17119/An Eye for the Supernatural

An Eye for the Supernatural
Date of Scene:	06 February 2024
Location:	Vacant Lot -- Queens
Synopsis:	Phoebe and Daimon share some drinks and falafel and fries. Well. Mostly Daimon Hellstrom makes Phoebe drink a scotch and picks up the bill.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Daimon Hellstrom

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It's a goth bar.

    We're talking Edgar Allen Poe has a bust over the door with an anamatronic raven on it. Fake candles with fake wax drippings flickering at tables. Eight different kinds of absinthe to be poured over designer sugar cubes. The Blackest Black Forest Cake.

    THe booths have blood-red leather cushions with fold filligree lifted from the best transmutation circles Full Metal Alchemist could produce, and the bartender absolutely, positively hates you and isn't afraid to let you know it.

    It's called The Pit, there are many like it but this is the one Phoebe's somehow convinced Daimon isn't too bad or gimmicky.

    She'd taken off her jacket and was sporting a black T-shirt with a trio of dancing skeletons rendered in pale green on it, and removing her knit cap has shown her braided hair was the pink of sunrise over a desert landscape.

    "So, hope this'll do." she states, collapsing into one of the booths and looking to grab out the drink menu.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    Daimon keeps his suit jacket on. He's been looking around with a wary gaze all the way to the table, and when he sits, he looks across to Phoebe. "I didn't know Disney World had opened up a park in Queens." His tone is droll, almost maddeningly so.
    "This is your kind of hangout?" he asks, turning his eyes back toward Phoebe. "Or are you trying to play toward my whole Son of Satan thing, here?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "They're the only bar in Queens that serves vegetarian-friendly fare." Phoebe replies as she draws her eyebrows upwards. "I hang out at a lot of places."

    She turns the drink menu over and slides it to Daimon as he's talking

    "Out of curiosity, did you show up just because the Theatrical Eye was chumping things up, or doyou hang around in different occult circles than I do?" she inquires, keeping her tone light.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    Daimon nods. He doesn't have any cutting comments about being a vegetarian. Apparently, he's got some kind of internal gauge of what trips his need for sarcasm and what doesn't.
    Daimon looks at the drink menu with an expression like he's reading a list of ways someone could lose a finger.
    "Both, probably," he says in answer to Phoebe's question. "I did show up because the Theatrical Eye was chumping things up, and I /do/ hang around in different occult circles than you do. I'd have recognized you from the parties."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Ah, well, I'm pretty notoriously boring at parties, probably why I never get invited to any. Last one was sort of a gathering Dr. Strange threw." she explains, and she gives a wrinkle nosed expression of amusement, then her tone turns serious.

    "I do show up to try and help others. The two men who were in the hospital -- they lead me to the lot and that house. Took me longer than I would have liked to find it, but I'm grateful for the help in sending Arky back."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    "I think I went to that," Daimon says. He's still looking at the drinks list. "Didn't stick in the memory much." He seems to decide on what he wants, then offers the list over to Phoebe, in case she needs to study it.
    "I felt a great disturbance in the Force," Daimon deadpans.
    "No, what actually happened was that stupid eyeball's ego led to him bragging to other demons, and eventually the gossip made its way to my ears." Daimon sounds totally dismissive of their foe. "There's no mystic cure for stupid, it turns out. And I'm glad I was there to avoid you getting turned into a glowing smear on the wall."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe gives a slight grin. "I was with the group that hid under the table. We're definitely not the cool kids when it comes to the magical arts." Phoebe gives a wave to the bartender, who's the only one in the place this early, and he comes over.

    "Hi. I'm Nicklas, you're an English major and you're trying too hard. I know you're getting the falafel basket and a rootbeer sweetcheeks. What about for you, three-piece?" he asks, looking to Daimon.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    Daimon looks up and over at Nicklas with an expression that could make flowers dry out and dissolve into ash.
    "I'll have the Ardbeg Uigeadail single malt scotch that I saw lingering on the top shelf over there," Daimon says, gesturing in the direction of the bar. "Two of them, actually."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Nicklas has worked in the service industry too long. He just sort of looks back at Daimon, waiting for his order.

    "So a double, or do you want two bottles?" he asks Daimon with a bored note in his voice.

    Phoebe purses her lips, her eyebrows rising up as she shrugs a shoulder up, looking to Daimon.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    "Two glasses," Daimon says. He doesn't have anything else to say, though the vibe is clear: he's holding back some especially harsh words that could have followed.
    Daimon looks back to Phoebe. "Anyway. I figured you were all just under the table getting to second base with one another or something."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Very well." the bartender states, and he goes to enter in the order.

