands of records, both in CD and vinyl form, inhabited dozens of immaculately arranged aisles. There weren't a great deal of people in the store, though he received the impression that the place usually attracted many; it was big enough after all.

Just beside the door was a crate (the fact that it was a crate made it stand out like a beacon) labeled "REDUCED", and rummaging through it was an African American man boasting a fur coat and designer sunglasses - a vain attempt at an inconspicuous disguise - who was startled at the sudden emergence of Castiel.

"Can you believe this?" he immediately hollered to Castiel as if he knew him. This man had a very ethnic quality about him. His two brawny friends, who appeared to be bodyguards, remained silent. "How could they put Tracy Jordan's "Werewolf Bar Mitzvah" in a bargain bin! A bargain bin, man!" He allowed a beat for Castiel to respond, and when he was about to (with a shrug), he continued with his tirade.

"Tracy Jordan belongs in no bargain bin! This is an outrage!" The man tossed a handful of these records back into the crate with disdain. In it were also singles titled "Smelly Cat" by Phoebe Buffay and another called "Let's Go To the Mall" by Robin Sparkles. Castiel only managed to quirk an inquisitive eyebrow at these in acknowledgment before the stranger snared his attention once more.

"I am incredibly ticked off on Tracy Jordan's behalf – just in case anyone was wondering if I was Tracy Jordan, 'cause I'm not, because that would be ridiculous, because Tracy Jordan wouldn't hang out in a place that has his novelty party song "Werewolf Bar Mitzvah" in a bargain bin –"

At this point, Castiel was beginning to back slowly away as this man, who was quite obviously the real Tracy Jordan, began to advance on him with his point.

"-- No! Tracy Jordan would be hanging out in a place with half-naked women, like Chateau Cabaret, or The Pussycat Lounge, or Disney's California Adventure!"

Contemplation colored his features for a moment, before he coolly said with a beckoning flourish of his hand to his two friends, "Grizz, Dot Com, let's go to Disneyland."

As the angel wordlessly stepped aside to allow the small entourage to leave, Castiel scanned the room for any sign of the red haired girl. He didn't spot her immediately, because she looked like an elf! Green Santa hat, red hair, a striped Beetlejuice-esque blazer over a navy caridgan, black gloves both adorned with a red bow, a white skirt and/or tutu that was an obvious throwback to Madonna, stripey green stockings and white knee high snow boots. The only thing missing was the big fat guy in the red suit shaking his belly like a bowl full of jelly.

There actually was a man standing next to her who, if he wasn't the same age as her, was perhaps a few years younger. A strange emotion flashed violently through Castiel, prompting him to mentally probe the universe about this man ... and was relieved? when it responded with the news that that man was gay.

They were bopping to the beat of the music and howling out the lyrics as if they were at a concert. Despite the fact that he may be intruding on something, Castiel progressed towards them. As if she sensed the nearby movement, she turned in time to spot him.

Bewilderment blared across her face for a moment when she did, obviously not expecting to see him anywhere but where they usually met, but it immediately grew into a look of delightful enthusiasm as she abandoned her friend and sprinted for him as fast and as eagerly as a rabbit. With his hands dashingly tucked into his trench coat's pockets, he closed whatever remaining distance was left between them as he approached her.

"Hi!" she greeted with a very astounded lilt in her voice.

Raising herself onto her tip toes, she pulled him to a bear hug (though, was still cautious of his right arm). It was at that very moment he realized how different she was; he had never seen another New Yorker greeting another like that. Whether he should feel worried or lucky, he did not know. When she pulled back he caught her frowning confusedly, but her smile remained.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in awe. "Or better yet, how did you find this place? This is like a really exclusive, hush-hush record store."

"I know, I saw the sign. It's über elitist," he echoed, as she eagerly nodded with a grin of approval. "And I was... recommended to come here."

"By who?"

"An old acquaintance who I happened to run into."

Although she didn't seem to buy it, she wasn't at all disappointed by his presence. If anything, it seemed as though his appearance had made her day. She smiled and shrugged in a way that translated to "Eh, whatever!" and looped her arm around his in the way that he realized he missed.

"It's actually closing time soon," she informed, explaining why it was so empty, "but since you're my friend you can stay and chillax with us. You're a VIP!"

Finally! A modern term he understood! He wasn't as naive as he thought. Or others thought. He began to frown - did he always appear clueless to other people?

Hang on ... did she work here? She didn't appear to be working just moments ago, but then again, there weren't many people to assist. Maybe she knew the owners? Maybe she was the owner?

