The Deal (Closed for WhisperedDesires)

[Apollo Wilde]

Orris root.

It always smelled like orris root.

All of the texts, tomes, grimoires - whatever you wanted to call them - said that summoning creatures from the underworld, Hell, again - a place of many names - would smell like sulfur. Brimstone, rotten eggs: all things subterranean and unpleasant and foul and decidedly dead. Skirting the edge of good taste between otherworldly and the all too mortal smell of something rotting.

But to her, it always smelled of orris root - a powdery sweetness that lingered like stale perfume, dust on old lace, a pale floral from a time long since past. Sometimes she thought that she caught a scent of osmanthus lingering; perhaps the ghostly shadow of gardenia.

It stunk all the same, and once smelled, it was permanently burned into the brain, association of the creatures of “darkness” with floral fragrances. Maybe perfumers knew something that the rest of the world hadn’t caught on yet. There’s nothing honest in perfume, covering up the smell of the living with something more pleasant. Not like that knowledge kept her from wearing it, her own deceit, though she leaned more towards woody, ozone fragrances that were unsettling as they were uncommon.

As long curls of thick violet smoke eased from the Solomon’s circle she’d drawn on the floor, she ignored the prickling of the fine hair on the nape of her neck. Amazing how in this age of science and technology and generally humans in theory knowing better than to believe in such things as the supernatural, that the body still responded, that there was something buried deep within the DNA, flesh, blood, that still recognized danger, no matter how it presented itself. And it seemed the more that she tried to focus on the sight in front of her, the more the hairs tingled. The sheer force of nausea that rolled from the pit of her stomach was enough for her to smudge one of the lines, breaking the concentration of the spell and sending whatever it was that she was calling hurtling back to the depths. The pain in her hand from the self-inflicted cut, the sight of her own blood beading against her fingers kept her focus in place, stomach be damned.

Pfft. Stomach be damned.

Even though her tears, she had to smile, though it was less an expression of pleasure. The curves at the corner of her full lips kept faltering; a beam unable to hold up under the weight. Her smile crumbled, and fresh tears pricked her eyes again. No. No crying in front of the underworld. It wasn’t written anywhere, that was true, but these things required unspoken common sense rules as much as they did written ones. Don’t laugh at a demon, no matter how weird they looked (and she’d seen some doozies in her time - including the memorable one that had teeth in its butthole and penises for fingers). Don’t show fear to a demon, no matter how scary they looked. And, never, ever, ever, agree to anything in writing, because the fine print was always where they got you.

Eventually, though, sorrow gave way to something unexpected.

Boredom.

Even as she held her right hand out, the blood from the gash made across her palm still oozing slowly, she glanced over at her watch on her left hand. It’d been about 10 minutes since she said the words, since the Solomon’s Seal had begun to glow. Movies got it right - in most cases (at least the ones she was experienced with), demons came pretty quickly. They were typically eager (and that’s what made them stupid; sort of like men, really) - and came scurrying over as swiftly as they could. This one was taking his sweet time. Granted, just the preparations alone had taken days - and then hours piled on top of that to get this circle and this space cleaned just so - and it had already been a taxing week on top of a draining month and she was ready to bandage up her hand and go flop down on the couch with a pint of her favorite ice cream and maybe cry it all out.

11 minutes now.

Okay. She was going to give it a full count of 15 minutes. Still time to either see this through or come back to her senses, because, well, there had to be something foolish in this, and maybe, just maybe, in some odd streak of karma, she’d messed up the ceremony somewhere, and there simply would be no greater “evil” to come forth. Sure, it would have meant that her blood would have been spilled in “vain,” but whatever. She could write it off as a paper cut from Hell (where was she coming up with all of these awful puns? Jesus) and get on about her business.

She stifled a yawn, careful not to move her hands, or let her mouth open too much. Funny, no matter how devastating things were…you still yawned. You felt tired, or hungry. The sun still rose the next day. It was humbling, really. And wonderful. Life carried on, giving no particular notice to the myriad moving parts that kept society rumbling along. How many times had she walked past someone without thinking twice about their circumstances? Maybe they’d experienced a loss like she had. They hadn’t given themselves up to being this petty -not that she knew of, at least. And that’s what she was being: petty.

Letting her eyes drift shut in what she’d call an “extended blink,” she turned over the memories in her mind, tried to trace back the sheer fury, sorrow, that had brought her to this particular place. And it seemed so, so silly. Logically, it was. She knew it - but, fuck, she’d never been good at dealing with loss or change. And so here she was, quickly losing that bile that fueled her petty desire.

She glanced at her watch again. 14 minutes.

One minute to go, and she was calling it quits.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

It was with 30 seconds left that something finally happened.

The circled flared brightly, the violet smoke billowing forth seemingly blown away by the sudden surge of power. The blood in her palm lifted, pulled towards the circle, then into it, coming together at the very center of the design. The pooled blood hung there, perfectly still, and then the Veil between worlds cracked and split, rending open so as to provide passage for the being that was called. The split hung in the air belching forth heat, smoke and the distant sounds of tortured souls, before a man stepped forth. Dressed in a suit of black and red, dark hair contrasted skin so pale it seemed unnatural, and standing straight and tall with an almost imperious air about him. As his feet touched the cement of the floor, the binding circle flared angrily, pushing back against the power that tested its borders. Almost idly, the being within adjusted his tie, even as the rend he'd come from closed once more, twisting violently before closing completely. For a moment silence filled the room as dark eyes gazed about, examining the surroundings with the idle curiosity of a man examining ants.

Eventually, however, eyes settled upon the only other person in the room, the woman who's call had been answered. A cocked head was the response to spotting her, a critical eye examining the one who'd reached so high, or perhaps so low. This one, it seemed, was the one who had been causing a stir among the lesser demons. This one, it seemed, was the one making mockery of hell's lesser denizens. Honestly, he had expected someone more impressive, but then he supposed not all could sit upon lofty thrones or within towers of arcane power. He had been summoned by many across the years, and some had simply been those desperate enough to call upon him, those who scrabbled in the dirt and muck, stumbling across half understood rituals and seeking power beyond what they knew.

Always, he had offered them a deal, and always they had taken it. So simple at times, these mortal minds.

He would give credit where it was due, of course. This mortal woman had stumbled across rituals and practices not used in... how long had it been among the mortals? So difficult to tell at times, and this room offered so few clues. Regardless, it was certain it had been quite awhile, and when the first of this woman's calls had been heard, calling for imps and other such lessers, the demons had been quick to answer. So long since deals for mortal souls had been conducted in such a manner. So eager to prove themselves, to rise above their lowly positions. And this one had humiliated them all, tricked them of their prizes with wordplay and brazen cunning. It was this that had caught his attention, this that made the risk of binding worth the value of the soul.

What a soul it was. Even past the barriers, there were some things that could not be hidden. The scent of it was strong, tainted by her works among the demonic. Other things clung to it as well, human things. The tang of sorrow, the rancid odor of rage, and other things roiling below the surface of her soul. Such delicious emotions, such interesting ways this one could be set free from the bindings of her mortal existence. Such temptations that could be levered to twist this ones wishes into something more... promising.

Ah, but he'd been standing here for a few minutes hadn't he? It had been such as long while since he'd walked among mortals. Well, living ones at any rate. He supposed he should say something appropriately demonic, shouldn't he? Would hate for her to be disappointed. She might send him back, and that just wouldn't do, not until he'd had the chance to raise some... hell.

"You have called. I have answered. What desires do you wish fulfilled?"

His voice was smooth, like warm honey across the tongue. He offered a smile, all perfect teeth and genuine desire to help her with whatever she wished. Even so, that smile didn't quite reach his eyes, continuing to watch her like a predator stalking some hapless prey, waiting for that perfect moment to take what was his.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

The air was sucked so violently and suddenly from the room that her molars felt rattled. She had never experienced anything close to a vacuum, and for the brief moment that air was out of the room, she could find no other word to describe the sudden absence that hung in the air. No light, no sound - barely vision, at that.

