1364/Double Devil Dare

Double Devil Dare
Date of Scene:	25 April 2020
Location:	The location in question was a dingy movie theatre that no one is at.
Synopsis:	Sally has helped Daimon create a duplicate of himself to make an appearance in his Hell so the inhabitants will assume he can be on Earth and there at the same time, in actuality, not as an illusion. This should, hopefully, free a bit of his time up topside. Sally made some decent dosh, but had to experience a glimpse of Hell to do so.
Cast of Characters:	Sally Houki, Daimon Hellstrom

---

Sally Houki has posed:
An involvement in the world of supers and superheroics is a high stakes thing. The risks are real the enormous presures one must operate under even more so. On occasion, a little help is needed. Someone known only as "Sally" is known through the grapevine to offer certain services to people who can pay her fairly unreasonable fees, but given that she's still alive and still in business, it's hard to imagine that she isn't on some level capable of doing *something*. Rumors indicate she's sprung people from prison, helped a superhero put back together a broken secret identity by allowing them to apparently be in two places at once, and helped at least one retiring supervillain let everyone think he's dead.

Of course, nobody's willing to name names, but they *do* have an email.

Once enough of those have been exchanged through a secure server, a high cash fee was given and a location.

The location in question was a dingy movie theatre that no one is at.

No one is at it because the client, Mister Hellstrom in this case, was required to purchase a ticket and seat himself at a particular seat at the start of a movie.

... the movie is CATS.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Daimon is...bemused by the choice of venue. His expression set, at least at first. The 'Church of Satan' run by one of his contacts and demi-followers has been very useful so far. Headquartered in San Francisco, all kinds of fascinating tidbits filter though. Lots of hangers-on and 'Sunday Satanists' on board, but the upper tiers have real knowhow and actual intelligence, or Daimon would never tolerate them.

    So when they'd passed some info to him on someone that could promise...promise...the potential for -actual- duplication and not just illusion? Well, he'd have been curious enough to see anyway. But right now, he has a need to be in two places at once. Some of his father's old servants are getting...stroppy.

    As he pushed the old door inwards the hinges squeak. His western-style boots making soft sounds on the floor as he walks in, leather hat over his long, red hair. 'Incognito' - to a point anyway. There's more as well...a miasma hangs in the air as he moves, a little darkness from The Pit, a little something from Ikonn, to throw off anyone seeking him just now.

    As he enters the theatre proper he glances at his ticket, sighs softly, and begins to hum the tune to 'Mr Mistoffelees'.

Sally Houki has posed:
It's a few minutes in the movie before the door creaks open and someone begins to walk down the aisle. Dressed in an usher's outfit, actually. It's the girl he bought the ticket from a short while ago. She wanders down the aisle, then moves to drop into a seat on the row behind him.

OH. That must be her.

"So," she begins, "I hear you're looking to hire me." Her hair is done up in bunches and dyed quite vibrantly red. One hand moves to go behind her head, a pink smartphone in her other.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
The man's eyes almost seem to gleam beneath the shadows of his hatbrim for a moment, or maybe they just caught some stray light...some stray...deep red...light. He hadn't really 'looked' at the girl before, but he takes a moment now and his head tips a bit to side, he still says nothing for the moment, but there is a very soft sound, like a rumble in his chest, a sound of interest, languid and predatory, like a lazy tiger. What he sees at a cursory examination is deeply intriguing. She's...unmoored somehow? No, not exactly that, but the tides of Fate have some explaining to do regarding -this- one. Her soul, on the other hand...shaded, the way he tends to like them, not too dark, but certainly not awash in virtue.

    Daimon speaks then, his voice soft, but somehow seeming to fill the space, "It all depends on what exactly you can offer. What I'm asking isn't easy." He holds up a finger, as though in mild warning, his nails are well-kept, but a bit long, a touch sharp -

    "You don't know exactly...who I am yet." it sounds like he almost said 'what' instead.

Sally Houki has posed:
"You don't say," says Sally with an amused lack of surprise to her voice.

