Andrew
Legacy Name: Andrew

Andrew leaned his head against the window behind his bus seat, regretting it only slightly as his skull connected hard with the glass every time the driver hit a bump. He was tired - it was a long night at the bar. Believe it or not, Mondays tended to be that way.

4 AM is an interesting time. The people who are out and about right now rarely come into contact with the typical 9-to-5ers; the entire world revolves around the outdated "workin' man's" day. The businesses are shut down, food is chilled for the morning, and police are absolutely sure that the people wandering around in the dark are up to no good. Which, all things considered, could be true. It's always a possibility, after all.

But the interesting thing was how people acted in the 4 AM crowd. These people were his people, the workers who get shit on for being night crew but they go to work every day anyway. This is what the middle class would call the "uneducated", the people who were just lucky to barely scrape by. But Andrew saw something different; the 4AMers are the free thinkers. These are the people who, by either choice of their own or happenstance, choose to not follow an easy path. It's clear who the world caters to: the early risers. The sunrise joggers. The middle-management men and the working class women with little children dictated by their school schedules. Commercials feature those who eat dinner at 6 PM and every health magazine Andrew's ever glanced over at the checkout line advises sneaking in a few extra minutes for yourself by rising just a little earlier than your spawn.

But not him, not the night owls. It's easy to think for yourself when there's no one to swim with the current; they're all asleep. Andrew loves his job, but more than that, he loves what it allows him to do: he can pick any hour to work, and his own body seems to be awake more around 9PM...never lose a chance to listen to your body.

A few blocks away from his destination, Andrew called to be dropped off at the bus stop. It allowed him to get a small walk in, and the brisk air helps a tired man come awake again. The cold prickled against his skin, the wind blowing in a cool mist from the rain that had fallen earlier that day. Above him, a streetlamp hummed loudly before flickering dark; Andrew lifted an eyebrow. It seems like he's always around when a streetlight dies - and maybe it's just natural given how often he stays at night - but it's easy to wonder if all people witness as many streetlamps dying as he did.

It was a new path Andrew chose to walk today, and judging by the sharp angles in which the broken concrete of the sidewalk jutted, a streetlamp would have been helpful. It was a decent shopping district, shops lined in a neat little row with colorful displays, all darkened...but one. He was drawn to it, of course, simply for how beautiful the artwork in the window shone. It was a lone tattoo shop, about a block from the supercenter he made his way for, and inside a blue haired man busied himself with cleaning one of the metal machines that looked so delicate but were capable of making such clear designs.

Andrew couldn't help himself when he knocked on the glass window, the man jumping in his seat. At first, the artist narrowed his eyes and shook his head, pointing at the clock above his head. Another man, covered in tattoos (probably an artist) materialized from the back room, making his way to the door when Andrew refused to budge. Amusingly, the blue hair man pleaded with his companion to not address the confused patron outside...but thankfully, the door cracked open for him.

"We're closed." He said simply, frowning. The door was held at a comfortable distance from him, and Andrew noted that he had swelled his chest and opened his arms a bit. Greenie was ready for a fight, but he wouldn't find one here.
"I know." Andrew didn't apologize. "I work nights and I haven't had a chance to talk to a tattoo artist in a while. Could I make an appointment after hours with one of you?"
Greenie frowned deeper and lifted an eyebrow. "This is kind of a question for working hours? Do you know what fucking closed means?"
"MATT!" The blue haired man walked up behind the other, taller artist, hissing his name through his teeth. "Ah...he isn't with us. He doesn't work here. I take appointments, but I think this is the only night I'm going to be here after hours...what were you wanting?"
"I want the words "Blessed are the bold" right here." Andrew lifted his shirt proudly, pointing at a curve following along his ribs.
"Any uh...designs with that?"
"No, just the words."
The blue haired artist bit his lip and looked behind him once again at the clock. "I'm booked solid for like 3 months..."
"It's okay. I didn't expect-"
"It'll cost you double my hourly rate if we do it right now."

The words were so absolute, and whether or not he'd admit it to a stranger, his independence impressed Andrew.

$150 and a quick 15 minute sit in the chair later, Andrew was back on his way. He thanked them both and tipped heavily - they seemed nice. Lovers, probably. Speaking of...

Andrew finally powered on his phone, messages coming through left and right. Six missed calls and a message or two later, he knew someone was worried. He tapped on the icon and held the cold glass of his phone to his ear, to which his call was answered on the first ring.

"I've been calling you!" Sean spat the words quickly, the sounds of his labor in the background. He was stocking something that sounded hollow with many small objects inside...boxes of pasta, maybe?
"In the spaghetti aisle again?" Andrew chose to ignore his first statement as he ran his fingers over his tender ribs.
"Where are you?" He could hear the sound of music playing in the background, no doubt from the massive headphones he wore while working. "Are you behind me?"
"Not yet, but I will be soon." In fact, Andrew had just crossed over into the parking lot of the Wal*Mart. The bright lights from the parking lot made the place look like a movie set, the black asphalt reflecting wetly the bluish cast. "Are you ready to get home?"
"I've got about twenty minutes left..."
"So?"

