16695/Goth Devils

Goth Devils
Date of Scene:	28 December 2023
Location:	Bar With No Doors
Synopsis:	Nico's looking for a new mentor. Daimon offers a challenge. She accepts, but does she succeed?
Cast of Characters:	Nico Minoru, Daimon Hellstrom

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Nico Minoru has posed:
Wednesday! It's the middle of the week after the holidays, and it seems that the Bar With No Doors is quite... empty.

It isn't full of the regulars, but that's okay. Sitting at the bar on one of those tall stools is a gothic Asian witch. Dressed in a red velvet dress with lacy black accoutrement, she leans forward, twirling the ice in her Old Fashioned. Pursing her lips, she finishes off her drink and glances about.

"Bartender, if I could have another please. Things aren't that entertaining tonight."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
"And I suppose that's the fault of everyone else, eh?" That's not the bartender responding. It's Daimon Hellstrom, the so-called Son of Satan. He's wearing a black suit with a white dress shirt, no tie, top button undone. It manages to make him look like he's on the higher-financial end of sleazy. Daimon wasn't next to Nico at the bar a second ago, but now he is, with his hand rested there to make clear his intent to order.

Nico Minoru has posed:
The unfamiliar voice causes her to turn and most likely say something quippy and somewhat self-depricating and insulting at the same time. That's how gothic witches roll.

But instead, there's a bit of recognition or at least a sense of familiarity with the Son of Satan. Nico is a practitioner of darker magics like blood magic and straight up black magic, so naturally, she would be at least somewhat familiar with the man/demon?

There's an appraising glance as she looks over him and bows her head.

"It is, actually. Normally, there's one magician or another performing tricks without actual magic, you know sleight of hand and illusions."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Daimon Hellstrom is one of those figures that might get called, like, 'your favorite occultist's favorite occultist.' A known name, but he's not out there shilling his brand like Zatanna or claiming titles like Sorcerer Supreme.

Daimon looks Nico up and down, too. He doesn't even hide it. And yet, somehow it's not aggressively forward. He has a rudeness to him that feels casual and reflexive, like he just can't exist any other way. "If that's all it takes to entertain you, then I'm surprised you're not glued to that pool with the glowing coral, ooh-ing and ahh-ing as the colors change." He flashes a crooked little grin. "First time I've ever seen someone disappointed by not having to watch nickels be plucked from behind people's ears."

Nico Minoru has posed:
A soft chuckle can be heard escaping from her lips as she tilts her head and then gets her drink. Taking another sip of her old fashioned first, she finally responds. "I did that during my first time. The second and third times had a Moonstone performing, and they're master illusionists, in the traditional sense even."

That would be one of the major families from 'The Magic Order' that tends to be actual stage magicians in addition to being formidable magi and sorcerers.

"But none of them are up tonight, so..." she shrugs her shoulders and takes a sip. "And my apologies for not introducing myself." With a hand extended, she says, "Nico Minoru."

The Minorus were definitely a name in occult circles. They were known to possess incredibly powerful and dangerous magical artifacts in addition to being blood mages that partially ruled the west coast with an iron fist in criminal circles.

Nico Minoru has posed:
And it would be known that the Minorus died. Stories are their daughter killed them. >.> <.<

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
"Nico Minoru. No shit." Daimon seems utterly amused by this -- the look on his face is like he's found his night's entertainment, the Moonstones be damned. He offers out his hand and shakes Nico's. "Daimon Hellstrom."

"I had some dealings with your father, Robert. Nothing exciting. Trading different translations of ancient texts, that kind of thing." If Daimon has heard the rumors about Nico offing her folks, he doesn't make it obvious. "Didn't know that you'd joined the lifestyle. Half the time, occultists have kids and push them to go be dentists or whatever."

Nico Minoru has posed:
Her brows raise a little as she finds out he's done business with her father. Chewing on her bottom lip, she ahhhs and nods. "They were pretty good at that. My mother was the better translator though." If only because her mother's magic was far more versatile than her father's.

"And they did want me to eventually be pre-med. I kind of got into this... accidentally." Nico replies rather matter of factly.