"Sir, the kind of people who come to me for help, or need it the most, almost never make it easy. So, why don't we start with you telling me who you are and what exactly it is you're hoping to get done with my help. Then I can tell you how I can help you and what the rules are." There's a definite sense of insouciance to her at the moment.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Daimon decides he's going to play with that - if she's going to be so nonchalant, then The Prince of Lies will tell her the unvarnnished truth and see how she takes it. He removes his hat, politely sets it on the seat next to him, shakes his mane of hair out a touch, then turns and looks directly into the woman's eyes. There's a hint of an appraising gaze, but not, perhaps, the sort she might be used to getting from men, oh, there's the merest -hint- of -that- as well, naturally, but much more as well. His eyes...well, many claim to have depthless eyes, few really do, and yet, here we are.
    The half-demon's words are smooth and matter-of-fact, "My name is Daimon Hellstrom, Newly-minted Professor of Theology, author, lecturer, 'Son of Satan', though really, that's just a little trick higher-ranked demons play - pretending there is one ineffable 'evil one' when there are legions. I recently deposed my father from his throne - over a reasonable patch of afterlife territory - and am housekeeping the whole thing." he makes a casual, waving-it-off gesture with his hand, then goes on, still perfectly casual, "So much to do to mold it into something more philosophically agreeable to me, and some of the old staff - the lower-ranked servitors, are chafing at this and looking for any excuse to act out. I need them to think I can watch them on a near-constant basis, without splitting my attention between there and here. Demons are notoriously hard to wrangle unless you catch them at something, then it's all 'Forgive me Unholy Lord' and 'I am as naught before you burning throne' and that's just -tiresome-."

Sally Houki has posed:
For a moment, it seems like she's barely paying attention. There's a degree of distractedness to her, like her mind is wandering, when he begins to talk about being a professor of theology and lecture and then 'son of Satan'.' That makes her focus sharpen and she sits up straighter, tugging on the vest of her usher's uniform absently while he continues. She waits. She waits for him to finish.

"That's a new one," she says after a long moment. "Okay, so if all of that is true and I've no reason to believe it isn't because blowing smoke my way would be a total waste of your time, it sounds like you need some4 help. Demons are bad mojo and I don't really like the idea of them even existing, no offense. That's creepy."

A brief pause follows.

"So," she begins, "here's the rules. You pay me. I make sure the funds are there. Once that's verfied, I can do what you're asking. There are rules." She taps her finger against her chin.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Daimon smiles broadly at that - he closed down her nonchalance, didn't he? He replies to her statement with something like a subdued delight, "There are -always- rules. I know that better than almost anyone." He shifts in the seat a bit, the creak and slide of leather punctuating the movement, and he faces you more fully, "As for the rest...try being the child of one, sometimes. My mother died in an asylum, desperately trying to get me to believe in what my father was. My sister...well, she spent some time being home-schooled. -His- home." He lets -that- awful fact sink in for a moment.

    "We're not going to have a -moral- objection, are we?" he asks, almost daring you to raise one, ask a question, anything... "But you can take solace in the fact that, unlike my father, I don't go grubbing after souls like a starving jackal. I have rather specific plans, thus, the old-guard not liking where I'm taking things."

Sally Houki has posed:
"A moral objection? I suppose it depends on how big the amount of money you pay me is gonna be. My moral objections are usually practical ones linked to limiting my exposure to people whom would indicate *their* moral objections by punching me in the face repeatedly. So, rule one is I don't exist. You wanna reccomend me, you had no personal experience with me yourself. Two, I reserve the right to revoke service at any time. If I see things going pear shaped and people start getting hurt? It stops. Three, yes, I can do what I'm advertised to do. For a limited time, there'll be two of you. It's like, there's this road, right? And for a while, the singular road becomes *two* roads, and then later one again. You, yourself, only took one trip, but for a while there was an extra path that existed. You are not the other path. You will not be able to see what alternate you does, feel what it does, or anything elwse. With me so far?" She drums her fingers on her arm absently.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
"Discretion, I can promise." Daimon says easily, "I've hidden -far- worse for far less." no reason to doubt -that- at all if he is what he says he is.

    "As for 'people' getting hurt, well...we may have to define -exactly- what that means." he notes, drawing it out carefully. This is a negotiation, he has an instinct for those, after all. He continues, "It sounds as if you're talking about actualizing probabilities, would that be accurate?" His eyes narrow just a touch, looking almost through you, it seems...what he's sensed...so unusual, so unique. "But the other me, it will act as I would? Does it know? Will it seek to preserve its own existence at the end?" his tone is deadly serious, he isn't sure she quite understands the -staggering- danger that could present.

Sally Houki has posed:
"I'm sure, Mr. Son of Satan," replies Sally, looking off and to the side for a moment. She does smile, though.