Before her addled brain could think to send a signal of panic, air was restored with a faint pop, though she wasn’t sure if it was just something finally shook loose in her head. Refusing to let her guard down, rather than suck in a deep inhale of the sweetest air imaginable, she slowly parted her lips, her breath uncommonly warm against the flesh, then, counted 4 one thousands as she sucked air back into her body, slow, measured, grounded by the lulling thud of her heart.

“There goes my deposit,” she murmured, more to herself than him. No ornate, candle-wax covered altars here, no musty corners and decaying spiderwebs. Simply the cold cement floor of a nearly empty garage and the half-hearted clamor of garden tools as they shuddered against each other. Though his breaking into the mortal realm was as seamless as these things could “go,” the sheer echo of his power was enough to send dancing scorch marks into the cement, as delicate as ice beginning to crack, and, as she took in more breaths, that undying scent of orris that she knew would forever hang in the air here, firmly etched into the tiniest atoms of wood, steel, concrete.

But her luck - and her seal - held, though how, now, she wasn’t entirely sure. The cut on her palm throbbed, the flickering light from the circle still calling to it, suckling gently, slowly, mindfully. Aside from the blood that trailed down her arm, there was nothing too remarkable about the woman - in fact, one might argue that she was slovenly. Dark brown eyes that were still red and swollen from tears, salt-matted eyelashes. Clothing that suggested comfort than bewitchment - black second skin pants spotted with dabs of white paint, darker dabs of blood, holes where her thighs met and rubbed the fabric thinner. A large black t-shirt that hung haphazardly off of one brown shoulder, flecked with perhaps the same white paint, but the smell of protective herbs clung to it - rosemary, sage, the whisper of lavender. Scads of dark hair, hastily wrangled into a sloppy bun framed a face with brown skin stretched across high cheekbones, and a high, broad forehead that in ancient times could have been that of royalty, now, it seemed to beckon affectionate kisses. Her mouth, with a sepia upper lip and deep pink lower, was full, but firmly pressed together as she forced her expression to be neutral, instead of the slight annoyance she felt at not only herself for casting such a spell, but for the damage in the garage and how much that was going to cost her. The tightness of her pants hinted at powerful legs, defined calves, but the shirt only hinted at curves - her breasts tented the fabric, there was a gentle curve against her stomach. In the waning light of the summoning, it was nearly impossible, for a mortal, at least, to tell if she was a creature of beauty or simply average.

“What’s your name?” Brazen. But not spoken with arrogance, simply curiosity as she looked at him, lowering her hands now. No need to keep them up like an idiot; clearly the spell had worked and there was no backing down now, no matter the rolling in her stomach and the electricity climbing up her spine. “I’m Ava Elfman. I know; it’s weird. You can call me either Ava or Elfman; not ‘Elfie,’ ‘Elfish,’ or any other stupid ‘Elf’ derivative. I’ve heard them all, they’re not clever, original, or most importantly, funny."

 

[WhisperedDesires]

Ah yes, names. Such funny things, names. He wondered if she understood the value of a name. Hers, of course, seemed to be genuine. Not complete, perhaps, or he'd have felt the control knowing such things gave him. Definitely not complete. Perhaps she did not know her true name, or how it involved her given name. If she had, perhaps she wouldn't have asked him for his, but then perhaps she had not meant to seek it in the first place. So many possibilities. Brazen? Lacking in Knowledge? Some other hidden cunning? But he was letting himself get distracted from the question. What was it the mortal's of old had called him? It had been such a long time...

"I have been called many things across many ages. I suppose, if I must be called something, Merchant would be closest. Or perhaps Dealer... But I have never held one of your mortal names, for none before have cared to give me one."

Would she know of the demonic tongue, that harsh language so difficult for the human mouth to make? Surely she must, she had called across the veil for specific little imps on occasion. Perhaps she simply assumed they responded to any name meant for them. What a wonderful little puzzle to be picked apart until it was solved. He stepped forward then, the circle flaring once more as he stepped nearly to its edge, eyes narrowing as if he were attempting to see this woman, this Ava, better. The light from the circle, dimmer now that the passage through was gone, was still enough to light up his face enough for features to be made out by mortals eyes. He was not, as one might say, traditionally handsome. Rather, it seemed like the eyes almost couldn't settle on any distinct feature, as if they ran like water over stones. The eyes, though, the dark eyes, seemed to capture the most attention, staring at her as if her very soul was laid bare. The flaring circle was glanced at a moment later, the demon frowning ever so slightly, managing to look almost hurt by the mere existence of the barrier between the two, the eyes downcast, his tone suggesting sincerity in his wish to do business.

"But surely we've no need for this between us. We've so much to discuss, and certainly we could find somewhere more comfortable to engage in conversation."

Almost as if to accent his point, he placed a hand against the invisible barrier the circle formed around him, sending sparks of magical power across its surface. Disguised within the action was the idle attempt to break through, but the circle held firm, at least for now. The work, he must admit, was solid, if a bit lacking in flair, and missing some rather key components to keeping someone like him contained for long. But then, he'd no interest in breaking fully free, not yet. Not with one so interesting before him, seeking his attention.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“Mes. I’ll call you ‘Mes.’ Short for ‘Mephistopheles.’ Actually,” she clicked her tongue, ran it along her lower lip in thought. “That’s too obvious. And I’m certainly not calling you ‘Dealer’ or ‘Merchant.’ Okay. ‘Marlowe.’ That’s less obvious, but still a thing - you’ll answer to ‘Marlowe’, won’t you?”

Confidence, now, replaced the boredom, the slight hiccup of fear that told her that she’d overstepped her bonds. Okay - this was more than what she bargained for, but that didn’t mean that it was outside of her hands. And with the throb of her teeth, the prickling of the hair on her arms, the nape of her neck, she knew she wasn’t out of the woods yet. But what she’d originally planned on asking him for, ugh. Logic flowed back into her, trying its best to drown out the panic. What would she have asked him for? A job? The return of her best friend / lover? To take back the way her now ex-lover and best friend thought, the things that he said, to turn back time so she could be wrapped back up into the haze that was love? But what then? It would have come to an end in its own time, would it not? She had seen the signs…but god, had it hurt. Still hurt. The loss - the trying to deal with the change, that’s all - being rash, and what had it ever gotten her in the past?

And now this - a creature far beyond her own comprehension, sitting, waiting, for her to make some move, for her to instantly bow to it and acquiesce. After all, you couldn’t just summon a demon as if asking them round for tea. That’s not how any of this worked. “Here is fine, Marlowe. Which I’m going to keep calling you until you either tell me your name or have something you’d rather call me. See,” She was sitting down now, crossing her legs lightly in front of the circle, careful of her wounded hand, “I’d assume that someone of your obvious rank has to be honest. You’re not like the little things I’ve called before. So I assume that whatever deal you’d want is fairly boilerplate - all the things my little heart desires for the price of my soul. Sound about right?”

 

[WhisperedDesires]

Mephistopheles. He'd heard of the tale before, some demon or other serving as the Devil's go between for some particular man. It wasn't all that uncommon among demons, many so little reason to personally attend to the business of making deals. That was, of course, less of a problem when demons were so rarely summoned into the world these days. There were a few, of course, who still knew the old ways, but now most of those who called themselves practitioners or demonologists were anything but mere dabblers clutching at straws. A far cry, even, from what this woman had managed.

To think, he was being named for some fictional demon, or at the least something vaguely associated with it. Marlow. Such an unassuming name. He wondered if it was a common one among the human, before swiftly deciding it didn't really matter. It would do for their purposes, which is to say Ava could address him easily, whilst he didn't have to give up his true name and risk far more control falling into her hands than any demon would like. So he nodded his silent assent to the temporary name, accepting its use readily enough.

The moment she sat down, making it clear she wasn't planning on releasing the circle anytime soon, that hurt expression he wore on his features was gone, replaced once more with that too wide smile and intense gaze. Ah well, it was worth a try, and certainly there'd be other opportunities to be had. For now, it seemed, the woman was intent on discussing business. Even if her views were rather skewed. Honesty, from a demon? How enlightened. It wasn't, as it so happened, a wrong assumption. She had summoned him, and certain rules needed to be followed, especially by one such as he. Questions must be answered, at least in so far as they pertained to the working of a binding agreement. So, if it was honesty she desired, it was honesty she would have... to a degree.

