A Stranger I Remain (Nas/Closed/M)

[Painterlee]

She strode over to the bar, not far behind him, taking the chance to sit on one of the stools. It didn't take much to envision this place full of people, of energy. Even now she was looking around at all the little details, as she had imagined it would be like. Everything thought over, nothing left out, nothing slap-dashed. Certainly she'd never been to any kind of grand opening, as it were. Always too busy to take notice of dates, and of places. Too busy trying to pay for fuel, both hers and the Black Scarabs. Nothing else suited her. What else in this world would she do if not track, kill, or apprehend for money? She leaned against the counter, rubbing the back of her neck, both the burning of the silver and that twisting, sour feeling emanating through her body from that black cross irritating her in two vastly different ways, two vastly different pains.

Slowly, she realized, she was digging herself a hole. Of course she would want him to take her to his 'private room'. He wouldn't need anything to know it, she wouldn't need to tell him. But what would happen then? Just decline? Set him up all night, tease him, flirt with him, to a point where he would know, without a doubt, exactly what she wanted, and then turn him down? The frustration was becoming obvious in her body. She couldn't hold a thought down, her brain danced all over the place. "It suits you." Belle said, finally, taking a breath and steadying her thoughts, waiting for whatever drink he had stored away. "This little occupation." Pressing her hands against the counter of the bar, she leaned back, almost trying to will away every distracting sensation in her body with force. It didn't work. "There have been many eras that would have suited you well. It's almost a shame you never got to see them. Reading about them, know about them...it's not the same as experiencing them." Their drink arrived, along with it's unusual tale.

Taking her glass, she raised it to his equally with a nod. "Of course." She took in it's smell curiously. Certainly it reminded her of Earth, back along, and Jadenshire, too. It didn't help her any, mention of Jadenshire only brought back memories of their first meeting. "Almost seems like you've been saving this for me?" Belle joked, taking a sip before twirling the glass and the liquid inside. "What else have you been saving for me?"She grinned playfully, not helping herself at all, but she had to play up to how she would be usually, how he would remember her, if she was going to keep control of the situation in any slight. "I must admit though...I'm curious as to how you managed to pull this all together within 5 years. I assume you came back into this world completely empty handed? No money, no acquaintances or ties, no hope of knowing where you were, or what was going on...nothing."

[Nascent]

"Not an insurmountable challenge, by any stretch." He shrugged. "You know my talents. Though not everything has come back to me yet," He sipped at the drink, slowly, as if imbibing some personal past glory long forgotten. "I have enough to... facilitate some lucrative connections. Cancer isn't just a place for those with nowhere else to go; I'm sure I hardly need to tell you the sheer amount of business that goes on in a... free environment such as this."

He motioned the bartenders away for a bit of privacy, then added. "I wasn't sure what to think when I... when I 'woke up', for lack of a better term. At first it was mostly just the shock of being alive again that I had to overcome. There was, of course, a lot of changes to get used to; I quickly placed myself in the company of those  who could be of use to me and used my powers to make myself invaluable to them. They were in the smuggling and arms-dealing business; I helped them find the most agreeable people to bribe and rooted out those who were thinking of turning on the group. Which at one point, conveniently, included the leader of the operation. So sad. But business went well and I was rewarded for my part." He chuckled. "That's the polite way to put it, anyway -- it'd be more accurate to say that I took a low-grade gang of hooligans who fancied themselves renegades and fashioned them into a small syndicate that is, even now, turning a pleasant profit. I've stepped back, though -- I just do consulting work with them now." He grinned wryly at her, knowing full well she grasped his meaning.

"They thought it strange, of course, that I had no idea how a computer worked. Or a number of other things, for that matter. I fed them a line about having lost my memory but being able to 'see' what people's intentions were. They took me for a gifted psychic and I never gave them reason to assume otherwise. The rest was child's play."

Mephisto sipped his wine again. "I would have liked to experience those ages with you, Belle; few things would have pleased me more truly. And, truth be, the thought had crossed my mind -- saving it for you, I mean." The old devil smiled. "I suppose I just didn't think I'd be opening it this soon. It's a big galaxy, after all. And the wine only 'fell off a cargo freighter' a few weeks ago. Can't deny it's a pleasant coincidence, though."

"As for what else I have in store," Mephisto leaned towards her. "The club will be open in a few minutes. Mix, mingle, relax and enjoy everything it has to offer. I have... a special performance I'd like to do for you, but I won't give away anymore than that," He tapped the side of his head. "So no peeking."

The devil finished his glass and stood, sliding the case and its impossibly precious wine over to her, then whispered to her "A drink, on the house." He paused, eyes glancing at the back of her neck. "Interesting tattoos you have there. Hmmm..."

"I only remember there being one."

And with that, before she could respond, he strode to the center of the room and clapped his hands three times, drawing the attention of every employee within earshot. "It's time, people! You all know your jobs -- I want this place to be a spectacle of sin and a palace of perdition. Warm up the pool water and put something good and fun on -- the Black Sapphire opens in one minute and APPEARANCES COUNT! Frelsea, make sure nobody gets a VIP card who isn't supposed to. Mark, Shaen, security details sharp as the head of a pin. Getu, you're to oversee passing out free mid-cost drinks to the VIPs and notable groups every hour, on the hour, until the night's over. Jalsii," He looked up, through a gap between the pool and the balcony, where a team of what seemed to be massage and 'personal care' specialists were listening attentively. Mephisto smiled. "Have your people work their magic. Everyone goes home happy tonight, and all of you will go home with a nice bonus."

He spread his arms wide, clearly relishing the drama of the moment. "Bring the Black Sapphire to life with polish and glory!" Grinning, he spun, paused, and snapped his fingers. The inner doors to the club, which had closed automatically behind him and Belle, slid open the moment that snap echoed through the room.

Footsteps and voices echoed down the hall.

And the night began.

S C E N E   M U S I C
A Little Party Never Killed Nobody

[Painterlee]

"Interesting tattoos you have there. Hmmm..."

"I only remember there being one."

Belle completely froze up, and just stared into his crimson eyes. Everything muffled, every sound muted like she was underwater as she pulled her eyes away from where he had sat, her hand clawed at her glass so much that it threatened to shatter. Her heart rate sped up, she started shaking, and a feeling of sickness came over her, bracing herself against the bar, breath coming short. Trying to get up, her body disobeyed her, unable to stand, being washed in a sea of dizziness. "Shit.." Not knowing what was happening, she downed the rest of the drink in her glass, keeping her head and body low. It felt like her death was creeping up on her, a cold chill running over her shoulders. Turning to look over her shoulder at the Devil she had once known so well, there was panic in her eyes. It meant nothing. He'd only noticed the inevitable, after all. He had no idea what they meant. 

Tonight had begun for some, but Belle could feel it slipping from her hands. Lifting her head up, she closed her eyes and breathed out, or she tried to, but just ended up choking on nothing, her lungs protesting. What the fuck is it now, get yourself together. "I need to breathe." Was all she could say. Getting up with a furious, panicked intent, both hands against the bar, as she turned to face outwards, towards the openness of the club, she needed space. She had to, had to, get away from him, before he killed her, she killed him, or she killed herself, simply because she was loosing control.

And she did loose control. Mephisto would feel it, if just for a few moments, a breaking, snapping sensation to all with the ability to sense minds. Her seal against him had broken, and a torrent of mixed up, messed up thoughts came roaring through her silence.

 This was such a GOOD IDEA. Lousy whore. If you'd had a bad feeling about this why'd you fucking do it, you stupid bitch? Because you couldn't help it? Shitty excuse of the year goes to? When did you start letting your heart rule that thick head of yours? If you'd just listened, you wouldn't be in this mess, you can hardly control yourself! Why couldn't he have just stayed dead, then at least you'd suffer alone, it's the least you deserve for what you did. Belle visibly stumbled back, a pained expression on her face, Mephisto would feel everything as it poured over everything in those few moments of lost control, all the hate, all the twisted pain, and furious, near on uncontrollable, desire that she couldn't act on, and the curious separation between her...and a soul that didn't register as hers. So what if he kills you, he'd be well within his rights after-

The noise stopped, Mephisto left back with whatever noise he had before, suddenly, as Belle found some footing and sealed herself away again, bringing in her thoughts. She opened her eyes, her vision hazy still. In that moment, her face looked full of the 5000 years of tire she had carried around with her. Still shaking and cold, she sat back down, heavy and tired, and poured herself another drink, no expenses spared. This was going so wrong, and she wasn't sure how much longer she would be able to cope with all of this. It most certainly hadn't been a good idea, rushing off back to her antics with him so soon after meeting again, she hadn't even thought about just what this would all mean. Her hearing came back to her slowly, the music drowned her thoughts. She took a drink and just stared out.

What was a girl to do.

[Nascent]

Mephisto's shocked expression in that moment, that instant where an impossible connection bridged his mind and hers, was almost beyond description. His expression paled and pupils dialated to such an extent that the red color was nearly extinguished. Where a moment ago he'd been the suave businessman commanding the world now, for a moment in time that seemed much, much too long, he was buffeted by an unseen tempest. He didn't just hear her thoughts -- his had always been the gift to sense people's feeling, their emotions, and when, for the first time ever, hers were laid bare before him...

