Owner	Pose
Nick Drago	The holiday season has once again made its presents known in the lobby of Shaw Studios. In the main lobby area of the studio a rather large tree is situated near the main staircase that wraps around it, giving those who may traverse up to the offices on the second level a closer look to the ornaments near the top of the tree. Running up along the tree diagonally, blue and white ribbons dance around each other. In the opposing direction, red and gold ribbons also partake in the same twirling motion. The ornaments vary from the traditional bulbs to some less than traditional types. Underneath the tree there is a collection of toys. Standing on an easel nearby is a nicely lettered sign indicating that the gifts collected under the tree will be dispersed between the St. Nicholas Shelter and Hope House. To a nearby bulletin board, there is a sign up sheet for volunteering for a Christmas Dinner over at St. Nicholas's with a few spaces left to be filled. Amongst all this festivity, an older man in a security uniform hangs near the front entrance. A snowman pin is attached to his uniform shirt and he's quietly humming along to the music that is softly playing in the lobby area only.
Megan Gwynn	Megan Gwynn has not visited Mike in some time, but she was concerned about his well-being after the crazy zoo fiasco, plus she wanted to discuss taking music lessons which is why she's here tonight. Thankfully she'd managed to make an appointment at the last minute on a Sunday no less, and as luck would have it, she's pretty early as she steps in, mouth agape as she admires the pretty shiny tree. "Ooooh, wooow..." now where was his office again...?
Dane Whitman	Dane is feeling his age. It's not that he's old, he's barely middle aged, but seeing all of the festivities has him somewhat...dour. This time of year has never been his favorite, and it's not because he is a Scrooge. Far from it. The man in black stops in front of the festivities. His deepset eyes stare up at the musicians. For a moment, he looks downright morbid. His eyes glass over, and he just stares blankly. After a long moment, he mutters,"Just down the street, I saw kids huddling in a dumpster. There's a community living in the sewer under our feet. They're talking in city hall about raising taxes to do things that have nothing to do with either of these, and will likely make that problem worse....What is wrong with...What the hell is there to be so damned cheerful about..."
Nick Drago	Hearing the commentary from the entering lady, Larry the security guard looks over to the newcomer. A glance goes to the hair which jogs a memory. He reaches for a clipboard, skimming it for a moment. "Ah yes, Miss Gwynn. I thought I saw your name on here. Hair just as bright as ever. Mr. Hannigan should be back shortly." One of the said musicians comes up behind Dane, catching just a few snippets here and there. "Things will never be perfect." Mike comments to Dane, hand holding on to a carrier containing what seems to be hot drinks. "The trick is to not let that blind you from what goes right." Giving a small smile, Mike steps past Dane to walk over towards the front desk, tugging out one cup from the carrier for the security guard. "Here you go Larry."
Megan Gwynn	Megan Gwynn smiles brightly at the guard, "Hii, long time, no see! How're you doing? And glad to know you remember me!" she giggles, she's pretty memorable. And speak of the devil..She smiles cheerfully and waves to Mike, following him in, "Heyyy, how you been?" to Dane, she pouts a bit, "Heey, that's true, but shouldn't we try to focus on the positive? I mean come on, this place has got gift donations for the poor, doesn't that have to count? Ooh, I got something too.." she pulls something out of her backpack! a wrapped gift or two, "a toy lego fire truck in one, and a fancy hat, scarf and glove set."
Dane Whitman	The man in black restrains himself visibly from slapping the drinks out from the waiter's grasp in annoyance, then takes a calming breath. The flush of his cheeks mellows as he replies through clenched teeth,"Base platitudes, at no time in the year is the hollowness of this kingdom's decadence more plain than now. Children hiding from the cold, the unwanted turned from restraunt doors hungry in the season of...ha...charity." Dane is a shining pillar of optimism. Really. The bitterness drips from his tongue as he pulls out his checkbook, and writes out a four figure number, the pen dancing smartly over the paper to hand to the collection person who looks to be verging on tears at his castigation. Dane then coarsely adds,"For your conscience, and maybe your bureaucrats won't take so much that a few pennies make it to who it aught."
