7482/The Devil in the Details

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The Devil in the Details
Date of Scene: 22 August 2021
Location: Hell's Kitchen
Synopsis: June encounters Satana, and is enticed with the idea of otherworldly power.
Cast of Characters: June Connor, Satana Hellstrom




June Connor has posed:
    It's been a long night. June's tired. She's got a black eye and a busted lip, but she carries them as if they are badges of honor rather than as if she has just had an unfortunate encounter. Cut off black denim shorts and a black Offspring shirt that is rather revealing of her midriff, exposing a tattoo of a dragon that winds around her body. A fanny pack hangs form her left hip, carelessly looped through one of her belt loops on the shorts. She looks a little young to be walking in a place like Hell's Kitchen alone after dark, but she has a pace and tempo to her that says she's the one people don't want to mess with, even if her small figure might suggest otherwise. Attitude is key when you aren't very big, and she doesn't need to speak to show that she has plenty of it as she passes by a corner street lamp, turning with the sidewalk down the mostly empty street.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
The sign says "Remnant Westside Church" and it seems appropriate, hanging as it does from the facing at a crooked angle, waiting for the final bolt holding it up to give way. It's dark. Its windows are broken and boarded up. And its front entrance is a gaping maw with no door.

It's the sign of loss of faith that Satana loves to bask in. But she's not here to bask. She's here to work. No rest for the wicked.

Sharp eyes might spot the purple glow, dimmed by distance and reflection on weathered paint shortly before the loud scream of agony. The sound of someone dying and knowing where his soul is going ... and not liking it one bit. (Sharp ears may have heard a moan of a distinctly different kind first, but that was cut off and driven out of perception by the scream.)

Then the footsteps. Twelve pair. Paired with exciteable teen voices (8 male, 4 female) shouting in terror as a wave of robe-clad teens run out of the place, screaming in fear and disappearing down the streets an alleys. So sudden is the onslaught and so sudden the disappearance that one could be forgiven for thinking it's all made up.

Then she's there. Dressed in leather pants so tight they look like they're embedded in her skin and a leather halter top that should be given the title "riot squad" for its ability to (barely) control large gatherings. The pale redhead whose flouncy long red hair teases up at the top of her hairline with two cowlicks giving her a "horns" look.

She's not running. She's sauntering.

And laughing to herself.

June Connor has posed:
    June gives a bland following gaze as the teens run in terror. "The fuck was that?" she mutters. "Too early for that Halloween bullshit," she grunts, remarkably unphased, and almost apathetic to the scene. Maybe it's because she's tire, or maybe she's just that calloused, or maybe she thinks it's some kind of prank. Whatever the reason, she shakes her head casually, continuing in Satana's direction. She gives only a passing glance at the rather BDSM looking outfit, expecting it to be another street hooker as she comes within range, but in classic New Yorker style, she doesn't make any comment on the woman. None of her business.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Oh my," the woman says as she steps out and spots the witness. "I didn't see you in ... ah, of course. That's why you didn't run away."

The voice is a thrilling contralto, seemingly purpose-built to slip under the skin and resonate with nerves. Low, husky, seductive.

"Oh my, aren't we the prickly one, however," she continues as she languidly approaches June, giving her a once-, then twice-over along the way. "You look positively bristling with violence and ..." She pauses, licking her lips briefly. "... danger."

There's something about the way she's looking at June. Something predatory. But not hungry. Like a predator, currently satiated, sizing up a potential next meal. "Tell me, sweetheart, what is your name? And oh, please don't make it something tediously predictable like 'Brett' or 'Courtney' or 'Dottie' or such."

June Connor has posed:
    June furrows her pierced brow. "Bitch, you don't know me," she says. "It's been a shitty day, and I'm not buyin' no bimbo shit, and I ain't nobody's sweetheart," she says, interpreting Satana's behavior as prepping for a proposition of some sort. She doesn't stop walking, but makes a motion with her fingers of walking, "So go peddle those double D's somewhere else." By contrast, June has almost nothing to speak of at all in that department. Her green eyes have a challenge to them, as if she might actually take a swing if she's pushed too far, and her lip keeps curl to it as she speaks.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Oh, I'm not peddling," Satana reassures June as she easily takes up a pace beside June, walking alongside. "Oh, no, if I hadn't already had my fun today, I might have considered feeding. But peddling? Not that kind of girl."