It was a red-hot knife to his chest... a metaphor he understood far too well.

Slowly, forcing himself to regain his calm and composure, he walked over to her. His 'guests' were beginning to stream into the club now but he paid them no heed -- indeed, one look at the pallid expression on his and her face was largely all it took to dissuade them from attempting conversation. Still, by the time he was standing next to her, looking at her face with a worried but otherwise bizarrely calm expression, he had seemingly recovered, or at least enough to look like he had.

"Please come with me. I think we need... to talk. Privately."

Letting her choose how far behind to follow him, Mephisto set out across the rapidly filling club, glancing over his shoulder occasionally to see if she was alright. His path led them up the stairs, past the pool, and past an automatic door labeled 'STAFF ONLY'. The club's storage room, judging by all the cases and crates stacked all over the place, but he didn't stop there. Mephisto walked up to what seemed a bare section of wall and placed his hand on it; a few electronic beeps issued from an unseen device and the wall melted away...

... revealing a room, comfortably furnished, with a few dominant features that strongly suggested it to be the devil's private chamber. A large four-poster bed of black faux-wood hung with smoke gray curtains occupied the far wall, set with elaborate matching black nightstands. The floor was carpeted with deep red, holographic "windows" showcasing the night sky; a large old-fashioned liquor cabinet stood sentinel over the whole scene, directly opposite a door leading off to aside room, most likely a bathroom. There was other standard features and furniture, certainly -- a large plush couch, chairs, a small table and desk, it was almost an entire house in one room -- but the single most striking thing...

... was a baby grand piano, sitting squarely and proudly in the center of the room.

"Please, Belle, sit and rest a bit." He gestured to the couch.

[Painterlee]

The door shut behind her, and Belle pressed herself against it. For the first time in her life she felt exposed, trapped, and cornered. This had taken a turn very quickly, and she didn't have to peer into his mind, as he had asked her not to do, to know that he had heard her, and well. Her eyes shared the same qualities as his, dilated, colour almost completely gone as she felt a kneading, twisting sensation, in the pit of her stomach. She was almost completely short of breath for seemingly no reason. She was even more uncomfortable here than she had been out there. Out there, she could have left, escaped, never looked back but she hadn't. Endlessly, hopelessly, she was drawn to him, even now when he terrified her. No doubt that at this point, Belle would wipe the floor with him in a fight, but her willingness to do so was something else altogether.

Even when he invited her to rest, she stayed put, her body trembling with all sorts of emotions she rarely felt, every compulsion she fought against, as her shoulders rose and fell heavily taking in whatever air they could. Her cold, hungry stare said no and yes to everything as she could hardly focus. "I...I can't. I have to go." Please. Her eyes just begged, but they contradicted it. Her voice traveled with a hint of shakiness. She didn't want to go, she never wanted to go, but she needed to get away. "Why did you bring me here? What's to talk about?" There was certain panic in her voice, and she knew. She was risking too much. Risking everything. If she had truly wanted to go, she could have, to that room of hers residing in between nowhere and everywhere, but she lacked confidence in herself to make the trip. For one, she could hardly stand up in her state.

There was that familiar silence, and she accepted his offer in the end, slowly, uncertainly, making her way to the couch he offered. This place, the way it was set up, reminded her of some of the time they had spent together at her 'home'. Except this had her on edge. It tortured her. He tortured her. She sat down, bringing her legs up, but it only helped her vision, everything else bombarded her senses further. Everything smelt of him, and he was just there, within her reach but she couldn't. She didn't know what would happen, only that something would. Her eyes darted away but even then she couldn't bare to look around. Everything held a promise to her. She took a breath, deep and long, before she let it go, resting her head back, looking to the ceiling.

"I should never have come here." Belle's voice came quiet, almost defeated. "I couldn't help but accept your offer even if I knew I would get like this." She was exhausted, and she looked and sounded exhausted. Fighting with herself was the most tiring thing she'd ever done, and she was loosing. Nothing was calming her down. She was sick of fighting it, sick of forcing herself to try and ignore her own body, crying out for everything. Being alone with him just made it worse. Every base note in his voice made her shiver, the light made her longing louder, the feeling of her weight against soft fabric called to her body. Fight it all she would, she was human still, somewhere deep down in that wretched excuse of an existence. Her eyes fogged with red, and not her iris, as she stared, painful and desperate. "I can't keep this up. I can't rest, I can't focus. Just...Mephisto, I-" PLEASE.

She was pulled down into her own oblivion, drowning, hopelessly.

"I can't."

[Nascent]

He looked upon her, disbelief glimmering in his otherwise calm and focused gaze. He had never seen her like this, not once in all their years together. Before he had balked at the glimpse of vulnerability he'd seen in her, refused even to believe it was there. Now there was no mistake. She could have run. She didn't even have to leave the room -- she could make the room leave her, in any number of ways. Wink out of existence here and re-emerge in her hidden sanctum. Exact her will upon his mind and make him obey. Batter down the wall with her bare hands. And yet...

... and yet there she lay, no rest in those tormented eyes, those eyes that pleaded with him, pleaded for something he wasn't sure either of them could fully understand. His embrace? His absence? Presence? Vengence?

It was killing her. Whatever was affecting her was worse in this room, he could see that. And yet he didn't move to relieve her, to open the door.

This was something he had to do, even if she hated him for it. Because it was the only way they could both move forward. The only way...

... that he could tell her everything.

"I know."

The words lingered between them, laden with meaning. He walked over and poured her a glass of water, cold and crisp, and placed it within her reach without getting too close himself. He could at least do her that courtesy.

"I brought you here because there's something I want to tell you. For us, waiting five years to say something isn't the burden it is for ordinary people..." There was sympathy in his voice and gaze, but also the sense of something burning, something about to be let out. Like a flood. Like a wildfire. Something he had contained but could not for much longer.

"I mentioned a performance earlier. We'll have to do it this way; I was planning to make a bit of a speech for the crowds, explain the history of the fictitious version of that man's life a bit, give some absurd tale about archeologists finding the sheet music -- but there's no point in pretense. Not here. Not now." His gaze fixed on Belle. "You're fighting yourself right now. Because of me. At odds because of things you can't get out of your mind. I know it's painful, Belle. And I don't want to torment you."

"But the only way we're going to move forward now is by understanding each other. We can spend the next ten thousand years running from this moment, or however long you'd like -- we can flee each other and the hold each of us has on the other until the heat death of the universe, but I've been dead, and it doesn't solve anything. We have this chance, here and now." He paused, seeming to collect himself.

"I won't ask you to give up anything more than a bit more of your time. Just enough for one song." Mephisto turned to the piano, eyeing it like a venomous cobra that he was about to attempt to grasp by the tail. His right hand twitched. "After that, I'll have one of my staff take you home -- or anywhere you like -- if that's what you want. Just... bear with me, please."

Taking a deep breath, he slowly approached the elegant instrument, tossed his coattails back, and sat down.

Fingers tentatively brushed the keys.

He willed his breathing to steady.

This moment, this song, this confession had been playing in the back of his mind since he'd heard her voice, and weaving into and out of his thoughts ever since death spat him back out.

Now it was here.

He hated it. He hated himself for doing it.

But it was a force like gravity that drove him... and slowly, it began.

M E P H I S T O 's   N O C T U R N E



And here in the night
As I feel the inferno
I stare in the dark
Thinking what is eternal?

The man or the moment?
The act or the reason?
These thoughts fill my head
As I contemplate treason

Of dreams I have had
And dreams I have pondered
When late in the night
My mind it would wander

To things I have done
And then quickly regretted
While denying vices
My life had selected

And I think what I've done
Or have yet to begin
And the man I've become
And the man that I've been

Now caught in a waltz
With the eternal dancer
I'm courted by death
But death isn't the answer
I say!

All I was
Meant to be
Could I
Suddenly
Just decide
Not a thought
Would survive
Could it be
My life's worth
Ended there
With my birth...?

If I could see someone
Who's been there before me
And traded his soul
For a moment of glory

His penance or mercy
By spirit's debated
While judged on a scale
That's been heavily weighted

And what have I done?
Could there be such a sin?
In this man I've become
In this man that I've been

Now calling to god
From the pit's very bottom!
I pray he forgives
Every sin I've forgotten
This day...





And who would have thought
That my fate it would conjure
This twist in the road
On which I have wandered?

Each vision and dream now
Completely dismembered
To give one's whole life
And find nothing's remembered

And what good's a life
That leaves nothing behind?
Not a thought or a dream
That might echo in time?

The years and the hours
The seconds and minutes
And everything that
My life has placed in it
Betraaaaaayed!
Betraaaaaayed!
Betraaaaaayed!

The things I have done!
The places I've been!
The cost of my dreams!
The weight of my sins!

And everything that
I've gathered in life
Could it be lost
Could it be lost in this
Could it be lost in this
Niiiiiiiiiiight...?

