Yes. Yes. and YEAAAAHHH, BAYBAY.

I CAN WRITE AGAIN. :O

I already posted on WR, but I figured since I just wrote three more pages that actually start from the beginning, I'd post them on here, as kind of an "exclusive" thing, but actually just for the purpose that I don't have to do ANOTHER post on the same day. :D

So... If you haven't read it yet, go at least read the pre-summary about the story. Or not, because this IS the beginning... Maybe...

--

I looked across the street, my eyes scanning the line to get into the club Pandora – one of the hottest clubs in lower L.A. It was Friday night and people were waiting for hours just to get to the door, even though the drinks were watered down heavily and the charge for any and everything was ridiculous.
Luckily, ridiculous was exactly what I was looking for.
Dressed in a black leather mini-skirt, bright red spaghetti-strap tank, and coal-colored stilettos that strapped up to my mid-calf, I was acting the part of young, hot-blooded model who wanted the night off being what anyone of the profession would call normal.
The thing is, I’m not, and never have been, a model. Luckily, everyone in and outside of the club wouldn’t know that.
“You’re gorgeous.” a voice murmured wickedly on my left side, cold breath hitting the side of my neck. “You’re Jezabel Danica Hartlen, the closest thing to a living sin that anyone on this side of the world has ever seen.”
I kept looking straight ahead at the club, the repetitious beat of the disk jockey’s latest mix slightly getting on my nerves.
“Jezabel Danica Hartlen isn’t a model, looks nothing like a model, and shouldn’t be able to pass off as a model.”
Luca laughed, and I could hear echoes of malice reverberating in the sound, though I was pretty sure he was trying to sound causal. He moved to my side, and rubbed his fingers together.
“Temptations of the flesh are my specialty.” He winked at me in the darkness. “Plus, it’s easy being famous when everyone already thinks you are.”
I frowned. Of course he would have already pre-arranged that.
I wish I could say that Luca was kidding, or that I was just really low on self-confidence, but I can’t without lying, which, unfortunately, is something that I do more often the the average person.
And it’s all beacause Luca isn’t really Luca. In fact, he’s not even close to being anything near human.

