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[color=black]  G O D   O F   F I R E   &   L I G N T N I N G[/color]
[color=firebrick]G O D   O F   F I R E   &   L I G N T N I N G[/color]
[/h1][/sup][hr][hider=Gorillaz - Doyathing Outro][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G9nC1jUzAnA[/youtube][/hider][hr][/center][b][color=red][sup]Little Marjoram > Seattle University[/sup][/color][/b][right][sup][b][color=red]Interactions:[/color][/b][@fledermaus][/sup][/right]

The day for Shango began like most days.

Passed out in a dumpster with one leg sticking out of it. Most nights Shango usually got drunk off his ass and passed out, and most days Shango spent it sleeping it off. Sometimes he ran out of alcohol and spent his days playing the drums for money. Of course, he always used it to buy alcohol and whatever he didn't spend he gave to charity. They always found it strange that a homeless man like Shango donated [i]so much[/i] of his wealth to others. Heh, they should make an article about it. 

Normally, he sleeps in the nearest dumpster but he always finds himself drawn to the Little Marjoram and its delightful dumpster. Even if Shango would rate the dumpster a 1/10, he'll take it over any other dumpster. Why you ask? Mostly because it pisses off Imentet or "Charlotte Buyer" as she calls herself. Usually, she would have run him out by now but she was probably busy.

However, he quickly became cognizant as he heard a bird flying up and he almost [i]instinctively[/i] woke up. Because he was tired of flying rats shittin' on him while he was asleep. The mortals were going to start catching onto all the pigeons being zapped with lightning. His eyes shot open and the first thing he saw as a freaking crow with a rolled note in its mouth. It dropped its package on his face and Shango instinctively closed his eyes as he growled. It flew off as Shango took the note off his face and he sat up and unrolled the note.

"I swear if this the work of that bastard Odin..." Shango hissed to himself as he looked at it before his eyes opened. "... Oh, here we go [i]again.[/i]"

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A man wearing tattered clothes and quite honestly smelling bad walking into Seattle University like he owns the place is a sight. Shango stepped in with his hands in his pockets, wearing jeans, a white tank-top, sunglasses, tattered old Timberlands, and boots. He had a toothpick in between his teeth as he walked into the place where the Conclave was going to be. Which he was [i]super[/i] excited... in case you didn't realize, he was [i]not[/i] excited for it at all. Because the last Conclave was pretty stupid in his opinion and he was tempted to not even show up to this one. [i]Only[/i] reason he showed up was the hope that they'll discuss something useful.

He pushed the doors open and quickly put his hands back in his pockets as he saw that a few Gods had already arrived. Fortunately, not one of the Greek Gods because Shango [i]definitely[/i] didn't have a high opinion of them. It was apparent that The Morrigan was the one that called this Conclave... or someone else did and she just decided to rent out the place.

[i]What an upstanding individual.[/i]

Shango put his foot upon one of the chairs and looked at her as he decided to cut to the chase. "What's the point of this Conclave, eh?" He started, "And please tell me it's not going to be like the last time when you tried to blame one of us for World War Two... I think you forgot we're trapped here in America 'til further notice."