7096/=The Morning After Afternoon

=The Morning After Afternoon
Date of Scene:	27 July 2021
Location:	The Griffin
Synopsis:	Satana sees how the Catman do with a furry. Introductions are made all around. Satana buys illusion lessons with an incubus. Cookery by imp is plotted.
Cast of Characters:	Thomas Blake, Gabby Kinney, Terry O'Neil, Satana Hellstrom, Michael Hannigan

---

Thomas Blake has posed:
Muriel watches the Griffin from across the street as John brings her an iced tea. She is uncannily, inhumanly still. "So he's cheating on Satana," John asks, plainly enjoying the irony. He sits down, "With a furry little kitten. Oh verily it is written Karma is a bitch!"

Muriel smirks, "That more, the merrier. Anyway, here come... a lot of people. This should be rich and I thought your kind didn't go for schadenfruede."

John sips a beer, "It's my day off. Satana will kill him and this will be all over with."

Inside the Griffin, Thomas Blake, known felon, snuggles Terry O'Neil, known felon catcher. He twitches as a shadow falls over him and his eyes snap open. He nudges Terry, almost knocking him off the bed.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney had decided to goth it up a bit for her visit here opting for some black tights, her combat boots with colorful shoelaces, and a band t-shirt tied at the waist with a hairband a-la-eighties style. A bit dated, but she was young enough she could pull it off. Throwbacks were in right? Her hair is kept out of her face by a set of barettes in pink, and another in yellow. Over her shoulder is slung a backpack filled to bulging with spare clothes that she intended to stash here in case she had another 'outing' with Thomas that required clothes. Plus she was tired of borrowing Satana's clothes. They just didn't fit in the chest. Slurpee in hand she approaches the house sipping at the straw and pretedning not to notice the two obviously staking out the house. Which is why she enters without knocking having the key in hand and quickly shuts the door behind her. "You got peeping toms out there, Tomcat," she calls out only to pause and squint. "... the hell did I just walk in on?"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry is not unaccustomed to being nudged off the bed, usually by people who think he is hogging the covers. He has developed a very deft set of reflexes for that, those that involve slipping off the bed, touching the ground with his toes, dismounting and re-mounting without even having to wake up. Burrowing into the snuggle again, he lets out a string of mumbled syllables that are either an incantation to summon The True Darkness Upon This World That Is Vain, or it's just "five more minutes" uttered without the benefit of full consciousness or articulation.

And then there is a voice. A female voice, which isn't something he is used to hearing in bed, and his ears twitch.

"Mrsrjbrshmmt?"

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"I'm told it's my duty to fight against the Law. That wizardry's my trade and I was born to wade through gore. I just wanna be a lover and a red-eyed screaming ghoul. I am so fucking happy I was picked to be its tool! BLACK BLADE!"

Satana bops into the bedroom, clad, as is her wont during sultry summer days, with what amounts to a belt at chest height and a belt at waist height (it's stupidly revealing is the takeaway here for the slow of thinking), fanning herself with a chinese fan (the one she calls 'peach blossoms painted in blood' for some unfathomable reason) with her bone conduction headphones on, off in her own little world, eyes closed, as she sings along to the tinny strains of the Blue Oyster Cult, handily mixing up the lyrics here and there.

"Forged a billion years a..."

The words get cut off, though the music continues ringing from her obnoxiously loud earphones as she stares at the scene before her.

"Holy fuck, Thomas! You're cheating on me!?"

Five... four... three...

Satana is stock still as the silent countdown completes.

Two... one...

"With Gabby and some ... guy? Oh, I'm so PROUD of you! I knew I'd get you seeing things my way!"

And back to bopping along to BOC. Mercifully she's not singing. Not that the singing is bad, understand, she having completed Siren's training. Just that it's a bit disconcerting.

