6586/The Slums Are Never Up To Any Good

The Slums Are Never Up To Any Good
Date of Scene:	16 June 2021
Location:	A slum tower in Los Angeles
Synopsis:	The summon demon long gone before the hero and villaness arrive, but Adult Beverages are had and threats made for a good time to be had at a later time. Or will it?
Cast of Characters:	Hellboy, Satana Hellstrom

---

Hellboy has posed:
Hellboy's still adjusting to having been transplanted to the West Coast, but lets face it: it doesn't matter how much you try to confine the big red one, he's GOING to get out on his own, the handlers be damned.
Which is why he's out in the middle of a Los Angeles slum at 2 in the morning, lumbering his way down the 16th floor hallway sniffing the air as he grumbles and follows what he's pretty sure is the whiff of demonic taint, "I know you're around here somewhere..."
Most of the hallway flourescent lights are either out entirely or flickering on and off, casting dark shadows up and down the hallway, barely illuminating the trash and damage to the walls and dark smears that PROBABLY arent blood. Just dont look too closely, right?

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
And of course, OF COURSE, someone (or something) is following him.

And let's face it, not very good at it. Whoever (or whatever) it is, it doesn't seem to believe that feet make noise when hard soles strike pavement. Or step on paper. Or knock over a piece of scrap metal precariously tipped against a wall. Yet, each time Hellboy stops, so too do the following footsteps.

And when the air currents ('wind' is absolutely the wrong word!) come the right direction, the stench of rot and must and decay is overlaid by the bright, sharp scent of something like cinnamon. Because apparently the lack of stealth covers scent too.

Hellboy has posed:
Some poor fool chooses the wrong time to decide he needs to head out to get his groceries, opening his front door to step out right in front of Big Red, who pauses and grunts, "G'on back in, buddy." There's a wide-eyed look and the door is abruptly closed, which cases Hellboy to stop and narrow his eyes, slowly looking around behind him. A quick pat of hand to jacket to verify things are in the pockets he left them in, and gun in holster under arm. Not seeing an immediate problem, he finally starts into motion again, slowing down in front of Apartment 1706. The door itself looks cracked like someone had already tried using a battering ram on it - might be a safe bet to assume police have been here before and were NOT welcome. He raises that big red fist and thumps it on the door, "Con-Ed. We gotta gas leak on this floor..." before leaning in to sniff at the door, then mutters under his breath, "Yeah, I thought so..."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
The booted feet languidly follow, this time, as Hellboy knocks at the door, continuing to close.

*clap*
*clap*
*clap*

The applause is slow. Stately. Sarcastic.

"Really, Anung," the feminine voice speaks out of the darkness moments before the red-headed form becomes visible in a nearby cone of sputtering streetlight. "That's the best you could come up with? 'Con-Ed'?"

Satana tilts her head curiously. "Isn't Consolidated Edison a New York and New Jersey company? Or have they branched out into California somehow?"

Her red tresses flare as she shakes her head in sad rejection of that option. "Why not try the old stand-by? 'It's me, man! I got the drugs!'"

Hellboy has posed:
The voice stops him in mid-repeat knock, turning his head to look and focus on the source of that voice. Slowly sizing the redhead up before he grunts at her, "Do I look like a gas employee? Hey, it was this or get more lectures about property damage." He eyes the door again, but almost as quickly turns his attention back to Satana, "N'I dont believe for a second YOU live here. And that aint YOU I've been following the scent of. You here for the party?"

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Me?" Satana smiles, then, in a form that is more teeth-baring than friendly, though the little red glint in her otherwise black eyes suggests at least something personally amusing. "I'm here for you Anung. If there's a party too, well colour me enticed!"

She pauses, feigning uncertainty. "I got it right, no? Anung Un Rama?" The uncertainty drops like a paper mask. "Of course I have it right. You're famous. I wanted to see you in action. And ... I get 'Con-Ed'."

The eye-rolling is so violent it seems the eyes might pop out of their sockets.

"Oh, where ARE my manners!? I'm called Hellstrom. Satana Hellstrom. Of the Massachusetts Hellstroms."

Hellboy has posed:
Hellboy arches one brow as he looks Satana over again slowly when she says she's here for him, "I'm not a Big Mac you send out for. F'you're someone's errand girl, they have good taste, but not interested." He lifts that big red fist again, looking like he's about to hit that door a LOT harder this time, when she mentions her name. There's some sort of name recognition there as his eyes narrow a bit, and gives her another slow once-over, "I mighta heard of you. Don't recall any of it bein' good. Nopt that that matters too much, but..."
With that said, he finally shrugs and rears back, grumbling, "Takin too long!" and swings that big red fist at the door handle, punching it through the flimsy particle wood of the door and all but knocking it off of its hinges into the apartment beyond, "Knock knock..."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
Satana pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head in a manner the precise opposite of Hellboy's opening of the door.