She's giving June a full appraisal as she walks. "Economy of motion, with just enough violent flourish to scream 'do not touch'. That scowl, communicating 'I don't give a fuck'. The tough talk. The way your fist is clenching as you debate punching me in the face ... no, gut. You seem more to be the kind who'd punch in the gut." Satana smiles almost beatifically. "You're involved in some kind of violence and have been for a while, right? I guess the key question for me is ... is this something you do for fun or something you were forced into?"

Sometime during this conversation the woman's eyes, not really visible given the dark surroundings, have started to glow. Like coal embers in the night.

"The training seems to show you're a lifestyler, but the attitude is loner. It's a delicious conundrum."

June Connor has posed:
    There's a twitch in June's face. "Shut. The FUCK-" with that word, it is accompanied by a particular staccato accent. The accent of a quick left jab at Satana's nose "-up." If it hits, it's not enough to do damage more serious than to break the average prostitute's nose. Enough to say that she means business. Apparently a few of those comments struck a little too close to home.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
The punch lands. The head snaps back from the impact. It restores its position. Unmarked.

There was no crack of breaking bone. No squishing sound of blood vessels bursting. And certainly no blood actually flowing. No, the unmarked face, with its glowing-ember eyes stares at June.

"Ah. Face after all. And I had you pegged as a gut girl." She shrugs lightly. "Mea culpa."

She regards June coolly to let what happened register, eyes burning in the night, now a bit brighter. Like a pair of cigarettes someone was taking a drag from.

"You have a lot of potential, but you seem to be wasting it. Is this..." She lets her arm gesture down June's entire being before a slightly dismissive flourish at the end. "...what you actually want? Because darling you could be so much more with just a little guidance."

June Connor has posed:
    "Fuck, you're a mutant," June growls, and takes a defensive step back. "Look, you can ask anyone who's ever tried to dick with my head, I hate cat and mouse bullshit. Since you're not gonna leave me alone, and you probably have some damn super power that means you can kick my ass-because when doesn't it-just say what you want so I can get to the business of directly turning you down, okay?" Though she mostly keeps her composure, the lack of any damage mixed with the now intently glowing eyes has her unsettled. It has her in a more ready fighting position, though still masked as a natural stance.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
OK, that takes Satana aback. June has managed to actually surprise.

She should savour the moment. It won't happen often.

"Darling, no," she says shaking her head after processing that for a moment. "I'm not any kind of 'mutant'." While she's talking her face alters. The cowlicks become actual horns, poking from beneath her skin, tearing it asunder at the points of egress. Her mouth becomes filled with double-rows of pointed, needle-sharp fangs. Her voice lowers by almost an octave.

"No, you've got me all wrong, sweetie. I'm not a mutant. I am a Lord of Hell."

Beat.

Normal again, her voice starts chuckling merrily (though the horns remain, as do the teeth).

"No, seriously, I'm a demon," she says, feigning wiping a tear from her eye. "You know. Hellfire and damnation and temptation and such. And let me tell you, I'm good at spotting talent. You have the pugnacious attitude you need to survive this world. You'd survive Hell just fine and likely work your way up the ranks there once you go there ..." Satana closes her eyes and sniffs, then smiles. "... and believe me, sweetie, that's where you're headed. I can smell the taint on your soul. But you're unfocused. You could have so much more in life: get revenge on those who wronged you, say, or get respect you think is due but not delivered."

They're clearly guesses, but possibly uncomfortably good ones.

"And I can help you with that. Not like those cosplay satanist kiddies I hit today. What a bunch of buffoons. Don't go into that church. Most of them soiled themselves and the smell is horrific."

The eyes regard June with their baleful pinpricks scanning top to bottom and back.

"You, however. You have potential. And all you need to start living up to it is..."

She holds out her right hand.

"...shake my hand. Shake the hand of Satana Hellstrom, Daughter of 'Satan' (because Daddy is a glory-hounding git), Hell Lord. Do that and you can start being effective in your desires to change the world in your image."