"Was he any good Gabs?" she asks as she heads for the cooler to crack open a can of the good stuff. Then, not waiting for an answer, practically vibrating, she asks, "Can you guess how my night was?"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
So. Yesterday was weird. And Unfortunately Wade got a portion of the weirdness. There's only so many times you can just suddenly portal into an occupied condo with strange children before people start asking questions. (The answer is ONCE, people.) Which, to be honest, it is GOOD they are asking questions. (The answer is ONCE, people.) But still. The explanation was rushed and all in all Wade HAD been a good sport about things.

If only Mike had known it was only because there was a child present at the time.

So since Mike's picked up the habit of just wandering around despite the pains taken during the first leg of the tour, Wade has recruited the musician to play courier to alleviate some of the paints of the SECOND leg of the tour.

And this is how we find Mike walking up to the door and knocking.

Let's be honest. Wade had no idea where the **** these people were.

Thomas Blake has posed:
Muriel jumps up, "Un-Holy fucking shit! That is fucking Nick fucking Draglo. give me something for him to sign... maybe my stomach, a boob?" She jumps up to run across the street but John grabs ont her shoulder and throws her back in the chair. "Mission. What the f... what is it with you guys and Nick Drago. Not like Silver Round is still around. That was his best work."

Several curses can be heard from the street as Thomas frowns.

"It's no fun if I'm allowed... but not being stabbed is always good." He hauls Terry up, a hand under each arm to present him to Satana, bopping around and administers a boot in the rear to get her attention. "THIS IS MY FRIEND, TERRY! HE MAY BE STAYING A WHILE! HE'S WORKING FOR DRAGO LIKE US!! OH... HELLO GABBY, COME UP... AND SEE WHO THE HELL THAT IS!"

"HE'S A CAT TOO!" Well at least Terry has his fur. In case this, you know, matters.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Having walked into what amounts to a snuggle pile of kitty bois (Thomas counts being Catman), and then having Satana bounce on in with such accusations leaves Gabby having to just stare. Openly. Maybe it was the situation she'd found herself in. Maybe it was the fact that Satana was wearing nothing more than a fucking g-string equivalent made out of who-knew-what. The grip on her bag slung over her shoulder shifts a little, and she gives a quick shake of her head at the question tossed her way. "We didn't... *I* didn't..." A long suffering sigh is let out in favor of raising her hand to hold up a single finger. "Hold on. Just. Hang on a second. Questioning my sexuality." With that she squeezes her eyes shut with a lopsided scowl a she concentrates on whatever thoughts were bombarding her teenage brain trying to come to some conclusion. "Okay. Okay. Done." A breath is let out, and she tips her head back toward the door hearing the knock there. "Not sure if that's your buddies outside or someone else, but I'm gonna go drop my clothes in that spare room you offered me..." But unfortunately she's told to get the door. Rolling her eyes she turns to head for the door again throwing it open while hollering, "PUT ON SOME DAMN PANTS!" Then with a smile she turns to Mike grinning up at him from her diminutive height. "Hi!"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
There's a woman. There's two women. There's PEOPLE here. Terry goes through the process everyone goes while waking up (Who am I? Where am I?) to full awareness (Oh my god what did I do last night?) in half a second as Satana's vocal presence irrupts upon the scene like thunder in the Savannah. Sitting up bolt upright, green eyes wide, the Cheshire cat's brain tries to process the information as fast as it can under the circumstances.

"Wait, wait, wait, Thomas you didn't tell her? I thought it was okay wi-WHOA!"

And Thomas is hoisting him up all of a sudden. It dawns on him that he is extremely, absolutely naked, so he snatches the covers and manages to barely cover himself up as he goes up, the result being something somewhat reminiscent of the Boticellian Birth of Venus, except with a lot more fur and muscles.

Not letting go of the draperies, he waves at Satana, looking as sheepish as any cat can ever look. "Uh... hello!"

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"You want me to put pants on over my skirt?" Satana asks, genuinely confused as she looks down to the lower of the two belts she seems to be wearing.

So that's what that was intended to be.

"Must be some new teen style," she decides as Gabby stalks out to get the door.

The boot hardly registers except for the ineffectual, too-late swatting.

