By the time he reached the stairwell of the apartment building, it was sleeting, that grey, terrible sleet that seems to be made of nothing more than frozen spit and coal dust. It smelled faintly acidic.

He was greeted by the overwhelming smell of cabbage and urine. The cabbage he was blaming on Azazel, and, well, Sean has a theory that all apartment buildings of a certain age and vintage spontaneously secrete urine and cigarette smoke.
(He'd insisted that that was the first step in their process of becoming sentient. Erik had flushed his acid stash down the toilet in retaliation.. Seriously, if he couldn't fucking handle the high, he should stick to weed. )

It didn't help his mood when he saw a girl leaving the apartment, pale and beautiful, with a shocking white streak in her hair and the sort of face that a guy would look twice at before he ran as far and as fast as he could, because there was something fragile, and damaged, and dangerous as fuck playing about the cheekbones, crystal's artificial flame burning in her eyes.

Erik pushed by her carefully, because yeah, he was an asshole, but he wasn't going to just shove a girl out of the way.

"Cassidy, tell me that she's of age. Tell me you're not that much of an idiot." he called as he stomped his worn boots on the entry mat.
"I didn't exactly ask for ID, man." The redhead stretched like a cat, but otherwise did not move from the ratty tartan sofa.

"Don't let Logan hear you say that," a warm, sarcastic female voice drifted in from the kitchen.

It was followed by the smell of actual food, which was nice. By virtue of the employment status of everyone save Erik, and Erik's intense apathy on the matter, their diets tended towards the hot dogs and packet noodles type. "I'm pretty sure she was a friend of Laura's."

Angel and Alex had an ongoing bet as to whether Logan's sister was a vigilante or a prostitute. Privately, Erik thought that one didn't necessarily preclude the other.

Erik looked at her. "I'm not telling him, are you?"

Angel opened her mouth in what was obviously going to be a witty retort, but was interrupted by the splinter of shattering glass and raised voices.

Erik raised an eyebrow at Angel.

She sighed. "The hot French guy's home again. Apparently sister dearest doesn't approve."

She bangs on the wall, dislodging a faint fwish of plaster particles.

The noise dies down, before a deep mans voice calls out "Va dont chier mon tabarnak!"

Erik smirks. He's always been good with languages.
"Timtsos li!" he responds.

If nothing else, the weird chick in 221 would get a kick out of that. Erik remained undecided as to whether she was an Israeli spy or a dominatrix catering to very specific, Orthodox tastes.

Alex rolled his eyes form his place in the corner, where he sat sprawled on the cracked linoleum, phone in hand. "Jesus Christ, are Cassidy and I the only normal people in this building?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that, " Sean drawls.

Angel smacks him as she walks by to give Erik a hug, which he tolerates with good grace, only shoving her away after nearly a full six seconds.

"How'd it go?" She asks curiously. "I haven't seen you in this good a mood in ages."

Erik shrugs.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't give me that. You usually come back looking like you want to kill someone. Are you drunk?" Her eyes narrow, then widen in horror. "Oh, shit, you haven't actually killed anyone, have you? Because I'm pretty sure you're our only source of bail money, and Alex isn't working at the foundry anymore, so he can't even help you hide the body."

She giggled, and Sean held his hand up in wordless congratulations.

Erik's lip twitched. "Very funny, Angel. No, as it happens, I didn't kill anyone."

She playfully smacked his shoulder. He never understood how, out of all the people in the universe, these assholes were the only ones who didn't seem to be scared of him.

If someone had consulted Erik in the matter, he might have suggested, say, his boss, or the old lady who's grass he trimmed as people in whom it would be nice to not inspire terror. At least then the not-being-scared thing might translate into actual cash money as opposed to poorly cooked tuna casseroles and annoyance. (And cheap weed. Can't forget the cheap weed.)

"So, Erik," Sean said with a smirk. "You're coming home with Angel and me, right? Mom's always asking about that nice young man I live with."

Alex snorted. "Makes you sound like a fag, bro."

Erik glared at him. "I will punch you in the face, Cassidy." His tone was not particularly threatening.

Sean threw a pillow at him. "Nah, Mom's just worried about him. It hurts her poor, dear heart to think of someone being alone at Christmas."

"Did you remind her I'm Jewish?"

Angel grinned. "I wouldn't. I told her I was a stripper, that's just made her more determined to have me over for dinner. Last time she said something about St Mary Magdalene having been a prostitute." She wrinkled her nose. "Sean, dearest, why does she think I'm a prostitute?" Her tone was falsely polite, implied menace in every word.

Sean sighed. "Because she's old and doesn't understand that there's a difference. Besides, she may think you're a prostitute- but you're aCatholic prostitute, and that's what matters."

Angel slapped him playfully. "Great." her tone turned serious. "Erik, you should come. You shouldn't be by yourself on the holidays- they're about family."

I don't have a family, Erik thought. It didn't bother him, necessarily, but facts are facts.

Sean beat him to it. "Don't be such a bitch, he's an orphan, remember? It's very tragic."

"I know, which is why I invited him to come with us, you fuckwit."

"He probably has family," Alex pointed out. "I betcha there's an entire town of scary fucking Lehnsherrs in Germany."

"Yeah, man, somewhere along the line some, like, evil princess fucked a shark, and BAM! Instant Lehnsherrs."

"I'm Polish," Erik pointed out, feeling like an idiot. Really, that was the only thing wrong with that sentence?

"Whatever, same thing. Man, you should be thanking me- Angel was getting ready to hug you again, you poor widdle orphan."

What followed was a jumble of shrieks, squeals, and one very suspicious squeltch.

"You DID NOT just fart on my head-"

"-You HIT me!"

"-You called him an ORPHAN, you insensitive motherfucker-""

"He IS an orphan! Hey, baby, don't-"

"We are SO never having sex ever again-"

"-HEY! MY HAIR!"

At some point in the fight, Erik shoved Alex of the chair and sank down into it, letting the cacaphony wash over him and unknot the tension in his spine. He smiled slightly as the smell of tuna helper leaked out of the kitchen. Why was he even friends with these people?

He ignored the voice that pointed out that it wasn't like people were lining up for the position.