Nick Drago	The rocker arcs an eyebrow at the shift in Dane's posture, the cup shifts, seemingly protecting the drink from a sudden case of assholery. After Larry secures his drink, Mike looks to Dane quietly but says nothing in response. Instead, he looks over towards the toys Megan pulls out. "Oh those are good ones." He comments, nodding over towards the tree where the other toys are at. "Excellent addition. Oh, have you checked out the cookies in the break room yet, Megan?"
Megan Gwynn	Megan Gwynn grins, "Thanks! And ooooh, cookies sound good..I'll be right back!" but of course she can never say no to cookies! And with that, Megs dashes off into the next room. hopefully she's not gone too long!
Dane Whitman	Dane's frustration settles down after his last outburst, shoulders rising and falling with a heavy exhalation. He exclaims,"I can't wait for January..." Dane folds his arms then as the charity collector shows his check to her fellows, and himself goes to get a cup of hot cocoa. He's trying to settle down, really.
Nick Drago	Seeing the excited girl take flight, not literally, to the next room, Mike gives a soft chuckle. He looks back over to Dane. Eyes narrow. "I get it. It is shit what's going on out there. Hunger, the lack of shelter, violence, murder, sickness... There's a lot of stuff going on and there's no cure all for it all. Even if the overall charitable feeling is just seasonal. We will work with it to get the most impact there is. But-" He nods to the direction of the break room before leaning towards Dane, voice low, "Do not pull that crap around the kids."
Satana	The apparition that comes into the building is ... not WHOLLY inappropriate to the season. Call it 95 percent. The hat is red and white, for example, striped, with a little puffy pom-pom on it. It's just that the reindeer stitched/knitted into the white stripe that goes around the bulk of the woman's head are ... doing ... things. Things that will make any children present ask embarrassing questions of Mommy and Daddy. But thankfully there's nothing like that from the face down. Because there's largely nothing from the face down. Not until you reach the chest. Then the hat's design repeats itself (right down to the pom-pom on each side) ... but thankfully without the reindeer doing inappropriate things. It's just the skimpiness of it that is now not really season-appropriate. Let's just assume from here that everything from the waist down is similarly out of touch with the nature of the celebration. Not ... illegal. Barely. But certainly intended to flirt with ... no, scratch that ... outright ravage public indecency laws. Larry, upon seeing this enter, stands up to intercept and direct the obvious hooker out the door. "I have an invitation." Satana says this with a hand gesture as Larry's eyes glaze over. "You have an invitation," Larry agrees. "I may pass." "You may pass." Shrugging, she steps past the guard to the festivities, singing Clarance Carter's Backdoor Santa to herself as she does so, making eye contact with everybody she can, all smiles and fingerwaves. And, of course, raw sensuality. It's in her nature.
Dane Whitman	The man in black smiles wolfishly at Hannigan as if hoping to be decked. Perhaps he wants to feel something other than revulsion at the obscene levels of cheer surrounding him. Adrenaline would make for a nice start. Dane replies acidly in a tone mirroring his,"Ah yes, think of the children. Dare we discuss which? The ones fr..." And like that, Dane stops midsentence as the devil's daughter enters. Maybe literally? He doesn't know, but the visual evidence is compelling. He folds his arms and squares his jaw as he asides in stage whisper fashion to Hannigan,"I think you now have greater concerns than my misgivings about perennial hypocrisy." And Dane's expression suddenly reeks of judgment. JUDGMENT!
Nick Drago	Mike's fist clenches as Dane smiles at him in the manner he does. "Just because your life was shit doesn't mean you should try to make others miserable." Mike growls. A few moments click by before he unclenches his fist. Realizing Dane's attention is elsewhere, the musician steps back, turning to look to where the other is watching. "Oh No..." Mike mutters, looking over towards the break room with the open door. "...Excuse me." He starts walking over towards the doorway quickly.