"And why would she question her sexuality when she could just explore it and find out? You mortals are just too confusing sometimes."

She pauses then, hand over her mouth, posed in a Marilyn Monroe-style "oops!" stance. "Did I say mortals? Obviously I meant fellow humans. Ha ha!" The smile is as false as a stripper's chest. "I'm such a kidder!"

Then she laughs and waves at the kitty. "Hello!" she says effusively. "I'm Thomas' demon girlfriend. And don't worry about it. I won't be chowing down on your soul. I'm not sure I could fit another after last night!"

She looks at Thomas. "Just tell me you didn't use the giraffe. That's all I ask."

Beat.

"And you wouldn't believe the fun I had last night! Bunch of wannabe satanists, a stripper hired to be the symbolic summoning sacrifice, me, Brsark, and some chick in tights I know. I am so STUFFED!, especially after the visit to the strip club. Whole lotta fallen souls there, let me tell you!"

Not quite telling the truth with "in tights" but girl's gotta have her secret, right?

Michael Hannigan has posed:
After knocking, Mike's left to wait outside the door. Hearing a bit of cursing behind him from an older voice, Mike turns his head curiously to find two elderly people staring back at him. Shifting the folder to his left hand, he lifts up the scarred arm to give them a small wave. Brow lifting. Self appointed neighborhood watch maybe?

Although considering the banshee cries going on beyond the closed door, that could very well be the reason for the neighbors staring this way. As the door slings open, Mike's hand lowers as he turns back, to look to Gabby. A sense of recognition filters through and he opens his mouth only to close it as Gabby yells clothing related instructions to someone inside. Pale eyes glance in curiously before averting back over to Gabby. "Hi." He nods in the direction Gabby had been yelling, "Satana again, isn't it?" He asks, not really expecting that to be answered. Based from what he's seen of the couple, she's the best bet.

He pauses, head tilting as he considers Gabby again. "Did you ever volunteer over in Bushwick or at St. Nicholas's?"

Thomas Blake has posed:
Thomas Blake grabs his pants. "I have no idea whats up with her. I mean Terry has fur on, that's more than you wear most times," he tells Satana. "The giraffe is fine. I put it in the bathroom. It seemed... judgmental. Anyway Terry, this is Satana. That was Gabby." He grabs a shirt obviously too small and tosses it to Terry then finds his own.

"Yeah I dunno what's with Gabby. Pooberty is hitting her awful hard." He goes out the door, leaving Terry and Satana behind should they choose. "Who is it Gabrielle?" He comes down the steps and almost bounds into Mike or Nick extending a hand.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
"Oh, no, it's Thomas and whoever he was in bed with," Gabby explains with a little shrug. "I don't know if I could call what Satana was wearing as 'clothes' but it's close enough to what I've seen women wear at the Hellfire Club at times so I guess it's something." It's the question from Mike that causes her to tilt her head with a grin. "Oh yeah a few times. I was there to help clear out the uh, issues in the sewers, and then there was the school protest I helped get the kids away from, and sometimes I just head down there for icecream, too. I'm Gabby, nice to meet you." It's all she gets out before Thomas has pushed his way down thankfully with pants and so she steps to the side. A glance is cast across the street toward the pair watching... curious.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry squeezes into the shirt that is offered to him, although he might as well have worn his usual spandex uniform, for how small it is. "Geez Thomas, did a guinea pig wear this?" he huffs, finally emerging from the neck hole. He reaches over to the side of the bed and locates his bike shorts, and hastily pulls them on under the covers. Once decently attired, he stands up to face Satana. Scratching the back of his neck, he smiles a little awkwardly.

"So... er... I don't think you'd like my soul anyways. I've been told chaos magic gives demons indigestion..." he clears his throat, "Just to be clear, I thought you guys kind of had a relationship like mine. You know, sort of... open-ish." He glances at Satana, "... do you?"