"Like any copy, it's not perfect. There'll be differents on the corners, at the margins. I can't tell you how that may play out. You don't want to die, so your duplicate won't want to die, unless you have a death wish you're not talking aboiut. Your copy will do its level best to do all the things you want to do. You'll be able talk to it, and it'll be aware of the game plan because, until then, it *is* you. There's always a chance it can all go wrong, but that's the risk we take when you're talking aboiut this kind of thing. Also, important to note: there's a physical toll on you for this. I can't say how big of one for sure since I don't tend to work with people who tell me they're literal sons of satan or what have you, but it does existe and you'll feel it. So be aware of that. If you're counting on being one hundred percent at your best, you'll need to...reconsider the approach"

She consdiders a moment. "But, yeah. I can do the thing you need, and for a time there's two of you and it'll act as you would. You want this to work, so other-you should want this to work too for the same reason."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
The half-demon repeats his question, phrases it a bit differently, "Will the duplicate's memories be transferred to me at the end?" he pauses, taking a breath, not indicating nervousness, trying to frame this to make it comprehensible to someone who is not in a part a Terrible Thing, "Understand this, I very much want this to work and I have no death wish-" another smile, wide and dark, "-one shouldn't wish for something one isn't likely to ever get." He goes on, his tone almost as if he's giving an academic lecture, "What you must understand, Miss, is that what I am has a terrible instinct for self-preservation, you cannot comprehend what the threat of actual non-existence might lead to. The duplicate will want this show to succeed, because it makes my life easier from here on out, but if it fully comprehends that it will cease-to-be at the end of it?" He pauses again, "That...could be a problem. Has that come up before?"

Sally Houki has posed:
"I'm getting to that. When I said your duplicate isn't you," says Sally, glancing towards the movie distractedly for a moment, "I meant it. It's a temporary divergence from you. You won't get memories, or feelings, or anything from it in the end, but your desire for this to work will be their desire for it to work, even though it might interpret that *slightly* differently. It hasn't really come up before but anything's possible, but I can say I've been doing this for eight years and there you go."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Daimon sighs softly, that answer will have to do, "That's encouraging though." he says dryly, "I, the original me, will be staying here, in this plane. The duplicate is mostly to go make appearances while it is -known- I am here. The very presence will be sufficient to instill the sort of fear and obedience I seek. I've been...well," he tilts his head a bit, gestures in a sort of 'tossing something over the shoulder' way, "reduced before. I can cope. I'm resourceful."
    He chuckles softly, not unpleasantly, "I'll note, what I sense about you -is- intriguing. I've little reason to doubt you because of that. And I'll also admit, your forthrightness is the sort of thing I take well to." He folds his fingers together, "I am quite capable of gauging things about you merely by being in your presence, and there is only...'so much' darkness in you. I don't presume you'd try to betray or mislead me...so I'm going to give you a warning, because I find myself favourably disposed towards you."

    His voice, when he continues, is low and steady, soothing in a way, "I'm not going to assume my duplicate will act in a way to preserve its existence at anyone's expense, but you must understand this...if it comes for you, if you become aware of it seeking you, dispell it -immediately-. What I am capable of..." a pause, and his voice shifts a bit, almost regretful, as if he's sorry that he can do this thing he says, "It could, quite literally -damage your soul-, which I can confirm with absolute certainty that you have. Oh, I can go on at length about 'astral sheathes containing emergent consciousness' and 'psychoactive otherdimensional energies' and those too, would be true things, but the short version? You do not want even the possiblity of that happening to rear its head."

Sally Houki has posed:
"Wait, what? My soul? Oh, right." Sally seems briefly puzzled at him for a moment. "I apreciate the heads up. I wouldn't worry too much about it, but noted. I mean, anything's possible, I guess, but understand that I meant what I said when I said I can pull the plug at any time. I can. Now, shall we get to the matter of my payment so that you can put on your show of amazingness to your, uh, demonic fellows?" She puts a hand over one eye to stare at him with the other.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Daimon smirks in amusement at that. So few people really take this as seriously as it merits. He's used to it, they haven't seen, and afterwards, they're seldom quite the same again. He stands in one smooth motion and spreads his arms grandly, it's clear he's putting on a bit of a show for effect, sometimes taking oneself a bit less seriously is healthy, Mephisto's made an art-form out of it, after all, "I am in your no-doubt capable hands." The thing is, it really -is- impressive, for some reason. There's a grandeur to him that's inescapable somehow.