The other end of the line got a bit quiet, even though the sounds of Sean's stocking grew a bit faster. He was mulling over Andrew's question, his fingers flying over merchandise so that his job wouldn't be missed should he decide to skip out.

One set of sliding doors were still unlocked, a handful of shoppers parked just outside. One lone checker swiped item after item over the laser, his red, glazed eyes staring off in the distance. The harrowed looking man he was checking out had all the makings of a late-night accident run...two packs of diapers and a box of throat lozenges.

"I think they'll be alright without you." Andrew approached the man, hanging up the line and opting to instead lean against the packed shelf to his left.
"You got a tattoo?" Sean asked without looking up, trying to squeeze enough time out of the conversation to finish with the Kraft Mac N' Cheese. "What back-alley place is open at this hour?"
"Actually, it was a pretty neat place. We're going to have to go back sometime when I want something bigger."
Andrew peeled his tank top off, to which Sean widened his eyes (but didn't protest, knowing it wouldn't do him any good), darting his view around to see if anyone was watching. A few choice tugs on the gauze, and his new quote revealed itself.

"From the Bible?"
"Yeah."

Sean had converted to The Temple of Satan about a year ago when the two had first gotten together, and yet here he knew exactly what he was going for. In a way, Andrew was impressed - Sean, a man with no guidance, found the same comfort in religion. They both had a lot to thank Satanism for...a set of close friends, a worldview, Andrew's beautiful infant son carried by a single mother who wanted nothing more than a baby.

"Wait, what the hell?" Sean turned around, his job forgotten momentarily. "You got that tattoo just now? It looks good....you didn't get it done in some back alley, right? You know their needles need to be cleaned and-"
Andrew leaned forward, stealing a kiss. "I know what I'm doing." he said simply, choosing not to explain. "I did what I wanted to do, now it's done. Gonna have to live with it now."

Of course, he had every intention to let him know where it was done. Toying with his partner was irresistible, but he really did love him. Andrew might fuck with everyone, but there might be one or two people worthy of all the work it took to make a relationship work. Sean stared at his hands for a moment, in the middle of a movement to put a box up. Andrew could tell by the look on his face that he had just decided, in that moment, that it was time to go home.

"So let's go." Andrew wound his fingers through the man's brick-red hair, smiling. "What's more important?"
"My needs." Sean nodded, gathering up the equipment he used to scan in the stock.

Andrew still quizzed him from time to time, trying to further engulf him to the lifestyle. Unlike other religions that could be tossed aside every time it became inconvenient, Satanism had become a way of moving, breathing, and thinking. He had the better half of a decade to get accustomed to it, going against all social norms to put himself first and the rest of the world that hadn't earned his love last. But for Sean, a man who had relied on more traditional religions in the past, it might be more difficult.

Andrew waited for Sean at the exit doors, his shirt replaced and a small bag of candies that had gone on sale at his side. One after the other, the man studied the other crew and night shoppers - some who knew him nodded his way. Many others quickened their step past him, their grips tightening on their purses or bags when he chose not to return a smile, some of them groping around for their tasers or whatever else they had to protect themselves before walking out into the night.

Have you ever asked yourself how the world would react to you if you simply stopped caring about putting up that friendly front? It takes a lot of effort to make total strangers treat us like a living, breathing human being. We put so much emphasis on how people see us, on how we act: down to every breath and every word we say. It takes a lot of concentration to navigate around in a society that decides within the first 10 seconds whether or not they like you. Satanism, at least to Andrew, means to give effort inward instead of outward. Allow yourself to love yourself, and only those who make an effort to be part of your life. Give all of yourself to these causes and very little mind to the ones outside of that. It's poison to think the way someone else thinks simply because that's what they do, and this kind of stupidity in large doses leads to literally all of the world's problems as made by man. Man are animalistic at the core, and to ignore this fact, demonizing every need, makes can make a human vicious. Watching the daytime masses, each person vibrating at the core to burst from their shells and be who they really are; it's a torture.

Andrew slipped his arm around Sean as he approached, his body feeling warm and alive in the night. "What now?" Sean inquired, adjusting his bag around his shoulder.A smile crossed Andrew's face. "Whatever the hell we want, I guess."

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Satanism is a very individualistic religion, and everyone is entitled to believe what they want to believe of it. Andrew in particular practices with the Church of Satan. This being said, not all Satanists follow the same teaching, belief set, church or bible. There's a colorful religion to be explored here, but at the core of it, Andrew as a person is carnal; he self-worships. He is the most important person in his life, even more important that Sean. He is also highly motivated by injustices and inequalities in the world. If any of this is offensive to you, I'm not sorry. There's a big ol' world out there full of neat stuff, and to me, religion is one of them.

Interested? This site can get you started.