Satana	"Mike!" Satana cries, spotting Michael and his attempted escape. "How nice to see you! How have you been? Thomas forgot to forward my invitation to me before he headed to Africa, so I had to rush to get together my Mrs. Claus outfit." Barreling through the crowd (with suspicious immunity to the collisions with people that entails, leaving a wake of people careering back and trying to retain their footing behind her), she intercepts Michael and drags him back to the party, raising one of her legs as she reaches up to kiss him on the cheek. "What do you think? I did a lot of research on Mrs. Claus to make this outfit." Not mentioned: on Pornhub. "Nice little shindig you've got going for the celebration. When does the bacchanalia start in full swing?" Dane's glare, in contrast, is met with a wicked expression, a glint in the eye, and a salacious wink. Righteous flame, meet demonic gasoline.
Dane Whitman	The glare of Dane smoulders as he strolls forward with a slight swagger to his gait. Those able to see the dead who choose not to be visible to others may witness a curious sight as he does... On either side of him are alternatively a haggard old knight in battleworn armor with a headfull of unkempt hair, and on the other a similarly clad man with a more weasely and sinister cast. The one to his left smirks and stage whispers in a voice none aught to hear save Dane,"Aaah, friend of yours? Your taste has improved, my boy." And on the right, the older shade grumbles,"Silence, fool. This strumpet shouldst be cast forth post haste." And Dane replies under his breath,"Both of you shut up." As Mike indulges his faceful of Satana, Dane clears his throat then and chimes up in sarcastic tone,"You were just lecturing me about proper etiquette before the youth. Where does this fall on your naughty list?"
Nick Drago	While Mike may not have made it in to the break room, he was a little successful in grabbing the handle to the door. As he was intercepted he manages to close the door before being pulled back to the small party. Godda- Feeling the lips upon his cheek, he tilts his head away. "Uh. Hi Satana. How's Thomas doing?" The invite to look to the costume has Mike glancing back to Satana for a moment before he glances aside, "Well. I think you might need some different source material for the costume. You seem cold." Dane's sarcasm is not lost on Mike as he uses the opportunity to look away from Satana. "No. I was lecturing you about not being an asshole to children. There's a difference."
Satana	Satana feigns confusion at Dane's words. "Was I uncivil?" she asks, eyes wide in concern so false it could be strapped to Pamela Anderson's chest and not be out of place. "I am so sorry if I did. I didn't mean to bring down this oh-so-lovely holiday!" She does a little twirl of joy (that just happens to let anybody with eyes check out if the moving parts are put together properly -- they are). "I can't help it. This season just makes me so happy!" A wink is tossed Mikes way. That wink. "And not just happy." She turns to Dane. "I'm sorry, did I do something that bothered you? I'd do anything to make it up to you." Her voice drops an octave. "Anything," she adds in a sultry, husky voice.
Dane Whitman	Obvious snark is obvious as the tall man in black retorts with a scoff at Mike,"Yes, I suppose that is what you were trying to do..." And then Satana puts on her show, for which... Dane is thunderstruck for all of several moments... Which in a situation like this amounts to humiliation as it is impossible to hide and may as well be a lifetime. Were this a battlefield, that other knight would have just trampled him! And then the righthand knight's hand passes through him and is the equivelant of the ALS Bucket challenge, snapping him back to reality as the left hand knight cackles maniacally! Yes, Dane just gave a blatant and obvious shudder of cold as he glares to his right where noone is standing to mortal perceptions... And then it's back to the unfortunate discourse at hand where he is back in form,"Including marching back out from whence ye came...forthwith?"