June Connor has posed:
    June's eyes go wide. The morphing into a literal demon definitely doesn't seem to help her comfort level. "Fuck me," she takes a step back. "Yeah, because that always ends well. I don't read much, but I'm pretty sure that deals with the devil always end with some kind of eternal torment," she takes another step back. For all of her bad girl attitude and verbal posturing, the look on her face is one that is most definitely afraid. She looks at the hand as if it's a snake. "I don't get what I want, that's kinda my thing," she says nervously. "And while selling my soul for extremely vague promises of granduer sounds great an all, Imma need to hard pass on that." She glances over her shoulder. Isn't there like a Catholic church around close by that ISN'T abandoned? With lots of crucifixes? And holy water? And priests? Maybe not priests.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"You understand, naturally, that everything you've heard about us," Satana says, taking a step forward to match the step back, "is told by our enemies. It's like ... how everything people in Afghanistan learn about America is told them by the Taliban. Maybe enough of a kernel of truth to be plausible, but hardly the whole story."

Another step to close the gap now. "But yes, please do call for a priest. I do so adore disturbing them before devouring their wicked souls. Of all the sins that stain souls, the tastiest is the soul of a hypocrite and pederast."

She lets that sit a bit and then laughs again.

"Here, let me go back to normal," she says, "just for your comfort. It will take a bit."

The horns start to pull back inside as she speaks, as do her teeth, exchanging places with more normal human teeth.

"First the 'eternal torment'. It's neither. I mean yes, OK, at the beginning there's some hazing and much of that can be extreme, but this is where you get to show how brightly you shine. If you have even an iota of willpower you're out of those pits in no time and learning a trade."

She leans in closely, putting her cleavage on full display as she whispers, "I trained as a succubus. It shows, doesn't it?" She winks and straightens out.

"Once you start in a trade, it's just like life here: you impress the right people. You ally with the right people. You make the right power play. You advance. The difference between here and there? Here they hold the promise of an eternal afterlife of bliss and happiness to make you tolerate the bullshit. They lie to you, in short. Most of you don't make it to Paradise. You wind up with me and my kind anyway. We don't give you illusions to ensure compliance. We value those who give us value, and we make no bones about it. Work hard and you too may someday be a Lord of Hell with your own domain." She smiles, teeth back to human, perfect in form, eyes no longer glowing red. "Just like me."

She taps her chin, regarding June. "So tell me, what I just said: how is it different from the life you're leading here in this simply SPLENDID neighbourhood just dripping with the milk of human kindness? I mean aside from actually advancing when you're good at what you do."

June Connor has posed:
    "It sounds shit," June answers. "Because I always kinda hoped that I could be an atheist, and I'd just be gone when this is all over," she confesses, though the statement's wording indicates that she never really was one. "So there's always a catch with this, right?" she asks. "Nothin' is free. And if it is, then the person offering it is either stupid or they're a liar." The reduction in dramatics has helped some, but the apprehension is definitely still present. "And how exactly do I get 'all I want', because to be pretty frank, I don't even know what the hell I want anymore. I just try to not be dead."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Oh, make no mistake, I'm a liar," Satana says cheerfully. "I mean 'demon'. Look it up! If I see profit in lying I will lie. Or kill. Or commit any of the sins the boys upstairs disapprove of." She leans forward again with a feigned stage whisper. "Remember what I said earlier about hypocrites? Doubly applies to those angelic assholes. EVERY SIN they condemn and punish ... they will do themselves if it profits them."

She straightens up again.

"So yes, I lie. But now it's time to be brutally frank, and for you to be brutally frank with yourself: do you REALLY think that you're so valuable that a chance encounter with a demon will have her doing everything in her power to fool you into ... something uncertain? Right now you have at best potential. I suspect if I were hungry and fed from you you'd be tasty, like soul comfort food. Enough of a taint of sin to give your soul some flavour and texture and that's about it. I'm not looking at you in the short term. You are, bluntly put, and I'm sorry if it hurts but this is the honesty you seem to doubt in me, not that special."

Beat.

"Yet. It's that part I can help with. Now for the immediate term, I can give you weapons that will make you virtually undefeatable if you're not stupid about using them. That will certainly start you down the path to doing what you want, wouldn't it? For the rest, we can talk once you figure out what you actually want. There's entire divisions in my domain devoted to contracts and delivery upon them."

June Connor has posed:
    "How the fuck would I know what 'everything in your power' would even mean?" June asks. "What is this some video game weapon with eyeballs that drain souls of my enemies?" she asks cynically. "I ain't worthy'a bein judge to anyone," she comments.