"Most requests do tend to be a bit more specific than that. Carnal pleasure, endless riches, eternal life. But yes, I suppose satisfying everything your heart desires would do just as well, if perhaps a bit vague for the likings of most." Marlowe's remained standing, his dark gaze focused down upon Ava as she sat, considering what might be offered by way of temptation. Emotions swirling within her soul, all told of one desire that had driven her to call across the veil. If it would prove enough to tempt the woman was another matter. She was cautious, this one, the demon decided. Cautious enough not to trust the human mask he wore, and cautious enough to keep him within the circle. The intensity of the emotions that he smelled upon her were fading, giving way to something else, something far less pleasant to his infernal senses. Let's see if those emotions couldn't be dredged back up and brought to the fore once more. "I can smell it on you, you know. All your little hearts desires were not what drove you to draw this circle, to pull apart the fabric of your world. No... I smell regret. Longing. Anger. Who was it then, Ava Elfman? Who was it who hurt you so? Am I to destroy them? Drag them screaming into the jaws of hell itself? It could be done, if that is what your wish. Punishment to last an eternity, pain to match the pain you feel, all for such a small price."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“The request is irrelevant. The price is always the same.” She spoke so quickly she was close on the heels of being flat out rude. Skirting the line between dismissiveness and being careful - all in a mad attempt to keep the panic from rising. Logic was steadily winning out against emotions, and the reality of the situation kept pulling her deeper and deeper in. For a split second, she wished that it was that simple; that she would have stayed in the moment, that her body wouldn’t have kept trying to warn her, and she could have thrown everything away for her heart’s desire - or that her heart’s desire was that simple. But no, as she sat here, looking down at the black swirls permanently etched on the concrete of the garage, she could think of absolutely nothing that would be worth her soul.

“Who would want to live forever,” she mused, more to herself. “Without eternal youth, at least. And I’m sure,” glancing up at him, she closed one eye - if it was a playful gesture or some odd squint, who knew - “that there’s some sort of loophole that would allow you to collect in the long run anyway.”

Then, silence. She could feel him, feel cold fingers wind across her body, in a mockery of the sensual. Of course he wasn’t physically touching her; he had power enough in his words, even though he was within the seal, to do some exploration of his own.

Ava, Ava, Ava - what have you called up?

Sweat beaded at her temples; fear, again, dark and sour, but quickly pushed down by his voice. And when she found her own again, it came out in a broken chuckle, the tears wrung free from it, but the strain, the sorrow, still there. “I don’t think dragging him to Hell would make anything better. Turning back time, were you capable of it, (was that mockery there? Doubt? Probing?), would only delay the inevitable.” Silence, then, as she rolled words round her tongue, swallowed the temptation. And that it was - tempting. If he could turn back time, if he could bring her friend back to her…wouldn’t it be sweet? So wonderful to feel herself back in his arms, the memories of the fights all wiped clean, like re-discovering him every day, falling in love all over again…Ah, that would have been Heaven, wouldn’t it?

Her sinuses and eyes began to burn, and she purposely ground her wounded hand into the ground. The flare of pain was enough to bring her focus back to the here and the now. Why forfeit the possibility of an actual Heaven for a temporary reprieve…Heh. Like she’d be greeted by Saint Peter as it were anyway; her soul was already flecked with corruption. Not like she herself was inherently evil, or prone to doing things in the dark, but no - it was her continual quest for knowledge, or, more accurately, that initial curse that all women bore - that damnable curiosity that brought about the Fall.

If one were to believe such things.

“And were I to humor your deal, what would your price be? Prove me wrong in my assumptions."

 

[WhisperedDesires]

Eternal life was usually more of a curse, as the woman suggested. Those that forgot to mention eternal youth usually considered it a mercy when they finally begged for release. Similarly, there was little a demon had to do in the way of loopholes when someone did remember. Eternal life inevitably led to boredom, and eternal boredom inevitably led to wanting to finally be free of it. Most usually summoned him once more, asking for death, for and end to existence without meaning, something he was only too happy to provide.

Ah, but time... such an immutable thing. One of the few he could not so easily warp to his needs. Not to say that it couldn't be done, in theory, but the levels of power required were well beyond him, well beyond any demon, truthfully. The best most could manage it sending a message into the past, or warping perception so one may view a moment in time as if through a window. Much easier than trying to reverse the movements of all things. Of course, he chose not to make mention of that. It seemed, at least to him, like Ava was half talking to herself, musing out loud as to what it was she wanted to bargain for.

Normally he might have already wandered off again, tested the circle again, but the very fact that she was trying to consider something, and that her emotions seem to swing rather harshly in random directions, was somewhat entertaining. One moment, some memory or thought would seemingly fill her with some silent joy mixed regret and longing, the next the next the pain of loss and the rage would come hurtling back, pushing aside everything else. But ah, there too was the physical pain, a tool it seemed to push away the emotions that ran rampant through her frame. Interesting indeed, this mortal woman.

"I've little desire to prove you wrong. Humans have so little to offer of any real value. Your soul is all you own that could be considered worth my time, a fact I think you are well aware of. But surely there must be something you want, deep within. Something that you yearn for so hungrily that you would call upon someone like me. Otherwise, why do it at all? Surely you know that even invoking me has barred you from the realm above. Nothing you do in life will ever remove that taint, will make you worthy once more. So tell me, what is it that you think worth giving up that possibility? What is it that could be so worth such a sacrifice?"

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Ouch. He had her there.

Some days, when the sun was shining and the sky a crystal clear blue and the plants were electric green, it was easy to forget the ticking clock on her soul. That was the way of the world - grow older, the sun rises and sets, the seas move according to their tides, and the whole matter spun quietly round in space, according to a perfect hand of a perfect creator.

“I suppose I couldn’t get much for used goods, could I?” Looking up at him now, it was the first time that she caught his eyes, shifting as they were, and held them. No tremor in her lips, no fluttering of her pulse. No fear - just…an overwhelming fatigue, the faint hint of boredom. Her soul, according to him, was already forfeit; that wasn’t unknown to her. But for the life of her, she could not directly think of anything that she immediately wanted, or that time could not ease on its own. Knowledge, she clearly had - wealth was more trouble than it was worth. A night with a celebrity was silly.

Then, his last question - and she did the truly unexpected.

She laughed.

Like pigeons startled from an old belfry, the sound came, not unpleasant, not gentle. “Would you believe, Marlow, if I told you that it was sheer boredom? I was gifted information,” from who or how she wouldn’t mention, and it was unclear in that molasses voice of hers, heavy with a drawl of someone who had all of the time in the world, “and that’s that.” Her words, clipped, suggested that there was more to the story - or maybe that was just her way of speaking. Still difficult to tell. “Maybe I was trying to summon an incubus and I got you instead.”

 

[WhisperedDesires]

"You presume your soul used goods? I find it amusing that you speak on matters you humans know so little about. Your soul may be tainted with the demonic, but that merely means you will descend to hell eventually. Who you go to would be a matter of some debate, for you know the old rituals, and those who can call themselves a proper demonologist are a rare breed among your kind nowadays. To lay claim to it before any other might try and steal it... But I suppose the politics of the Endless Abyss are of little interest to you."

Boredom was her reason for bringing forth a demon, for laughing at his gently probing questions. Perhaps all the demons she'd called to, all the humiliations she'd placed upon their shoulders. Boredom that he could understand. Such a simple reason, and yet one that had far more to do with many things than many realized. More than once humans did things simply out of sheer boredom in their sad little lives. The same could be said of demons, himself included. Why else would they tolerate the endless requests a human made of them, all for a single soul? So few were worth the time, yet still a demon would inevitably answer, eager to strike a bargain. Boredom, for if all one did was wait for souls to come to them, the monotony would be endless. Well, boredom and the longing for ever more power.

Never let it be said demons were not power hungry.