    As he rises you can see a glimpse of something not previously viewable. His v-neck shirt shows the top of something quite notable, starting below his collarbone. It's the upper part of what seems to be a fiercely scarified design in his flesh, an arc with two triangle points meeting it.

    "Payment is easy." he notes, "Did not Satan offer Christ all the kingdoms of the world laid out before him?" he adds, again, in a less serious tone, "It's a poor devil indeed who is a...poor devil, indeed. Cash? Direct funds transfer? Crypto-currency?" he asks.

Sally Houki has posed:
"All right. Do you have a preferred method of payment personally? Crypto is fine. Direct funds is also fine, as I've an account already set up." She produces a small card and hands it over to him so that he can make arrangements. There are seperate lines for Crypto and, of course, an account number or two along with a very large sum of dollars attached. She's clearly more interested in getting paid than she is in his drama, though the drama absolutely got an amused curl of a smile and a slightly raised eyebrow. She says simply waits, now, eyes turning to her phone for the alotted funds to arrive.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Does a lord of Hell have a phone? Of -course- he does! Daimon digs one out of a pocket and, after a moment, gets a Bitcoin wallet opened. He thinks he really -should- ask Satana about using some magics to increase the rate of accrual, she's good with techno-magic, and it -would- be an excuse to check up on her, which is never a bad thing, it's always so messy after she's been dead for a bit, "Bitcoin will do. I like analog to some extent, because the -feel- of currency, precious metals, or gems is such an -enticing- temptation to so many, even in this day and age, but that's always best in specific settings." he notes as he sets the amount, doing a quick conversion in his head as well as onscreen.

    After it's completed he turns more directly to you and notes, "All but unphasable. I like that, I truly do." it sounds genuine, it's not common, really. And he's taken the opportunity to do a little bit of an examination of you, realizing it would actually take some time to unravel the complexities of what you are - that pleases him too, some mystery in the world that -doesn't- try to eat children's eyes or get you addicted to a narcotic sacrament.

Sally Houki has posed:
"...yeah... unphaseable, that's me," remarks Sally, willing to take the compliment. In truth, she just wasn't paying enough attention at times. There were variables she was tracking, preparing and, frankly, you do something long enough and it becomes a little routine.

When her phone beeps and the payment is cleared, she lets out a happy sigh.

"That is the best sound. Now lean back. This is gonna feel weird. You'll get used to it, but it's okay if you're disoriented for a while and I'm sorry if it hurts. She doesn't really give him much more warning than that.

It does feel strange, a rather wobbly sensation in the very air around him. "Now stand up," she tells him. Everything is doubling for a moment, and with Cats on the screen, this may be more horror than even the most hardened of minds can take.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Well, the Cats aren't helping, but pain? Disorientation? Horror? That's bread-and-butter to Daimon Hellstrom - not that he's ever particularly happy about that fact, but that's life, isn't it? But this...it's one thing to hear someone -say- they're the Son of 'Satan', it's -quite- another to feel the raw, writhing, soul-burning -reality- of it.

    It's probably good the theatre is abandoned because what follows as Daimon is split into himself and an actualization of other probabilities is not...pleasant. At all. Imagine starting to drown, now imagine it's in boiling tar, now imagine the tar is filled with writhing, indescribable things, things that scream like terrified infants, that scream as they burrow into you, seeking the warm marrow of your soul...Sally doesn't have to imagine. Neither does the Prince of Lies.

    There are ripples of incandescence in the air, sickly purple, that almost seem to form symbols or words that can just -barely- be comprehended before they flow apart. Daimon Hellstrom is a creature of duality as well, maybe that's part of it, maybe it's raw power, maybe it's his connection to a place of eternal bleakness, removed from the sight of whatever benevolence the universe may have. But he has what's left of a human soul, mated irrevocably to a Darksoul, a mass of torment, temptation, aggression, and evil. It too, must be split asunder.

    There is a sound, like the endless scream of an impossibly huge being in torment, infinitely far away, yet filling the world. Images flicker in the mind's eye, vile, terrible things, and a power born of Hell and a being who might once have been a god is pulled to the breaking point...then cleaves itself in twain. Hellfire burns the air itself to floating flecks of ash as two figures stagger apart, each making the same motion, not mirrored, same sides, a hand reaching up to clutch at their chests, the marks on their skins burning brightly, able to be seen clearly, inverted pentagrams shining red-white, like hot mental pressed into their flesh.