"Hey!" A gloved hand began to wave before his eyes, effectively whisking away his reverie. "Ground Control to Major Castiel!"

Snapping out of it, he cocked his head questioningly at her; his way of beckoning her to carry on.

"So, were you looking for anything in particular?" she asked, guiding him down an empty aisle. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw that every square tile beneath his feet illuminated upon contact. "You better like good music or I'm kicking you out."

Now he knew what she meant by "sitting around and being pretentious".

"Not really," he answered distractedly.

She wasn't pretentious in an intellectual way, but more of an "I'm an eccentric who likes different things and you're not, therefore I'm better than you" sort of way. This sort of pretentiousness was less annoying. If anything, she made it quite charming.

"That's a bingo," she sang out somewhat inattentively. Her inattentiveness drew in his regard, and he saw that she was fairly immersed with thumbing through a collection of music records listed under a certain letter. He followed her to and from either side of the aisle as she did this to many, all the while saying, "We want people to walk in with an open mind about music, not coming here to stick to what they're familiar with. So," she turned and leaned back casually against the bank of records, "just for my benefit and eventually yours, who do you listen to? I need to know so I can go find the complete opposite of that and make you like it." She then beamed in the sort of syrupy way that required a "Ding!" sound effect.

It should come as no surprise that Castiel didn't listen to music. He wouldn't count Dean's music because he supposed he more detected it with his ears rather than actually truly listening to it.

"Who do you think I listen to?" he asked curiously, mirroring her by leaning against the record bank exactly opposite from her. Sensing the challenge in his voice, a slow smirk began to form on her face, but before either of them could say anything further, a nasal voice chimed in.

"Oh? Is that fresh meat I hear?"

Castiel veered around and saw a little woman tossing the box of stock in her hands onto the nearest CD bank with her eyes fixed curiously upon him. If Audrey's wardrobe was stuck in the eighties, this woman's was stuck in the seventies. She seemed to surpass his vessel's age by roughly ten years, but what she compensated in age, she lacked in height; he probably had a good thirteen inches over her. Just as she began to approach him, the man Castiel had previously seen conversing with Audrey sprung forward out of nowhere.

"Oh - my - God," he uttered, staring at Castiel in such a ravenous way that it unsettled him. He then realized, this man was more staring at his hair than at him. "Do you use American Crew Fiber pliable molding creme on your hair? I hear it's matte magic, but I'm pretty attached to my Ojon Conditioning Finishing Paste, yet I can never get my hair as fiercely coiffed as yours –" His clenched fists quivered with thrill, as if to suppress a fanatical squeal. "I MUST TOUCH IT!"

Before the man's trembling, eager hands could make it to Castiel's gravity defying hair, Audrey tugged him away by the earlobe, ignoring his wails of torment.

"Yeah, okay Nicky, queen out elsewhere." Once he was almost literally out of Castiel's hair, Audrey nodded her head in the man's direction. "That's Nicky; he's –"

"Where did you find this one?" Nicky exuberantly asked in his effeminate lisp, appearing at her side from nowhere once more, sizing up Castiel with flirtatious eyes. He was like the muppet that appeared on screen seemingly out of thin air. "I think I might try my hand at a May/December relationship right about now - mm-mmm!"

"He speaks for himself," she deadpanned.

"By the way, nice trench coat!" he continued to fawn, shamelessly fondling the lapels of Castiel's overcoat. "These've taken over last Winter's craze for bomber jackets; y'know, trenches are so in right now," he said back at Audrey, who appeared an amusing mixture of impatient and unimpressed.

"But then again," he resumed skeptically, scrunching up his face into a grimace, "only the ones in, like, cool colors. Like twilight Persian blue, or dusty palatinate purple." He stepped away and eyed Castiel's coat critically, "Not child molester tan... But you make it work! Which should be worrying, but –"

Saving Castiel from further fashion evaluation, Audrey forcibly but playfully elbowed Nicky away. "Go away!" The woman from earlier appeared on Audrey's other side, to whom she automatically gestured towards. "And this is Jody. Jody, this is –"

Castiel sighed. The intimate atmosphere they shared just moments ago seemed so far away now...

"Yeahyeahyeah, we'll make acquaintances outside of working hours!" she warbled, dismissively waving her hand about. She stared purposefully up at him. "We're on a mission!"

Jody possessed such a prominent Queens accent, she nearly gave him a headache.