Still, it was looking increasingly unlikely that she would be making a deal this night. A fact that did not amuse him, nor did it interest him to be sent back to hell empty handed. He would continue to push at her interests of course, maybe she'd change her mind and something would come of this affair after all, but part of his attention wandered to the binding circle once more, examining it's flaws for where he might be able to pierce through and shatter its magic. It had been so long since he'd walked the land of mortals, woven his way into their little games and taken all the souls he could before someone finally banished him back to whence he came. It would certainly relieve the endless drudgery to do so again before returning to the task of torturing those already consigned to the pits.

"If you had intended to satisfy your interests with one of Lilith's children, then you would not have sent out a call as strong as you did. They are a simple lot, much as they might claim otherwise. And you do not smell of lust, like those who seek their attention. Perhaps you merely failed, or presumed too much power for so simple a task... alas, I suppose it matters little what your intentions. I answered your call, not some lesser, and you've only yourself to blame. So now that I stand before you, with power at my fingertips and a willingness to provide what you may seek, you speak as if you've no interest at all. I would find it amusing if I did not feel my time was being... wasted."

Marlowe was moving now, slowly following the inner edge of the circle, physically and magically probing the barrier for weakness. A flaw here, a slightly off center circle there. It was weak, weak enough for him at any rate, but that didn't mean he could just fling power at it without due consideration. There was always a point, in every barrier, that was weaker than the rest. Easier to pierce than the rest. Perhaps if he began testing her protections she might find some desire a deal might be struck. Or perhaps he'd break free first, and she would simply find herself at his mercy entirely.

Ah, the possibility. Either scenario would be amusing enough, for both were certainly of interest to him.

"Tis a shame really. Your antics and humiliation of the lessers has been a matter of much amusement. I had hoped for a request entertaining enough to warrant my attention, and instead I get some indecisive girl, playing with toys she knows little about. A pity. Your soul is worth so much, and I'd have been willing to do great and terrible things if only to acquire it."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Humans have an uncanny ability to bond - inanimate objects, animals; other people. She must’ve forgotten where and who she was for a moment, because his cold words sliced through her, through his human facade. There was a slight tremble of her lips, a hot, bright flare of anger that rippled the air, shook the edges of the seal and re-solidified them, like pulling a sheet taunt across a made bed. The line was fine indeed; too much anger, and she risked losing all control, magic and summoning being a battle of wills, of being in the moment and being incredibly aware. Too little anger, and the result was the same: the dropping of defenses, of the will needed to hold the seal in place. No wonder Solomon had his inscribed on a ring; this was getting tiresome.

Silence took over the room - not oppressive, not hanging there. Thoughtful, pregnant. Considering. Rage had been her advocate in bringing him here, a rage that still flickered, but was rapidly dying. Annoyance, more like it - he was toying with her ego, and the fact that she was giving into it was a surefire indication that he was getting to her. He was good; a fair sight better than any of those she’d called before, and they both knew it.

And then he did it. Plucked that last string of ego, and he could feel it; the return of emotion, incandescent in its flow, and the creasing of the skin between her eyebrows was her final tell.

“What would you know of what was ‘worthy of your attention’? A creature like you, who wouldn’t begin to understand loss, pain - anything that makes us human. And so you can just wave your hand, and provide the cheapest of distractions to those who don’t know any better.” She was angry now, the emotion grinding its heel into every word. Standing up, she didn’t favor her wounded hand. Her face, in the dull light of the garage, was stormy. “I bet I could ask something of you that you would never be able to act on.” The seal was starting to waver - a trick of the light, a loss of focus, it would be difficult to tell. Perhaps there was a bit more confidence in her voice now; her face had no “ah-ha!” Moment as if she’d stumbled across the one thing that he couldn’t provide. “What would you do with my soul, then, if you were able to obtain it? Spell it out for me, the ‘girl’ that I am.”

 

[WhisperedDesires]

There it was. Emotion bursting to life like a fire. The circle's magical boundaries hardening, pushing against his subtle attempts at probing its walls. For a flicker of a moment, that fire was enough to ignite his interest in her once more. Then she spoke, accused him of not knowing loss, of not knowing pain, of not knowing what it felt like to be human.

One of those at least was correct.

His own anger flared, dark eyes lighting with hellfire as he spun to face her once more. Power rippled off of him, slamming against the invisible barrier she stood before, sending spider-web cracks across the magical surface. The shadows that were produced by the glowing circle seemed to elongate, even as demonic whispers began to fill the air. This one thought she knew of loss, of pain, of anguish. No human on earth knew of loss as he did. None at all. And though he had long since come to terms with his own pain, long ago chosen to revel in the fate he'd found himself in, this one would not question that so easily.

"I do not provide cheap distractions! I provide only what is asked of me, nothing more and nothing less!" Bet. The word was one often thrown around in hell. Gambling was as easy a pass time for demons as any other. Some gravitated to it in their dealings with humans as well. He personally never cared for it, much preferring the offer of a mutual exchange, the surety of a deal. But if she would not deal, if she would bring up pain as if only humans had ever felt it... His rage calmed slightly, the whispers present only moments ago fading, the hellfire in his eyes disappearing once more. But those dark orbs bore into the woman that dared challenge him with her petty anger. "You think yourself so clever as to find something I cannot provide? Ask it then. We shall see, and if I should fail I shall leave you in peace to wallow in whatever misery you wish."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Anger meets anger; the floor shudders, the seal’s edges crumple. She still shows no fear, and, if anything, seems mocking in her defiance. Lesser mortals, even demons, she was sure, had cowered before such a display. But to her, oh, it was delicious! Petty, perhaps, dragging down an immortal to the dirt and dung of being merely human, but it was working.

“Just because it’s asked of you doesn’t mean it’s not a cheap distraction,” she sniffed, resisting the urge to turn her back to him. Dangerous, foolhardy. Her grip on the seal was weakening under his sustained attack. A battle of wills, yes, and powerful magic, but she was always at a distinct disadvantage: being human. Already she could feel the nausea threaten to overtake her, her brain battering against her skull. The flare of power that he sent into the room threatened to knock the wind out of her, and in response, she could feel the dull trickle of blood leaking from one nostril. Time wasn’t on her side.

“Carnal pleasures? Cheap. Wealth. Cheap. Power? Cheap. Hardly worth giving up a soul for, no matter how small of a trifle you think it is. And I don’t ‘think’ of myself as clever,” she grinned, now, the blood from her nose trailing down the cupid’s bow, her upper lip, giving her teeth a sheer crimson cast, “I am.”

Only a fool would attempt to hold him further - she knew that. And upon striking the deal, he’d be freed from her seal, but not from whatever bargain she struck. And she would have to lay the foundations firmly so that he could not, and would not, cause her harm. “But if you’re so powerful, and if you can provide so much - then this: Marlow, I ask you to fall irrevocably, hopelessly, and eternally in love with me. Not love as demons would know it, but love as humans do - and the highest form of it, no doubt. The prince to my princess in a fairy tale - let’s say, oh, Beauty and the Beast. Or Cupid and Psyche, if you know that variation better, because that would make it a bit more even. My love is as transformative to you as yours is true. Of course, there are details, finer points to be made - but that’s the deal.”

Standing back now, there was a falter in her step - not of fear, but out of sheer fatigue. Her vision was starting to swim, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her fade. No, she wanted to see the look on his face when he realized that she asked the impossible of him.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

Love. The human wanted love. Even as she spoke the offer, the binding magics of the ritual swirled in anticipation, seeking his approval, his dismissal or his counter offer. But he would admit to no one but himself that she had surprised him. Love. No human asked a demon for something so abstract as love. It was a concept foreign to beings such as he, and most assumed that was the end of it. Perhaps, were it any other demon, it might have been. But for him it was a challenge, a calling out if you will, and his pride would not allow him to back down from such a thing.

