Not to Pay What We Can Take

July 08, 2015:

The Hood offers Satana a place in his crime syndicate

North Brother Island

Creepy ruins of a hospital


NPCs: Exiter, the demon cat


Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

A few days ago Parker was paid to be massager for an unusual family meeting. Halfway the conversation between Daimon and Satana, he vanished. But he didn’t leave until later, he actually stayed invisible to listen the whole exchange.
He did some research and investigation. He found nothing about Satana, and he couldn’t track down the payment he received either, despite his considerable resources. All very interesting. Definitely Satana is a newcomer, but someone is messing up with her. Why? Lets ask her!
It is mid-morning when Parker returns to North Brother Island. The place is larger than it looks, so he might spend some hours looking. It is also a creepy ruin, even in a sunny morning. Why would a woman like to live here? Another thing to ask her.

The island was meant to be left abandoned. Tourist paths marked for when that occurs, but on holiday weekends it isa given no people will be milling through the haunting area seeking a photo they can upload to say they have been there and use it as a mark in their to do list. It's now a preserve for wild fowl and left to its history that can be told within the abandoned buildings if you dared to even enter and /listen/.
None of this bothered Satana, save the tourists that left upon dusk Friday and have not returned, leaving her to her solace and an open fire she sparked to life with a flick of index finger upon thumb, bringing bramble to a glow that danced in brimstone gaze while the wild bird she caught is drug up beside her and its carcass dropped to the earthen floor beside her. Not a single place delivered out here. Too bad, that. Delivery boys were so…edible. So instead the husk of a bird is resonate of her demeanor, sated and sprawled over fallen limb of nearby tree that leans into the roof of a dilapidated old doctors home.
Parker's approach may not be heard, but amongst a haunted land of the dead, the living is easy to pick out. "I do hope you brought something better then heron with your questions. It's gamey."

Parker is not trying to be stealthy this time, he is not invisible, and he is quiet only because his boots are not quite touching the ground. Lets see, fire, a bird and… he smirks. "If I had know, I would have brought some burgers. Good morning, anyway. You have picked a rather crappy place to squatter. I have to wonder why?"

Sprawled across the fallen limb in a pantheresque repose, one hand drops down, picking up the bird by its neck and giving it a pendulum like swing before it is tossed to hover over the top of the fire, a fire that glows a hue a bit more deep in tint and radiates a heat even Hood could feel at a distance - the feathers burnt over and gone in an instant.
Satana rubs fingertips together, claw tips not currently extensions, but simply a manicure done to a refined point, brimstone eyes that dance with orange and red that of an aquamarine, and her smile that she flashes the man… Human canines, just a bit more spired at the edges.
"It is quiet, there is food, and several rooves and people are just /dying/ to come visit all on their onesies." A single digit extends and then her wrist twists, turning that -point- into a becon for him to join her.
'And sometimes when you are being looked for, the place most detested and long forgotten is the best."

"You can do better," mentions the hooded man, "a woman with talent and special abilities can go very far in this city." He walks closer calmly, taking the offered seat. "Why should you live in this ruin when you could have a palace in the middle of Manhattan, the center of the world. Or maybe in a tower in the gleaming Metropolis? And why alone? Why not among other people of real power?"

"And who are /you/, to even try to tempt me with such high ambition?" With a small laugh and an exhale of air from her nostrils in an exasperated gesture she sets her eyes from him to the roasting heron that now somehow looks like a perfect and pristinely roasting chicken (the aroma is not that bad either!).
"A man who brings my brother here to fetch his beloved from my grasp. Disappears. Then returns to tell me of palisades and finery." Now Satana returns those eyes to him, the smile never fading from the upturned corners of lips, the slight head tilt spilling spools of fine ruby hair over liquid clad shoulders. His cloak is scanned, from hem to hood, finally resting on his face, or where it would be if not visible. "I have aspirations, and desires. But ~all good things comes to those who wait~." Her final tenor one of note, somewhat like the sirens song she baited Reese with. A temptation, a lure, and something might stir within him, only to end with the final word itself.