Nick Drago	Do not look directly at the Claus. Do not look directly at the Claus. Do not loo- This could probably be considered good advice. But, factoring in that Satana is very clearly taking up three dimensions of space, the tactic of looking straight ahead has a serious flaw to it. Peripheral vision reveals all. His head turns, in time to see the wink. Oh boy. He barely registers the exchange Satana and Dane have as he's inwardly wishing Thomas was at the studio right now. That is until Dane effectively told Satana to get out of the studio. Mike's eyes widen, looking to Dane quickly. Did he just say...WHAT?! Mike starts coughing, before giving a bit of a chuckle. "Ah. That's a good one...there." He turns looking to Satana, "Just, wondering- Does that outfit come with a jacket or something like that by any chance?"
Satana	"Why...?" Satana seems (key word that!) flabbergasted at Dane's words. "..." Also seems (again) at a loss for words. Seems. "Well, I don't know what I did that made you so angry and hostile, Mr. ...?" She lets that hang a bit as a dig at his own courtesy. "But if the host of the party agrees that I should leave, I will certainly go out. Into the cold. Dressed, as Michael here..." She puts an arm around Michael's shoulder and moulds herself to his side. "...so ably noted, in clothing that might be a bit ... spartan ... given the weather conditions." She lets that hang a bit. Then. "But only if you can reasonably explain how it is that I have been in any way rude, surly, or otherwise deserving of this." She stares challengingly at Dane as her fingers, seemingly reflexively, run themselves up and down Michael's neck. Finding all those little chill-inducing spots to gently brush. While the warmth of her body against him, warm despite the chill she'd just walked in from, makes the rest of her presence oh-so-felt.
Dane Whitman	Dane Whitman's eyes narrow a touch at her rebuff of his answer. He loosely refolds his arms as the two apparitions beside him continue to play the active roll of angel and devil to his perceptions. The man in black stares down the beauteous harlot as his quite mortal mind works things through in the midst of metaphysical and ethical mayhem... The knight to his left sniggers and mutters,"Come on, nephew. Be a good sport. She's done nothing and you know it." Meanwhile the one to his right retorts,"Yet. She hath not done anything...yet. There is more to this minx than meets the eye, she offered that rebuttal like a proper apparition of old." And Dane listens to this invisible counsel with rapt attention, and issues his reply with only the slightest hesitation. For she had indeed not done anything, as the former said, but was likewise responding to the situation in the manner of any number of otherworldly beings from lore that he was quite familiar with, Dane replies,"Your very appearance and presence is disruptive in the extreme. You asked what you could do that would make me happy, not him, and I answered. I have behaved myself in manner worthy of like reproach and would not be put out unduly to be similarly reprimanded."
Nick Drago	And so Mike's arm finds itself once again being pulled into the valley of Satana. Indeed, despite the visuals indicating otherwise, Satana is not cold. Blue eyes look over to Dane's brown, the expression paired with it seemingly pleading NOT to antagonize the demonic woman that is clinging on to him. Mike tried. He really does. But as she manages to find more than one spot on his neck, the rockstar's expression breaks. Eyes blinking, he shakes his head, wheeling his body away from the whole of Satana. "Okay. I'm going to just... go find a coat for you to borrow." He looks between the two. "Uh, please get along you two." Not waiting for a response, Mike bolts for the stairwell that wraps around the large holiday tree.
Satana	Satana giggles heartily as Mike escapes her clutches and 'gets a coat'. "We'll never see him again tonight," she comments dryly as she watches his flight up the stairs. "He's gone into full cower-behind-the-door. Why I bet you he won't even answer his phone." That elicits, for some mysterious reason, further laughter. She then turns her attention...and not insignificant presence, amplified by her appearance...to Dane. "Mike asked nicely, so ... pax?" She stretches out a hand for a kiss. Very continental. "Me first. I'm Satana Hellstrom. Lover of Christmas, though from your face I gather you disapprove." She shrugs artfully. It involves her whole body. "I guess not everybody appreciates this celebration of female emancipation. But I do and I get giddy. I am very sorry if I upset you." Her voice falls in tone and volume. "It wasn't my intent." The lie is so smoothly, convincingly delivered, it almost makes up for the fact it's clearly untrue.