Perhaps of yet more value to him, however, was the sheer audacity of the bargain, the utter certainty in her stated request. It would seem she remained far more interesting that he'd thought, and despite her earlier nonsense she could hold the fire in her hands and laugh in the face of the demonic still. That was the summoner he had sought. To say she had earned a small bit of respect would be incorrect. She had earned, without question, his undying interest, and it was the interest that ultimately had the demon's too wide grin return, darkly pleased laughter bubbling up from within his chest. This would be a game worth playing indeed, and there remained a single loophole it seemed she had not thought of. A way for him to remain on this Earth for many a year. Or perhaps, in the end, she simply did not care. That thought too, was interesting all on its own.

"The deal is struck, Ava Elfman. From now until forever, I shall bear only you in my heart, and no other. I shall not betray your feelings, for so long as you live upon this world. No other shall earn my affection, no other shall hear words of love from my lips. For you and only you will I profess my love. When it is so, and my heart truly belongs only to you, only then will your soul belong to me."

He felt the magic begin its work, binding him to completing the bargain that was struck. Admittedly, demons did not experience love, it was a foreign concept. Even more relevant, demonic power could not force emotions upon people. It could confuse the mind, sway the heart, push at loyalties, but when a person asked for love from a specific person it was usually accomplished by handing them, in the end, a mindless doll that parroted words and actions. Obviously, Marlow was none to keen to do that to himself, nor would it fulfill the conditions Ava had set.

Which left such an interesting puzzle. The deal would not be complete until he truly fell in love with this woman. But as a demon, he had never experienced love, or truly understood it. He recognized its meaning in some vague way, or rather, he understood that human knew just as little about it as anyone else. This night, it seemed, was shaping up to be far more interesting than he'd ever thought it would.

Not to mention, so long as she lived, he would be required to exist on this earth alongside her. The magic demanded it so, for how could one fall in love without being near the one they were to love?

He felt the binding magics settle upon his essence easily, chains that linked his very existence to hers. He could not harm her so long as the deal remained. But why would he want to harm such an interesting human? Why lose such an amusing toy? The moment the magics finished its work, the demon stepped through the barrier as if it hadn't existed at all, stopping just before the woman who he was now supposed to fall in love with, gazing down at this woman who's fatigue so showed in her frame.

"So it is we are bound, now and forever, Ava Elfman."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

It wouldn’t be until well after the demon spoke that the panic began to sink in.

She’d just played her last, and ultimate trump card - the one that she thought she would never have to use. The one that she placed utter confidence in; for how could a demon, completely devoid of human emotion, learn to truly love? And, perhaps, somewhere buried within the audacity of the request, was a much more humble, desperate, and childish plea:

If I’m able to have a demon love a human, maybe, just maybe, it won’t damn me.

There were no smart remarks now, and her surprise was evident on her face. It would be the first time that, even through the fatigue, the emotional exhaustion, that she let her practiced mask slip. It was clear that she hadn’t expected him to agree - and truly, only time would tell if he would be truly able to hold up his end of the bargain. There was still hope - a flickering, wan one, but one nonetheless. And a drowning man will grasp at even a straw.

The deal struck, the seal undulated, as if content with itself that it had held for so long and against such sustained attacks. There was one last, fleeting pulse of violet, one final gasp of orris, and the seal was broken. Now, there was nothing between Ava and her new “paramour,” if she could even call him that. With the strain of maintaining the seal finally lifted from her shoulders, her body folded in on itself, the erect posture and confidence oozing back into her form. She seemed to almost shrink then, her purpose gone, and immense weariness rushing in on its stead.

Now what? Chimed her brain, pushing through the fog.

Now we sleep, grumbled her body in response. Get those legs moving.

But how could she sleep with a demon in the house? He couldn’t harm her - couldn’t he? She hadn’t explicitly asked for that. Shit. Give them an inch, and they’ll take a mile, or, rather, they simply relished in language. What was said, what wasn’t. And she wasn’t entirely sure of any additional ceremony that she could do that could add proverbial asterisks to their contract. A cold chill went up her spine. He could torture her, make her beg for death and say that she felt love. But no; that would be a violation - he had to feel it, too. But what if demons experienced true love in absolute pain?

Ugh.

The more she thought, the more apparent how out of her depth she was. How she was going to have to play this one by ear. And how, at the end of the day, she was essentially saddled with this creature.

“…So…” The words were dry, inadequate in the face of such magic that had brought these two together. There was no echo in the garage; with the air of magic gone, the room was suddenly too small, too simple. Stifling with that smell of faded iris, and with the arrival of ambient sound outdoors: the faint wind, the occasional car going by. A dog barking down the street. “I need to get cleaned up,” she said, as if remembering her bleeding nose, her wounded hand. “And this isn’t going away,” she nudged at the black remnants of magic scorched into the cement. “So I’m going to bed.”

Why announce her plans? Maybe saying them out loud made them seem more solid, more normal. Like a denizen of Hell wasn't standing in front of her. "Mmm," the sound rolled round her mouth, pressed against her lips. "Don't go out causing harm to others if you're not around me. I guess that would go without saying, but I suppose I can't keep you from doing your job," the latter was added with a lazy shrug. There would be more time to think about this tomorrow. Tomorrow, right? The sun was still going to rise, and people would still argue, and there would still be things to be done, bills to be paid. The normal rhythms of life to be played out.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

"I would not jeopordize my existence in this world by drawing unwanted attention, to either of us."

The demon idly considered Ava, eyes taking in the sight of the blood that had run down her hand and painted her lips. Humans, he sometimes forgot, were so utterly fragile. The mention of her immediate plans brought forth further inspection, the weariness in her frame mirrored by the exhaustion of her soul. The ritual it seemed had taken far more out of the woman than he'd cared to notice before. But a lover noticed such things, didn't they? Perhaps he was mistaken, but the human concept of love was such a difficult thing to grasp for him. Perhaps he would make the tasks she spoke of just a bit easier.

Without a word he reached out and took Ava's hand, eyeing the self inflicted wound with obvious disinterest. The ritual demand for blood was well known. Most generally assumed some others blood, particularly a virgins, was of some greater value, but honestly such things were exaggerated. Blood was demanded because it was filled with life, and the soul of the one who gave blood was of more interest then some human measure of sexual exploits. While it was true innocence often meant a purity of the soul that some demons found tantalizing, it was hardly a necessity. Marlow traced a finger along the wound, demonic magics whispering forth to close and heal the cut. He'd been told, by those few who sought him out for matters of health, that they'd expected demonic healing to feel wrong, sickening, corruptive even. Instead, it was heat, pushing through the wound, metaphorically burning away injury or disease to leave the body healthy once more. He had always found it amusing that humans thought demons so incapable of the healing arts. How else would one survive the injuries caused during fights between fellow demons?

Still, as his work finished, the cut sealed and leaving unblemished skin in its place, Marlow returned the hand to Ava's control. She seemed to think he'd any interest in roaming about. Perhaps another night, but for now he'd be securing what was likely to be his domain. She made no mention of him not residing alongside her after all, in fact she seemed rather intent on keeping him close by so he wouldn't inadvertently harm anyone. A ludicrous thought, he wasn't some bullheaded war demon, but then she wouldn't know of them, would she? Only the stories these humans gathered. No, first would be defending this place from prying eyes who might notice his presence.

"Rest yourself, Ava. I shall keep watch for any unwelcome visitors. That is a thing one's paramour does, yes? I suppose this situation makes me a suitor of yours, or was it something else... what is it nowadays... a boyfriend? Such a confusing term, surely one can have male friends without seeking love from one another."

Marlow was, at this point, speaking simply to speak. He had little idea how he was supposed to act. If she'd asked for satisfaction of her lusts than he'd know. Pleasing a human through carnal pleasure was something he knew how to do. Pleasing them on an emotional level was going to be a novel experience. A grin spread across his lips at the thought of this entirely new and untested ground. He had never heard of a demon being asked for love.

"Or were you telling me of your plan with the understanding that I am supposed to cradle you in my arms as we sleep alongside one another? I can do so if you wish it so, though it would be a tad dull for me, but as I understand it one must make sacrifices for the one they love."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“Great. Great and good.” Eyeing him, she seemed to be trying to take him apart and put him back together in her mind in a way that made sense. He was human enough - if you didn’t look at him for entirely too long. His face, the form that he held, reminded her of the Magic Eye pictures she used to hate as a child - stare at it long enough, and some shape would come, but for her, it never worked. The pictures deepened, rolled, gave her headaches, but never quite turned into whatever it was that she was supposed to be looking for. And there was a “flickering” around his edges, subtle enough, only there if you knew what you were looking at, that wasn’t helping with her headache or the nausea that still threatened to overtake her.

