6723/Spirit of Rock and Roll

Spirit of Rock and Roll
Date of Scene:	28 June 2021
Location:	The Griffin
Synopsis:	It turns out Rock is the (she) Devil's music! Satana sends the Gentleman Ghost packing.
Cast of Characters:	Thomas Blake, Satana Hellstrom

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Thomas Blake has posed:
Thomas Blake in the end put the plush giraffe out in the hall. It was watching him. With privacy restored he gave Satana his full attention and then some. He was pondering the celebratory snacks afterwards. there was that cake she'd make or of course he could whip something up. Concluding the arrangements he fell against her enjoying the feeling.

<Knock knock knock!> "Fuck off. Spooning."

<Knock knock kuh-nock!>

"Want me to g... I know you're only pretending to sleep." He grumps to her as he gets up, taking the giraffe with him. He pads down to the door and opens it. There's a ghost on the step.

Or an invisible man. Monocle, top hat, century plus out of fashion. "Say-TANA! It's for you!" He gives a listen and tells the apparition, "Hang on one second. I hear her."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
Feigning sleep is a wonderful technique to getting others to work for you. Now where is that gir...

...The bastard took it with him. Petty man! Well, she is the QUEEN of petty!

Satana wrapped the pillow around her head to cover her ears and eyes and started an obviously fake snore that was loud enough to fill the entire building, or so it might seem to one in the room with her.

Or anybody in the building.

Anywhere in the building.

Then she feels it. Her wards tightening. Triggering.

Then she hears Thomas calling, saying it's for her.

Dammit. And she was still in the wonderful afterglow. Thomas' soul always tasted better when she sipped it during the act. Something about his exertions just added spice.

Sighing she uncurled herself, stretching out on the bed before reaching the edge. Feet touching the floor, she started heading to the door.

Wait. Guest. Thomas would probably whine if she didn't dress. That tee should do the trick.

And so it was that Satana arrived at the front door wearing her custom babydoll tee with "Catman is Coming" on the front and "PSYCHE! He's only breathing hard!" on the back.

The tee that's too short to even reach her hips.

"Who is it?" she asks irritably before posing and staring at the apparition. "Oh."

Thomas Blake has posed:
Thomas Blake stands to the side. He gestures and then sets the giraffe toy strategically in front of Satana.

The Gentleman Ghost removes his hat when Satana appears. "Miss Hellstrom. I apologize for the lateness of my hour... actually I'm late all the time. In any case I would like to acquire your services to bedevil a scalawag of a musician, one Micheal Hannigan, also known as Nick Drago. You see... he greatly inconvenienced me in the Dream Realm, blasted me to smitereens. he has noble blood, that means he can harm me. I believe you could make short work og that dream dwelling morpher. I would have to... owe you one. Lovely giraffe."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
Oh. OK. Business. Damn. Still, business means payment and payment means a rush of soul energy.

Then another night of draining all vitality from Thomas.

"Please, do come in!" Satana purrs, demeanour instantly shifting to gracious hostess in a change so smooth it seems like it had always been there. She picks up the giraffe and leads the way to the living room, in which she sits cross-legged in an armchair, legs wrapped around her beloved plushie, as well as her arms, pulling it against her in a hug which might make some men jealous.

She has the decency to not turn it on.

"Musician. Dream realm. Morpher. It sounds like I'm dealing with a man who has Power. Dragging him to Hell would be an inconvenience. My costs for inconvenience run rather highly." She smiles a smile so pretty and innocent it would send chills down a blind man's back. "It's measured in a multiplicity of souls. How many souls are you putting on offer?"

Now she turns it on, though her face is still attentively watching the visiting ghost.

Thomas Blake has posed:
Thomas Blake is walked through. He shudders at the contact. He enters the living room last and with a pacing thread not at all like his usual commanding stride. He glares at the back of the sartorial specter's invisible head and quite put out when handed the hat and cane. Wait for it.

The Ghost sits down, in Thomas' chair n less.

"Charming place. Very homey. So We could say two souls down and three more on delivery? I believe that's a fair offer. I did a little research. The blighter is something called a Phantasm I think. Tricky too..." Thomas continues glaring and then hefts the ghostly cane which seems solid enough. He regards the ectoplasmic kneecaps in the room, and seems barely in control.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
Two souls. Three on completion.

"You have a phantasm, you say. A dream being. And a musician, if I remember something else you said? And your offer is five souls total." Satana stares at the ghost for an uncomfortably long amount of time. "You'll want to find a rhymer. Princesses of Hell cost a whole lot more than five measly souls. If I want five souls I'll go out for a walk. I need souls by the dozen to tangle with a creature of Dream on its own soil."

That smile of hers grows cruel and hard.

"The thing is that rhymers are ... troublesome. They cost an awful lot for the good ones. More than princesses charge, in fact. It has something to do with the fact that there aren't a lot of words that rhyme with 'thousand' so they like that range of souls. I can give you a reference to a demon who is climbing the rhyming ranks, however. He's not so much a rhymer as ... say ... a rapper."

She flicks her eyes over to Thomas, then back to the spectre.

"And you upset Thomas. For that I'm going to let him smash your knees. Then I'll give you the True Name of the rapper."

Thomas Blake has posed:
Thomas Blake brings the cane around and across the Ghost's knees. He screams invisibly though not inaudibly. The cane turns to smoke in Catman's hands and his dagger is out. Not that it would do much. Thomas snarls...

"Nick Drago is a national treasure. He...his music got me through prison and Arkham. He makes things bearable without being some preachy goody goody asshole. He's a fucking artist. And you are a cheapskate phantom. Get out and take you hat... rat... before Satana makes you flesh and blood and I send you t the grave all over again. You're an ass won't take on a guy can actually hurt you. you think she'd waste her time with you? Besides... you interrupted the sweetest bit of honey all week." He chin nods at Satana. "Sorry honey. But this guy... grrrrrrrrr all wrong for a client."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Oh, wait. It's Nick Drago he wanted me to do harm to?"

Satana's eyes grow colder. Then hot.

"His bandmates are some of the best additions we had down in Hell!" she snarls. "And his old band sent so many straight to us! I won't have that treasure harmed!"

That heat in her eyes gets hotter. And hotter. And the vanishes as a pointed finger instead gets the soulfire. The finger pointed at the gentleman caller.

"If you are not out of my home in two seconds, you will feel what eternal damnation is like."

2... 1... ZOT!

Soulfire blossoms forth from Satana's finger to penetrate the ghostly visitor's soul to its very core, bringing with it savage pain and misery.

"I said leave!"

The fact she didn't give time ot leave? Irrelevant, right?

Thomas Blake has posed:
Thomas Blake holds the door open for the Ghost as he flees wailing and smoking and throws his hat after him. "And stay out of our way you bum! And leave Drago alone! Or else!" He turns to stalk towards Satana, grabs the arms of her chair and gives her a kiss on the nose.

He smiles softly at her.

Then she's slung over his shoulder, giraffe and all. He bounds up the stairs with her. "First thing in the morning we warn Nick Drago... I think I still have a concert shirt or two. Thank you baby... I k now you could have driven his price way up." He gives her a friendly pat on the hip.