That final word, and the breath that carried it, seemed to drag away so much of his remaining strength that the demonic man found himself leaning into the piano, his forehead pressed against its polished black surface. And yet, in the still that followed the last note, his ragged breath at great length gave way to a horse, whispered voice that could only just barely be heard.

"I know everything, Belle. Or at least, I know enough. The dagger. The Grand Duke's forces sent to dispatch me. How they knew my nature, my weakness. I didn't see it before because I chose not to. Now I see..."

"...and I don't care. I don't give a damn that you betrayed me, that you used me for your own ends. Once I might have blamed you for that. Now I can't. I won't. I refuse."

Sweat, cold and deathly, dripped from his forehead onto the keys. In a way he was paralyzed, unwilling and perhaps unable to look over and see what his performance had wrought in her eyes. Did she hate him? Loathe him? Was she sickened by him? Laughing at the weak-willed obsessed man who couldn't even bring himself to properly despise the woman who'd had him murdered in cold blood? Was he an abject disgrace to her?

"And I know that there's no way I could be here now if my soul had been destroyed in my death, or evaporated in the passing of time. A lesson some old bastard once taught me." She'd know who he meant -- Faustus, her father, and his obsessive studies of the soul were something both of them understood unpleasantly well. "Yet I can't even feel it. I know it's out there. I even know where. The one place that I could never find it. My one true blind spot."

With a monumental effort he brought his hand up and smashed the open palm back down on the piano, making a sound that would jar them both fiercely. "But I won't take it from you, Belle! I refuse that, too. You lived most of your life without a soul, guided only by the purpose you'd given yourself. I can at least attempt the same, damn it all! I can go on without it! I will!"

"I just... I want to know why you weren't there. When I died. I wanted the last thing I saw to be your face, even if all I saw there was hatred for me. I don't care that I died, or that you were behind it. I don't care that my soul is gone. I only care about one thing in this whole damn galaxy."

". . . You."

[Painterlee]

L O V E  I S  B L I N D N E S S
Jack White

Belle forced herself to get up, furious almost, but impossibly tired. Either way, she pressed towards him, throwing her caution to the wind. She grabbed him violently, and turned him to face her, pressing him into the piano, taking a hold of his coat, pushing him down. "So if I told you that letting me keep your soul meant you and I could never touch, never kiss, never punch each other in the face, you would say the same? If I told you that this tortured thing was the source of all my pain, in it's sheer defiance, would you refuse it? Because it wouldn't refuse you. Just being close to you makes me feel like it would break my ribs just to get out." Her rage came differently, it was more desperation than it was hate, more a tortured longing to be set free of her mistake.

"I was never supposed to HAVE a soul. All my searching, even in Faustus' best methods, none of it worked. The soul I took from you isn't mine, it's yours, and there is nothing you or I can do to change that! You always disappoint me. I KILLED YOU, SO HATE ME." Her curled fists, pulling at his coat, pressed down onto his chest. Her eyes burned, there was no other word to describe them. "Then maybe I could hate you, because that's how it's supposed to be!"

She collapsed on top of him, her head buried in his chest, shaking, as her grip on his coat weakened. Mephisto would almost be able to feel the pushing pressure in her own chest, his soul trying to get through, get back to him, and only imagine the pain. "You were never supposed to care, I was never supposed to care. So why did it end up like this?! Why tell me, what am I supposed to think, I can barely concentrate! I want you so badly, but I don't know if giving you back your soul would kill me or not." It was his choice now. “Either we get each other, or I get your soul. We can't have both!”

"I know what I want, and those 'tattoo's' let me know a long fucking time ago that I didn't have a choice in that. I am bound to you, forever, as long as we both have the means to live, I will never, ever escape you. You will torture me no matter what happens. I've spent 5000 years living with it, every lonely night and day knowing if I'd just listened to myself, I'd have never lost you." She paused, trailing off as she spoke into some realm of emotion she didn't have. Her eyes peered into his.

"I was there when you died. But I cared too much to watch what I had done to you."

[Nascent]

(OOC: So the Internet mysteriously came back on its own sometime after I left for work today. Sometimes I'd swear technology just enjoys messing with us from time to time... >_< )




She was right, he realized. What they were, what they wanted, all of it was impossible. Was 'the devil' even supposed to have a soul in the first place? How had he come to be so utterly fixated on her, so immersed in the very idea and thought of her, that he didn't even care what happened to himself in turn? She was supposed to hate him -- she was the manslayer. He was supposed to hate her -- she had destroyed his ambitions and killed him. And yet he wasn't sure he could lift a finger to harm her even if he tried, and not one part of him wanted to try.

Nothing was right. All of it was so, so very wrong. Maybe that was part of what made it all so inescapable. 'The devil' wasn't supposed to fall in love.

But he had. And some part of him believed, wanted desperately to believe that some way, some how, she loved him back.

Because she had been there. Because she cared.

Hands finding her shoulders, he locked eyes with the demoness. For a moment he said nothing, just let himself drown in the icy pools of her gaze. "Yes, that is how it's supposed to be. But... neither of us is very good at 'supposed to be', are we?"

He knew he had to make a choice, and that no matter what he chose it would involve hurting her. That was unavoidable now. But he could help to minimize the pain, use what power he had to make sure both that what had to be done didn't kill her and wasn't the unbridled agony he feared it would be.

"This is going to hurt." His crimson eyes began to glow white. At the same time his hands began to radiate a dark light, glowing with an unnatural aura like that of embers that refuse to fade. He had done something like this before, with a halberd through his chest nonetheless, but this time would be less desperate, more measured and calculated.

Without a moment's more hesitation, the demonic man leaned up and sealed his lips over hers. The moment that the romantic contact began to draw his soul up out of her his power, rich and dark and full of every intoxicating feeling he could conjure into it, would be offered up to flow into her. Anesthesia, after a fashion, and with it whatever else she would need -- life energy, and unfettered access to his mind for however much more she required. She wasn't dying tonight, not if he could do anything about it. The devil even tried to will his soul into a slower, less dangerous transition... he wouldn't be sure of any success until it was over, though. But while the contact remained he embraced her passionately, sensuously, with the tenderness of a lover and the urgency of a surgeon.

She couldn't die, but living in torment wasn't living either. He'd do everything in his power to sustain her, the circut of energies between them flowing without restriction. As the wayward soul was drawn to its natural host the power it lent him was turned back around and given freely to her. Nothing held back, not one drop of energy less than she would ask of him.

In his mind, now echoing within hers, she would feel his words to her. 'No giving up, my dread lady. For either of us.'

'I still have to prove you wrong, after all.'

[Painterlee]

The heat of his lips against hers, his body against hers, broke her will without hope of pulling herself back. For the first few moments, the desperate she demon kissed him in return, her body moved against him by impulse, hungry for everything he could give her, everything that his kiss and embrace promised. Her voice broke from behind their lips, both her voice and body no longer obeying her, driven by the sheer force of her held back desire. In that moment she forgot about the pain, slowly building inside of her.

 Belle would have been content to be carried away by Mephisto's desire, let the night growing between them overwhelm her completely. Those feelings he was giving her made her dizzy. More and more desperate, but that sharp, stinging pain came fast, her body tensed, her breathing became erratic, but she would not part her lips from his. As long as she could feel him, she might be alive.

Through all of it, every powerful emotion Mephisto fed her, that pain was strong, almost unbearable. It was like pulling a bullet. There was no room in her being for a soul, so it had wounded her essence in order to fit, and pulling it from her threatened to bleed her dry. Her hands came up to either side of his face, pressing him to her, shaking, trembling with the pain and her overbearing desire. She did not know if she would die here, giving back to him something she should have never taken. In return he had stolen her heart, and she would never get it back. Nails clawed at the soft skin at his neck.

The way he held her comforted her somewhat, but the violence of his soul tearing her up to get back to him had no equal to anything she was feeling. The only thing she could do was make sure she kept breathing, even if her legs no longer wanted to keep her standing. Mephisto, I don't know if... her voice resonated in his head, as his did hers. She was slipping away...I'm going to make it.Their kiss slowly turned coppery. The taste of blood in Belles mouth, as his soul threatened to tear her insides apart as it returned to him, but breaking it now would kill her anyway. A pained moan rumbled at the back of her throat. God she wanted to live, so badly she wanted to keep going so that he could love her to all his means ends. Her eyes burned. I want to live...

The hands at his neck fell looser, strength depleting quickly. The taste of blood was overwhelming, but they had to go through with it now that they had started. Head feeling light and dizzy, Belle was having a hard time staying awake, even her burning, uncontrollable desire was muted in the wake of this incredible pain. Her body shook violently against her devil as his soul transitioned back into him with the warm, golden, heat of his lost power. Voice coming weak into his head, she began to slip into unconsciousness as the ordeal left her crumbling. As the soul left her, the pain quieted down, her body numb, and their lips parted. Belle stared, tired eyes and pale. But she smiled none the less."I...I love you, too, you bastard." Her voice came torn up and husky, blood at the edges of her mouth.