Subtly.

Sighing the tortured sigh of someone plagued by misfortune, she continues the conversation, stepping up behind Hellboy--keeping a respectful distance for now--to peer inside.

"Friends of yours?" she asks. "If you wanted the door opened, you could have just asked. There's a million ways for me to open that door without ... the noise."

Her face mimes a pained expression of a timid person startled briefly by an unexpected sound.

"Who are we partying with?"

Then her voice darkens.

"Oh, and I am nobody's 'errand girl', Anung. I set the errands. I do not run them. It would be best you remember that. I prefer we remain friends."

Remain. Yes, that's what she said. Aspirational she is.

Hellboy has posed:
Hellboy grunts, "If he's still in here, there isnt gonna be any subtle in about five seconds anyway, so I might as well have the satisfaction, right?" She makes the comment about remaining friends, which is enough for him to pause and look like he's going to say something, then reconsiders it and reaches into his jacket to haul out that huge handgun, before stepping inside, "Come out, come out, wherever ya hiding..."
Inside...well, you thought the hallway was bad, the apartment itself is even worse. A short hallway leading to a living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom, 'basic' doesnt even begin to describe this tenement type domicile. If that was its only failing, there wouldnt be a problem, but no - the senses are assulted with the scent of blood and sulphur the moment one steps into the hallway, the taint of minor demonic infestation of the very recent variety, like a stale fart in the wind after a burrito challenge. Hellboy slows down, cocking the hammer on that gun as he peeks into the kitchen then moves on to the living room - the walls are dented in several places where they look like someone's head was used to perforate them. Coupled with a few dark stains that clearly ARE blood. The kitchen is a wreck with the fixtures in the sink broken and leaking waterm and the stench of something rotten clinging over everything else, "Damn these things stink..."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Oh my, what a lovely smell you've found for us, Anung!" Satana exclaims, wrinkling her nose. "Reminds me of home." Walking casually behind Hellboy she manipulates her fingers and arms in distorted, slightly nauseating ways while uttering a bunch of nonsense syllables.

Unless you understand Hyperborean, naturally, in which case it's an invocation commanding the powers of the universe to grant the person speaking them a third eye to see with.

"Put away the gun, Anung," she says. "What you seek is behind that door there and offers no threat to you. In a few moments more it won't even have a spark of nourishment for an infernal locust, not to mention adult demons like you and me." She takes in another look. "What you came to stop has come and gone and is now at loose."

She shrugs.

"Oh well. What's a bit more decay in this world of it?"

Hellboy has posed:
Hellboy is a little more hesitant to put the huge handgun away, but by the time they make it into the living room, her assessment of the lack of threat seems to be holding true, so with a light grunt, the hand cannon is tucked back away under his arm. He eyes her for a moment, then steps forward to open the badroom door she had indicated, taking a step back as he opens it.
Ah, the lovely wall of decay and stench and sulphur that greets the senses, like a pent up entity that was just waiting to spring ont their nostrils. For a bedroom, there doesn't actually seem to be a bed. Instead, space has been cleared in the center of the room, where a a stereotypical pentagram has been burned into the carpet, with actually accurate runes placed in key quadrants - the work is crude and amateur-ish, but to both of them, the runes spell out the name of the minor demon these idiots wanted to summon.Five bodies are slumped against the walls, each lumped against a smear on the wall as if all five of them had been thrown backward violently and smacked against the wall before sliding to their current places, and ALL of them are showing advanced levels of decay, as if they had been rotting here for weeks, not just a day or two.
Hellboy lifts his normal hand up to cover his nose and frowns, "Idiots. Damnit, you don't take the rabbit outta the box without putting it back."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
Satana steps around the symbols, peering at them critically, not bothering to waste her time looking at the bodies. "Gargravem," she says. "They got her name right. But forgot to check what the restraints had to be. The circle was burned into the carpet, note."

She gestures with a professional writer's disdain for the chicken-scratchings of amateurs.

"Gargravem is noted for needing to be held back by ash and oil. Or as you and I would call it: soap. They'd have been better off using dishwashing liquid to make their pentacle instead of lighter fluid."

She looks across at Hellboy. "Doesn't the rich prevalance of amateurs in this field just piss you off? I'd have loved to meet this crowd before they summoned my dear friend to show them why you don't fuck with our kind."

Pause. Then a seductive purr adds, "Well, metaphorically speaking. I'd gladly show them with the physical act..."

She turns to leave the bedroom. "Shall we go somewhere interesting now? Strip club? BDSM palace? Grungy bar?"