Nicky, once again, leaped into the scene out of nowhere. "It doesn't involve some heavy touching, does it?"

Castiel's eyes flew open. "It -- what?"

"Oh I see," murmured Jody.

Immediately, the three of them stood back in a line and appraised Castiel like one would appraise a sculpture in an art museum. There was a steep drop in the middle as the vertically challenged Jody stood in between them. With Audrey gone from his side and instead standing opposite him, Castiel felt rather left out.

"I don't think he got the Lady GaGa reference," Nicky muttered to the other two from the corner of his mouth.

Castiel frowned. "Who's –"

"So then, he would be like a Rolling Stones guy?" Audrey suggested. Then began a verbal three-way tennis match of which Castiel was only a witness of.

"No, no, tamer!"

"Sir Elton?"

"Get outta here. Elton John's glamorous."

"The Beatles!"

"Maybe."

"Mozart? Beethoven. No... they're too mainstream."

"Mainstream?!"

"Mainstream in the realm of classical music! Jeez, DMY."

"You know," Audrey began, "the vibe I'm getting from you tells me that you don't listen to music."

"Ooh! Florence and the Machine!"

"Ahaha... Absolutely not."

"Elvis."

"Which one?"

"Either."

"Maybe Presley, not Costello."

"Really? I thought it'd be other way around."

"U2!"

"Me?" Castiel said thickly.

"Not you! U2!"

"Well that's a no," Audrey mumbled into her hand.

"I gawt it!" trilled Jody, snapping her fingers. "Dammit Janet, I know what he needs! He needs the antidote to prudeness!"

"You mean prudence," Castiel corrected.

She tugged him down to her height to pat him pityingly on the cheek. "Oh, honey, you would know."

The music, although loud, snared all their attentions when it suddenly silenced. Jody then startled Castiel by shouting.

"ALRIGHT YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS! ERRBODY OUT!" The last patron had, in fact, left just seconds before. Her heavily manicured red nail was suddenly pointed severely at him. "Except you Fancy Pants; you're gonna be schooled." The pointed hand then turned into a hand that sought a greeting. "Jody Dreyfuss," she announced.

He accepted her hand, feeling a new-found respect for her of which he had no clue how she earned from him. "Castiel." Dreyfuss... "Are you German?"

"Half."

"And half-Italian."

Her unperturbed demeanor faltered a little. "How do you know that?"

"You look it." That, and the universe told him, among other things. "You're half-Jewish too. What's that like?"

An Italian-German-American Jew - what a contradicting albeit fascinating combination!

Before the flabbergasted woman could respond, Nicky obnoxiously shoved her out of the way to finally address him properly.

"I'm Alexander Pierre-Louis Nicholas von Gillern, but you can call me Nicky!" he giddily announced. His grasp on Castiel's hand suddenly tightened as he leaned into him, his expression smoldering. "Mr. Von Gillern if your nasty." He winked, and when Castiel stared back blankly, he drew back anxiously. "Please tell me you pitch for my team. Does he pitch for my team?"

"Nicky," Audrey began authoritatively, "What have I said about molesting the customers?"

Nicky's shoulders immediately sagged as he relinquished Castiel's hand, and trudged away with a pout. With him gone and the shrill heavily-accented culture-zoo of a woman already halfway across the room, he felt the warmth of the intimate atmosphere slowly reclaim its place. Audrey smiled apologetically as she gestured an aisle to walk down.

"What are you going to do to me?" he asked, and froze inwardly when he realized how risqué that sounded. Thankfully, it seemed to fly over her head.

"I know Jody may seem a bit intimidating," she said as she played with the trimming of her skirt, "but really, it's nothing. We're really only gonna play music that you may not usually listen to. We like to do that after-hours."

"I see."

She sat on a seat and gestured for him to do likewise, but Castiel saw no place to do so. Well, nowhere obvious. There were ... objects lying about, but they didn't look like chairs. These avant-garde designs puzzled him! Hesitantly, he sat on the thing he was nearest.

She shook her head. "Castiel, that's a table." He moved to another object. "No, that's a lamp." He moved to another. "Well that's just there for decoration!"

"Are any of these seats?" he asked impatiently, not wanting to look like a fool for any longer. She grinned widely as a means to stifle her laughter, and eventually gave up her own seat for him.

"It's nice to see you," she said, claiming another seat.

"It's nice to be seen." His jest was acknowledged with a smile.

"So! What have you been up to?" she asked conversationally as she pulled up her legs to sit cross-legged.