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
Satana watches Terry, intrigued, as he gets dressed. "Well it would have to be open, wouldn't it?" she asks. "He's still alive, after all. I have to be getting my meals elsewhere. Hardy as he is, he can't survive a full feeding. And frankly, the other way, I don't care where he picks up his appetite. He still comes to me for the home cooking."

She holds up her hand, now literally flaming, with that.

Great.

Bad puns as well as bad music.

She opens the door to the bedroom once Terry is decent. "I think the guest is my favourite artist, if the voice is anything to go by. Let's go greet him." The earphones get discarded lazily on the bedside table in a long throw. "And I"m going to have to talk to Gabby about her apparent urges and how to cope with them. Maybe find her a boyfriend and a girlfriend to try out so she can stop questioning her sexuality and just partake of it."

Whistling she exits, sashaying to the door, which is how Mike sees her arrival. About two seconds before he finds her pressed against him. In a kiss. The whole-body kind.

"Nick fucking Drago, as I live and breathe! Nice to see you again!"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
"Whoever he's in- " Not Satana. Mike lifts up his hand fingers curling inwards save for the thumb and pointer as he tilts his head down, giving a nod. "Ah that's where. We met in the Sewer during the X-corp thing. There were some people living down there..." His voice trails off, opting not to give a play by play to the person who had been there with him. He chuckles, "Greer hated the idea." He offers a hand over to Gabby, "Mike. Likewise."

The sudden emergence of the Thomas and quick moving aside of Gabby causes for Mike to reflexively take a step back. Hand shifting to intercept the incoming hand to shake it. "Hey Thomas. Did I come at a bad time? I can make this quick." Handshake done, He turns his head looking back across the street before looking back to the blonde, "Do they look anywhere els-

He doesn't get much more out as he finds a Satana pressing up against him. He glances down, seeing no daylight between the two of them. "Uh. Nice to see you two again as well."

Thomas Blake has posed:
Oh well, someone was feeling neglected or insecure? Tell Satana that and Thomas would deny it, and shank you.

Let her have it. A hint of jealousy there, it was appropriate. "Hurh. No Nick, it's fine the usual nonsense... oh couple of guys with guns tried to kill us in the convenience store. We took care of it. I'll make some omelettes." He turns to enter the kitchen, finger gunning Satana in a come here sort of look.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Wait, someone tried to kill you!?"

There's that dangerous tone of voice.

"That's my job when I want it. Where do I find them and how long do you want them to suffer before they're sent screaming to Hell?!"

All that politesse. The oozing friendly sexuality. All gone. This is the angry demon here. Right down to the glowing eyes.

"Are they with the cops? I'll leave the cops alive," she says magnanimously. "Nobody touches my kitty without my permission. Not if they have plans for the future!"

Oozing fury like a cat oozes pride after a pratfall, Satana stalks off after Thomas. An ugly-faced midget peeks out the kitchen door, sees her coming, sees her body language, lets out a yelp of fear and runs off deeper into the hotel, screaming in fear. In the kitchen can be heard more voices and slamming cupboards...

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney just gives a little shake of her head at the welcoming that poor Mike gets. "Yeah, good to meet you for realsies. I heard we're helping you out?" She attempts to go with the conversation that was safe before Satana gets into her greeting with Mike. A little chuckle comes, and her head shakes before she turns away. "Okay I've got to hang these dresses up before they wrinkle. I may not wear them a lot but I try to take care of them. They were gifts after all. You guys, uh... behave I guess?" Chance of that? Slim. Her attention just shifts from Satana to the departing Thomas, and then over toward where poor Terry was left. A hand runs back through her hair. "... I think she's gonna need a second to calm down."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry nods slowly, "So I gather..." he glances back to Gabby once the demoness has (fire)stormed after the cat-man. "You know," he begins, "If you had told me a year ago that I would be spending time with--" he stops himself before saying 'Cat-man', when he realizes he doesn't quite know what Gabby's situation is. True, she seems privy to the Demoness side of things, but his new friend and occasional lover seemed to be one of those onion-people, with multiple layers of secrets. "Sooo.. how do you know Thomas and Satana?" he smiles and offers his hand. "I'm Vorpal. Of the Titans. But you can also call me Terry and... oh hi, Mike!"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
As Satana starts to change her demeanor, Mike has an EXTREME FRONT ROW SEAT to the show. Eyes glancing up, Mike's sense of self preservation kicks in and he starts to lean back before the succubus finally releases him.

