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CANON: archangel peniel
HEIGHT: 6'0
QUOTE: Holy water can't help you now.
AGE: 32
ALIAS: allie
MOVIE: the animated world
CANON GIF: http://i.imgur.com/8dC1J8p.gif
APPLICATION: No Information
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RELATIONSHIP STATUS: alone
THEME MUSIC: No Information
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PROFILE GIF: http://i.imgur.com/PpmkWEb.gif
SEXUALITY: complicated
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Joined: 10-January 16
Status: (Offline)
Last Seen: May 15 2017, 12:03 AM
Local Time: May 27 2017, 04:03 AM
66 posts (0.1 per day)
( 0.28% of total forum posts )
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deacon reuel arsenault

ORIGINAL

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May 14 2017, 11:45 AM
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<div style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing:4px; text-transform:uppercase; color: #111;">oh i tried so hard to change</div><br><div style="font-family:georgia; font-size:30px; line-height:15px; color: #111;"><i>is it too late to believe?</i></div><p>
<div style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing:4px; text-transform:uppercase; color: #111;">but the devil locked my door</div>
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Deacon came through the swinging door from the back just as the jukebox was switching records. Sounds of clinking glass and low conversation filled the bar before the twangy notes of an old Loretta Lynn song buffered it. Although he couldn’t quite make out the words, Deacon knew what the song was by heart -- from all the hours he had spent at work even if he hadn’t personally selected every record in that old music machine. Even now, when closing time was drawing near and there was still a laundry list of tasks to finish before he could leave, Deacon looked out over his bar with a sense of pride. It had been a long time coming. A long time of hard work and far more jars of coins than he would care to admit. The old three story building of red brick had been built in the early 20th century, marks of the old industrial neighborhood still markedly visible in its architectural style, had definitely shown its age.
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Deacon didn’t think it had seen a single renovation since it had been built but the day he had signed the papers and received the keys had been the best day of his life. If there was ever a time he could look back on and be proud of himself, it was that day more than any other that stuck out to him the most. Even more than finishing culinary school, definitely more than getting out of prison early. Truth be told, there wasn’t much in his life that he was particularly proud of at all but the bar…the bar he was proud of. It had taken more hard work and more than a little elbow grease to get it up and running and, at some points, it seemed like it never would be. Now, though, even tired and ready to turn out the lights, he was caught off guard by it all. The exposed brick and wrought iron accents, the jukebox and long, wooden bar of repurposed black oak, the mismatched light fixtures from the twenty’s – all of it was his.
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Across the walls, in frames that didn’t match but somehow still worked together, were old tintypes and various black and white photographs of the city. He’d bought them in bulk from an antique store but it had been his sister who had put them up. If you’d had asked him six months ago about leaving New York City for anywhere other than Louisiana, he would have given an emphatic no. Period. End of conversation. Somehow, though, California was growing on him. Little by little. Replacing the employee tending bar, Deacon made swift work of clearing the dirty glasses beginning what closing tasks he could do. Which wasn’t much aside from cleaning, but between it and the few customers still coming up for drinks, it passed the time. Slowly, but surely, the atmosphere changed in the bar. It gradually grew quieter, the songs on the jukebox turning slower and sadder. Only a few stragglers remained, waiting for last call.
<p>
He knew from experience that it was going to be one of those nights that the lonely ones came out for company. As tired as he was, this was one of the reasons he’d opened a bar instead of a full-fledged restaurants. He knew what it was like to need a kind ear to listen when you felt like your very existence was more of an inconvenience to the world. So, he waited, prolonging the inevitable closing bell…just in case.

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+ open <br>
+ 594 words<br>
+ come play with the man without the angelbro
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Jan 14 2017, 11:14 AM

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.neonbrother {font-family: news cycle; font-size:10px; letter-spacing:0px; line-height:11px; text-align: justify; color: #888;}
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allie hecked up c,;


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<i class="fa fa-user" aria-hidden="true"></i> xia &nbsp;&nbsp; <i class="fa fa-hashtag" aria-hidden="true"></i> idk &nbsp;&nbsp; <i class="fa fa-comment" aria-hidden="true"></i>oooooooops