"Um... I have been busy with work related matters." Technically he wasn't lying.

"You work on your vacation?" She sounded appalled.

"It's unavoidable."

Disappointment flickered across her face for a moment, but they were interrupted by the head of a certain flamboyant boy poking into the corners of their eyes.

"Sorry to interrupt, ladies, but seriously, are you two trying for something here, or can I –"

"Nicholas!" she seethed, just short of screaming. "What part of G-T-F-O don't you understand?"

He seemed to consider this very seriously for a moment. "I guess it would be the F, considering, well, how do you physically get the fuck out – I mean, it's, it's presented as a noun, but –"

"Go away!"

As Nicky pulled an obnoxious face to Audrey, to which she returned in kind, Castiel noted with amusement that they acted a lot like siblings.

"Well! Pardon me for expressing interest!" he huffed tartly. Castiel shifted uneasily when Nicky pointed a finger at him. "I'd hit that! I'd hit that so hard, that whoever pulled me out of him would be crowned the next King of England!"

Instead of dignifying him with a verbal response, Audrey waved an insistent goodbye at him. As he sashayed off, Castiel exchanged glances with Audrey, who simply rolled her eyes in mortification.

These constant acknowledgments to his beauty baffled Castiel. Attractiveness was never an important factor when deciding on a vessel, and he didn't know if this kind of attention was a good or a bad thing. It could possibly help or hinder him one day, couldn't it?

"Why am I so beautiful?" he asked pensively, not thinking twice about the flagrant vanity of such a question.

Her eyes widened comically, and there was a long pause before she spoke; all the while Castiel patiently waited, blinking his wide eyes innocently.

"Is there a disease that causes a sudden swelling of egos? Because I think you may have it," she chuckled.

"You've called me beautiful before." He nodded his head in the direction of Nicky. "And to say that he's attracted to me would be an understatement." He smiled a little when her lips pulled upwards. "I don't see it."

"Are you fishing for compliments, Castiel?" she asked in a knowing tone. "You know, if there's anything I've learned from Zoolander, is that there's more to life than being really, really ridiculously good looking."

His gaze, although fond, sharpened. "I want an objective answer. I want to hear your professional opinion as a photographer." He ignored her disbelieving roll of eyes. "Tell me why I'm a good subject."

"Turn a vain question into something technical, I like it. Well..." She shifted in her seat, as if her prepare herself for the appraisal. When it appeared that she was going to launch into her evaluation quickly and confidently, she peered up and seemed flustered by Castiel's adamant, determined gaze.

"You uh, well, you have a strong jawline. Strong, but not prominent. It makes you appear strong, obviously, but..." There was an awkward pause when Castiel leaned forward with intrigue. "...gentle, at the same time. With hard lighting you can look cold and very ominuous. With subdued lighting you could look very pure and angelic."

Castiel did an admirable job in not reacting in any way to that particular observation.

"Your blue doe eyes are to die for," she continued with more enthusiasm, "Blue eyes are practically everyone's weakness. And there's something about doe eyes that makes people look so delicate, like a porcelain doll." Her regard sharpened. "But there's that distinctive thing about you. Technically you have those delicate doe eyes, and the fact that your irises are blue should make you look even more delicate."

He watched as she became lost in thought for a moment, seemingly trying to propose a conclusion.

"All your features altogether still somehow make you look strong." She seemed perplexed by this, and disappointed that it perplexed her. Visibly putting it behind her, she continued. "You have a great profile." She reached forward and cradled him by the chin, turning his head from side to side. Until then, he hadn't realized how close they were sitting.

"Angles all in the right places, not too sharp, not too soft." It seemed that he had become conscious of their proximity sooner than she, and when she did, she promptly sat back. "Are you sure your nationality isn't even partially European? Because some regions –"

She began to trail on about something to do with European facial structures. Not that he was even listening anymore; he was paying more attention to how she avoided his eyes, and how apple-cheeked she had become - and it was certainly not due to the winter air, since they were inside!

"Why are you blushing?" he asked, interrupting her.

She froze, and when she realized she made such an obvious move in doing so, she began to fidget. Rubbing her neck, combing her fingers through her hair, inspecting her nails (despite the fact that she wore gloves).

"Huh? What? Shut up, I'm not blushing."

"Yes, you are." Realizing what this implied, he began to smile, despite himself. He leaned over, hoping to fall into her line of vision. "Are you attracted to me too, Audrey?"

Despite all evidence to the contrary, she replied with a huffed "No".

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