    "No, ah, just all being very awkward and nervous about the crowd, to be truthful. Some of the different people I knew and have worked with before, others... well. Like I said. I don't go to parties very often." Phoebe gives a smile at that. "Besides, I'm not interested in playing ball with just anyone. Not only am I picky, but ah... spoken for. And big fancy parties aren't their thing either." Phoebe replies to the comment, though her cheeks and ears darken in embarrassment.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    Daimon seems to calm a bit when he is no longer in the presence of a service industry worker. He's definitely the type of customer that drains their souls. So to speak.
    "I was kidding," Daimon says, still in a tone of voice like he's dead serious. "But you're cute when you blush." He quirks one eyebrow. He's almost certainly fucking with her, just trying to get poor Phoebe all flustered.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Yeah-huh. I know I am. You're not the first charming devil to try and get me hot under the collar -- but for serious." she leans forward, her eyebrows perked up. "You were at the party with someone I used to associate with, back in the day when I didn't know so much what I was doing. Didn't seem to recognize me, Nico Minoru. She probably didn't recognize me, it's been a while."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    "I was," Daimon says. "She came to me seeking help in... achieving her potential, as far as being a sorceress. So. She's under the demonic wing, for now. We'll see how long it takes her to get sick of me." Daimon says this like there's no other conceivable way for such a mentor-protege relationship to end.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Are you counting the time in months, years, or decades?" Phoebe asks in curiosity. Nicklas returns with Phoebe's rootbeer, and two glasses of the chosen single-malt, served in short tumblers, shaken with cold whiskey stones and poured, garnished with a spiral of blood orange peel that's been candied and a black cherry.

    Phoebe settles her chin on her palm, watching Daimon in curiosity, taking him all in with her magical and mundane senses, studying him with interest.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    Daimon doesn't even wait for Nicklas to go away before he takes one of the glasses and places it down next to Phoebe's root beer. "There were better options on the shelf, honestly, but you don't strike me as the type who's developed the palette to appreciate the Yamazaki 12-Year or Blanton's Single Barrel."
    The scotch Daimon chose is sweet and smoky, without being overpowering. Daimon lifts his glass to have a sip. "And to be honest, I don't know. She has potential, so I hope it's closer to months than days."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "It's all right. I don't really have a palette for scotch. Or almost any alcohols..." Phoebe trails off, and she reaches ot push the glass back to Daimon, and then she looks to the scotch. Looks back to Daimon, and then sips it, experimentally.

    Whuff.

    "Considering Strange's soiree was almost a month ago, and you two looked moderately comfortable with one another, I'd guess closer to months." Phoebe observes quietly.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    Daimon watches Phoebe try the scotch. "It's an acquired taste," he admits. "Still. We're celebrating. But not so much that it called for champagne."
    "She's a good kid," Daimon says, a bit thoughtfully, regarding Nico. "She has a good sense of right and wrong, I think. Which is usually a red flag, as far as someone hanging around me too much." He flashes a tiny, crooked little half-smile.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Don't sell yourself short. A lot of humans have a superb feeling for right and wrong, or at least 'what is good for me' and 'what is not good for me'." Phoebe gives a small smile, and with the fact that it is a celebration, she offers her glass up for a toast.

    "To you, Daimon, who took on everything and the kitchen sink on my behalf. THank you. Couldn't have a better friend for an exorcism."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    "Or a worse friend for anything else," Daimon says, lifting his glass toward hers. "To you, Phoebe, for showing bravery and valor well beyond what I would expect of either a high school senior or a college freshman."
    Daimon has a drink, then sets the glass down. "This spoken for business. Anyone I know?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Close --" Phoebe wheezes a little around the second sip of scotch. "College sophomore, and wasn't my first rodeo. I had a /very/ intense training regimine when it was determined I had a knack for exorcisms and healing." she replies, and scratches a little at the white tattoo around her left wrist.

    And the subject of her lover comes up. Her cheeks blush a moment.

    "Ah... I don't think so. He doesn't run in occult circles." Mostly.

    "He's a mechanic."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    Daimon doesn't seem let down or anything -- an idle curiosity has been satisfied. "I don't think I know any mechanics," he says, as if he has to seriously consider such a thing.
    "So the demon taught you about exorcism? That's a bit ironic, don't you think?" There's that crooked little smile again.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Well, at the time he wasn't... he was pretending to be someone he wasn't." Phoebe replies, her expression going from 'thinking of someone she cares for', and changes. Her eyes downcast, her head tilts to the right, and she trails her fingertips along the beads of water sweating on her rootbeer.