His touch was cold in an unnatural way. His hands felt like…hands - flesh, bone, thick blood vessels, smooth fingers. The chill that darted through her hand as he took it was on a deep level, resonated in her bones and made her teeth ache all over again. Some would say that being “ghost touched” left behind a residue, a mark, that one could never wash off, that would echo in the darkest and stillest parts of the night, a beacon to all of those dead and undead. If any of that were true (and at this point, she had no reason to doubt it), she felt undeniably marked by his touch - made worse by the heat that coursed through her body. She flinched, ever so slightly, hissing as he let go of her hand.

Then, the flicker of surprise. It wasn’t that he healed her; maybe it was in his best interest to keep her whole. No - it was that he let go of her hand. There was no curiosity there, no childlike wonderment at her hand, at her body, of the flesh of someone he was to be bound to. His disinterest sparked hope afresh in her. She wasn’t naive enough to think, or even humor, that a demon could love, but to at least feign interest would have been, to her, elementary. Some imps that she’d summoned in the past couldn’t keep their eyes of off her - not in a carnal way (though there was some of that as well), but in impatience, glee, the assumption that they’d have her soul, wanting to keep tabs on her.

“I don’t think that this has drawn too much attention,” now it was her time to speak, though her voice felt rubbed raw. “People don’t notice much beyond their own noses.” And time, as sluggishly as it felt it moved, hadn’t stopped. Perhaps it had been an entire 30 minutes since the beginning of the ceremony, and there was no sound from the neighbors outside of the norm. The dull roar of a sports game, of a group of people cheering. Distant music. As tired as she was, she could feel nothing else but him. “Unless you’re some rogue of Hell and you’re running from something, I think we’ll be okay.”

Was she trying to reassure him, herself, or simply speaking without thinking? Her addled mind tried to summon logic again - it wouldn’t do to have him slip into bed beside her, yikes. But if she left him to his own devices, what mischief could he be up to? He started that he wouldn’t do anything that would draw attention to himself, but you could only trust a demon so far, if at all.

Idly, she flexed the fingers of her now unwounded hand. Anyone else would have gaped at the damage so easily repaired; her glance at her hand was perfunctory at best. “ ‘Bae’ is what the younger folks call it,” and, as if struck by how ludicrous the term and conversation, she laughed. A different laugh from before, cheerful, light. “Yes, you can have boys, or men, as friends. It’s one of those language things. What do they call it where you’re from? Or do you just rape and pillage? Do demons even have sex drives? Actually, no, that’s a boring question - but not that boring either. Do you guys feel desire like we do? Or want for companionship? Do demons get lonely?”

The floodgates had parted - and what spilled forth was how she got tangled up with demons in the first place: pure curiosity. Her questions scrubbed her voice clean, leant it a youth and vigor that her body couldn’t match. Her eyes, with the dark face and dark garage, caught alight, and she became animated, walking towards him. And she put her arms on his shoulders, running them down the lines of his arms, his hands, kneeling to feel his thighs, calves, feet - and stood up again. “Do you take this form just to appear to people, or is it how you actually look or prefer to go around as, or is it like Zeus and if I saw you in your full form I’d turn into dust? Did that actually happen? Do you have to go to demon school to learn how not to do that when people summon you? God, so many questions!”

Then, she stopped. Blinked, and then, laughed again. “You have a mouth on you, Marlow. Marlow, Marlow, Marlow - is that a name you even like? What do you like? Fire and brimstone and pain and suffering? Or do you secretly enjoy human musicals and you can’t tell anyone? And no, you do not need to ‘cradle me’; that’s creepy. You’re creepy. But this is where we are right now.” One question in her mind lead to 50 more, and then more, multiplying before one could scarcely take root. The imps she’d summoned before had been for simple tasks, once she realized that they either possessed no knowledge or were disinterested in it. But here, here was a living (figuratively), breathing (also figuratively) creature that had some intelligence to him. All of her tomes, what was in her blood, taught her the most basic, but no one had actually bothered to ASK the demons anything beyond what was expected of them, which always seemed as a shame to her. Better understanding meant leading to better deals, after all.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

"It is not humans who's attention we should be avoiding. There are other things in this world that would notice a human tearing a hole in reality, and that someone like me has stepped through."

He didn't react to the mention of being a rogue, he wasn't, at least not in the sense she probably meant it. But that was a matter of demonic politics that didn't need explaining, certainly not to someone who's body was rapidly beginning to falter in the face of exhaustion. Curious then, the sudden bursts of energy that followed her questions, the sudden excitement being mirrored in her soul. So it was the quest for knowledge that fed her spirit. Well, if it was knowledge she sought, there were plenty of things he could speak about that would provide little more than pointless trivia.

"Demons have desires. Sex can be one of them, though like humans our interests are varied. The children of Lilith are the most liable to engage in such hedonism, if only because they share a stronger link to human urges. Most proper demons, however, have little interest in sex beyond the immediate gratification of it. Demons do not have children after all. Well, most. Once again Lilith's descendants are the exception. I prefer to avoid the wailing of the newborns when one of their kind gives birth."

He stood stoically as Ava ran her hands along his body, idly curious as to the point of such an action. Was she searching for some flaw, some chink in the mask he'd placed over his form? He personally couldn't see the point of such a thing, it would offer no great advantage over him. Perhaps simply another form of the curiosity that continued to trickle from her like water.

"I appear as I am because you humans have a habit of panicking upon seeing me. It is tiresome to wait for a summoner to calm themselves before making their requests. Though I have experimented at times with a female form on occasion, I personally feel more comfortable in my current appearance." Of course, humans also trusted other humans as well, but no need to mention that little tidbit. "I've developed a preference for this particular form during your... what was it called? Prohibition? Such an inane idea, all it served was to push more to seek to satisfy their vices. But I was pulled through during the era, and found I quite enjoyed the style of dress. Much better, I think, than the endless robes of the romans. Such a difficult thing to move properly in. As for something so bothersome as a school, I have never had need to attend such a thing. Demons do not teach each other, that is a purely human trait. Perhaps why your kind are so quick to advance themselves in search of greater truths. I came into being as I am, already knowing all I must about myself. I have learned more as I grew in strength, torn knowledge from ancient tomes older than even myself and wrung power from enemies brought low before me. But I have never had a teacher, nor have I ever taught another.

"That you humans assume fire and brimstone is all that exists in the Abyss has always been a source of amusement. As for personal tastes, I enjoy 'swing' music, though I understand its something of a lost musical form nowadays. A shame really, I used to be quite good at dancing." Never mind that it was useful for worming his way into deals with the young woman of the time. But such skills had always been useful across the ages. Humans so did love to lose themselves in song and dance. Sadly, dancing was not a thing usually done among demons in hell, far more interested in their power plays and endless scheming. "As for the name, it shall suffice. I've little need for a permanent name anyhow, so you may call me what you like. It matters little, seeing as I am apparently so very creepy. I suppose I should take that as a compliment, rather than an insult.

"But I think, perhaps, that you'll have time for all the questions your heart desires to ask. I shall not be going anywhere anytime soon, and your body is perhaps not holding up as well as your mind. You mentioned a bed that needed your attention, I believe."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

The attention she gave him while he spoke was rapt - almost as if she was too scared to breathe and the illusion before her vanish. Surely everything could be crafted about a demon, from their physical appearance on, but…it was tempting to believe that he was telling the truth when it came to her questions.

As much as he could, anyway.

In answering, she did more than lose herself in the maelstrom of things she wanted to ask. She listened. Not just to his answers, but to his tone of voice, watched the movements of his hands, his body, were there any, and started to pen the novel of what Marlow was, or could be, in her mind. He mimicked human movement well; there was a smoothness to him that was mesmerizing. It almost invited more touch, even as he spoke about the differences between incubi and himself. It made sense, she mused to herself. Demons of this ranking had to be charismatic, a far cry from the slobbering horrors she’d seen before.