Stumbling back he looks over to Gabby and then Terry.

Mike's posture straightens. "Hey Terry." He glances over towards the kitchen where Cat-man went and then back to Cat-Titan. "I think I know why you're here."

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney flashes a friendly grin at Terry not seeming to mind the near slip of what he said. Or maybe she just doesn't notice. "Yeah, well, sometimes people are more than what you think, y'know? I mean a lot of my sisters did questionable things but they're still my sisters. My family has a rough track record as it is." An indifferent shrug is given in response, and she reaches out to take the offered hand. "I'm Gabby. With a few groups but most are hush hush so, uh. Probably wouldn't know me?" She reasons. "Don't worry I can keep secrets even if I do tend to talk a lot about the little stuff." Her attention shifts back to Mike again with another grin. "You know I could stay up but I'm going to pull rank as the youngest here and claim I have to get to bed. Alone. Over that way." she gestures toward one of the unused rooms that Thomas had offered her to stay in. "My young impressionable mind can only take so much in one go."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Gabby... nice to meet you- it's okay. My identity is no secret, so no need to keep it.." guiltily he glances over at Nick, and he takes a few seconds to gather his words.

"Well... to be honest, I came by to check on Thomas after my last shift was done and... well." He raises his hands by way of explanation. "He was /shirtless/. You've seen him shirtless. We went to the store to get some bottled water because he won't drink tap water, we stopped a robbery, came back, and..." he blinks, glances at Young Impressionable Mind Gabby, "... we fell asleep watching I Love Lucy reruns."

Wait. Does Thomas even have a television in the bedroom?

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
The screams of terror of small entitities that emanate from the kitchen stop as Satana steps out and closes the door behind her. "Omlettes coming up soon!" she says, back in her effusively sensual mode of behaviour.

Walking--well, sashaying--up to the group she asks, "How did you watch them? Phone? That cheap bastard won't put a TV in the room. I may have to rob a bank to buy a TV for it!"

Satana pauses, furrowing her brow. "That's a bit indirect, though. Maybe I should just steal the TV directly? Either way we need one one in the bedroom. I'd kind of like to have the Discovery channel playing while Thomas and I are..."

She pauses. Glances at Gabby. Shrugs. Turns her attention back to the others.

"...fucking."

There. She said it. Why are people pussy-footing around the girl? She has access to the internet. She knows what sex is!

"Anyway, don't you worry. I'll get it out of him and the people that tried to shoot you won't be on this plane of existence for much longer."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike tilts his head as Terry assumes he's seen Thomas shirtless before. "...I don't think I have? I think just now he was wearing a tank top."

Wait has he? The key things he remembers about this place is the mention of eggs, hot sauce, beer, and wandering hands.

Mike shakes his head, snapping back to the proper mindset just in time to hear Terry's alibi for being in bed with Thomas. "Bul-" He pauses, looking to Gabby.

And then Satana says it.

The musician sighs.

Gabby Kinney has posed:
Gabby Kinney finds everyone staring at her in the way one might when not sure how to handle someone. At least that's how Mike and Terry seem. Satana just blurts things out much like she herself would. A small sigh comes, and she shrugs again. "Yeah he's pretty hot without his shirt but I've seen some great abs in my time. I'm also aware what you guys do in the bedroom." And other rooms. Likely. The couch was suspect. "But, seriously, I'm wiped. I had a rough day and I've got about three thousand worth of dresses in my bag I need to go hang up in case I get dragged to the Hellfire Club again. Catch me up with what's going on after I grab a nap." With that she turns to head off muttering, "Adults are weird."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Hey, he is surprisingly gentle. I appreciate that-" Vorpal blinks, and then does a hard rewind, "I... yes, you go hang up your... three thousand... dollars worth of dresses."