And that's when she reaches up, rubbing her right arm in a self-soothing sort of manner.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
"That's how we all get into it," Daimon says. Once he has the bartender's attention, he doesn't need to order out loud. It seems like his order is just Known. A glass of whiskey is poured for him, some top-shelf bottle that's probably obnoxiously expensive. He doesn't even take a sip of it just yet, just swirls it in the glass a little.

"The only people who get into magic because of a willful and clear-eyed desire to do so are psychopaths and they usually get themselves eaten by a demon when they inevitably push things too far." Daimon says it off-handedly, like he doesn't care if he might get cancelled for his takes. "The rest of us, we don't choose it. It chooses us. Whether because we're born with a birthmark shaped like a goat's head, or our car breaks down on a haunted highway, or we just get zapped out of the blue by magic lightning... whatever."

Nico Minoru has posed:
Or you find out your parents are renown supervillains trying to end the world by performing sacrifices to entities from beyond. Then you get your mother's powerful artifact embedded inside you. Then you almost die after almost bleeding out after getting your arm ripped off in a Hunger Games knockoff.

Yep. Accidents.

That's Nico Minoru's life thus far, and she simply nods in agreement. "Or you're out for revenge." she quickly adds. "And at least none of that happened with me." she says with a bit of a wry grin.

"So which one of those ways did you find out you had a..." and she pauses, trying to find the right word for it. "Calling."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
"My father is one of the archdemons who, historically, has been bundled by humanity into the collective identity they call 'Satan.'" Daimon lifts his brows for emphasis, and then has a sip of his whiskey. "It's very tedious stuff, sifting through all of human history and identifying -- ah, this incident attributed to Satan was actually Mephisto, or this one was Marduk Kurios, or this one was just some drunken villagers mistaking a goat's silhouette for an evil spirit." Daimon rolls his eyes.

"So it just kind of came naturally." Daimon rolls his shoulders. "No one really wanted to give me a choice about it, so better to take it on my own terms than let someone else define it for me."

Nico Minoru has posed:
"Ahhh, so the Godsquad isn't a fan of you either huh." Nico replies, not showing as much reaction to finding out he's the son of 'Satan', Shaitan, or whatever name the adversary gets depending on where in the Godsquad spectrum you sit.

"So are you trying to bargain for my soul then?" she asks with a coy smile as she listens, before hrmming for a few moments.

"I always thought the goat imagery was to Baphomet, not necessarily Satan." she muses under her breath. "But that makes sense. Traffic your first soul at the tender age of?"

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
"If you want to explain the different to some uneducated 16th-century peasants, by all means," Daimon says regarding the Baphomet-Satan confusion. "Interesting that you jumped right to soul-trading. Looking to unload yours, eh?"

Nico Minoru has posed:
"I've time traveled before, so it's entirely possible I might lecture them." Nico replies before shaking her head at the mention of soul trading. "You wouldn't want my soul anyway. It's too dark and gothic already."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
"They wouldn't understand you anyway," Daimon says with a lazy little half-smile. "Anyway, you're in luck. I don't traffic in souls, so you don't have to go on telling me how stained and dark and this and that it is."

Daimon has another sip of his whiskey. He still isn't sitting down, instead standing and leaning against the bar. "You might as well invest in NFTs. Terrible return on investment. I just... /consult/, I guess would be the best way to put it."

Nico Minoru has posed:
Blink. Blink. Was Satan or his son the one who created NFTs? Her brows raise as she looks towards him.

"So your dad have anything to do with that? If so, then that's dastardly. I'm impressed, if it's him." Nico quips, snickering softly as she remembers speaking to the tech bros back in California about it.

"And I might be dark and broody, but I'm /not/ stupid. NFTs are a pyramid scheme."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
"Blaming things on demonic forces has long been humanity's way of trying to skate on responsibility for its own stupidity," Daimon says. "NFTs are like war -- all regular human overreach. Satan /did/ invent the bikini, though, so you can thank him for that." Daimon's probably joking, but he says it in a complete deadpan.