“So like a spider, then.” Her statement appeared to come out of nowhere. She didn’t wait to catch his expression before she elaborated. “The whole being born and knowing all that there is to know. Do you ever get the impression that there’s more out there than what you already know? Isn’t that frustrating?” She barely got the last word out before a mighty yawn covered it. She was on her feet by sheer will now - and as curious as she was, she couldn’t stand in the garage all night.

But a demon who liked swing music - it was quaint. Really. She smiled, closed mouthed now, nursing that little tidbit. It was…cute. Endearing.

“Come on, then. I’ll give you the grand tour, for what it matters.” Stepping heavily past him, she opened the door linking the garage to the house.

___

If buildings had personalities, this home of hers would be a fat, contented hen, sitting on her numerous chicks, comfortable and squat. It wasn’t the decor - which, if she was going to be honest, was on the sparse side - but simply the air inside of the house itself. The walls were cream colored, bland, but covered with artist prints - Klimt and Schiele in heavy rotation. Prints of the ocean - during storms, of sea creatures, danced among the neurotic twisting of Schiele’s figures. The home itself exhaled the faint breath of incense, palo Santo - the typical trappings of the new age “witch” (though she wouldn’t call herself that). Lush house plants sat on every available corner, trailed from bookshelves, propped up on counters.

“Living room,” she said, waving a hand around the largest space - seeming all the larger for how sparse it was. A single big chair, enough for her to sit in, a table, bookshelves full to creaking. “Kitchen.” An absent minded wave to a small corner, marked by a white tiled floor - completely nondescript, even with the small planter box sitting in the window - herbs, from the look of them. “Bathroom, bedroom.” With her back to him now, she took a few steps forward down a narrow hallway. Its walls were surprisingly blank - no photos, no pictures. If he paused, he would realize that there were no photographs of any living human: the only human figures were in the paintings.

“It’s small,” not offered as an apology, “But it’s just me, so it doesn’t have to be massive. And I think of it as being quite comfortable.” The bedroom door was open, leading to yet another small room. Unlike the dull white of the walls of the hallway, this room was painted entirely black. Well, perhaps “entirely” wouldn’t be accurate. The walls and ceiling were black, true, but constellations, the whorls of galaxies, had been painstakingly painted onto their surfaces. Perhaps it would explain the dots of paint on her clothing. There were no shelves in here, nothing to break the lines of the galaxies around them. Even the closet and bathroom doors had been painted to blend in - and the only furniture in this room was her bed. It was a large affair, draped in black sheets, comforter. It was obvious that she did favor the color black, but did so without the expected drudgery that came with being fascinated with death.

“I don’t care if it’s gross,” she reached down, tugging at her leggings, One hop, then two, and she was out of them, kicking the pile of fabric off of her body as if it had offended her, her panties a wadded pale purple tangle within the leggings, “But I’m not showering after all of that.” Her voice was muffled as she reached down and tugged at the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over. Despite the strangeness of the situation, she was entirely unperturbed at being naked in front of a strange man, a demon, no doubt. And she showed no sign of expecting him to react to her nudity. “The good thing about you, Marlow, is that I can do this and you don’t care.” It wasn’t said to be cheeky, or to goad him into acting. It was a simple statement of fact, the reassurance pressing firmly into each word.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

Her comparison was apt, he supposed. Spiders were, in some ways, quite similar in that respect. Both were born with all the knowledge that had need of to hunt their prey. That demons hunted for things greater than the next meal was perhaps the major difference. But then, even he could not claim to know all things that ever was or is. He could answer questions about his own abilities without question, and certainly some demons knew more than others of the infinite universe, but the search for knowledge had never been his motivator. Perhaps, in an era long past he might have been tempted to follow that path, but now...

But before he could truly respond the young woman before him was yawning, exhaustion finally demanding its own price be paid. Soon enough she was leading the way into her home, giving him the "grand tour" of the modest domicile.

Admittedly, though he did take in the layout and various furnishing, of more interest was the severe lack of more supernatural protections. That was... an oversight he had not expected. But the, if she were only playing with imps, perhaps she had not felt them necessary. A correction he would see to, if only because he didn't want to be caught unawares by some overzealous exorcist or overly vigilant angel. That would be a rather abrupt end to this little venture, an end he wasn't keen on seeing come about.

The distinct lack of other humans, or pictures of humans, suggested to him a lonely existence. Or perhaps some event had made her uninterested in investing in others. This was an interesting development, if only for what it spoke to. A reason for her sudden request for love? Desperation may have played its part, anger and cunning the crafters of her request, but some deeper reason provided the soul of her request for true and unending love. Something he would have to consider for a long while.

Her bedroom had the demon examining the walls, humming slightly. The concept of outer space had never interested him, the endless void beyond this world was unsurprisingly empty of anything that could hold his interest. The rustle of clothing drew his attention away from the walls however, Ava divesting herself of clothing. The entire process was watched idly, her naked body studied with the idle curiosity of a man studying a painting. She wasn't the most amazingly gorgeous woman he had ever seen, even if he excluded the exquisite forms of the succubi. Nor, however, was she lacking in appeal, the curve of her form and definition of her body easily labeled as beautiful. The way she stood, however, removed any hint of seductive potential, which he supposed was appropriate given her intentions. Sleep was all she sought, not the satisfactions of lust.

Her words were registered easily, and almost ignored before, as if suddenly reaching an epiphany, he realized he'd almost missed an opportunity. As a lover he was supposed to be supporting her in her endeavors. She claimed it gross, and claimed further that she didn't care about making herself clean before sleeping. While it wouldn't serve in place of a proper shower, he could at least removed the grime from her body, make her just a tad more comfortable. That seemed something a boyfriend capable of such would do. A shame most mortals could not be so accommodating.

"Don't move."

His words were followed by action as he stepped towards her, a finger reaching forward and tapping her upon her brow. Power rippled forth once more, this time pulling like invisible hands against Ava's skin. It was a rough sort of pull, leaving behind a pinching sensation as dirt and sweat was pulled from her skin, pressed into a ball above the demon's other hand. As the process finished, taking only a scant few seconds, he considered the final product, the mass of the unclean scoured from her skin, even as he idly remarked upon her own observations.

"I would not say I don't care. Merely that satisfying lustful urges is only a passing interest to me. I am not blind, after all, and you're are not lacking in feminine appeal. I'm sure you've plenty of men clamoring for your attentions."

An idle thought had the grime incinerated in a burst of fire, before that too was dismissed with a lazy wave of his hand.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Her body was a contemporary mix of sloth and exercise - muscular legs, but a soft, curved stomach, the definition of her iliac crest pressing gently against the skin of her lower hips. She was not covered in scars: the light pattern of stretch marks, sunlight filtering through blinds, graced her upper thighs. Of note was a small burn against her right side, a bit below her navel. Darker than the rest of her, it was not raised, but seemed to be a smudge drawn across her skin. Standing straight, her body was stone, graced by water, turned over and over under hands to a smoothness that seemed unnatural.

It was only when her back was to him that her body transcended from the average to the work of art. Upon her back, starting at the end of her hairline down to the bottom curve of her rear, was a tattoo. It was astounding in its ornate nature - depicting Osiris and Isis in a tender embrace, lotus blossoms and reeds springing up about them. The tattoo itself was a curious mix of Egyptian and Japanese art styles, and as she moved, the way light and shadow played over her skin gave the tattoo the appearance of watching. Their eyes, inked carefully, seemed to watch the demon with a quiet amusement.

His words were enough to stop her from unceremoniously climbing into bed. Turning to face him, she blinked as he touched her forehead - then winced. There was no gentleness with him - his magic felt like pinches from a dozen small fingers, fingers she couldn’t escape from, no matter how she squirmed. “Ow,” she scowled, rubbing her arms. It could be argued that she felt “cleaner” - her skin certainly tingled, like after a particularly rough session with a sugar scrub. “You’re not very gentle, are you?”