"I took the name of the Hood a few years ago," replies Parker, offering the devil-woman a friendly smile. "Ever since I have been a mediator, a facilitator among those beings of power the normal humans often label as 'super-criminals'. I am offering my assistance to you as I have before to about a hundred others men and woman of power. Mutates, mutants, mystics and brilliant scientists."
The cloak is a potent magical device. Satana can feel it because she is close and he is not hiding it. It is a defensive, concealing artifact and it is unlikely to have been made by human hands. "Perhaps you have waited enough, hmm?"

Rolling to her side, Satana drops one arm to rest along the contours of her side, deadly curves both hidden and exposed by the liquid finery that only emphasises what shadows would seek to take away. A drip-drop of fingers as well as nails indents over flesh and the very edge of crescent opening, dimpling surface in her moment of thought while those uncannily pale eyes of green and blue flecks watch him. Nostrils flare while her other arm extnds, stretches to bridge the gap between them, plucking upon the cloak if he does not withdraw, rubbing the fabric between fingers as if testing the finery.
"And at what cost to me would you help me forge a throne only befitting a Queen here in New York and beyond." Beyond. Her sights are not ones of simplistic or small means. If she is going to step foot forward, it is going to be a demanding cloven one, and a throne shall be encircled by subjects… Ones that worship…
Not unlike how that gaze sparks an ember hue in its depths as she sweeps it over him once again. "…Because I am not one to pay for what I could take."

"Because you are not one to pay what you could take is why I am extending this offer," replies Hood, grinning. "Because what I do offer can’t be taken. I part of a syndicate of like-minded individuals. Men and women of power. Even if you aim for the Kingpin’s throne, you have to start somewhere. And with us you will have valuable allies, access to important information and the opportunity to exchange favors with people with unique talents."
Yes, the cloak is alien and heavily enchanted, and it is strange a mere human can use it. Perhaps the Hood is not a normal human.

Although the marking just below the spanse of ribcage and pliant drop of the heave of her chest still looks raw it does not seem to hinder her one bit. The movement towards him is birthed with a smile, a flash of white upon darkly painted lips that went from the glossed normalcy to waver to the truth beneath. The hand that gripped his cloak did not drop it, in fact more of it is gathered in pristinely manicured and clawed grasp, almost like she would use it to practically /slither/ over the log to close the gap between them, rolling to belly to use legs as a pressurized -press-, squeezing log between thighs to come upon him in a slide of skin across gnarled and dead surface, heating it in her passing before she is straddling it and perched neatly beside him with a braced leg upon either side of the limb and stiletto'd heels biting ino the surface.
No, she does not touch him, but it almost seems that every breath shifts that sliver of space between his side and her front, the only contact had is that wrap of cloak in her hand that is brought up to brush along pale cheek, the heat a friction based arousal now, but it is /radiating/, pulsing, and the fire cooking the heron goes out.
Amber fleck reside in those eyes, red strands extending down her back to fall in small rivers and valleys over the fallen limb she is perched upon, whisping across her face with a soft and yet uncannily hot breeze that picks up around them, lifting dead leaves and branches in a soft tornado. "What is this?" She inquires, head tilting as the fabric brushes along the defned line of cheek. "Who are you?" She utters now leaning in and still not touching, but her words, her eyes… They are bearing a -depth- unnerving.
"Why help me?"

The Hood watches Satana maybe becoming a little more wary when she approaches him so much. And not like any human woman would do. There is something alluring and alarming in the way she moves. Parker has a well-developed survival instinct and it is kicking him. Despite his hormones telling him the opposite, he takes a step back. "My cloak? Something I found, a story maybe for when we know each other better, hmm? I am Hood, I can be your best friend. Or just an useful ally. I help those who help themselves to become more wealthy and successful, and they help me do the same. Truly a friendly, symbiotic relationship. There are many great people in this city with ambition and power, so I help they don't accidentally hinder each other. I mediate in deals and I make sure that the occasional setback does not end with any of my friends in jail. At least not for long."

