Owner Pose
Norman Osborn It is your typical evening at the Hellfire Club. The rich and powerful linger in the VIP section watching the less rich and powerful mingle in the public hours down below.

Even among the rich there are tiers. And Norman Osborn stands astride one of the tops. Such that even as he sits at the bar in the VIP section, his scorn and distain for the lesser of the VIPs is on display whenever someone attempts to claim the stool on either side of him. He does not even say anything. His face speaks volumes. And so he drinks alone, a glass of amber liquid in front of him.
Satana      Why yes, she IS beautiful. The fiery redheaded woman walks in like she owns the place. She does not. But it's a suitable venue, tongue in cheek for a pretty little monster like her. Her mane billows behind her as she enters, her ruby eyes scanning the room for whatever may interest her at the moment. VIP section? Absolutely, please and thank you. Her deeply plunging neckline definitely draws some eyes as the shark slips into this particular pool.

     There's a bit of activity, a little whispering and perhaps some flagging down of staff to see what the pretty lady wants.

     But for now, she sidles up to Norman's stretch of bar, resting an elbow against it, "What's a girl got to do to get a drink around here?" she asks, as if daring the other men in the room to order for her now that she seems to have entered into a territory with a very, very important person. That stool next to him? She's in it. There's a little bit of cinnamon and campfire smell, but for the truly aroma-oriented, just a touch of brimstone.
Norman Osborn Satana's claim of the stool next to his is noted by Norman courtesy of the mirror behind the counter. He does not usually condescend to look at those unworthy of his attention directly. But his face is just as scary in a mirror. Sometimes more so.

And so his eyes drift over towards the reflection of the woman next to him. And they linger. As most do. Apparently she passes some criteria, because rather than the scowl that convinced others to go elsewhere, she earns a smile. Or something like what a lizard trying to smile would look like.

"I imagine a girl like you just needs to say what she wants." Norman gives the slightest of nods to the bartender, who hops to and greets Satana and asks for her drink order.
Satana      Satana is used to creatures of darkness, whatever form they may inhabit. And so his fear-inducing aura doesn't seem to bother her one bit.

     "You'd think. A lot of people do try to guess, some rather pushily," she says, red lips in a bit of a pout. She is a collection of red, from the pink of her skin to the color of her lustrous hair, her fur-lined coat (which she shrugs out of and lets someone else take to the coat room. Was the reveal that important that she had to do it up close?) to the sparkle of red jewels on earlobe and ringed fingers. Save for that one ring in particular, the more demonic of the bunch.

     She orders a berry vodka tonic, and the bartender seems in quite a hurry to make it for her. "Any reason a man of means might come out to drink alone?" she asks, drumming her blood-colored nails on the counter. It's reminiscent of a predatory animal advancing, claws tapping a little too close.
Norman Osborn It does not take long for like to detect like. Especially between predators. Norman turns slowly on his stool, clearly deeming Satana worthy of his actual attention and not his mirror image's.

"The perils of having few equals." His eyes move up and down her form, but more in a clinical sense as of trying to size her up than any sort of lascivious leer. For most, the latter would probably be preferable. Satana is likely unfazed.
Satana      "Isn't it, though?" she says, letting out a very dramatic sigh. His appraisal of her form is noted, as is its type. Her posture shifts a bit, from being all available cleavage and curves to more professional. Her drink arrives and she takes it without even looking towards its source. But why should she? For a woman like her, things often to just appear, from hell or staff or admirers.
     "But I know why I'm here. Are you also looking for something, or someone? Or are your thoughts better easier to come by when there's white noise, but a rope keeping the hoi polloi at bay?"
Norman Osborn Norman's face twists into a smile at her last suggestion. "Oh, I like you." he murmurs in an appreciative way.

Another quick glance, he notes the shift. Recognition on her part meets recognition on his, and he nods. "Sometimes it is good to get out and remind myself of what I used to be, and what I could he reduced to if I am not attentive." His head nods backward, indicating the rabble behind him. Rabble that have at least 8 digit bank accounts. "What about you? Why do you condescend to the level of congregating with these masses?"
Satana      "You know, I think men tend to usually like me for a different reason," the succubus says. If there had been a cherry in her drink, she probably would have tied the stem with her tongue for a different sort of man/meal. Thankfully, there's just blackberries and raspberries aesthetically floating at the top of her beverage. Chomping on those might not be that seductive.

     "Why do wolves know where the deer bed down?" she asks. "Sometimes just to know, sometimes for later use. Besides, I like to see people at different states. Study them. Occasionally try to understand their silly little motives, should they be entertaining enough." She sips her drink, "I hate being bored. I crave stimulation. Even by osmosis," she chuckles. "How long does it usually take you to be assured you're not backsliding into the sorrowful existence of the common man?"
Norman Osborn Norman nods to that statement - "Of course they do. You are a magnificent creature." It comes off as a mere statement of fact, not some cheesy pickup line.

"All great reasons. The most successful hunters know the workings of their prey intimately." He swirls the amber liquid in his glass for a moment before sampling it again. "I imagine it is hard for the ants to stimulate you. I can appreciate that boredom." His gaze turns to the assembled of the VIP room. "I have not backslid in 30 years. I do not presume to think I will now." He raised the glass to drain it this time. "But constant reminders are helpful to prevent it from coming close."
Satana      She grants him a small smile in return for the compliment, but there's no gushing or fawning. She knows.
     "It's not always ants. There are a lot of bugs in the city. One I'm getting fond of, she's... interesting," the demoness admits. "There's potential. Here in this room, not so much," she says. She bats her lashes, as if she can't help herself. "Present company excluded, of course. I'd offer a chance to drain some of that fine pent up energy you CLEARLY have, but I have a feeling you sublimate in... different ways," the demoness laughs. There's just a touch of an evil cackle there.
Norman Osborn "I find spiders to be the most bothersome, personally." Norman places the glass down on the counter, and looks to the bartender. "My tab tonight." The instruction is understood as the bartender looks to Satana. And then hurriedly looked away.

Her comment draws a broad smile from Norman. "You are not incorrect. But I also suspect that you could help in those different ways too." He looks about the room and then back to her. "I am afraid that I must return to my work now. But I would look forward to another meeting with you. I think it would be provoking for both us."
Satana      She seems content on her new perch, dominating this corner of the room despite her size. "I can help in lots of ways." Though her reflection in the mirror is a bit different, what with the curved horns, ram-like. They really accentuate her ruby eyes. "See you soon, Norman." Did she look at the bill? Or did she just... know?
Norman Osborn "Oh, I have no doubts about that." The fact that she calls him by his name just makes Norman smile. "I look forward to it." He taps the bar counter once and then strides to the exit. Turning back around once in the elevator, his eyes move back to watch Satana until the doors close, obscuring him from sight.