((This board was made with Arc in mind, but after she posts, I think if anyone else wanted to slip in they might be able to.))

It smells and it is noisy. Not unlike the Pit. Hell. Except he's yet to see a single pit of molten lava full of tortured souls or flaming spiked chairs weighed with broken lives. If that was even what Hell is like. He certainly won't tell you.

Josaiah leans his back against the railing which separates him from the second floor and the drop to the first floor. He is facing a shoe store with a large department store on one side and the food court visible to the other side. There's something of a bedroom shop behind him.

His slender fingers are nursing a deck of cards. Flipping them with the pleasant whisper of their waxed surfaces from palm to the other. Red jack, black two, red four, fed six, black ten, red ace, black king.

He is wearing black pants, boots with pointed toes. Almost womanish ones. The boots have red laces. His undershirt would be black if you could see it, but since you can't see it, you're left to guessing. It's black, though. It is also, suitably, underneath another shirt. A purple one. With the front buttoned down and hanging out on his thighs. The sleeves, however, are not buttoned. They are hanging open on his thin, pale wrists. Alongside his legs rests a worn, silken top hat. It is probably his.

His dark dreadlocks brush loose across his fine cheekbones.

He looks like he should be calling out offers for a card pick except he has no table. He is just watching people walk. The cards make a soft, schwip-schwip noise.

He is waiting for the right person.

Eyes are watching. Waiting.

Worn out, torn, black boots hammer against the floor, and celery green eyes search the mall. Crowds, people, talking can be heard, people are flitting around where small places to eat can be found, a janitor cleaning up around them, and several trash bins are next to tables where people are sitting. Population was disgusting.

Walking, walking, walking.

Small, sweaty hands brushed up against blue jeans, and several mutters could be heard by the mouth of a mortal. Cursing, perhaps? Too mumbled to hear.

Dark red hair brushes in his face, and slender fingers tuck white bangs behind his ear. The other side gets in his face, and again, hands reach back to tuck it behind his ear.

Slender lips stay poistioned, mood dull. He is bored, and hates crowds. The only reason he came here was for food.

He takes a breath in, blinking, and then yawns. He is wearing a black, button up shirt with red lacing carefully designed at the bottem of it, courtesy of his his brother Jehovah. If you were paying much attention, you'd notice he really didn't care to button it up all the way; more like three quarters of the way. He hadn't worn anything underneath it, either, just tossed it on, buttoned it up and headed out the door.

He held in another yawn, carelessly letting Josaiah's presence go terribly unnoticed.

Taller then the other, broader and stronger too, though the age differance is not visably noticable, he's older too. Heavy, worn boots, scuffed and worn to perfect fit. His feet are quieter. Everything about him is calculated.

Hair, longer, darker, it's black, layerd, streaked with bloody red that looks like bloody foingers were pulled through it, looking just all too real. Eyes, not greener, they are the same. They hold the same dulled look, the same color, the same facial structure. Heavy black lines encircle his eyes, red circles outside of that, black eyeliner, red eyeshadow. His lips are colored in red and also lined black.

Black pants containing straps, rings, and zippers, a black muscle shirt with an intricate red design across it. A bondage collar, leather with four silver rings, a wrist band to match.

The smells of inticing food wafts to his nose, causing his stomach to growl. He hadn't realized how carried away he'd gotten with photographing his brother. Though, time was never an issue for him, his art and passion came first.

Josaiah's presence went less unnoticed by these eyes. He'd seen the demon before, knew what it was capable of, and was cautious upon seeing it. Respect in the staring eyes.

(Shit! I'm on the wrong SN!)

So many people. As for the saying 'one born every minute', he would be inclined to correct that to 'second'. So many delicious opportunities.

"You."

He doesn't have to raise his voice. It carries.

His dark eyes are focused not on one, but two. Two lucky, lucky contestants.

"Both of you."

He hopes he does not have to specifiy.

Schwip-schwip-schwip.

"Come and try my game."

Josaiah invites calmly, softly, almost alluringly. He does not care if they feel lucky or not. It sounds like the best game in the world.

Keen gree eyes note the presence this time. A man, but no average looking man. Lucifer was edgy around people like that, but he couldn't go unnoticed, so he simply stared at him, taking in his details just incase. "Cards aren't exactly my forte," Lucifer explained. He didn't feel like having a conversation, and he was starving.

(Eh, sorry for crappy post.)

Jehovah's mood changed swiftly, swinging away from the new found, easy going man walking in the hall with his brother. He was now moving, acting the way he had been when he'd still wanted his brother dead.

He chuckled lightly, a morbid chuckle.

"I wouldn't deny him his game, Lucifer." He suggested it calmly, though he himself wasn't drawn to the game. He wasn't hungry again. As before, when he'd been drawn in by the chance to photograph his brother, his attintion was drawn to the demon, his stomach and it's contents no longer important to him, no longer on his mind.

"You don't need strength to be lucky."

He assures the reluctant first with something resembling warmth in his tone.

"Let chance rule here. I always do."

He laughs now, a soft, ringing, few chuckles. The cards are still schwip-schwipping through their order. He tilts his head on Jehovah.

"It isn't just his game. This one.. it requires teamwork. You both play.. or you'll go mad trying to imagine what you lost."

He informs them quite sincerely.

Bait and hook.

"Come on. It'll be... fun."

He is trying not to laugh anymore.

"I don't care much for luck," He replied with a slight frown. He didn't like cards or luck at all. He was horrible with both. But... something about this card game is... different.

"And are you sure about that?" He asked, eyes never moving from Josaiah. "Are you absolutely positive we'll go mad?" He was interested by now. This man is... manipulative.


"But hey, one card game couldn't possibly hurt,"