Hellboy has posed:
Hellboy grunts softly as he looks over the bodies, bending down to sniff at the sigils before straightening up. He doesn't interrupt Satana's assessment - instead he just shakes his head lightly, "If she's loose out on this side, she's smart enough to not make noise, otherwise she taught them all a lesson and went back home..."
She gets a more pointed look at the last comment and sets his jaw, "Got no interest in the first two, but I could use a drink. Guess I'll call the office to have em come clean this mess up." He pauses for a moment, watching her a little more intently, There's a dive bar four blocks over. Industrial and punk, bouncer leaves me alone. They dont water down the alcohol."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Oh, she's out," Satana says with certainty as she steps out of the room, heedless of the bloodstains and worse under her booted feet. "She broke the circle, sent their damned souls to Hell--I'll go visit them later and have a chat with them, though by the time I get there they'll be amply traumatized and unlikely to be helpful--and is now out and about.

She pauses to look over her shoulder at Hellboy. "And the thing about Gargravem: her very nature is subtle. Decay is slow and feels inevitable. That's how she'll work. Finding her won't be easy for you."

There's something smug in that expression. Like 'you' should have been stressed but wasn't.

"I don't envy your friends the task of finding and fighting her. She's very good." Beat. "Right. Drink it is, then. Punk bar? Not a lot of hunting there. They talk up a good talk about wickedness, but most of them are just whiny, not actually terrible."

Hellboy has posed:
Hellboy turns as the converation moves onward, heading for the door while he listens, but looks back and keeps his voice down to a low rumble, "Course they are. And they're usually too busy trying ta pose and flex on each other to cause problems, so I can get a drink in peace. S'why I like the place. And its loud. You comin?" He's looking, but he's still continuing on out to the hallway, planning on heading back out to the street whether she's coming or not.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"The only way you'd keep me out is with the proper invocation," Satana says with a chuckle. "I'll go hunting later. Find a couple of tasty wicked souls and feast."

She follows along behind, finding it a bit difficult to keep up with the behemoth that is Hellboy while slinking. Not that she doesn't give it the old college try. Ignoring the help once they arrive, she sits down, facing the crowd to watch them with interest. "Whatever you're having," she says to Hellboy. "Stronger the better."

Hellboy has posed:
Hellboy isnt precisely in a huge hurry as he moves, though on the way he does pull out a cellphone and calls in a report about the apartment so the BPRD or WAND or /someone/ can send a cleaning group up to remove the demonic traces and stench.
The club itself is stereotypically loud, and dark, with lots of flashing strobes for a dance floor, and several tables that have probably had coke snorted off of them, as often as earlier that evening. The huge bartender seems to recognize Hellboy and nods his way, causing a couple others to whisper to themselves. A table at the back hasnt gotten sticky yet from questionable actions taken by other patrons, allowing the big guy to ease his sizable bulk in and put his back to the wall, grunting at her, "Bourbon, holding up two fingers to the bartender, who is apparently already working on pouring.
With that squared out of the way, he finally refocuses specifically on her, "You said in the hallway you came for me. You KNOW Im not going anywhere, right?"

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Au contraire, Anung!" Satana says chidingly. "Since I talked to you, you have gone to an apartment, now a bar. I'm sure this is not the extent of your world. You have a tendency to go all SORTS of interesting places."

The drinks show up and Satana stops to smile teasingly, running her tongue along her upper lip while locking gaze with the server before returning her attention to Hellboy.

"I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I'm not some tawdry recruiter, nor do I intend assault or kidnapping or any other unsavoury business with you."

That same coquettish smile she gave the server is now directed at Hellboy with a wink.

"Well, there are SOME unsavoury things I wouldn't be averse to, but I'd gathered you weren't interested. Your loss, I guess."

A short, far-too-girlish-giggle follows before she goes back to her more usual, it seems, distantly sarcastic self.

"Call this more a professional courtesy. We work in related fields and often, to my amazement, have similar solutions to problems. Well, you use one big gun and I have two that work my solutions, but otherwise similar. So I thought I'd drop by, introduce myself, just so that if we meet in a more professional capacity we'd already have an established relationship to build upon."

She downs her drink, then signals the server by holding up her glass and her other hand, fingers spread out to indicate 'five'.

"I'm sorry if I gave you the impression my intentions were in any way sinister. I actually quite admire you. Not many like you out there. You're a veritable treasure."