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xiaoli baozhai jun

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Oct 10 2016, 12:34 AM

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<div style="font-family:times; font-size:12px; color:#ccc; text-align:center; line-height:20px;"><i>my spirit stood on solid ground</i></div>
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Deacon came through the swinging door from the back just as the jukebox was switching records. Sounds of clinking glass and low conversation filled the bar before the twangy notes of an old Loretta Lynn song buffered it. Although he couldn’t quite make out the words, Deacon knew what the song was by heart -- from all the hours he had spent at work even if he hadn’t personally selected every record in that old music machine. Even now, when closing time was drawing near and there was still a laundry list of tasks to finish before he could leave, Deacon looked out over his bar with a sense of pride. It had been a long time coming. A long time of hard work and far more jars of coins than he would care to admit. The old three story building of red brick had been built in the early 20th century, marks of the old industrial neighborhood still markedly visible in its architectural style, had definitely shown its age.
<p>
Deacon didn’t think it had seen a single renovation since it had been built but the day he had signed the papers and received the keys had been the best day of his life. If there was ever a time he could look back on and be proud of himself, it was that day more than any other that stuck out to him the most. Even more than finishing culinary school, definitely more than getting out of prison early. Truth be told, there wasn’t much in his life that he was particularly proud of at all but the bar…the bar he was proud of. It had taken more hard work and more than a little elbow grease to get it up and running and, at some points, it seemed like it never would be. Now, though, even tired and ready to turn out the lights, he was caught off guard by it all. The exposed brick and wrought iron accents, the jukebox and long, wooden bar of repurposed black oak, the mismatched light fixtures from the twenty’s – all of it was his.
<p>
Across the walls, in frames that didn’t match but somehow still worked together, were old tintypes and various black and white photographs of the city. He’d bought them in bulk from an antique store but it had been his sister who had put them up. If you’d had asked him six months ago about leaving New York City for anywhere other than Louisiana, he would have given an emphatic no. Period. End of conversation. Somehow, though, California was growing on him. Little by little. Replacing the employee tending bar, Deacon made swift work of clearing the dirty glasses beginning what closing tasks he could do. Which wasn’t much aside from cleaning, but between it and the few customers still coming up for drinks, it passed the time. Slowly, but surely, the atmosphere changed in the bar. It gradually grew quieter, the songs on the jukebox turning slower and sadder. Only a few stragglers remained, waiting for last call.
<p>
He knew from experience that it was going to be one of those nights that the lonely ones came out for company. As tired as he was, this was one of the reasons he’d opened a bar instead of a full-fledged restaurants. He knew what it was like to need a kind ear to listen when you felt like your very existence was more of an inconvenience to the world. So, he waited, prolonging the inevitable closing bell…just in case.



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Jun 13 2016, 02:07 PM

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Okayokayokay. This isn't going to be an especially specific or detailed want ad. There are tons, literally tons of characters that could potentially come from the same world as Deacon and Amara and the others. There's a hella lot of potential however there two specifically that are potentially needed for plot things.that are...fairly important. See those angels up there? That's Uriel and Raphael. In the canon that's been established, Uriel holds the key to the "pit" -- basically a demon jailer as well as some other minor details. Raphael is a Luminary, one of the leaders of the Seraphim, and also the angel of healing. I won't lay out the details of those things here but suffice it to say they are very wanted for plot things.
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If you're interested in taking on either of them, please please read Deacon's app and Sammi's apps for Amara Fields and Elijah Hayes. Discussion with one or the both of us will be expected beforehand as this is kind of a big deal. Genders, faces, ages, etc. are all up to the player and, of course, as always, guests cannot make animated originals. Please check out the animated oc rules as well if this is your first one. THANK YOU IN ADVANCE. WE WILL LOVE YOU LOTS <3 ;-;


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Jun 12 2016, 06:06 PM

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<div style="font-family:times; font-size:12px; color:#ccc; text-align:center; line-height:20px;"><i>we are young again</i></div>
<img src="http://i.imgur.com/NgsorIr.gif">
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The city was quiet -- a sort of twilight sleep had fallen over the city he both knew and didn't. There were no people, no traffic to blare and fill the roads. It didn't matter anyway, not to Deacon. None of this was real, not really. Sure, he could feel the hard concrete of the sidewalk beneath his feet. He could hear the echo of his steps as he walked he knew not where, A shaft of light spilled out of a window, drawing his attention. It was a diner and he was drawn to it like a moth to flame.
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Taking a dragging breath, he stepped inside. A bell tinkled overhead even as he shoes squeaked on the linoleum. Blinking, his eyes slowly adjusted as he looked around. The diner was empty, as far as he could tell, and he walked up to the long bar and sat. Shrugging off his coat, thin shoulders sank with a sigh as he leaned forward on the bar. His hands met in front of him and he stared at his palms, at the thin scars that mottled his arms. Even in dreams he couldn't be rid of the evidence of what he was. Deacon caught his reflection in the chrome napkin holder and sighed, feeling older than he looked.



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