He watches her go with a little bit of healthy envy, and says "You know... all of my uniforms are hand-made because I can't afford someone like Janet Van Dyne..."

But Satana's offerings of punishment bring him back out of his musings. "Satana... no, it's okay, really. After I was done with them, they will spend the rest of their lives believing that the vengeful spirit of Baba Yaga is watching over their shoulders to consume them wholly for any serious misdeed..." he pauses and grins, crossing his arms over his broad chest, "I... am actually kind of proud of that." At times, Vorpal Doing The Right Thing can be a little terrifying.

"But Nick, what are /you/ doing he-" he pauses, as something finally winds its way from his ears to his frontal lobe, and he turns back to Satana.

"... wait. What giraffe?"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Mike looks over towards Gabby at the mention of the large price of the dresses. "Three thousand...?" One could just see the cogs in Mike's head starting to grind to a stop for a few moment. The musician looks over to Terry, wide eyed. "Off the clock it's pretty much Goodwill for me."

To the inquiry for why he's here, Mike's brain starts to boot back up. Eyes glance down to the folder in his hand. "Dropping off the details about the second leg of the tour to Thomas to go over." He glances to the kitchen, "Which, I guess I could go over with him now."

He smiles to Terry. "I'll leave the two of you to talk it out."

Turning, he walks briskly towards the kitchen. Something tells him he probably doesn't want to know about the giraffe.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Why would you pay money to put clothing on?" Satana wonders aloud. "I will never understand you mortal beings. Pay money to be uncomfortable." She looks down at her outfit. "I mean, OK, this one isn't so bad, but still, it's constraining, isnt' it? And you PAY for this?"

She shrugs in ways that test the structural integrity of the belt she wears as a tube top.

"Well, I have a plush giraffe that vibrates," she then explains to Terry, watching Mike's departure appreciatively. "I love it when he leaves!" she stage-whispers while very visibly undressing Mike mentally. "It's kind of a commemorative thing from the time we went to the zoo and I saw this fanatastic giraffe. It had a tongue you had to see to believe. He'd have been popular at any decent party I'd ever gone to with that thing!"

Beat.

"Or maybe she. I wasn't looking that closely."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"You know, you are the first Demoness I have actually met!" Terry says by way of changing the conversation. But the gravitational pull of Satana's topics can't be entirely avoided. He adds, "... he does look good when walking away," he whispers back. And then he adds, "I might be biased, though, but I think my boyfriends' is up there, too." But not at Nightwing's level. Nobody is at Nightwing's level.

"I have only known only one other demonic person who wasn't trying to kill me- my team-mate Raven." Thinking on it better, he amends, "Okay. Who wasn't trying to actively kill me /directly/. There aren't many demons from where my soul comes from. Actually, come to think of it, there are no demons in Wonderland." A cautious glance, and he realizes that they are alone. He isn't quite up on the protocol with demons, so he adds- "If at any point I'm being disrespectful to you, please let me know. As I said, I've never really met demons before socially."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Oh, I'm sure you've met plenty. Loads of us around. Just not all of us are out in the open."

Satana looks out the door. "Heaven," she profanes, "even I'm not going to be out there parading in all my glory with the horns and the fangs and the claws and the tail and the bat wings and the red skin and stuff. None of our neighbours know what I am. They all think I'm just some slut that lives here part-time."

Her eyes swivel to Terry, amused. "And I'm not just a slut."

"No, most of us who can pass, pass and don't call attention to ourselves. The ones who can't stay out of sight IF THEY KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR THEM!". A chorus of "yes ma'am"--fearful, nervous, obedient--comes from all over the place in earshot at that shouted bit. "See, if people know for sure there's demons, they know for sure there's Hell. And this puts a cramp in my style because, you know, I want to send them there. They resist when they know. It's hard work. This way I just bed 'em down in sin and they slide down my throat--their souls, I mean--before the remnants get ... excreted ... into Hell."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"That whole arrangement never made sense to me..." Vorpal muses, thinking about what Satana says. "The whole... well, let's just say that the theological implications of it all. It's one of the things that made the nuns very mad at me in Catholic school- I asked questions."