Hellboy has posed:
Hellboy fingers the bourbon when it arrives, settling back a little further against the wall. At her first explanation, he grunts, "Well, seems like everyone that knows demons sooner or later comes around to the big red hand and thinks they're gonna be the one to convince me to do something stupid, so yeah, you were soundin like the usual telemarketer pitch I keep gettin. No offence - you hear the same stupid sphiel a few hundred times and you kinda stop someone a few words into it when you hear it again."
He pauses long enough to shoot back the mouthful of alcohol, letting it burn its way down his throat as he sets the glass down. Waiting until she signals the server again, he tilts his head to regard her with a bit more of a curious look, "You got that feel to you, though you smell better than the bastards Im usually having to hunt down." He pauses for a moment, "So if I was wanting to get ahold of you, how would I go about doin that?"

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Oh, all the usual ways. Pentacle. I'd recommend salt to sketch out mine. Mix in some nice aromatic spices, though, because I like the smell. You'd have to know my True Name in Hyperborean, of course, and given who he is, you'd best have a deal with my father or have some way of holding him off while nabbing me. For containing me ... that's actually kind of hard. Some of the best have managed. My brother could do it. But it's probably easier to just leave a nice young man in the circle with me, because then why would I WANT to leave?"

The black eyes with the red 'whites' gaze at Hellboy. And glow a bit. Devil red.

"Or were you asking indirectly what I am? I am the daughter of Marduk Kurios and Victoria Wingate. Half-blood, not full-blood like you, but ... meh ... you could call me a princess of Hell if you really wanted to a) push it and b) be super-dramatic about it all. I'm out of Hell, and bound for Hell."

Beat.

"The rudder's jammed, you see."

And at that she dissolves into laughter. "Sorry. I just love that line!" she wheezes out between guffaws. As her drinks arrive she regains her composure.

"So, no, you understand now, I think, that I'm not really interested in recruiting you. I'm just curious in one of my father's kind that's been brought up as one of my mother's. It's very intriguing to me to see you ... reined in like a human, but without the bonds. I thought you might have been bound, but I'm not sniffing any of that about you, so ... it must be you binding yourself."

Hellboy has posed:
Hellboy snorts lightly, "Bound? Naw. Though summa the government types like to think they're in control. Just easier to let em push their paper, then they don't complain so loudly when I find something I need to go take care of. Every now and then you get a real anal cookie, but you just gotta train em right, and things go smoothly after."
He considers that name and lineage for a long moment, "Mmm. So not a bastard like me. More like the princess who doesn't wanna be queen. I can work with that..." When the server comes back over this time, he taps his glass for a refill, "Formal summoning's a good way to get your face eaten off. If you're out here already anyway, gotta be an easier way. Shorta putting up hot guy bait."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"That's an interesting story. I keep getting yanked up here by fools who think they can use me and not suffer for it."

There's a little chill that a normal person would have given who's saying this.

"But this time I was summoned and ... I have no idea by whom. So I'm a free agent now. But someone, somewhere, thinks they have my marker." She lounges back in her seat, putting one leg up on the table. For prominent display purposes as she downs her next drink. "Oh, this is Hella good stuff!"

She polishes her nails on her pants, looking them over critically while adding, "If you happen to run across someone who claims to have my marker, I would not be entirely depressed if they wound up with a huge hole where their brain or heart used to be."

"At any rate, if you need to call me, I'm ... well ... I'm everywhere, but there's this guy I stay with. Call him. He'll know how to get in touch with me. Or I'll be the one answering his phone because he'll be tied up."

Her eyes flick up to Hellboy flaring with amusement.

"He enjoys that helpless feeling, you see. That sense of danger. Will she or won't she suck his soul dry this time? Makes for great romps."

She looks around, fails to find a paper or pencil, so shrugs and instead burns it into the table with her fingertip: 'Thomas' followed by a New York number.

"I really should get myself a phone, shouldn't I?"

Hellboy has posed:
Hellboy grunts his approval at the server when the bourbon is returned, taking a sip from the glass as he listens. When she talks about her marker, he rumbles lightly, "Can't say that I'd be putting a hole in their head for ya, but I'll be having a little fist to face chat with them about their summoning demons on m'watch, even if they ARE an agreeable type, mostly." He actually winks at that and leans back to down the entirety of the glass at once, before setting it away.
Craning his head a bit to see what she's burning into the table, he tilts to the side to rummage in one of his many jacket pockets, and fishes out a little notepad and a pen, scribbling the number down before stuffing it back into the pocket he fetched them out of, "A'ight. I find out where this one has gotten, I'll give you a call. You hear about someone going rogue out here, maybe I can help do something about it. Fair enough?"

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"That sounds perfectly equitable. And when is it I get to seduce you back into our camp?" Satana asks with a blankly pleasant expression. Then a wicked grin spreads over her face. "I know, I know. Not recruiting. Ta-ta for now. It was a pleasure meeting a fellow professional!"