    And for a moment, sally can -see-, truly see what this man...these men...are. Burning eyes, pointed ears, burning pentragrams, inescapable, spiritually and mystically corrupt, a black halo flickers about each head for a moment, impossible darkness spilling out like a floodlight for a moment before they fade. Their breath is ragged, jaws set, teeth clenched, pain is there, and pain is anger, pain is aggression, but there is nothing to fight, they are both...himself, and this is what he/they wanted.

Sally Houki has posed:
Sally has done this many times. Not so many that it's as routine as she'd like to pretend, but it enough that she's usually prepared for the kind of difficulties that she'll encounter.

Usually.

This has to be one of the harder ones she's ever done, and given the sights and feelings that were quickly associated with it, she slumps back into her chair, dark blood oozing down from her nostrils. That took quite a bit of taxing mental effort, and her voice is shaky when she's done. She is chilled to the bone.

"So, maybe this was a bad idea but I like money so I"m gonna leave you both to it, eh? But remember what I said: shenanigans mean I pull the plug." She tries to project confidence, but she's far too shakey and faltering to od much more than lay spraled back in the chair.

"Oooh. Ooohhh..." Her jaw is clenched too.

"I," she drawls that word, "thiiiiink you'll need to take a moment to talk to yourself and then... do whatever it is you wanna get to."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Both sets of shining eyes flick to Sally as she speaks, it's like a mouse being stared down by two very hungry cats for a moment...but then, there is a deep double-intake of breath, both sets of eyes close...still a bit synchronized, not a lot of time to diverge yet, but little things, position, distance from the young woman, the two Hellstroms are starting to do so. The one furthest from her draws himself up, eyes hardening...this was horrifically traumatic, but Daimon reacts to trauma by pushing back, even before he knew what he was - this is the copy, the duplicate, the one destined to sit on a throne of Hell, and he has to be ready for that.

    Conversely, the original...his eyes close for a long moment, seeking, feeling his power, the terrible Thing coiled always about what's left of a human soul, and it -is- diminished. And then, he does not address his other self yet, instead...well, it is a strange thing that this man is also compassionate, in his way, and the sight of your suffering, in service to his ends, moves him to speak, to act. His voice is raspy, he clears his throat, cotinues, "Be still...still for a moment. I can help. Healing is a thing I know." and he does. No price to be exacted, no powers of Hell here, just a little something to boost your body's natural ability to heal.

    Meanwhile, the duplicate speaks. so far so good, he hasn't made any aggressive moves, this desire was great, to be done with the constant, little insurrections. "The throne...they shall know that 'you' are here, and that still, 'you' are there. Nothing too much, just a little impatience, a punishment or two..." he chuckles darkly, "Musn't let them think 'I' don't have an edge."

Sally Houki has posed:
"Remember, this isn't forever," she tells him.

"You have twenty four hours, maybe a little longer if you push it, to make this work and do what you need to do. And you must be careful. And I'l lbe fine. I don't need your help. What I *do* need is to go home. If you'll excuse me."

Sally rises to her feet, tugs on her usher's vest, and starts to go, heading to the aisle and then up it. Compassion or not.

She pauses, "Oh yeah. I left a burner phone on my seat," she says. "There's one number in it. Text it if things go weird and I need to pull the plug. Good luck!" She waves airily behind her back in their general direction. She's done her job and been paid. Also, her brain hurts.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Daimon lets it go, unsurprised, really. She saw what he was, not what he shows the world, not what he sometimes likes to believe he is...and it is a terrible thing, that he fights every day, not always winning. Sally's desire to be far from it is one he's seen before and knows he'll doubtless see again. He does add, "Still and all, I owe you a bit more than money, I think, for this. Should you need my more...esoteric services, well, I'll leave you a number of someone who can reach me." He leaves it at that, no need or sense in offering more, this is not something easily overcome, it's an instinctive, deep revulsion in much of humanity.

    He then retrieves the phone and turns to his doppelganger, straightening up a bit...all business again, "I think Acorath has been a bit too likely to backtalk as of late..." the duplicate nods, adding, "That'll be enjoyable enough, he has it coming for that possession fiasco early on..."

    So far...so good, perhaps the great desire to see this done may see it through after all...