Five years ago, back when I actually had morals at the tender age of twelve-years-old, I signed control of my life, goals, morale, and soul over to Satan himself. The details are crudely drawn out in my head, but it was one of those memories that you really don’t think back on and is very simple to explain: I lost control of everything in my life except the only thing that couldn’t be taken away: my free will.
Knowing that I couldn’t leave my family quite yet, Lucifer himself, more kindly than I could’ve thought, promised that whenever I was ready to be trained to work for him, he would come get me.
Two weeks later, my parents were killed in a fatal accident.
At the funeral, Lucifer showed up in his human form: a beautiful blonde-haired boy with big, innocent-looking blue eyes named Luca Grey. He told me that it was time to go, and that he would take care of me.
Less than a month later, I was fully minion-ized. I knew the code for Heaven and Hell up and down, could fully disable anyone from a human to Angel, both of which after spending a month in the desert in Nevada being told that they were my enemies turned out to actually be that way, and knew the art of lying, cheating, stealing, and anything else that could possibly cause someone to sin by cold-hearted memory.
I was good. In fact, I was better than good – I was perfect.
By the age of fourteen, I was already starting to get people riled up just by being around them.
By fifteen, it didn’t even bother me that I was trying to get people to do things to get them to hell. In fact, I considered it my new ‘expertise.’
Yet still, at seventeen, I didn’t see how a fake ID and a promise from hell could keep me from getting thrown out of a stupid, earthly club.
“You don’t doubt me, do you?” Luca teased in a way that made me almost want to. “I am the most cunning liar out there.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me.” I said pointedly. “There’s no reason to.”
He grinned, nodding excitedly. “Exactly! No doubt, no lies... What have we not covered, then?”
I didn’t answer.
Finally, after a moment of hesitation, Luca growled. “Fine,” he said crisply, “then I’ll have Simeon do it for me. I should’ve known you couldn’t handle this.”
I scowled. Simeon.
When I was thirteen, Luca -Lucifer- had introduced me to his latest catch with close to the same contract I’d been given: a startlingly skinny boy who looked about sixteen with pasty skin and shaggy dark hair with beady black eyes named Simeon. He proved to be witty and cunning, much less submissive than I was.
So Luca, with a loving smile on his face, let me watch as he turned Simeon’s life upside down. To him, everyone looked suspicious and haunting, giving him a constant natural paranoia that eventually turned him against the world.
He was a monster, and not surprisingly, since I appeared normal to him, was one of his worst enemies. He blamed me for his screwed up world, and though at one time I thought we were almost friends, we ended up being feirce competetors at the whole monopoly Luca ran from his first-class office in hell.
Not that I would know. I’ve never actually been to hell; the closest I get- the place Luca takes me when we need to talk, alone- is the Nevada desert; home of cactus, sand, and almost no one.
“No,” I hissed. “I’ll do it.”
Suddenly, Satan was all smiles again.
“Good! See, I knew you could be decent, my delilah. Oh the fun we shall have and the havoc we shall cause!”
I laughed dryly. “We?”
“Yes. I’m coming with you, just to make sure things go smoothly. Plus, it makes you more desirable if you’re already taken.”
I sighed. “Whatever. You’re the unreasonable type.”
He smirked. “Of course. I’m the devil, darling. No one would take me seriously if I weren’t.”
Luca glided around me and encircled my waist with his arm. “You loathe me,” he whispered cheerfully in my ear as we walked up to the bouncer. “Just remember that, my sweet angelic Jezabel.”
I was already ticked off by the time we reached the big stereotypical bouncer who stood at the door, his black shirt reading ‘SECURITY’ across the front in giant white letters.
“Let me in.” I demanded as he looked intimidatingly at me.
“Oh really?” he retorted, “Well it seems to me that you’re not even in line.”
I stomped my painfully heeled foot. “I’m Jezebal Hartlen, you idiot. I don’t want to wait.”
This was crossing the line, but I kept with the act. Over the years, I’d learned a lot by the whole trial and error way. Luckily, with someone close to mythical on my side, no one seemed to remember me.
The bouncer looked skeptical, his arms crossed. “Oh, really? And who’s this with you, Jezabel?”
Luca frowned deeply. “I’ll go ahead and forget you even asked that. Freyin Hale is a generous man.”
I glared sharply at Luca, but the bouncer just laughed sarcastically. “Fine. Show me ID, and you’re in.”
Simultaneously, we both pulled out the plastic cards with our fake identities on them. The only thing I really had to change on mine was the age, and I was still even worried about that.
Luca, on the other hand, was composed and completely ignorant of the situation. He started prattling on about something in Italian, most likely not even anything to do with the club or our admittance.
The poor bouncer looked over our IDs with wide eyes, and reluctantly handed them back to us.
“I am so sorry, Ms. Hartlen; Mr. Hale. My apologies.”
I huffed, and made a scene of going into the building, Luca trailing behind me, yelling obsenities to me.
“Shut up!” I finally screamed. “You’re so irritating sometimes!”
Sensing my act without skipping a beat, he went into overdrive.
“You, my little flower, don’t even know anything about moi! You’re just some idiot model who wanted to date a tennis star!”
I walked up to him and slapped him smartly across the face. He said something in Italian and grabbed my arm, yanking me into a curtained area reserved in our names, the whole party-going crowd watching us with interest.
“Very nice,” He commented, “Though I belive you slapped me out of want and not act.”
I shrugged. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”
He chuckled darkly. “That it did, oh ye model from hell.”
I mocked a bow, rolling my eyes. “Who, by the way, is dating Freyin Hale? How nice and unpredictable.”
His teeth sparkled in the lighting, almost close to frightening. “Oh, come on, that was pure originality. No one would guess Freyin Hale was actually ‘fry in hell’ except you.”
“Okay, then what about this whole Italian tennis star identity who speaks both Italian and French?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You caught that, hm?”
I snorted. “Of course. Moi is reserved for the French only.”
Luca winked at me and started waving towards the curtain. “Okay, okay, enough; Satan shouldn't have to stand for your crap. Go do your job; I’ll save our table.”


:D