Dane Whitman	For his part, Dane rolls his eyes so hard that they are in danger of popping from his cranium at the man's escape. The man in black breathes a long sigh that comes off almost as a groan then as he relents, much to Percival's chagrin as he throws his hands up in exhasperation! Dane accepts the truce, unfolding his arms and stepping forth a pace to take her hand and tilt forth, formally kissing her knuckle before replying,"Dane Whitman. Se Cnichte Blaec." A formal introduction that clarifies all deserves an equal... Chivalric form recognized, he refolds his arms and returns to proper form with a grump,"I don't care about your nonsense over female emancipation, I do care very much about your lascivious displays before the youth."
Satana	"Lascivious...?" Satana actually looks down at herself in reaction, as if she expected to find herself somehow copulating without being aware of it. "I'm ... standing? Is that lascivious now? I lose track so quickly of social trends. I mean just two years ago, shaving and trimming was "unnatural" and "succumbing to the patriarchy" and, you know what? I like to look my best so I continued." Says the woman who can just grow or remove hair at will in minutes... "If my standing is upsetting you, then by all means I'll sit." Which she does. Cross-legged. Right in front of him. Giving an alternative view of her tall form that likely makes him grumpier. "But how can you not care about this celebration? It's the celebration of the world's greatest femme fatale con artist! She sleeps around behind her husband's back, gets pregnant as the 'Holy Spirit' moves around inside her. Repeatedly and at length, no doubt! And gets him to buy that she's still a virgin! I can't think of a merrier celebration!" From this angle, as she looks up at Dane looking down, the light plays a trick and makes the pupils glow red ... just for an instant.
Dane Whitman	Indeed it all does. He stares down at her as if not entirely believing they are having this discussion right here in the middle of public. Indeed, not far away, someone is on the phone and filming. Dane rubs his palm over his face in sheer annoyance amd yells,"OUTSIDE!" Outburst mode achieved, the man in black literally marches to the door and slams it open,"Now. I shall not continue this discussion in the midst of a charity function!" There is clearly a litany that he has bitten off at the end of that statement as his neck bulges with the effort of containing that to its brief albeit blunt length!
Satana	The expression on Satana's face is nonplussed. Very falsely nonplussed. The party noises stop at Dane's outburst, half staring at him as he marches out. The larger half staring at Satana in her ... displayed finery. On the floor. She comes to her feet, feigning flustered fear, slinking to the door, apologizing in non-apologies to people she passes along the way. Once outside in the chill, she turns to face Dane, standing taller, straighter, and with a cynical smile on her face. "OK, we're alone now. Where do you want this? Are you the kind that loves it in the alley, or should we look for a motel? Or are you more the penthouse suite type? And should I bring a few friends or am I enough for you?" Yep. She's going there.
Dane Whitman	Dane shuts the door, closing them both outside. Moral certitude maintained and affirmed. He has successfully avoided becoming the hypocrite, a victory in itself! For the moment. The man in black is now alone and in Satana's shadow as he now is in a position to LOOK UP at her for a change! It isn't by much, but he isn't accustomed to this at all and it shows. A quick glance is given over the figure before him, and he endeavors to inch past as he clears his throat... And almost sputters, coming down off of his high horse now that the actual issue has been resolved,"No no, you're quite enough. I don't...no, erm, ma'am...." Dane's eyes actually saucer as he attempts to flee!
Satana	Satana's arms are at work before Dane can escape, and with strength that her frail feminine form belies they wrap around his shoulders and pull him against her. Not painfully. Indeed given what's pushing against his back quite possibly the opposite. Of pain. Just implacably, like what a brick wall hugging him might feel like. Only smooth and soft and warm to the touch. "Come now," she purrs. "Or, rather, don't. It's more fun when you have endurance." Her voice descends into a husky tickling of the ear her mouth is now close to. "Don't be shy. I'm just asking where you and I should have our little ... fling. Are you up to just the alleyway? Or do you like sybaritic comforts? Beds, baths, showers, perfumes, oils? I'm here for you baby. I literally live to make you feel good." She takes a deep sniff of his scent, the sound and air movement, a cold chill pouring over what she's warmed, conspiring to send chills down Dane's spine. Then she freezes. "You're bringing friends, are you?" she asks carefully. "Groups are fine, but I like to know names."