    "We met at a bar. He was holding an open house for people to come and ask for help. I was over my head with these huge necromantic creatures that showed up to spit acid and attack my friends, so I went. He accepted my case, and after a while he started teaching me. And we got to be friends. He called me his daughter a couple times. He figured out a way to hide me." she gets quiet.

    "And then one day Zatanna Zatara and another old friend showed up and told me he was actually Nergul infested in a meat suit, or puppeted by another demon. Story changed a bit after I first heard it. And that was that." Phoebe then takes up the glass and knocks down the rest of the scotch in one go, then brings the glass down.

    "Never saw him again."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    "Sorry to hear," Daimon says, though his tone isn't especially heartfelt.
    "Remember what I said about becoming an asshole, if you stick with this long enough?" Daimon has another drink from his scotch. "I hate to say it, but -- it's good that you got this kind of heartbreak out of the way early." He pauses for a moment, considering his words. "If this is the path you want to walk -- exorcism, healing, going out of your way to help people who are in trouble -- it's going to wear on you. It's going to break your heart. There's always going to be some reason to not trust people anymore, to let yourself harden to the outside world. Usually people don't even realize it's happening to them until something like what happened to you comes along. But it hit you early, before you could develop a... shell. And that's probably for the best."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Ha, nah I've been called a lot worse than 'asshole'." Phoebe gives a small smile, switching back to her rootbeer. "After that all happened someone triged to trigger the Apocalypse, I lost my other dad, punched Saint Michael the Archangel in the face, had my larynx ripped out by a different demon, and lived in Kansas." Phoebe gives a wry smile. "Like I said. Busy girl. Heartbreak and I are good friends by now."

    And she runs her finger along the rim of her glass.

    "I'm the last of my kind, and wish I could wrap myself in a shell -- but I don't think I can. Too much empathy. Someone's gotta be soft for the people who need it, you know?"

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Daimon Hellstrom gives that crooked smile again when Phoebe says she's probably too empathetic to wall off the world. "Someone's got to balance out the likes of me," he says. "Otherwise, things would be /really/ fucked."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Someone's gotta balance out the likes of most of the assholes. That's why I still am in the business of healing. College will lead me to medical school, will lead me to being a doctor. Someone who can help others regardless of if it is magical, mental, or medical malady." she gives a bright smile.

    "So, when you're not showing up and stabbing eyes with tridents or coaching Nico on magic, what do you do?"

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Daimon Hellstrom considers the question, as if no one has ever really asked him that before. "I make sure demonic artifacts don't end up in the wrong hands. Which is virtually any hands, to be honest. I keep tabs on the 'mortal' occult groups. Make sure a bunch of Satanists in hoods and pentagram thongs aren't trying to actually summon a demon in between orgies." The way Daimon says that is downright contemptuous. "Do what I can to keep my fellows on this fine planet from effectively being toddlers with loaded guns."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Oof... that is... that is definitely work in the worst sense." Phoebe mutters, and she feels her nose wrinkle at the idea of a bunch of Satanists in hoods and pentagram thongs at an orgy.

    "I can relate. I've run into people who have books they're not supposed to have. Cursed swords, accidentally summoned something where the veil between worlds was particularly thin. Doesn't matter much to me if the object's infernal or not." she sips her rootbeer, and Nicklas brings out a platter of round falafel balls and a pile of french fries. Phoebe pushes it to the middle, intending to share as she picks up a croquette of chickpea paste and parsely.

    "Do you interrupt orgies often then?" she asks, and she gives a big grin. "I've been told I'm great at killing a mood."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Daimon Hellstrom snorts. "All the time. Shall I tell you about them in excruciating detail?" He waves a hand. "Most Satanists just enjoy the whole do what thou wilt thing. The edginess of it, the taboo, the likelihood of finding goths who are okay with open relationships. All the more reason to keep them away from anything powerful." Daimon takes a drink. "I get /invited/ to the orgies, of course, but... eh. Hard pass." His brows lift. "If you're that interested, though, I'll pass them along to you. You and the mechanic can go have a blast checking people's oil."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe just presses her lips together at the idea of that happening. And what would happen if Robbie Reyes were to show up at a Satanist orgy.