The Cheshire then shrugs a little, "Then I found out I'm actually from Wonderland and my soul apparently falls outside of that particular department. It's a little confusing because I have friends who will go to the Greek afterlife, and others who belong to alien gods and..." he shrugs.

"It'd make a lot more sense if we all went to the same party together at the end.Most gods don't seem to make much sense to me, and Lucifer reads like an underdog in Paradise Lost instead of the villain, so what do I know?"

And then he tilts his head, "Now, an eternal tea party with all of your friends and some excellent pastries forever and ever? Sign me up for that."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
Satana stares at Terry like he's got a third eyeball growing in the middle of his forehead. So intently, so long, in fact, that the disquieting notion plants itself in his head: has he?

"Tea party. Patries. That's your idea for eternity?" Satana snorts. "I've got way more visceral fun in mind for my eternal reward. The kind of fun that lets you cut loose with every possible combination of concave and convex bodily parts being paired in every conceivable way. By the time you've exhausted that search space, a few million years have passed and you start all over again and it'll seem fresh because it's only half-remembered."

The wicked grin lights up her face like a pinball game with one million point shot landed.

"Not *JUST* a slut," she reminds Terry with a wink. "But seriously, this whole mess is pretty bizarre. I don't pretend to make any sense of it. I just ride it all out, chowing down on souls and watching mortals' minds blow with what I can do to them."

She steps up to Terry, purring a little, putting her ... charms ... on open display. "I can do it to fellow immortals too. I just don't get fed in the process. Wanna find out?..."

This is the technique she calls 'compatibility testing'. Her black-scleraed red eyes watch Terry for tell-tale signs of ... call it 'compatibility'. Is he a prey animal or not?

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Oh, well... you've never been to a Wonderland tea party. Don't judge them all by the ones that Theophilus throws- there's a reason only two other people showed up to them, you know," he grins.

At Satana's offer, he rubs the back of his neck again and frowns a little. Terry doesn't seem to fall neatly into anything at times, and in cases like these, he neither seems to react as predator or prey- sometimes he's the guy in the funny hat making observations to the camera about the circle of life. At others, he's the kid eating popcorn in front of the show.

"That sounds fairly impressive, and you clearly are stunning beyond measure. Unfortunately..." he rubs the back of his neck and smiles apologetically, "I'm... more of a ... I guess you would say I am more on the boy demon side of the equation than the girl demon side? While I can admire the beauty of the female form, I don't really feel any attraction towards women." He seems a little mortified, considering that he more or less did sleep with her significant other. He pauses and looks into his mind for anything, anything at all...

"I have, however, been told I make a tiramisu that would have made Paris leave Helen of Troy for... if you'd let me make you one?"

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
Satana bursts out laughing. "Check," she says, backing down with remarkably good grace. (The temper flash--literal, of flame--in her eyes passes so quickly it almost seems like it was never there.) "I'll bring an incubus with me when I visit you. My personal gift to you."

The bit about being in bed with Thomas isn't something that bothers by appearance.

"I'd guessed you might be that way seeing as you were with my little kitty," she says. "I just needed to know. I'll have to twist your soul indirectly. Problem with that is finding a demon in my calibre I can trust." She winks playfully. "We just can't be trusted, I'm afraid. Very headstrong and unreliable at my pay grade. Just ask Dad."

Separation increased further, she adds, "Tiramisu is one of our inventions actually. Dragged a whole lot of souls down to Hell with those. I'd love to see what all the fuss is about!"

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The cat chuckles, "Headstrong and unreliable. Somebody would say that describes me to a tee. And other adjectives beside..." another question, similar to the giraffe one, appears in his mind. "... who is Dad, by the way?"