Dane Whitman	Dane is quite strong for a mortal, but Satana is far stronger than he! He finds himself tugged to her, and a gasp escapes at the feel of her form against his own... He can't believe that a body like hers can restrain him so completely, but more distressingly to that implacable moral core of his person is the fact that his hands would betray him by ceasing their efforts to push her off in favor of grasping her waist and hip, the force fading to gentleness as his lips part, but no voice issues. It's like his throat seizes and his voice fails him! Oh no! Gazing up to her before she leans in for her scenting of his person, he shudders against her in a rush of adrenaline that finally restores to him the ability to reply,"No...just me.." And that devil spectre Nathan replies with a cackle as it watches,"And me!"
Satana	The demeanour changes dramatically. Like a light switch turned from on to off. Or a child's doll with the morality switch slid from good to evil. Dane finds himself free of her embrace and her scent and her warm softness. But not her gaze. That lances into him like she was looking through his flesh to his soul. And that's not far off. A wave of the hand and a ball of obscene fire is in her hand; her other hand reveals long talons in place of her nails. Razor-sharp talons that come to a keen point. "Don't make me force the reveal," she says as she steps another pace back. "My magics aren't the friendly sort." That purring, warm, seductive voice is still there. But its underlaid by a dark, disturbing voice exactly an octave lower, a chilling sound to come from lips so perfect. Lips once only millimetres removed from Dane's flesh. "Come out, whatever you are."
Dane Whitman	There had actually been three ghosts present, but only two had been active. As the demoness backs away, the trio manifest between he and her. A trio of knights clad in ancient raiment. The haggard ancient visage of the elder of the trio speaks in a voice at once distant yet clear,"I am Sir Percival of Scandia, Knight of the Round. These are my companions, Sir Eobar Garrington the Crusader and Nathan Garrett. We are the companions of the one you would defile." The ones named Eobar and Nathan are visibly similar enough to Dane that the family semblance is plain in their faces. But Percival is another matter. Dane gasps behind them, still feeling the lingering sensation of her form against his. Was that a squirm? He eventually manages upright, but those eyes...he can't look away...
Satana	The flame stays in the hand, but the face soften. The voice returns to normal. The body language turns more neutral. Of course Satana has consummate control of her body and face. What this indicates is only what she's trying to present. "Defile? We were going to have sex. There's nothing defiling about two people enjoying each other's pleasure. What are you? From the dark ages?" Beat. "Oh, right," she says, shaking her head as the garb registers. "Ghosts. Spirits who weren't worthy of Heaven, I'm going to guess, but not taken to Hell for reasons I could probably figure out in my library?" "Percival I have no need of introduction. You cheated on Arthur with his wife, didn't you? Or was that Guinevere? I always get that mob confused. The Green Knight was Gawain's thing wasn't it?" Her eyes swivel to the other two with a musing expression. "You two I don't know. I'll have to find out. What's the story? You need to be freed from your eternal wanderings to your eternal rest? I might be able to help..." The flame in her hand increases to intolerable brightness momentarily before settling down. "...but you wouldn't like where your souls wind up." She giggles then. Actually giggles. "I mean unless you really like Jim Morrison. 'Cause I have him. He's got a great voice, but he sucks in bed. And not in the good way."