    "No. Ah, I don't think that's a good idea. Showing up to kill the moon and ruin a demon summoning? Totally can handle that one on my own. He's got his own work." she trails off and shakes her head.

    "I get invited to things every once in a while, but usually that's just stupid college kids doing stupid college kid things. Not nearly as dangerous." she lifts the french fry to her mouth and chomps down on it.

    "I stopped being edgy when I was seventeen. Got old real quick when you're dealing with real demons and trying to wrestle with a GED and life as a highly talented young paranormal investigator. That and the whole healing thing means I don't get drunk, or high. I'm pretty boring when I'm not out fighting supernatural bullshit." she gives a wry, crooked grin.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
Daimon Hellstrom laughs. "Nah. Just means you have to get creative." He doesn't elaborate on the topic, though. Some journeys must be undertaken on one's own. "And pretty much everyone I grew up around was an actual occultist or demonologist or whatever. Gave me a great eye for edgy bullshit being bullshit."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I suppose I'll just have to stick to being kind of a dork over being creative." Phoebe gives a smile to Daimon, genuine kindness to it.

    "Wish I could say the same. I grew up around a lot of blue collar workers and Catholics. Pretty sure the family priest's hair would turn white if he found out the girl who wanted to be a ninja nun when she was eight hangs out with all manner of devils and demons in her spare time. Gasp." she casually replies, rubbing the back of her neck.

    "So, did you grow up in the area, or... y'know, an estate in Hell?" she inquires. "If that's too personal a question, it's totally cool to not answer. I mean I'm a curious sort. Gets me in trouble sometimes."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    "There's no shame in being kind of a dork. Unless you're a dork about really lame stuff." Daimon spreads his hands, as if to suggest that it's just that simple. "Anyway, I think as you grew into adulthood you would have found incompatible philosophical rifts between being a Catholic nun and being a practitioner of the secret art of the ninja." He's just fucking with her, on that one.
    "Oh, I grew up in Massachusetts," Daimon says. "Sorry if that's a letdown."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I speak and read Elvish. I'm firmly actually a huge dork." Phoebe replies with amusement, and she gives a great big laugh "Incidentally, I know someone who kinda fits both -- nun and ninja. /Nunjas/." she grins, and motions for him to take a couple fries if he wants.

    "Mrmm. Not a let down at all. Massachusetts has a great occult and supernatural tradition as long as you weren't a kind of weird woman in 1692 Danvers." Phoebe points out. "I grew up in Gotham."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    "You know, I think I'd rather the the weird woman in Danvers," Daimon says, with just a hint of a smile to show that he's teasing. "But you're right, speaking and reading Elvish actually does make you a huge dork. And I'm fluent in reading all the major languages and dialects of the Black Kingdoms, so I know for sure."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Excellent, not only a prince of Hell but also a giant, sharp-dressed nerd, that I can appreciate." Phoeb gives a big smile, and leans back in her seat, plucking up another falafel croquette.

    "You know, I think over time, hanging out enough, we could be friends." she states to Daimon.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    Daimon wrinkles his nose. "I learned them for magical purposes," he says. "Not so that I could populate the IMDB Goofs page of a Lord of the Rings movie."
    Daimon reaches into his coat and takes out a business card. It's very plain. In fact, it just has a phone number printed on it. "If you ever need a hand, give me a call. Come across a book and you're not sure what it is or what to do with it? I'll be there."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe gives a smile, and she reaches into her jacket and also pulls out a card.
        PHOEBE (lots of scribbled out last name)
        MAGICAL HEALING - INVESTIGATIONS - EXORCISMS
        GHOSTS RELEASED

    And the number is definitely in the Gotham area code.

    "Ah, my card. One of my cards. I have so many cards." Phoebe mumbles and she takes Daimon's.

    "I'm also a good person to call up when you need an ear about venting frustrations. In case you're into that."

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    "You're just trying to get me to tell you more about the orgies," Daimon says, deadpan, as he pockets the card.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I promise you I'm probably too much for the orgies to handle." Phoebe replies back, with a slightly smug look on her face before she realizes that there /is a smug look on her face/, and then she promptly blushes and her ears darken.

    "WELL Nice meeting you, you're fantastic, I do look forward to hang outs in the future. I'll get the bill." she pulls out her credit card and goes to collect the bill.

Daimon Hellstrom has posed:
    "Try it and I'll summon my trident," Daimon says. He's already got his card out. "You go enjoy your night, kid. I'm sure we'll meet again soon."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... you win this round, Daimon." Phoebe gives a smile.

    "Travel safe out there."