Because curiosity and cats are a thing, after all. "Well, then! Let's get a batch of tiramisu whipped up!" he starts walking towards the kitchen when he stops to ask a question. "Just curiosity... is there anything that is fun that was /not/ a hellish invention?"

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"That would be telling!" Satana's red and black eyes twinkle with mischief. "Why would I do that?"

Beat.

"Sex. Believe it or not. That's from upstairs. The dolt believed that people would use it only for making copies of themselves. AFTER he made it the most fun thing we can do that doesn't involve hanging upside-down in a waterfall of baby oil while making hooting noises."

She has ... very specific fantasies, apparently.

Best not to pry.

"What we DO to you with it? That's on us. But we didn't invent it. We invented the stuff around it that pisses Him off upstairs. Not to mention how torqued he gets when we start people off going solo. Apparently it's like ice dancing. Solo is evil."

She opens the kitchen door. "Kitty dear, company. He's going to make tiramisu. I wanna see what the fuss is about." Standing aside, Satana waves Terry into the kitchen where Mike and Thomas are doing their omlet thing alongside a half-dozen imps being 'helpful'. Imps who scatter and hide when she comes in until checking to see if she's angry or not. Then they come back out and cluster around Terry eyeing him curiously.

"That the one shagging the boss' piece sausage?" one asks.

That sparks another scattering while Satana laughs.

Then zaps that one with a bolt of flame straight through its midsection, making it look through itself before it wails in pain. The rest come out laughing in a blend of schadenfreude and relief. It's not them.

"So, yes. Tiramisu. They'll find you your ingredients and they're very good at mixing. If they know what's good for them."

A pattern is being established.

"And Dad's a bit of a bigwig. Marduk. Sort of a Duke and he wants to be king, if you get my drift."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Yeah. I got the whole message of me liking other men was going to send me to hell. But I have to tell you, if my relationship with Garfield is supposed to be sinful, then I don't want to know what holy is like, because it sounds toxic." His expression brightens visibly, "But the people who love to say I'm going to hell for it don't care about the love, only about the sex.Shows you what their priorities are."

The name of Marduk draws some recognition "Wasn't he also a Mesopotamian god?" Terry asks, watching the congregation of imps. It isn't the strangest thing he's seen- after all, he's seen the Duchess cook. "I guess it /is/ complicated. Anyways... let's get to cooking!"

A momentary flash of magic, and he is dressed in a blue apron with an embroidered badge that reads "L'Ecole Des Trois Gourmands", because a Julia Child reference is always a propos in the kitchen. "... Bon appetit!"

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Bah! Hell's not as bad as people think. Sure the initial period is a bit rough, but you know what? Show some gumption. Some hustle. You too could wind up being more than just a wisp being tortured. Look at all my imps here. They were once torture wisps and now they're up here helping you cook."

The chorus of agreement and nervous laughter from the imps--including the one with a massive hole in its midsection--punctuates Satana's sales pitch.

Maybe. JUST MAYBE. Being in effect a princess of Hell doesn't give you great perspective on how life in Hell works...

"And yeah, Dad's had loads of grand schemes. I'm part of 'em which is why I'm up here and he's down there and ..." There's that grin again. Mischievous and more than a little malicious. "Headstrong and unreliable, remember? Dad can go get fucked. I like it fine up here playing around. He wants to scheme, he can go discipline Damion and scheme with him. I'm just here for the souls."

The magic flash is viewed with interest. The interest of a fellow professional taking notes. "That's damned good!" she says. "I do mostly elemental kind of stuff and, naturally, summoning and dispelling. Illusions and transformations aren't my bag yet." Briefly she looks like a porn version of a Catholic schoolgirl. In a terrible illusion that has so many holes in it it would be embarrassing if she were trying to pass it off as professional content. Instead she does a brief cheerleader dance and goes back to her 'belts'. "I'm still young," she says. "I'll learn. I'll trade you: a bound incubus for lessons in illusion."