Dane Whitman	Sir Percival actually groans, the winds growing cold at his annoyance,"Hardly, that was Sir Lancelot. I was a murderer, as was Sir Eobar. We are bound to the sword. Guides for the wielder, who will take his place with us in due time." Nathan actually flickers his expression, considering the offer. He had not been sirred, nor was his crime of note stated. But he fixes that by speaking up,"That's my nephew, and don't you listen to these two old grave dodgers. This is a sorry fate, I didn't ask for it! I was just a bank robber who run afoul of the Avengers! Got myself unhorsed by Iron Man, and landed up here! I didn't even manage to get that sword out of its sheath the once!" Eobar speaks up at that,"Because he was unworthy of the name. This is your punishment for assuming what wasn't yours to claim, fool. I was the founder of your line. The House of Garrett, founded in the reign of King Richard the Lionheart."
Satana	"Sword." Satana's voice is flat. Yet somehow it's clear that one word is a question. "OK, let's get cards on the table gentlemen. I am Satana Hellstrom. I am a magistress of some note." Not a lie. Exactly. "Summoning. Binding. Domination. Soul magic. Fire." She smiles. "That's my strengths. I know more. And now I'm faced with three bound ghosts and talk of a sword." The ball of fire vanishes. "Colour me curious. Bindings that last centuries are HARD. So I'm very interested in this sword. Might I see it?" Then, as if seeing Dane again for the first time. "Oh, and we're still on if you like. You're pretty hot and your friends are interesting." A business card appears in her hand, which she reaches forward. "I sort of own a hotel here at this address. The Griffin. I have lots of ... rooms ... for entertainment. If you get my drift." Not mentioned: the imp servants, the pet tiger, the weird guests who pop in and out, and the Wurlitzer in the basement. Back to the ghosts. "Quick question: do you want to be freed of that sword? For a price I can ... investigate."
Dane Whitman	At this point, Dane has recovered much of his faculties, the back of one hand rubbing his eyes as the other accepts her card. He hasn't registed that she is in full demon queen...goddess?...mode. Or that his usual companions are fully corporeal! Nathan is excited by this prospect, yelling in a voice that is almost shrill with excitement,"Yes! Summon the sword, summon the Ebon Blade for her!" Eobar and Percival however, they are less keen of this plot, and Percival is insistant,"No! This woman is obviously of th infernal regions. She must not." To this, Eobar adds in his own hollow ringing voice,"Only a fool would think to undo what Merlin the Half Fiend hath wrought." By this point, Dane is relatively coherent again as he grasps what is going on, card clutched as he eyes the trio of quite corporeal apparitions,"You all talk too much. And..." He arches a brow slightly, ego somewhat recovered by what he adds next with a slight tug of his lips,"Hot?"
Satana	"Yes. Pretty hot. I mean you're no Thomas, but you'll do." Who the effin' Hell is Thomas?! "Merlin! Half-Fiend? Oh, sweeties, you have NO idea who you're dealing with do you? Who can undo the work of a half-fiend? How about another half-fiend?" Drawing herself even taller, (growing a couple of inches subtly for the occasion), Satana proudly states, "I am Satana Hellstrom, daughter of the human Victoria Wingate and of Marduk Kurios who styles himself 'Satan'. If there is magic done by a half-fiend, a half-HellLord can undo it!" She winks, then, at Dane. "But don't you worry, honey. I'm a lover, not a fighter. And a damned good one." Emphasis on damned. "If you show me the blade, perhaps I can help end its curse." And perhaps I can put it to good use. But this is the part I don't speak out loud for obvious reasons. "Think of it," she says, addressing chiefly Nathan now. "An end to the suffering. Your soul freed once again from the device you're in."
Dane Whitman	As Nathan's mouth parts to reply, Percival places a hand on his shoulder. He suddenly finds himself unable to speak, as if literally muted. Eobar speaks then,"If any foolishness is to be perpatrated, it is to be the fault of the wielder." Dane eyes the Demon Queen, brows furrowed in consternation. He's actually considering her words. Percival's own expression is of sharp disapproval until Dane responds in more serious tones,"There's a reason there's only a few. They're my ancestors. Only the line of Percival can wield the sword, and I'm keeping it."