And she began to fall to her knees.

[Nascent]

He slid off the piano chair and caught her almost entirely by reflex, utterly unprepared for the sense of power, alertness, and control that was suddenly flowing through him. Everything seemed to move just a few ticks of the clock slower; every color seemed more poignant, every sound more crisp and clear. It was like he'd been living the last five years from inside a plastic bubble and now, with the prodigal soul's return, he was more than complete. He was...

... utterly and completely terrified.

The taste of blood still fresh in his mouth, he gazed into her eyes, taking in the toll that the transfer had exacted from her. For just a moment he flashed back, to an alley in Jadenshine -- he had seen her like this before, the life all but drained from her. Then her expression had worn fury and outrage; now there was a contented smile even through the obvious pain. Then he had been pulled to her, a metal shaft driven through his chest; now the piercing, horrifying pain in his chest had an altogether different source. He had fallen to his knees before; she fell now. It was almost more than he could bear.

"No... no no no." The terror-struck devil's voice trembled, clutching her with all the urgency of a drowning man clinging to a life raft. For just a moment his own strength surprised him and he had to push back his own panic so as not to hurt her in this vulnerable state. "You can't die -- not after all this, after all we've been through. Please Belle -- gods and daemons and powers unknown, PLEASE!"

Recovering his focus for a moment, he rallied his will and took hold of the power coursing through him. He wasn't sure he could completely control it, not yet, but there was no time for cautious testing and pussyfooting around. His hands and eyes blackened and then glowed white-hot with demonic power, an aura of black flames with radiant centers flickering and then surging into being around them. This wasn't like anything he'd experienced before... the power suddenly at his disposal was almost surreal, addictive in quality and making him feel more alive that could remember ever being. What was coursing through him... it was the built-up resonance between spirit and soul, suddenly being released all at once. His soul had dwelt within her but never truly connected as she'd hoped, and without it his spirit had been dry like a wasteland. Now the "rain" and "sun" of that soul poured out onto the thirsty metaphysical ground in overabundance -- the energies within him were flourishing, they were brimming over, they were...

... flooding. He realized it with shocking clarity all of a sudden. This reconnection was too potent, too strong. He could feel the power rumbling like a tempest within, begging to be released. It would destroy him if it didn't... and if it did, it would destroy everything around him.

Looking down at the beautiful destroyer in his arms, he knew he couldn't allow that.

Obey me...! Mephisto screwed his eyes shut, shouting silently at the energies inside. It felt like he was filling up, ready to burst, like the tidewalls were going to be overrun with the swell and all the raw power he hadn't had for five thousand years was going to come bursting forth like a newly born sun. Belle had carried it for ages, a furnace within her, drawing from its power... but only so much. Now it was once more in its proper setting, within the spirit-engine of the demon its power was meant to fit, key to lock. What's more, he was a conduit -- Faustus hadn't made him to use power so much as channel it, to take it in and let it out, like a living battery.

And now, now it was trying to come out.

All of it, at once.

OBEY ME...!!

And if it did it would destroy them both.

Throwing back his head, Mephisto let loose a nigh-on animalistic howl, streams of boiling light erupting from his mouth, eyes, even from under his fingernails. Searing cracks in his body began to form, hairline fractures at first but growing with each passing moment. The devil was going nuclear, it seemed... and to stop it he had to do the one thing that ran utterly contrary to the very nature of his being. Hold it IN.

It wasn't happening. He couldn't do it. The power was just too much at once -- it HAD to go somewhere. It HAD to find purchase. It...

...was her best hope.

It was so much, so much pure energy, much of it life energy, all at once. Part of him was terrified at the consequences, of what horrible unpredictable fallout there could be. Under ideal conditions he would have tried to ease the energies into her, but she was DYING and he was BURNING. There was nothing 'ideal' about the moment. It was all that he could do not to pop like a balloon and let the hellish brilliance run wild. There was no time -- none for either of them. Either they both lived or they'd both perish in a fireball that would do to the hull of Cancer what a round from a plasma rifle would do to a tin can.

"DAMN
IT
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL LLLLLLLLL!!!"

The demon shouted at the top of his lungs before pulling Belle into his embrace, power flowing in ripples and shockwaves around them both. The glass of the liquor cabinet shattered, all the bedding was thrown against the wall and pinned there -- the piano careened over on it's side with the protesting wail of every musical ghost from Bach to Sousa. The room was awash in blinding light...

... and, for a strange moment, so much of it seemed to be coming from the two devils that you could have been forgiven if you mistook them for something else entirely.

[Painterlee]

17 Boats Against The Current (and Daisy's Theme)
The Great Gatsby

Everything she heard was a drowned out husk, her sight, gone. She heard his voice, calling to her, but no way of knowing what he had said. No dark, no light, her retinas just shut down, she was blind, completely. When Mephisto held her again, it was the feeling of numbness. There was only pressure against her cold skin, no kindness or longing, but her mind told her there should be. All she heard, all she felt was please. Over and over again, please.

PLEASE.

"...Okay."

Her voice came, a reconstructed whisper in an aftermath of loud silence. Blood flowed back where it should, organs functioned as they should, and she found herself pressed into the body of that man she had just admitted to that she loved, in her last few seconds of irrational consciousness. There was colour in her face, brightness in her eyes, aliveness in her chest. No pain, no pressure, she was free of her bonds, free of her torture. Opening her eyes to see, the last steams of light disintegrated like an Aurora, leaving the warm darkness behind. In those last moments of light she saw the vague destruction, and almost felt guilty. 

All there was, in her existence, at that moment, was the rise and fall of her devils chest, the panting of his breath, and her weight, suspended by him. For a while, his eyes, emitting a pale-white glow, was the only real source of light in that room. She fixed her eyes on him, and there was something sincere in her expression, something warm, and grateful. After all, she was still alive. "Damn you." Her voice was quiet, and soft, not an inch of real hate in her words. "Damn you to Hell." Her sensations came back to her, slowly, her brain firing up all it's cylinders. For all she could tell, he had saved her life, and it pained her. Knowing that she had never done the same in return, and that heaviness was in her eyes. Belle just looked up at him, with slight disbelief. She smiled, with a blink, her eyes emitted that similar white-glow briefly, before it dyed down, and then everything in the room started to move, and repair. Despite her destructive nature, despite her non-ability to fix things, certain powers of hers did. She could not, however, fix herself. Nor him. They were both broken.

As things began to find their places again, silently and calmly, glass repairing, bed re-making, the near-on darkness, save for his brilliant eyes, set back in, and there was only noise, only physical feeling, her pressed against him, in an act of desperation. Belle breathed in, and she breathed out. Her chest didn't strain her, didn't strangle her or crush her. She could breathe again, freely. A hand reached out to the side of his face, almost wondering if he were real, or if she were in fact, dead. "What now, my Devil..." Belle pressed herself into the crook of his neck, feeling the pulse of blood in his veins, alive. "What on Earth, or in Space and Time, do we do now."

Make the most of me.

Make me sing for you.

Man

Who's music I will always play.

[Nascent]

(OOC: Sorry about the delay -- wanted to work on the post as soon as I got home but wasn't feeling great. At any rate, hope it's a somewhat decent follow-up to yours. ^_^)




He breathed, and felt her breathing against him. Everything else was awash in a darkness that was all but absolute, every electronic in the room seemingly overcome, lights included. It didn't matter. He didn't care. They were alive -- impossibly, gloriously, utterly alive. Everything ached; he felt impossibly drained yet utterly renewed, caught somewhere between thrill and exhaustion and rocketing wildly back and forth between. In all likelihood he had never, not ONCE, channeled that much power. He kept breathing. For a moment, that simple act seemed enough.

They would linger there in the dark like that, just holding each other, the world beyond their embrace not even existing for all practical purposes. And then he spoke -- whispered into her ear.

"Whatever the hell we want." There was a tone there that spoke of confidence, like a smile unseen but felt.

And somehow, in that intimate dark, he found his way to kissing her. And then again. And again. And found that he just couldn't bring himself to stop.

--------------------------------


Elsewhere, in the depths of Teinar...

A mile and a half below the surface of the desecrated Earth, where a people of modest ways, modest machines, and stubborn spirit dwelt, there was to be found a workshop: a place of forging metal into blades and blades into whirls of death. It was like any of dozens of other forge-shops in the subterranean city at a glance, its wares hung for customers to see and barter for... but it held something special, something that gave the steel a colder bite and a stronger set than even competitors who'd somehow acquired more modern, high-tech tools could manage. In a small room with rough, hand-crafted ornamentation and writing scrawled in nearly illegible text on walls of solid stone, sat a lonely anvil. No forge-flame burned in this secret chamber, no basin of water to cool hot steel resided here, no bellows to breathe air into hungry fire nor chimney to vent smoke into oxygen recyclers. There was only the anvil -- mere metal at a glance, but in the presence of those initiated into its mysteries...