Nico Minoru has posed:
"I think I heard a pastor say that once." Nico says with a shrug of her shoulders. "But no shit? The bikini? Well, tell your dad thanks then. I most certainly find them more comfortable than your typical bathing suit."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
"He and I aren't really on speaking terms these days. But I'm sure your gratitude will help warm his blackened demonic heart." Daimon takes a long drink. "So. What do /you/ do, now that you've accidentally fallen into this whole magic thing? Don't tell me, you're a superhero, a Teen Titan or something."

Nico Minoru has posed:
"I think the Teen Titans have their quota of gothic witches, right?" Is Raven a thing here? Probably.

"And no, not a superhero. I do odd jobs here and there, but I did try supervillainy at one point." Nico admits ruefully. "It just didn't turn out so well." Especially since was a plant by the Avengers.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
"Usually doesn't. Then again, neither does being a hero." Daimon shrugs, like he's not especially upset by either option... he just considers them both dead-end paths at either end of the curve.

"But if you want to get ahead in this occult stuff, don't say that you do odd jobs. Some of the people who'll want the help are sensitive about words like 'odd' -- and even then, they'll pay you less for an odd job than they will for... consultancy work, or creative solutions. Unless you get your rates up by just showing up in your bikini."

Nico Minoru has posed:
"I was meaning more like a barista at Starbucks or one of the mom and pop coffee shops." Nico can brew a good cuppa!

"But I'll keep that in mind." Then she clucks her tongue on the inside of her cheek. "You looking for a student? I had one potential mentor, but it was too much BDSM for me." Cause the previous player was apparently into that.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Daimon doesn't make Nico feel any worse by bringing up his thoughts on her working as a barista. He has some moments of tact, it turns out.

"What is it you'd be hoping to learn?" Daimon asks. "That's the key question. What you want out of it. You should always know that before you make a move. Especially when it comes to magic."

Nico Minoru has posed:
The answer is simple. She began her training in earnest during one of those timecapers where she met her great(x?)grandmother who tortured her as a means to learn the darkest of magics.

"I want to learn how to properly be a witch. How to not have to rely on certain artifacts for most of my oomph." Nico isn't ashamed of it. With the Staff of One, she could rival a sorcerer supreme (of another dimension, not Stephen Strange). But without it, she's just Nico Minoru, gothic mageling with a magical arm.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
"Mmm." Daimon considers this. It's almost obvious that he's running through the math in his head: does he WANT to be a mentor to a young would-be witch?

"I have an estate," Daimon says. "I'll be waiting for you there. Find your way to me." He doesn't offer the location, or even any hints. Not even an offer of bus fare. "If you can manage that much, then I'll help you out."

Nico Minoru has posed:
What would be the right combination of words with the Staff of One to bring her there?

As she mulls over the question, she asks, "No wards against teleportation or scrying?" Nico furrows her brows as she seems to be formulating a plan already.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
"Do you want to take the risk?" Daimon asks, neither confirming nor denying any wards. (Though, in truth, his estate is about as protected as the Sanctum Sanctorum. He keeps too much Bad Shit there to NOT have all kinds of protection.)

"Don't keep me waiting too long. But don't fuck up, either." Daimon offers that crooked little smile again. "This is what being a witch, or a warlock, or a mage, or a sorcerer, or whatever you want to call it -- that's what this is all about. Knowing what you want. And reaching out to take it, before it flickers out of your reach." Daimon drains his glass, and then sets it down on the bar. He pushes off, to start for the exit, without so much as a goodbye.

Nico Minoru has posed:
Finishing off her own drink, she purses her lips. There's a furtive glance about as she wanders towards the bathroom. If anything, mages, witches, and sorcerer's dont reveal their tricks, especially to others that could maybe use their secrets against them.

After making sure the bathroom is empty, Nico winces as she cuts her left hand. As the blood pools on her palm face up, the mantra, "When blood is shed, the Staff of One shall emerge."

This part always feels weird like something was taken out of her. With one of the more powerful artifacts in Marvel in her grasp, she says firmly, "Teleport me to exactly one mile SOUTH of Daimon Hellstrom's estate." And she starts to shimmer before disappearing with a pop!