Owner	Pose
Daimon Hellstrom	A hot day for season means people were out on the stoop and the street tonight, chatting, carousing and gossiping. Murdock was already in the area, a man who believed in local action, making a difference one fight at a time. Word drifted around about an uncanny man entering the old brick building, about how he'd made his way up to the 8th floor and knocked on old Mr. Stanley's door, a widower in his seveties whose wife had died in the previous decades under awkward circomstances. She'd been found dead in the rooftop water resivoir, back when those things were still in use. Word had drifted because someone said they heard sounds of a struggle inside the apartment. The croak groanings of an old man and some surly language, and a smell, something bad. No one had come out of there in the intervening hours, and while no one felt like being a hero; people were talking.
Matt Murdock	The wind blows across the top of the building adjacent to Phoenix Towers. The sound of the stirred air on the rooftop was one more sound for Daredevil to block out so he could hear what was going on in the area around him. The talk had gotten back to Nelson and Murdock about black SUVs, about the slumlord himself actually having been at the building and meeting with a number of well-dressed people. Despite the protestations of one resident that Oliver Queen had been in the group, no one else had carried that gossip where Matt hard heard it. Now he's listening for sounds of anything going on in the apartment double towers. The talk about odd happenings at Mr. Stanley's apartment catches Daredevil's ears a building away. He frowns and grips one of his batons more firmly. If the building super was back to bullying the residents, who already lived in fear from the drug dealers, Daredevil was going to have to have a talk with the man. Running across the building, Daredevil leaps, landing on the fire escape of Phoenix Towers. He deftly clambers up to the 8th floor. His nose already wrinkling at the scent.
Daimon Hellstrom	From the fire-escape window the scene is easily parsed, even the window is open allowing the scent; something preternatural and caustic to leak into the air above the alleyway below. Inside, Daimon Hellstrom is positioned in what was probably once the living room of the modest apartment. The room has been largely cleared, that is to say that its contents have been shoved toward the walls and into the corners to clear a space. In the center of the room and old man like thing, wrinkled and mishapened, and naked on a chair to which he is bound by dully glowing purple chains. His skin is mottled and bruised by old age. One of his eyes is glassed over by cataracts, the other gleams violet with an orange center and lears at Daimon as he paces just outside of what appears to be a protective pentagram constructed of white powder, likely salt. "You have no dominion over me here, Princeling." churled the old man. "Your visa is long expired." replied Daimon, seeming to clamp down to maintain his patience. "Just because I didnt send you up doesnt mean I can't bring you back down." "Coulda, woulda. You think you can talk me into going back?" "Whats -holding- you hear?" asked Daimon, waving around vaguely, seeming mystified and disdainful all at the same time. "This. This? Really?"
Matt Murdock	Daredevil crouches on the fire escape away from the windows. The smell is so bad it is difficult for him to filter out. It definitely is drowning out most other smells in the area for him. The conversation going on is easy enough to pick up on. He could have done that from the other building. What he hears makes him frown deeply. "Could really use Danny here from the sounds of it," he murmurs to himself. He doesn't really deal with supernatural entities, but at least knows that Iron Fist has some amount of grounding in them. For the moment he stays and listens quietly, trying to get a better read on what is going on.
Daimon Hellstrom	"I have a contract boy. Its from before you slide out of you're mothers..." said the old beast. "Ah ah, don't do it." warned Daimon. "...YOU'RE MOTHER's..." "I'm fucking serious Maeloc..." "...CUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuunt!" the beast howled out, a smirk of satisfaction on his grisled face, one eye gleaming in triumph. Daimon closed his eyes and sighed, then he gripped the air in front of him, seeming to operate the chains encumbering the old man and wraking the beast with pain. When the pain subsided they both shared a quiter moment, the beast breathing in gulping hulks as its chest rose and fell. "I have... a contract, theres nothing you can do. Its iron clad. You can't bring me back to hell. You have nothing, shit bird." taunted the beast.
Matt Murdock	Listening to the conversation is leaving Daredevil with an opinion on whose side of this he likely is on. If he's on either side. The worry that this could spill over and affect the residents already afflicted with non-supernatural problems is foremost in his mind. It is also a good part of why for the moment he continues to just listen and see how it plays out. Not knowing what his entering might lead to. For now it doesn't seem that there is an immediate threat to the rest of the building, so Daredevil bides his time and listens.