... something very, VERY much more. For this place was ancient and the anvil more ancient still, burning within with a power that yet lived on after five thousand years. It was a closely guarded secret -- those who worked it were a carefully selected few, chosen by the anvil itself. Amongst themselves they held no name, no banner under which they gathered, for these were men and women of craft and creation, not a secret society of cunning and conspiracy. Their chief virtues were steel-skill and discretion -- membership within their ranks, and thus access to the anvil, had prospered some families for generations... and dishonoring it, ruined others in less than a year's time. But when, on rare occasion, it was necessary to let those beyond the trusted circle know of their existence it was always with the same monicker, said to be given by the anvil itself.

The Guild of Juviel.

And there in that dark place the soul-bound anvil had sat, tended by one smith or another regularly but just as often left to rest, alone. Those who were shown its use marveled -- the ages-blackened steel cornerstone of the guild needed neither fire nor water nor wind to perform its work, merely a smith that it favored wielding a hammer of his or her own making. The initiated would place metal upon its surface and it would heat white hot on its own, pound it into shape as though guided by an invisible, masterful hand, and then step back and watch as it cooled and hardened to perfection. It was as though magic or some higher power were at work, but that power was content merely to craft and forge, seemingly for all eternity.

Though, that wasn't always the case.

Five years prior, an outsider had entered Teinar and sought out the guild's services -- what he asked them to create was neither blade nor tool nor anything the likes of which the underground smiths had crafted before. Giving them diagrams and instructions of exacting detail, along with hefty payment, he left... and did not return, not even after the long months in which various guild master-smiths had completed the inexplicable design. Fully assembled it appeared like unto a skull, yet was in fact an elaborate puzzle-box, and in the center...

A small slip of paper, with only the client's signature written on it. Baffled as to what to do with this seemingly abandoned creation the smiths had turned to the anvil on which it had been fashioned for its wisdom. And it answered, in no uncertain terms:

'Throw it into space.'

At great expense the guild had obeyed, secreting their strange creation out of the city and paying off a smuggler to take it off-world. The smuggler's instructions had been to shunt the glistening multi-metal skull out an airlock... but, seeing the prize he had, opted instead to sell it on the gray market as an 'Earth antiquity'. The skull spent the next two years changing hands before it was bought up by a mining prospector with an interest in oddities... who then, some two months later, was murdered by space pirates while traveling, who then looted it right out of his luggage and sent it back spiraling through the gray market cyclone once again. And in that time a certain businessman, new to Cancer but prospering, had put out feelers inquiring for things strange, unusual, and specifically old -- 'Earth antiquities', to be blunt. The skull was listed as a saleable item on a manifest and sent to him, only to have the manifest culled along with a great deal of other data by an illegal hacker seeking to turn data into cash.

Who had in turn earned the cross-hairs of a terrifyingly effective bounty hunter.

All of this had unfolded in distant stars while the anvil of Juviel sat, day by day, in it's 'shrine', forging what it chose by whom it chose, never quite seeming to shake the feeling that something was wrong.

And then one night, power flickered through it -- a surge of light so intense and impossible that the anvil, the soul inside of it, SCREAMED. The sound was like millions of shards of raw, jagged metal scraping across the side of a mountain until the stone sparked, bled, and burned; it was a wail and it was an avalanche and it filled the souls of everyone who heard it with an unspeakable terror. And just as quickly as it came it faded, leaving the anvil cracking with supernatural power...

... and leaving her no doubt as to exactly why.

--------------------------------


Cancer, The Black Sapphire Nightclub
Owner's Private Chamber

The room was a mess of discarded clothes, tossed about bedsheets, couch cushions in odd places, and general other signs that a living hurricane had swept through in a passion. People would be talking the next day about how strange and anti-social it was for the club owner not to oversee his own grand opening, as well as curiosity about the woman he'd come in with and rumors of a piano performance from an old Earth drama that had never come to pass -- to say nothing of the strange power fluctuations at one point... but so what? As he held close the one woman who'd held his sin-blackened heart in her hands since the first time they'd met, he knew none of it mattered. This, here, now; that mattered. Not a stitch of clothes between them the two lay tangled up in one another in the middle of the bed, the only sound their steady breathing. He couldn't tell in the dark whether she was asleep or not, nor could he bring himself to do anything to find out for fear of waking her. Besides, he hadn't been this comfortable and satisfied in five thousand years... likely, in ever, for that matter. Let the moment linger, Mephisto thought. Business could wait.

He realized, staring up at a ceiling he couldn't even see, that he'd completely lost track of time while they'd been... busy... together in here. The old devil guessed it was sometime in the morning, or what passed for morning on a space station. The image of a sunrise danced briefly through his thoughts and he felt the smallest pang of loss, realizing he hadn't seen one in so very long. Love was making him sentimental and mushy -- he'd have to see whether she felt like beating it out of him later. Belle could turn him into pudding easily enough, true, but staying that way would be a disappointment to them both.

Morning then, he guessed. Kes and his staff would be available to make breakfast for them -- the novelty of having a team of chefs on a station where fresh food was a rare luxury was almost more of a draw for The Black Sapphire than the alcohol, the party scene, the back-room gun deals, and the other 'benefits'. For the first time in ages he felt hungry -- not stomach-rumbling hungry, more 'an Aedolian omelet sounds nice right about now' hungry, more musing than craving, yet somewhere deep down a stubbornly pragmatic part of him knew his body had been running mostly on its own energies for at least twelve hours... and probably would need something a bit more solid sooner or later.

Willing his thoughts to turn away from food, Mephisto wondered if there was anything on the 'shopping list' he'd recovered that Belle would fancy. Then the omelet popped into his head again and he silently cursed the inability to get room service in here.

[Painterlee]

(OOC: Geezum, if you weren't feelin' great you didn't have to post, ya' big dumb! The post is excellent thought, nonetheless! Also, really, reaaaalllyy tiny Power Play here, just for atmosphere ;D

UPDATE: This post went for a bit of a trip last night XD)

Coming back around into an awakened consciousness, details fled her. She only remembered her sensations, heat, pleasure, pain, exhaustion, exhilaration, an explosive release of tension, grabbing at fabric, at skin, at hair, at anything. She heard their voices, her name being called, and her calling him, her voice leaving her throat without reserve, desperately, drowning within her own body. The details fled her. But she didn't need them to know anything. Just that she'd never had it so good.

When she woke, Belle felt strangely light, loose, relaxed. As if she'd been carrying around some terrible burden for all her years that she'd gotten used to, and he'd just taken it from her shoulders in one night. It took her a moment to register, echoes of the previous night resounding in her head. Realizing where she was, it were as if she'd fallen away just before it had all really ended, and, now she was awake, her brain could process the final moments. Breathing in heavily, re-calibrating her system, almost sighing in contentment, she pressed her weight out as she stretched, body trembling against her dreaded Mephistopheles, shaking out whatever stiffness was left in her muscles. Some parts of her simply stayed sore. Her abdomen, her hips, her shoulders, and her thighs, her back burned a little, scratches. A blissful hum resonated from her closed, smiling, lips. “You know you've had a bad night if you don't wake up hurting a little the next morning.” She concluded aloud, eyes shut.

It was likely that not everyone felt that way, but she certainly did. The feeling of proper use. "How many girls have you treated that to?" She added, sleepily. Giving a moments silence, to let him know that she was awake, even if still drowsy, she opened her eyes, letting them adjust. But then again, she could see in the dark. Folding her arms across his chest, she rested her head, happy to simply admire “You're always so beautiful.” To some, it might seem strange, to call a man 'beautiful', but in reality, that's not what it was. Handsome implied brutish masculinity, a forceful oppressor, at least, in her mind. To call someone beautiful was a term of equal footing. There was a few beats of pause, and, biting her lip, she couldn't help herself. Belle sat up taking a leg over his hips, sitting atop him. In that moment, two soft-shade lamps either side of the bed turned on, emitting a glow, illuminating them both. There was a wicked flame in her icy eyes.

"I don't know about you..." Her voice came sultry and alluring, bringing her, very messy, hair over one shoulder. Leaning down, she felt Mephisto's hands run over her legs to meet her hips graciously, pulling her onto him. Belle was inches from his lips, ready to be devoured all over again "But I could do with another round or two..."