    June looks back and forth, it's clear that she wouldn't have help if this turned sour. "Okay, let's say I sign on. I don't really wanna turn into some demon slave or any weird kinky shit like that," she says. "What's the term on this?" She has the eyes of someone who, despite remaining calm on the exterior, is looking for an escape, and fears that copitulation might be her safest option.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Closer to the truth than you think. A knife that drains the soul of your opponent. Or a gun whose bullets do. If you *want* a video game that does it, I'm sure I could do it. Technomancy is a hobby of mine and I do some amazing things with this deficient form of magic you mortals use. I'd need to experiment a bit, though. That would take time."

Satana steps a bit closer to look June over, pacing around her to check her out. "There are a variety of contracts. Some actually want to become a demon, believe it or not, and will take that option from the start. But those are rare. More common is someone who knows they're going to Hell anyway, so why not have some fun in mortal life before the trip?"

She leans in. "And believe me, there could be a lot of fun. I can give you so much. The weapon would be a taste, but ... do you want to be the next great singer? Super-rich? Is there a boy you've got your eye on that you want to bed down? A girl? Anything you can imagine, practically, can be yours for the right price."

She chuckles and straightens out. "And that price is, of course, your soul. Which, I'm not going to lie, will be unpleasant anyway, but since you're bound for Hell anyway, ... And, too, there's the bit about being useful to me meaning you bypass much of the worst at the start."

June Connor has posed:
    June's cheek twitches. "Can you fix the justice system?" she asks. "Make it right. Make it do what it's supposed to? I don't wanna go to hell," she says, her attitude dropped. "My soul might look like it was dragged through a gutter, but it's all I got left." She takes a few steps back. Her exterior expression doesn't properly convey the panic that she feels rising inside of her. "I can't do that part. Somethin' else. Whatever else. Not given my ratty ass soul."

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Oh, darling, I don't know what to say!" Satana says with sympathy so warm it almost seems real.

Almost.

"First, I can only give things to *you*. What you choose to do with them is up to you. If I arrange for you to be a great jurist, you'll still have to fight the justice system yourself. I can't change that."

Satana ticks that off on her finger.

"Second, I don't think I've been clear, so let me try again. The whoreson upstairs? It's *his* choice, not mine, where your soul goes. And baby, we already know how many are going to Heaven. He told us. We just don't like the number. A hundred. Forty four. Thousand. That's all, honey. 144,000. Out of seven billion and counting. The rest get dumped into his private torture chamber which I, as a Lord of Hell, run."

She has the wisdom not to press the physical presence, letting June have the impression she can escape if she likes. Hunting is half the fun after all. Thomas taught her that.

"So here's the thing, sweetie ... how lucky do you feel? Do you think you're one of the Chosen? Or are you one of the almost five orders of magnitude more people who are doomed?" Her eyes glow like cigar embers. "I know where I'm putting my money. And if my money comes in, you'll want me to think fondly of you when you show up. It reduces the suffering. A lot."

June Connor has posed:
    June narrows her eyes. "You said you lie," June says, "So fuck if I will buy any of this. She takes another step backward. "And if you don't make the call, then I'm talkin' to the wrong person." June as a believer? It might be a further stretch than a demon acolyte, but Satana's declaration that she doesn't have the call to make on the only thing she remembers that she still wants...well, there's nothing left for June.

    She has no idea if it is an effective strategy, but her hand moves to her pocket, plucking a small black orb, and she flings it at Satana's feet, a smoke pellet that burstsinto a plum of black smoke. Will June be able to run? She doesn't know, but she turns on her heels and she is going to try. Like hell.

Satana Hellstrom has posed:
"Really!?" Satana seems more outraged than surprised or annoyed. "A bloody smoke bomb?" She walks forward through the billowing smoke as June makes tracks. "WHERE DO YOU THINK I LIVE MORTAL MORSEL!?" she calls out behind the fleeing June before laughing and shaking her head. "A fucking smoke bomb. Unbelieveable!" she says to herself.

Meh. It was OK. She'll let this one get away for now. The seed was planted. Someday she'll want something. Someday she'll need something. And she'll remember the being who can get it for her.

"Goodbye, little fish," she says as a cruel smile spreads over her face. "Next time you will be the supplicant."