Daimon Hellstrom	Daimon waved his hand passively across the invisible barrier that the pentagram of salt was likely providing, allowing the document to manifest. An old thing, burnt looking paper, an oversized wax seal, almost a characature of what it should be. He began to read it, shaking his head in dismay "In witness whereof, the parties hereunto have set their hands to these....a deed on the day month and year hereinbefore....who can read this shit?" wondered the PHD, glancing ruefully around the document at the beastly old man. It leared, seeming disinterested in helping. "Iron clad." it taunted. "I need a fucking lawyer." admitted Daimon, seeming to finally accept defeat.
Matt Murdock	Daredevil frowns in thought for a bit. "Really do wish Iron Fist were here," he mumbles to himself. But he's not the kind to wait around once he's come up with a course of action. Swinging up to the floor above, Daredevil enters the apartment that he can tell is empty from the lack of people breathing within. As he makes his way to the front door, he quickly removes his costume. He sighs as he feels how rumpled his clothing beneath it is. And now jacket. Matthew Murdock steps out of the door, assuring himself no one is around. He jumps up and grabs hold of a the frame holding up the drop ceiling, lifting a tile and pushing his costume through to be hidden away. Then drops back down and heads for the stairs down. By the time he reaches the door to the 8th floor apartment, he can hear Daimon muttering to himself, reading bits of the contract around. Matt feels his pockets, making sure he's got his phone and the app that will read written text aloud. Yep, in his pocket. He pulls out his folding cane, extending it. As Matt hears another curse about trying to read legalese, he raps firmly on the door.
Daimon Hellstrom	"Come in." said Daimon Hellstrom, unlocking the door from the curse he had imposed on it magically, letting it swing open as if manipulated by unseen servants. He had the contract in his hand now, and he moved toward Murdock and offered it peaceably without bothering to ask him why he was there, whom he was, or what the nature of his business would be. Daimon waited for Murdock to catch on, genuine humans often took a bit of adaptation time to catch up. Part of their charm. He glanced out the door Murdock was on his way through, checking to see how much attention or concern had built up. "Lucky its a nice night, everyones outside." he commented pedestrianly. "I need a loophole." he explained as if it were obvious, because it was. "This guys been feeding again, he's adapting to human life, growing weak with this mockery of old age, and when these things are week they feed." and then he glanced to Murdock and narrowed his eyes, "I ursurped soooo...technically my names not on there in ink, but he's from my demense. There has to be some kind of...I don't know, emimnent domain or something?"
Matt Murdock	Matt visibly wrinkles his nose as he steps inside the room. "I was going to stop and see what the smell was, when I heard something about a contract," he says. His cane taps back and forth as he steps inside. So the lack of reaction to the bound figure or the nature of the chains might be understandable. Though it's clear the blind man knows something odd is going on. "This isn't related to that attack on the city a few years back is it?" he asks. That's a default go to when something weird goes on. Loki's attack on New York. Matt frowns, but after a little more explanation from Daimon, he pulls out his phone. "Hold the contract where my phone can read it to me," he says, bringing up the app. The phone struggles a bit with the unusual script but it does manage to read the contract aloud as Matt listens. "It mentions an area in which he may feed, though I don't recognize the name. 'Waawiyaatanong' I believe it said," he asks Daimon.
Daimon Hellstrom	Daimon belted out a harsh laugh, "Wait. What? Maeloc, your supposed to be in Michigan?" The Old man paled, seeming to pull back on long strands of memory, old words, old promises, deals. Deals are deals are deals are everything. "No." it whispered. "I'll make you a fine barter, Prince of Lies. Name your price. Name it, anything you ask. Power, artifacts....pussssy." Daimon winced, "Cringe, Maeloc. Pure cringe." as he snapped the contract free of Murdock and crumpled it symbolically. In turn the paper disintigrated, because with the right knowledge, his power over the domain was now fungible. A large hole opened in the floor beneath the chair holding the old man, it did not lead to the 7th floor. Grasping hands emerged, clawing first at the chair legs, then the beasts mottled skin. It shrieked and then was pulled under, out of view, the pervasive smell bleeding from the portal; Hellfire. Brimstone. And then it was gone. Daimon turned to regard Murdock. "I have business below, but, now I owe you a favor." and with that he flicked out a card, and passed it into the blind man's hand.
Matt Murdock	Matt shies back slightly whether it is from the smell or the sounds of the creatures in the hole. Or maybe even a wave of heat. He does take a step back though, his face visible around the glasses creased with lines of concern and a worried expression. As the hole closes and the the shrieks cut off, he breathes a little easier. Feeling the card against his hand, Matt takes it. His thumb slides over it to read it though of course it just looks like he's holding it. "I'm not sure what went on here. But I feel like the people here probably owe some kind of thank you," he says in his clipped way that is so often calm or even devoid of emotion. "So. Thank you."