And then, suddenly, she seemed very distracted. Then a heavy sigh left her mouth, rolling her eyes, and she leaned back up, holding out her hand, a phone. She knew who was calling. "What." Her voice came annoyed, and unexpectedly, a voice, female, came back, loud and clear, even to Mephisto. Ah shit. "Adia?" Belle's voice came confused for a moment, before the voice came back at her, topped full of attitude. ~Oh, good morning your highness. We're all waiting for you over here.~ Unwillingly, the demoness got up from her perch around Mephisto, getting up from the bed. "What do you m-" She froze up. "Oh." You could almost hear the rolling of eyes across the line ~Yeah, OH is an appropriate response~ "What's the time?" ~Uhhh, about 10? Your meeting with the Commissioner was an hour ago. Who's dick are you riding, you whore?~ "Fuck off, Adia." ~Strong response. Who is it's giving you your morning fix, huh?~ "Didn't I tell you to shut up?" ~Noooope, you told me to fuck off.~ Belle pulled the phone away momentarily, advisably frustrated. ~Obviously, this is important, so we can't reschedule, you have to come in, ASAP, you're holding back all of today's meetings just because you apparently got fucked unconscious last night at, where was it?~ The tapping of fingers against a screen of some kind ~That new Black Sapphire place, was it? A gig with the owner? Did he pay well?~ "Could you not hack my phone for loud speaker?" ~Afraid not. I needed to make sure I woke your bitch-ass up~ "Yep, well, I'm up, well done." ~Sweet, now getting a fucking move on. We know you have some lucrative enterprises going on aside from our work, but you're under us, first and foremost, not some guy with commitment issues~ "How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not-" ~Yeah well, you are now~ Her blood ran cold. Something was wrong. There was a code in there somewhere

"...Excuse me?" ~Yeah, it's like that. Now, get yourself over here. Look forward to seeing you.~ And then the phone line dropped, leaving a silence in it's wake. "Shit." The phone vanished from her hand. "Shit." For a moment she wasn't sure what she was doing. Then, she moved, paced, stormed towards the bathroom, lights coming on with a sensor.

She stared at herself with loathing in the mirror, grinding her teeth. With a tap of her fingers, her worn red nails were replaced with foggy-white points, her lips turned a full deep red colour, a pinkness in her cheek. Keeping the messy hair, she let it rest over one shoulder. Her voice called out back into the main room. "Do you have a shirt I could borrow?" Then her voice trailed off, spitting curse words at her own reflection. A garter belt and underwear soon came to adorn her hips, locked with a pair of stockings, but no bra. Couldn't be bothered with one. With urgency in her step, she came back out of the bathroom. "Oh, and get one of your lackeys to grab some shorts or jeans or SOMETHING. Apparently I don't have any." Her voice came like a woman ready to go to war, picking up and putting on the heels from the night before, leaving the dress altogether. She wasn't interested in cleaning up. "I'm heading to the Police Depo in the next few minutes. You coming, or are you staying?" She didn't even have time to look at him, manually adjusting the garter.

"I need a drink. Already."

[Nascent]

Just as the glowing coals of the night's passion between them were about to relight and burn anew... there was a phone call. A dryly-humored joke he'd overheard some months back about what happens when the body is fully immersed in water came to mind, though this was an altogether different sort of immersion that the phone had decided to interrupt. Mephisto couldn't help but lift an eyebrow and wonder what kind of call would be so important that Belle, the most strong and independent woman he'd ever met, HAD to take it, particularly when she clearly had other desires for the moment.

His question didn't go unanswered for very long; to the devil's by-no-means-small surprise, Belle... had a boss.

Well, after a fashion, or so it seemed. A very demanding assistant or secretary, at the very least, someone that the dread bounty hunter allowed to talk to her like that and tell her what to do. Whether there was another person calling the shots for them both was uncertain, and seemed to him unlikely, but even still... after recent events he wasn't sure he could rule anything out. Belle had surprised him aplenty in the time he'd known her, last night no less than ever; every time he'd peel back a layer of mystery about the demonic woman there were half a dozen others that would be waiting for him. But then again that sense of constant surprise and revelation, of always having a new side of her to closely examine and discern the truth of... it was one of the many things that drew him to her. This was just the latest wrinkle in the tale, and he held no doubt that with five thousand years having passed there were many, many more awaiting.

As soon as it was clear from the phone call that she had an appointment, one she was late for and couldn't put off, Mephisto was in motion. Half rolling off the bed and half shifting himself into mist to emerge standing -- without even realizing he'd done it until after -- and headed for the liquor cabinet. By the time he was pouring a glass of scotch it was clear that her situation was worse than a missed meeting; by the time she asked about a shirt he had his hand on a small button set into the wooden side of the cabinet. With an even mechanical gait the cabinet, wall, and a portion of the floor swung back and in, revealing a corridor about fifteen feet long with a door at the end. As lights within flicked on two rows of suits, shirts, trousers, and more eclectic garments hung on simple black hangers were revealed to be flanking the passage -- not quite full, as there were large spaces with nothing hung, but a sizable wardrobe nonetheless. It was both escape route and clothing closet, the ideal way to don a disguise and leave the premises unnoticed rolled into one. The devil, clearly, hadn't lost his sense of theatricality.

"Help yourself -- not sure what will fit or suit you, but it's at your disposal." For a moment he looked off into the distance, as if holding a conversation in his head -- several at once, in fact, and then turned back to her with a soft smile. "And to answer your questions: just you, and absolutely. As long as you don't mind my coming along, that is. The situation sounds... tense."

"Which is why," Walking over, he offered her the drink. "I've got my kitchen staff whipping up a pair of breakfast specials -- to go, of course -- my assistant manager rushing out to get a selection of trousers in," His eyes traced her legs and hips for a moment before nodding (and sending the number off to his lackey) "34, I believe? And my car's being brought around to the back entrance."

"The only question is..." Mephisto paused and looked down at himself, then shrugged and snapped his fingers. With renewed powers at his disposal he no longer needed the 'escape wardrobe'; ribbons of black and red demonic fire traced his form from the ground up, and in their wake fabric wove and took form, the black outfit she'd seen him in when they'd first turned those fateful corners materializing on his being. "How do you take your coffee Belle?"

[Painterlee]

Taking the drink without so much as a thank you, just a nod, Belle near on downed the whole thing at once, wandering into that long hallway of a 'closet'. "34, yes. Nice eyes. Flattering." The she demon jested. Little things about this place reminded her of her who hidden sanctum. The hidden rooms, the doors under touch, the poster bed and the sofa, and now, this long hallway of clothes. Despite not needing something like this, there was a comfort about getting dressing yourself that you didn't get just whisking something on. That was her take on it. She'd been alive too long, had too much time to kill, and it was the little things that passed the time. Smoking, dressing, walking to places, having a manual vehicle, and not using the ungodly amount of money she really had in her possession from times gone by.

There needed to be struggle, effort, time spent, for a day to be worth getting up for.

Passing her hands over the rails, she looked back at him and smiled. "If there's one thing girls know it's how to make things fit." And there was no lack of sexual undertone, if not a dark-humor one, before continuing along. Within a few more seconds, Belle grabbed a plain white button-up shirt, and promptly threw it over her shoulders, as she walked back towards him, beginning to do up to the bottom buttons, leaving the top three undone "It'll do." Her voice came almost huffed. It wasn't like last night, she wasn't nervous, she was stressed. In a rush.

In her pacing, commanding steps she met Mephisto, toe to toe, placing the glass back in the cabinet, as she exited the corridor of a closet. She left a pause after a question, her face stern, but the air of a playful retort in her air. The pointed nails of her hand slipped between the fold of his coat and pulled him into her. "Like you." A heavy whisper, a crooked smile, and a soft, slow kiss. "Dark, and sweet." Honey, no milk. Another pause, just holding him there, before she let go, a gleam in her eyes. It seemed even whatever was on the other end of that phone, why and where they now laid their path, simply couldn't keep her from wanting him. 

"I would like you to come, if not simply because a few of your questions might be answered, and because a lot of those questions I simply cannot answer outside of the walls of that building." She sat down heavily on the sofa she was now very closely acquainted with, and the way her hands ran over the fabric, the way she sat, showed it. Her appreciation. "But, we have a lot of catching up to do, and one night of sex isn't going to make up for it, or what I did. I think you deserve to be a part of my mess." She sighed, sincerely, taking a moment out to think a little more clearly. Crossing her legs, she chewed a little on the nail of her thumb. Whatever was up, it certainly wasn't just a parking fine.

[Nascent]

Were it not for her little touches of playfulness he'd have been truly and deeply worried, if only because of the initial reaction she'd had to what this Adia woman had said on the phone. He took her kiss and returned it in kind, and as lips parted he shot off a quick, blunt instruction to his chef regarding the coffee. Hers as she'd said, his black with a teaspoon of cinnamon -- a habit he'd picked up with the beverage shortly after trying it.

Taking a spot next to her on the sofa, it was his turn to sigh heavily. "Guilt doesn't suit you, Belle -- let that part of our history be lost to the past. I don't really have much practice at soothing a guilty conscience or anything 'warm and fuzzy' like that, but the fact is that I am alive -- we both are -- and this is a chance to start over. A chance, in hindsight, that perhaps I desperately needed. You remember how I used to be: an overly proud spider, sitting in the middle of an ornate web and acting like the world was ripe for my particular brand of plunder. You opened my eyes -- the countless times it took -- to the fact that not only was there more, but that I was playing into my own decline and demise. That life wasn't about control, it was about living."

"I may have missed five thousand years, and no doubt much of it would have been fascinating to see and experience, but I've gained something that those years could never have given me:"

"Freedom. The freedom to just be. The freedom to be with you. You're right, we have a lot to catch up on. But whatever mess you're in?" The old devil grinned at her. "I'd be honored to get wrapped up in it with you... so long as I can avoid making it any worse for you, that is."

