[center][img=http://i.imgur.com/BbAAZAg.jpg][/center]

Soon enough Sloth trailed Angel into the kitchen, totally revealing herself to him. He whirled around with an piqued "Hello!" before he could even see her stabs and slices. Ignoring his arousal she quickly ordered him to assist with her injuries. To this Angel saluted her back and fetched what she asked like a dog. "Got your back, Sloth!"

As La Madre departed for her throne, he cringed - the headache pounded harder than ever. To make matters worse another rumble set off, and Angel immediately fell into a readied stance, expecting another explosion to catch everyone off guard. At least until Sam outside start screaming something along the lines of "Holy fuck!"

Then the madman charged inside and stabbed himself!? Angel nearly choked at his irrational action - until Sam's hand healed itself, with some black goop completely sealing up the wound. "What in the...?"

Angel reached for the mask on the back of his head and held it before him. A porcelain, faceless mask bar the two black eye sockets for him to see through. And it was completely unscathed. He glanced back towards Sam, then Harry - who had slammed his back into the wall and crumpled to the floor. slammed his back into the wall and crumpled to the floor. Angel would have taken off to help the latter, until Harry began smiling.

First Sam pretty much impales himself and Harry keels over, grinning and muttering. Angel looked back to Sloth, who continued snoozing away, and the other three sins had already vanished from sight. "Is everyone here psychotic? I couldn't have had [i]that[/i] much to drink this morning." Returning to the kitchen, when he was sure no one was looking, Angel propped on his mask.

There must have been something up with that explosion earlier. That or he truly was drunk. After all, his mask should have been shattered when he slammed against a wall from impact. Yet there he was, wearing it, physically. His dizziness almost amplified, and along with that he found himself... craving something. Craving. Needing. Something. Anything. More - he just needed [i]more.[/i]

He took a knee, clutching his head once again. Oh it hurt, the pounding and the cravings intermixing all at once, it hurt - but it hurt so [i]good.[/i] What on earth was going on? "I could... really use a beer right now. Or vodka. Or Baileys. Anything would be g-"

Something popped out of his pocket and rolled on the floor as he knelt down. Angel lifted his eyes - meeting with a little plastic cube. A die. A four.

While he was used to his dice flopping out from his pockets here and there by accident (typically when he leans over like this), sudden mugs of beer materializing beside them was unheard of. Molded into existence from the same black smoke that emitted from Sam's own hand, Angel reached for the handle - and gripped his hand around it. He jerked it, allowing the liquid inside to slosh around and spill onto his sleeve.

Yep. It was definitely there. His eyes fixated on the die, which pulsated with a faint black aura.

"Oh, God. What the fuck."