"/Best/ friend?" A fine tuned brow plucks upward, wrought like upon the strings of a marionette in their motion, but his step away does not withdraw her grip from the cloak, not yet. "Ally, I know that term. But your other." A single digit rises to her lips and taps, his cloak fisted there as well, a whispering sweep across plush skin.
"Ally it is." Satana's hand extends, fingers unfurling to allow his cloak to slide from her grip, but as she does so a swift lift has it spanning like a curtain call between them. But when it falls that proximity he had sought to make between them is closed again and she is standing before him, head tilted and that amber hair taking on a darker sheen, rubies spilled in liquid form.. Riches embodied.
"And when will you tell me your story, Hood? Join me for a meal. I cooked it myself. Perhaps then you can tell me more and what is going through that mind of yours in regards to getting in bed with a devil." A rise of hand and fingertips draw along his temple, descending along the contours of his profile with a light drag of nails before she turns and seeks to make her way back towards the quenched fire and the roasted delicacy of an endangered species.

Parker looks at the fried bird with some skepticism. Of all the things he has done to get super-villains to his gang, eating barbequed bird is going to be high in the weird list. “I can promise getting into your bed was not what I am trying to do.” He looks back to the woman. “Not that you aren’t beautiful as hell, pardon the pun. But I came here to make a business proposal, nothing more.”
Back to the bird. "You sure you don’t prefer a burger? Or maybe Italian. I know a restaurant by Mulberry Street…" he trails off.

"Oh you mistook the terminology. But your denial of admittance is adorable." Satana states, her back turned to him but when she pauses her profile is visible framed in the cascade of deep red that only grows more and more vitaen as the seconds tick on. The smile is one dipped in honeyed tenor and has fanged canines resting upon lower pillow of flesh, those eyes swirling with a lavas burn and brimstone.
"You think you know and yet you offer to feed me? You have not even begn…" Hands sweep upward, almost as if in a dance and the air thickens, a balmy heat omission just before fingertips slide through the hair and part it in their path, twisting wrists knotting it up, gathering the extreme length like upon a spindle making gold, drawing it upward and the dance began…
The Illusion.
From behind the spanse of bare spine is visible in the deep V that mimics the front all the way to the small of her back, only the nape of her neck now touched by coiffed curls, pinned in place by two barbs that form sharpened sticks from fingertips. A single curl is danced downward to string along devilish facade, bouncing just beside the felinistic up-tilt of kohl lined eyes resting back to the residual pale blue, flecked green and underlain ember. Dark lips fade to a glistening and glossed sparkle, curling in the diminutive smile that narrows the eyes into a manner alluring and dangerous.
Turning to face him one hand descends downward to rest just above where that deep V rests betwixt the span of hips, ascending in a slow caress of her own hand to draw the fabric together, melding ends to cover the curse lain upon flesh and spread outward, turning latex to silk and the pants to a contouring dress, but the sides still left open to contrast pale skin against the darkness of attire, the V now ending just between the valley of bosom.
Satana's other hand extends, plucking the cooked bird from its hover to cast it up, from the brush an inhumanly large panther leaps, catching the avian meal in its maw and lands, glancing back with a flick of its tail to stalk off into the shadows. "He was waiting for that." She states offhandedly, smiling to Hood and extending her hand as if to take his arm. "I have had French, show me something I have yet to experience. Your tastes. You have quite a competition in the cuisine department."

Parker is somewhat startled when the panther jumps from nowhere and snatches the fried bird. Of all things, a panther was not what he would have expected. "You are full of surprises," he notes, recovering quickly. "But of course…" he offers his arm and with Satana touches him, he calls on the powers of the cloak to teleport them to a restaurant in Little Italy.
There is some consternation when they appear, but not as much as one would think. The staff is used to have Silvermane, Hammerhead and the Nefaria as customers. A young crime-lord wannabe and a demoness are relatively tame in comparison.

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