He looked up, as if hearing a sound even though there was none, then back at her. "Breakfast will be up shortly. A selection of trousers is on their way." He looked down at her hand, specifically where she'd chewed at her nail. It couldn't be any of the 'usual things' that had people this worried making her like this; she'd had five thousand years to accumulate any and all resources she'd need, financial or otherwise. For the life of him he couldn't imagine what had a hold on her, much less what could have changed since yesterday to create that hold. That thought alone had him worried. "Whatever you need from me, Belle, I'll gladly give to you. And you know I mean that."

Minutes later a box full of jeans, khakis, and other trousers was deposited in the storage room -- Mephisto retrieved them and let Belle have her pick. And in short order the devil was informed that their ride awaited them out the back way with breakfasts hot and ready within: omelets with freshly cut tomato, green peppers, sauteed onions, cheese, and just a bit of mild salsa folded into them, sided with sausage, fried tomato slices, miniature pancakes, and fresh coffee. It was the kind of breakfast that only the wealthiest people on Cancer could afford to have with regularity due to the sheer costs of hydroponic gardening and even more-so with acquiring dairy and meat freshly. Space, as it turned out, was absolutely terrible for farming.

"Everything's ready for us," Mephisto gestured to the wardrobe exit. "My car is just out the back, waiting in a sealed off alley. Ready for your meetings?"

[Painterlee]

Belle looked over to Mephisto as they shared the sofa, not for the first time. She didn't know what to do with herself when he said things like that, it wasn't as if she'd not had people pandering at her feet before, but that she didn't exactly welcome it. That 5000 year nap of his had certainly shaken loose something in his head, and she didn't know if it was for the better or not. He had his show, he had his schemes, but his heart had changed. In that sense, however, she'd be lying if she said that hers had not. The half-dressed demoness sighed. "Don't say that. If I had things my way I'd have you right here until you begged for mercy." She grinned, and left it at that. Certainly her desires had not been faulted by anything that was going on otherwise, but that wasn't out of character. What she wanted would come first, or at least, never be discarded.

Noticing her nail properly, the colour fixed itself, the clear-bit nail turning fogging-white again. She cursed herself silently, reminded that nothing good awaited her.

Getting up, Belle sorted through the load of trousers without grace, finally settling on a pair of high-waist shorts, not even bothered about hiding the suspenders or the stockings, she tucked the large shirt into them. Not that she could count on many people really caring that she certainly didn't. That was the kind of world now. As ready as she would ever be, she stood up, near the center of the room, before turning to Mephisto. "You say guilt doesn't suit me, but how, then, can love suit me? If I can love you, how can I not feel guilty about the things I did." Striding up to the red-haired devil, she pushed him against the entrance way of the closet. Her eyes searched into his, trying to understand, but failed. "I don't even understand what we 'are' to each other. We're not like other people enough to call each other by their terms. What are we doing to do? Go on picnic dates and hold hands, go to the movies? Get married and go on honeymoon? That's not us, and it's certainly not me. As far as you're concerned I just want to have sex with you, call your bed my own when I have no other option." She paused, looking down, her search was futile. "I suppose it doesn't really matter." And then she continued down the hallway, out of the door. Obviously whatever was going on, it was making her think about things.

Arriving at the car, the door opened for them automatically, wasting no time, she climbed inside. Belle didn't even get fully into the vehicle, before she paused. And was surprised by the true extent of 'breakfast', when she registered the smell. "Food?" Her voice came, questioningly, surprised. "Real, actual, food?" She continued slowly into the car, sitting herself down quietly. An expression of shock, awe, and surprise, wasn't actually inappropriate, given the state of living. Her eyes were drawn to Mephisto as he joined her. "This isn't some fancy illusion is it?" It seemed that even Belle was part of the masses. Proper food, not the cubs or the bars or what have you, was something lost to her. Not entirely convinced, the she demon just examined her food cautiously. "This is almost as tempting as you." Then she looked up, giving him sharp eyes and a smile. "Almost." And she was ever more reminded of her desire.

Sitting back, she took a sip of her coffee before she contemplated her food. Lord knows she'd need it. "I didn't realize that THIS was the extent of your 5 years hard work. I haven't been able to eat proper food in too long, and I risk my life just to keep going." Her voice was contemplating, thoughtful. Sitting by, however, was too boring for her. Though she wasn't uncontrollably violent, she preferred to get her hands into things. When you live for so long, it can be hard to keep entertained. "I almost want to take the long way. Enjoy. But, I'd rather get this out of the way as quickly as possible." She took another sip of coffee, waking up, fully. "I suppose, I owe you an explanation about my...tattoos. I didn't really give you the details. If you want them, you deserve to know. They'll help answer another of your questions later. But not here."

At this point, Belle wasn't sure if he wanted to know. If he didn't really care. He hadn't been interested in the how's or why's when she killed him, but the tattoos had played a hand in some of his questions. Understanding the angles, all of them, might help him paint his own picture much more accurately.

[Nascent]

She was right, of course -- the two of them weren't 'other people', nor would they ever be. The rituals and stigmas and routines of mortals could only apply to them so far, far less perhaps than either of them fully realized. Theirs was an existence apart, something that the ever-changing world around them would never fully grasp or appreciate. Yet even as she claimed he thought her only interested in being with him sexually he knew that wasn't true.

There may not be a term for what they were, much less what they could be, but Mephisto knew that physicality was merely a single dimension of it. Even amidst other long-lived, immortal, or supernatural beings he'd met he could never imagine finding someone like her. They had a connection, so he believed. Whatever she saw him as she had the candor to feel bad about wronging him, wanted to include him in her life. And he, in turn...

... she had always been the one person he couldn't help but be honest with, even when he was lying to himself. Belle was a great many things to him -- beatiful destroyer, alluring mystery, marvel of a thousand different qualities. All of it paled in comparison to just the simple desire -- and it had become one, over the long run -- to be honest with her even when he couldn't with the rest of the galaxy. She knew him inside and out, seemingly better than he knew himself. He would've done anything if she just asked, and not out of fawning amorous sentiment. He just couldn't see himself saying 'no'.

When at last they were in the car, Belle's marvelling at the breakfast quickly brought a smile to his face. He lifted the glass lid from her plate and deliscious-smelling steam filled the limo's interior, wafting the scent of eggs, onions, and meat tantalizingly in the air. For him it had only been five years in these conditions, in a 'world' where food wasn't what it used to be and the good stuff was harder and harder to come by... but for her, no doubt, it had been part of her everyday experience for centuries. "Please," He spread his hands wide over the meal. "No illusion. Enjoy... my love."

It was new, saying that. A bit awkward, at first, but after last night it just... seemed right.

"I understand your urgency; whatever's going on is important, that much is clear. We can do a relaxed breakfast another time, once it's resolved. As for the 'tattoos'..." He paused, fingers laced and chin resting upon them thoughtfully, chewing over his words. "You said something earlier about us being 'bonded' together, if I recall. I won't deny being curious. By the same token I won't expect full disclosure if you don't want to offer it. You've always been something of a mystery to me Belle, and that hasn't diminished as time's gone on. Truth be, I rather enjoy it."

"I can read people like a book. It was amusing for about a hundred years or so but it's so old hat now. Until I met you there was almost nothing that could ever surprise me... and, in a way, I think that not knowing everything about you is one of the things that not just draws me to you, but makes this, whatever the relationship we have is, work. I don't want to read your mind -- I want to know what you feel like saying, nothing more or less. It used to be I thought of understanding you like solving a riddle or discerning a mystery..."

Unfolding his hands, he leaned forward. "But now, I've come to accept that respect is key to that understanding, and that includes letting you say and show what you choose. So whatever you feel you 'owe' me, know that I'd gladly accept your own choices on the matter rather than some notion of debt to me making the decision."

"As strange as it may sound... after all that we've been for each other -- accomplices, dance partners, co-conspirators, even victim and murderer -- I feel like I can trust you. Absurd, I know, but that's just the way it is." He smiled. "I'm a ridiculous man who barely runs the club he owns, obsesses over ancient history, plays the piano badly, splurges on expensive breakfasts on rushed mornings, and can't even keep track of his own soul. My best qualities are my money, evil powers, and certain things I know how to do in bed. I have a history of excess and being theatrical to the point of drama, and evidently I can't even die properly. Why you put up with me is truly amazing."

His wry grin betrayed the humor in his words, but softened when he said. "All things on your timing, Belle. I don't mind one bit."

"Now we'd better eat; it's not a long drive and the food's getting cold."