Rubbing idly at her right arm, she moved towards the bed, before sitting down on the edge of it. It gave deliciously under her weight, and before she could stop herself, she sighed openly in pleasure, her eyes drifting shut. The bed had a gravity of its own, coaxing her not to gracefully lay down, but to flop back down, sprawling out, with a huff of expelled air. For a while, the only sounds were her moving sheets and pillows aside, steadily making a nest for herself.

“Mrrg…” Half-muffled against the pillows, she lazily turned to face him. “You flatter me,” half-sarcastic, half-tired. “Well…men, what do they know, or want?” There was some pain there - more than enough, that some semblance of pride kept from fully escaping. “If you want to sleep, you can get in here with me, or use the chair in the living room. Up to you.”

 

[WhisperedDesires]

"I don't sleep."

Rather, demons didn't generally require it, and he preferred to avoid circumstances that would push one to do so. Though they had physical form, their metaphysical essence and magical power substituted for many of the physical processes the mortal form required. That's not to say a demon could not sleep, though it was usually in response to severe injury, a sort of hibernation to allow as much demonic power as possible for repairing whatever damage had been sustained. A not uncommon occurrence for the more violent members of the species.

But Ava seemed to already be half asleep as it was, finally giving in to her mortal needs. He watched her silently a moment, considering the offer of entering her bed, and whether that might lead to some way he could manipulate the circumstances to his advantage. The thought was ultimately discarded, there was more important things to be done in the time that would be spent simply lying for hours without purpose. Seals to be placed, attentions to be diverted. Perhaps he might even spend time looking into this love thing, there had been a bookcase stuffed with tomes, surely some of those would provide something in the way of insight. At the very least it would help pass the time.

He waited just long enough to ensure Ava actually was asleep, and not faking it for some grand and cunning plan that would prove entertaining, before he slipped from the room. It would take days of careful work to craft a proper barrier around the place, one that would go unnoticed by anyone who might cause problems for him. A more simple framework would work as well, but then he might as well just put up a sign advertising his presence to every half-baked practitioner and supposed warlock for miles.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Sleep came all too easy - and with it, dreams, fragments of memories, places she’d been to combined with places that only existed in her sleep. If she was troubled by nightmares, it didn’t show.

___

Waking up wasn’t hard. The first touch of morning light was typically enough to do it for her, no matter how much, or how hard, she’d wanted to sleep in. Still, she was one of the lucky ones that seemed to always get enough sleep for her to feel rested. Running a hand through her hair, she stopped when she encountered the elastic still holding her sloppy bun in place. “Mmmrg…” Gently, she undid the elastic, letting her hair loose in a voluminous cloud.

“Better,” she murmured, more to herself than anything else. Stretching her arms overhead, she tilted her head this way and that, working out some of the stiffness. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stepped over her clothes and made her way to the kitchen.

What to do now?

The events of yesterday weren’t erased by sleep, nor were they…figured out. She’d heard stories of those lesser skilled who, after summoning a demon, were knocked into an amnesia of sorts, and left scrambling the next day to figure out what had been said the night before. Probably not the best idea to summon while drunk or on a dare, but stranger things had happened. No, she was all too aware of her demon’s presence, and even more so of the deal she’d struck. The panic was gone, sleep having been kind enough to rub it away. Now there was nothing left but calculation - and that feeling, that confidence, that she would indeed come out the winner in this deal.

The confidence was what was making her nervous. It was one thing to fool the foolish, the stupid - another to think that she had the upper hand with a clearly much more mature and intelligent demon. She would have to keep on her toes around this one, that was sure, but the beauty of this particular deal (or perhaps the flaw in it) was that in the day to day, there literally was nothing she could do. She would still have to work, still take care of things around the house. Bills didn’t care about demons. Thankfully, she’d been wise enough (even in her foolishness) to have taken some time off, knowing that this ritual would take it out of her. So she had a few days to get used to something else in her home. She was, at heart, a solitary creature, constantly walking the fine line between being lonely and not wanting anything to do with people. Rather than have a pet, she had her plants - and her books, and, well, the internet. Pretty much all of her needs were met.

Padding barefoot to the kitchen, she stifled a yawn. Once she had her cup of tea, she could prepare for whatever else the day was going to bring.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

He had spent the night at work, a silent throughout the painstaking process involved. It had been a simple matter, finding the magical "center" of the residence. It was less simple to alter it to his needs, to shape it's potential into something proper. The hours before the sun rose were spent knelt at the spot located haphazardly within the living room. Flexing power had carved sigils into the wood flooring, slowly etching his mark into the fabric of the house itself, warping it to suit the what was required. It had taken hours to finish what he had started, at that only the beginnings of the task ahead. But the sigils glowed with a hellish light, dim with the morning sun streaming through windows, clear to see for anyone who happened to wander through the living room. At some point, the suit jacket had been removed, laid carefully over the back of the single chair present.

The demon himself has moved on as the sun had begun to rise. Rather than await Ava's awakening, he'd stepped out into the front yard, standing there with hands in pockets as he stared up into the sky. It was always a unique sight to him, and watching as the glowing orb crested the horizon and begun its journey across the blue sky was a ritual he had practiced for thousands of years. Though his face betrayed nothing, within he felt... calm. Serene in ways that could not be achieved within the confines of Hell, even considering his place among those who ruled over the Abyss. Even as his awareness alerted him to movement within the house, to Ava stirring from her rest, he remained unmoving. If she had need of him she could find him, until then he would enjoy the sight before him.

Some idle part of him continued to plot and scheme, though less aimed at his current situation and more at the tempest of desires he could feel from the mortals that now existed all around him. It was a curious thing, how quickly the mortal world changed. Almost a full century of time since last he walked among them, and yet humans had changed so rapidly. More and more packed themselves into less and less space, it was almost remarkable that his summoner had managed to remain as alone as she had. All those humans around him with desires and wishes he could so easily grant for such a simple price... His time on Earth would be a busy one indeed, not to mention this need to understand the very human concept of love. An unbidden smile touched his lips, small and easily missed. Ava was an interesting one, certainly, with a strong will, strong enough to hold him within a barrier not designed to entrap him. To be fair, he'd only struck it once, but even then. Perhaps it would amusing to teach her more, entreat her aid in seeing some of his rivals brought low. She was tempted by knowledge, if her curiosity from last night was any evidence, and if it was knowledge she sought, there was plenty he could provide for the right price.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“Do you usually stand on people’s lawns at the crack of dawn, or am I just special?”

Her voice came from behind him, quiet, but rested; light. Teasing. She had carelessly thrown a robe over her body, pink and patterned with strawberries (a bit immature), and held a heavy mug of tea in her hand. With her hair “down”, it framed her face in a large black cloud.

“You’ll probably want to come in sooner than later. My neighbors to the right are nosy as hell, and if Mrs. Johnson catches you out here dressed like that, she’s going to be by in three hours flat with a cobbler and wanting to know everything about you. I would like to avoid that.” She gave him a pointed, but not unkind, look over the rim of her cup, and headed back inside.

___

Inside, once the blinds were closed, she’d retreated back to the comfort of her large chair in the living room, nude as she was before, and leisurely sipping from her tea as she idly watched the flickering lights of her television. The news was on, but the volume was deliberately turned down, and closed captioning was on. At some point she should shower, but, eh. Today felt like it was going to be a lazy, rest and recoup type of day - demon not withstanding.

Catching him on the lawn was enough to make her suspicious - but she didn't want to give it away. After all, all of this was her fault to begin with, and blame could only lie with herself. Still, she'd watched him for a bit, quietly sipping her tea, and wondering what he was up to. She knew, could feel in her bones, that he'd done something to the house - but just what, she wasn't entirely sure, and wouldn't be until she did some poking. Poking that could wait until later, truthfully. Though she was up and "awake", she felt a drag on her feet, under her eyes, that she was only passingly familiar with.

She was still tired.

Odd - incredibly so for her, but easily explained. It figures that only a demon of his power would be enough to throw off her circadian rhythm; time would only tell when her body would finally catch up: if it ever did.