Satana	"And you would inflict this suffering half-existence upon your own bloodline?" Satana's pretty face twists in to a sardonic grin. "Your choice, Dane was it? I'm all about choices." And the seductress is back. "So, this little side trip aside, are we still on? And have we decided where? Alleys have their own little thrill, but if you want to spend time exploring, my place, your place, or a neutral place like a hotel are really quite nice. I can bring ... friends ... if you want selection and variety." She pauses a second and looks mildly annoyed. "Oh, shit. Me being a half demon is going to interfere isn't it? Would it help if I said I opposed my father's plans and did my best to undo them?" Not ... lying. As such. "And that I don't destroy innocent souls and condemn them to Hell?" Again. Not lying. Mostly.
Dane Whitman	Dane eyes Satana, his brow arching as he struggles internally. It was quite an offer in his view, and the three apparitions stood there like silent sentinels. Their grim visages, excepting Nathan's, regarding the duo unblinkingly. The man in black clutches himself tight as if fending off the cold then, wracking himself as he responds to the first point of order,"I really don't care to meet your, erm, friends...no offense..." Beat... He then shakes his head again, sounding slightly flustered as he comes to the second and unfolds his arms as he now gesture to ALL of her,"And you being half demon mostly matters with your...looks. Don't get me wrong, I definitely get how people go for that...BUT..."
Satana	The talons go away. The height reduces again to her former height. The regal visage she chose for talking to the ghost vanishes. "I'm a succubus, Dane," she says with a ... devilish, really, is the only word ... smile. "I'm built to bring pleasure. Not just bodily, but to the eyes. Any part of me you don't like? That can change. Just give me a few seconds." Then she mutters, gesturing to her head. "Except that damnable hair. I just can't get it to behave." The cowlicks over her forehead that look more than a little like a pair of horns. "Or is it my state of dress? I don't wear clothing, usually, Dane, at home, or at Home." You can hear the capital the second time, yes. "I don't even understand why people wear it. Are they ashamed of themselves? Of what the Big Cat Upstairs has made? Isn't that sacrilege to be ashamed of what the Head Honcho has created?" The shrug is elegant and whole-body. Again. Well-practised little gesture designed to grab and distract the eyes. "I don't understand any of that stuff. I was born damned--I had no choice in it--and I was born half my father's seed. But if it's the way I dress, I can wear anything. A nun's habit maybe?" Her eyes lock again as she seriously suggests an assignation ... in a nun outfit. Like he was some kind of fetishist who once went to a Catholic school. "I'm easy, Dane. In both senses of the term. And ... here's an extra bonus. I promise I won't consume your soul and excrete its remnants as a wisp in Hell." She steps up, arms open, inviting. "There's no danger here. Well there is, but not from me. I think that sword is dangerous instead."
Dane Whitman	Dane hates to admit that he is buffaloed in this. He can't peel his eyes from her, and worse, he can't tell if she's only saying what he wants to hear. It is what he wants to hear... His expression falters, shaking his head with a frustrated look as he unfurls his arms, those muscular limbs dangling at his sides as he smirks slightly at that added bonus. The ghosts disappear as he replies,"If it means anything, I..." He huffs then, his shoulders shuddering as he steps forwarded then, accepting her invitation,"Screw it...my place." A beat passes... Dane moves to enfold her in his arms as he replies,"And you are free to look however while you're there. Even...yourself."
Satana	Satana has the decency (and brains) not to smile in victory. But she's doing it inside. Totally. "Oh, honey, you don't want to see the real me with the scales and the claws and the fangs and the wings and the burning eyes. Let's just stick with my normal human me, OK?" She melds herself to Dane's side like she did Mike's earlier, though this time it's less likely to have someone run off screaming, practically. "I'm not cold," she murmurs, "but I don't mind being warmed up. It feels good." And with that the pair leave for reenacting the penny dreadful story "The Knight and the Demon"...