[Painterlee]

"No..." Her voice came slow, soft, reassuring, almost. Like this was the most flattering thing anyone had ever done for her. She took a another drink of coffee, letting the caffeine do it's work. "Those are attributes you have that I can...make use of." Putting the cup down with care, meeting his eye. "No. There's more to you. And even if it took you thousands of years sleep and a night under covers with me to work out what it was, exactly, I was looking for...you respect me." She smiled, with a twist of evil. "I'd thank you. But you shouldn't have to thank people for respect." She left him with that, and tried to forget about her churning stomach, as the car pulled out, and began to take them to a place she never really wanted to go. Hopefully the food would distract her, and put her on her toes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They pulled up outside of the towering, ominous, Police Headquarters not half an hour later. The station itself was a stones throw away from the landing bays. They didn't exactly keep people who had been arrested here, but it was the largest cog in their machine. This was the main hub. The control center of Cancers police force, and it showed. It was busy. Always busy. Belle hated it. The problem with Cancer, and the reason it was such a booming kaleidoscope of sin, is that everything was a business. There weren't just Officers in that building. There were multi-billionaire Syndicate leaders, Cooperate CEO's, and everyone of that likeness. The door of the car opened, and Belle stepped out onto the busy street. She looked up at the tall, mostly glass, building. "Ah, the Paperwork Apartments." She mused, wasting no time as she strode towards the large set of rotating doors, entering the bright-white building.

The Atrium was huge, a large, abstract sculpture presented itself in the middle, reaching all the way up to the ceiling. Belle stuck out like a sore thumb, in among all kinds of people, all wearing suits. The noise of chatter and footsteps resonated off of the buildings walls like a chorus of ungodly angels, quiet, but loud, murmuring. Everyone walked like they had somewhere to go. Belle walked knowing she had somewhere to go. Striding in with the sharp clacking of heels on tile, and the atmosphere of a god striking hell fire. Women like her didn't just walk into the Police Station every day. The time was displayed, local, and every Universal time, on a large board just forward of the entrance, as so the giant sculpture didn't get in the way. 10:43.

Striding passed the large, daunting center-piece, the desks beyond manned by a small army of suited people of all kinds. And a queue. Belle didn't even look at Mephisto when she sighed. And not one sorry as she forced her way passed many annoyed people, waiting to be sent to their appointments. The face on the Secretary who's queue Belle apparently sort to destroy dropped. It seemed she recognized the face. A long line of angry business people behind her, Belle leaned on the desk, and was very forthright. "Meeting with the Commissioner." Her voice came blunt, almost annoyed. The skinny dark-haired man took a few seconds, a nervous wreck. "Did ya' here me? Commissioner." "Y-y-yes m'am." Belle rolled her eyes, rhythmically tapping her pointed nailed against the dark-marble counter, as the frightened young man tapped frantically on a hologram-computer. "T-that appointment w-was t-t-t-two-" Belle open palm hit the counter, the whole queue seemed to career backwards. "I know, dip shit. That's why the queue is so damn long, and everyone is so pissed off. Where's the Commissioner?" Shaking, the person behind the desk pulled from the screen an appointment file. "J-just press y-y-" Her thumb met the screen forcefully "I fucking know." There was an affirming bleep, her identity confirmed. "R-room 3-0-6, l-level 61." Belle gave a condescending bow. "Thank you." And then stormed off, leaving a traumatized check-in boy, and a bewildered queue behind.

She came back up to Mephisto, thumbing to the large amounts of elevators, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a sudden kiss, quickly, before carrying on. "C'om sexy, no point keeping the old man waiting too much longer." It seemed she was trying desperately to distract herself.

Luckily for them, that particular elevator was empty, a cage of one-way glass rising from the ground floor using a technology not dissimilar to the type Mephisto used on his pool back at The Black Sapphire, before pushing whomever waited on the other side of the door away as they exited. Another desk fronting the reception hall of floor 61. Belle began to ready herself against another terrified receptionist, but something else happened.

Adia strode down the corridor, bursting through the double doors just beyond the desk with just as much presence as Belle, except Adia marched like a solider. As Belle passed the desk, the receptionist standing up to stop her, Adia held out her hand. "They'll be no need." Her voice came, commanding, directed at the small woman at the desk, but eyes fixed on Belle. Adia was considerably shorter than Belle but the two stood toe-to-toe nonetheless. There was a pause. "God, you even smell of sex, dirty bitch." She scoffed. "More than can be said about you." Belles retort came quicker. It seemed the two of them had history. The receptionist looked visibly uncomfortable. Adia looked over towards Mephisto, before looking back at Belle with a spiteful grin. "Spit or swallow?" - "None of your business." - "Swallow then" - "Why are you so interested?" - "Because you reek of cum and sweat. Making you aware. Doing you a favor." - "Afraid I don't need anymore of those." - "Clearly. So, did he give you the courtesy of going down on you or is he a selfish asshole like most white dudes?" - "I'd say better than you, but that isn't much of a compliment." - "I didn't know you were looking for a pimp." - "I'm not, he's my trophy." -  "In fact I'm not sure he's even a guy, with hair like that." - "Would it make a difference if he weren't?" - "I don't know-"

There was a pause.

"Would it?"

Just in time, a tall geeky blond man came out from the two doors, looking to break the tension. "Okaaayy ladies, I think the Commissioner has waited long enough." At the sound of his voice the two woman lowered their stances and relaxed. Belle nodded toward him. Though he was obviously a person with little to no fighting ability, it seemed this man wasn't so much afraid of Belle or Adia, but of them falling out and causing more noise than they needed to. Last thing they needed was the whole of their squad group being checked and shifted to traffic for team-building exercises. "Ah, good to see you made it!" He chipped in, a little too happy. He too looked over towards Mephisto, and then back at Belle. "I'd say you weren't allowed to bring him, but I know better than that." He concluded, walking over to him and passing Mephisto a holographic file. "Just press your thumb against the pad. If you're registered as a resident or visitor of The Cancer you'll be clear to join your... friend, and we can take you through the see the Commissioner." The blond haired man seemed plenty more agreeable than Adia, as well as a better diplomat. "Good to see you're as eager as ever, Igy." Belle said, not facing away from her rival. "Yeah well, when you spend so much time up here, you've got to find some way of coping." He chuckled, waiting to receive the form back from Mephisto. "It's almost a nice change to see you back up here..."

"Kyla."

[Nascent]

He had never been in the Police Headquarters building before -- partially due to the nature of his business connections and partially due to having as little desire to entangle himself with local authority as possible. The place didn't disappoint, however, bearing all the pomp, circumstance, and beaurocracy one would expect of a major anchor of law on one of the largest space stations ever built. He found himself unconsciously keeping an eye out for hidden cameras, a keen awareness that someone somewhere was already matching his face against numerous databases and scanning his person for hidden weapons. The place breathed of humanity's baser aspects pushed into organized structure; dominance and subservience, suspicion and guilt, and perhaps most pathetically the mindset of the herd.

Which Belle, to the devil's delight, promtly went ahead and disrupted. Grandly.

He was smiling when she pulled him close for a kiss and even more-so when their lips parted. The next thing he knew they were in an elevator rising to the 61st floor. Belle was meeting with the Police Commissioner, then... he could only imagine it had something to do with her work as a bounty hunter, but that seemed further up the chain than even the most prestigious or infamous bounty seeker would typically contact.

What strange truth awaited them here...?

When thewoman who was clearly Adia came marching, all but literally, down the hall towards them a great deal about the earlier phone conversation began to make more sense. Whoever this woman with the fiery temper was, she and Belle clearly had history and a "working relationship" in the most dysfunctional sense. It didn't take demonic empathic powers to know she held no small disdain for the manhunter and had zero interest in keeping her feelings to herself.

Or her evident disdain for him, which raised an only halfway-amused eyebrow from the demon. Due, no doubt, to his association with Belle. Still, being first called a 'pimp', and then a 'trophy' stung just a little bit; he pushed the momentary papercut to his pride aside, realizing that he had not only endured far worse in the past -- Juviel, somehow, suddenly came to mind -- but that Belle wasn't about to go into any detail with this other woman on the actual nature of their relationship.

Just when it seemed like the two were about to straight-up brawl right there in front of the receptionist they were interrupted, mercifully, by yet another glasses-wearing cog in the peacekeeping machine. He accepted the electronic form from him, wondering briefly if he even had fingerprints that it could register and, if so, what kind of file they might have on him -- a slim, non-informative one, he hoped. Still, he didn't detect anything amiss in the man's demeanor, so he went ahead. The device protested the first two times but finally matched him properly on the third; mentally he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the name 'Reymond Descartes' displayed instead of any of his other aliases.

"It's almost a nice change to see you back up here..."

"Kyla."

Mephistopheles quite nearly dropped the file when he heard 'Igy' say that name, for a moment refusing to believe that he'd heard accurately. Had this man, this paper pusher for the Cancer PD, just used Belle's true name?? It seemed inconcievable. Yet, indeed, he had heard it. To Mephisto's understanding Belle had abandoned that name ages and ages hence, in an age when there had still been a prosperous kingdom in The Fell, a way to sever unwanted ties with 'that man' and one of the most unhappy chapters of her history. What, then, could possibly be going on? It didn't seem like her to just start using the name again after so long...

He closed his eyes, willed himself to be composed, and put on his most diplomatic smile as he extended the file back to 'Igy' followed by his hand.

"Reymond Descartes. I run the new nightclub that opened last night. Kyla," He found it harder than he'd expected to say that name, but performing was nonetheless his forte. "And I are old friends. She came by last night to catch up on old times and I fear I may have inadvertently made her late this morning. My sincerest apologies."