Sit... or Freeze for a Spell

January 17, 2016:

Gambit being pursued by Assassin's Guild members has a chance encounter with a Demoness.

Upper West Side - NYC


NPCs: Assassin's Guild



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

White, cold, late winter. The Upper West Side is coated in a layer of fluffy snow and more continues to pour down.

A street is cleared by a running group of men in heavy winter coats as they huff and struggle. A pursuit, they are armed and struggling to keep up with one lone individual. This man is at the end of the city block they are racing down, street lamps illuminating parked cars and the fronts of apartment and those spindly barren lonesome trees situated neatly in front of each complex.

As the man at the end of the road pauses he turns and hot breath rises up from behind the scarf covering his face, the cold has always been a bad fit for him. Red on black eyes gleam before tendrils of energy flick off of them and a single purple-pink object sails own the road towards the pursuers.

It is then that time appears to slow and then stop all together, snowflakes cease movement, the projectile no longer moves through the air and the man who had been chased stops dead. Frozen, time locked all of them like statues save one individual. A man in a parka jacket moves his hands in intricate patterns before him while chanting in a baritone voice. Magic. A spell to pause the immediate actions and time in a limited space; no simple spell.

And time stood still…

But not all things.

Snow did not move as the darkness split and crystalline white remained unmoved by the footfalls coming in a stiletto cadence. One that shoud have cracked ice, melted snow, and broke the peace f the moment. But she chose not to as deep ruby painted lips cut into a feral smile, but just as everything ceases she (aside from the man in the parka) weaves through time and space with a single digit drawing over the purple-pink glowing object to pen fingertip as if a papercut had occurred, split flesh and no vitae'd welling.

The single digit is brought to lips and a single sound passes lips, one of adulterous proportions as she suckles upon the wound and steps through frozen-in-time flakes to have them rest upon expose pale skinscape unmelting.

"And to what do I owe this visit?" The contralto utters upon dulcet tenor while a single hand strokes beneath a pursuers chin in a fashion one would passingly afford a feline. "I feel it stirring, this darkness uncovered…" All the while the steps carry the auburn haired woman towards the parka layered man with brimstone gaze alight…

A frown is afforded Satana as the parka wearing man's fingers start to shake violently and teeth grit. A hard spell for a mortal to maintain. It is powerful very powerful and the area he is currently holding dominion over is shrinking in on itself the snow is beginning to fall again just outside of the spellcaster's range.

A slow step back from the demoness and the assaulters will refocuses, determination, fixated and stubborn. These are not men without a purpose.

More snow yet descends even as the man tries to assert his mind over the fabric of reality. Satana by her very nature can feel the burden this wizard was under. This was no borrowed power either, this was the individuals own soul and essence being poured into his sorcery. She definitely holds the upper hand for this frozen moment.

Exposed skin is show betwixt strips of liquefied darkness. Deep V's cutting their course from betwixt bosom to that of apex. From shoulders to the small of back, leaving the fine dip over spinal column evident to the toned contours outlining just above the contour of posterior. Oval shaped openings also leave way to the hourglass indent of hips curvature held all together by strips and metal loops.

effigy of sin. A matron saint of wanton in every step that carries her near the parka bearing spell-caster, and daring enough yet, to curl one finger beneath his chin and -curl- in a beckoning motion all the while she encircles him like a serpentine and sssspeaks.

"You work so hard at trying to control this outcome. And yet, why? His soul is scarred by darkness…"

With those words it would seem his vision would waver and the heat that would emanate from her drowns out the cold.

Down to his very core.

The concentration the man is clinging to looses and his hands drop, their weavers dance ceases and the snow plummets. "Beb? Why are you here? Dis man here… this capon. We must deal wit' 'im. Our duty." Despite what he is saying the Parka-laden wizard is outstretching his arms to Satana, "And now he is possede by a thing mos' foul."

The unreal pause of all that is ceased now that kinetic charged projectile slams in to the man the spawn of Marduk had touched in passing with the impact of a slow moving car. The sound probably a lot worse than the reality of it.


A gunshot follows one of the other pursuers hasn't even noticed Satana, none of them have. In their minds there had been no pause, no spell. One down. The magician is ignoring the other two who are firing at their query.

In response the prey has flipped over a bench and hunched low, their shots are off, too low or too far to the left. Remy LeBeau begins packing snowballs.

"And it tastes so good…" Satana states as the spell begins to crack and break, but before movement even starts those tendrils of vitae hued hair pick up from where they had hung at heels as if in a dance all their own and whirl about her figure.

"And what -God- are you to stop this virus?" Beholden of his facade her hands caress over the mans profile if allowed during the enchantment, her lips the hue of void barely caressing his own but hovering there as she hiccups in trying to pull the very soul from this man.

"Fucking Strange!" Satana mentally curses, the bindings beholden to her keeping her from taking his very essence and life but not from forming distraction. And yet the rage make in tandem with the animation of time around them makes the snow kick up around the due in a tornado's' fashion while she regains within, keeping them both warm.

A deep breath..

"And you, monsieur. Let him be!" Unable to drink in while she pushes outward… Serpentine flames lick across the ground between predator and prey, attempting to encircle the pursuers and cast them back with a wave of heat that only hell had borne upon it, the cracks in the 'crete splitting beneath there feet to spew them forth, all the while seeking to keep the magical one en-thrall.

A hesitation in the exchange of magics, will and devouring of souls. Which is exactly what transpires, the sorcerer opens eyes and mouth wide and releases a noise that is almost inhumane, despair, terror? Possibly even outrage but the man begins to shrivel in on himself, cheeks suck in, forearms thin, knees bend and his body crumples and folds in on itself. The Succubus has fed.

"Wrolf!" One of the gunmen shouts. "Wha did you do to him, you bitch!?" Spinning he fires two rounds at her.

His companion is too occupied racing for cover while snowballs turned in to grenades begin to hammer the street near the two. "We must retreat! Without the magician we cannot take him… "

Ignored words as the attacker shooting at Satana keeps his weapon aimed and firing.

Remy LeBeau is now running down the street towards them, bo staff in hand snapping out on both ends to send him pole vaulting through the air in a two footed kick in to the individual calling for retreat. A solid connection puts both men on the ground only one of them won't spring up to his feet. "De Black Dog is down, time you run along, Moochon. None you assassins ever gon' take me alone." A taunting string of words from the red-eyeds man crouched to Satana's side. That threatening grin he bears not visible behind that scarf. Remy hates the cold.

For a moment in Satana's word, time stood still. The soul lingered inside the man, one spell for another. Was he bad? Was he good? Bottom line is drawn in the sand and the scale tips.

Not in his favor.

Satana's curse of Strange's restraints comes too soon, but just as those flames rise in her ire the soul parts from the ever-clinging threads, ripped asunder and left (thread)bare while that moth spreads wings from the chrysalis of his mouth and flits through the air just before Satana.

"Mmmn. Too soon…" Her words a dulcet purr as the moth balances upon index finger, a claw slowly extending from digit tip as she spears a wing and dangles it before…

Bullets rip through the air and one sends blood across the white powder of snow covered ground in a Rorschach, black with red spreading from the center as it absorbed and her body spun.

The moment seemed to move slowly but she caught herself with that impaled soul upon her finger and clawed hand cupped over the sunken face of their mage while her shoulder bled out. Peering over that slope of noir clad appendage brimstone eyes flash nd the flames that had lowered in impact suddenly burst upward. A dragon like trail cracking 'crete and forming a searing heated wall between herself, Gambit, and the attackers.

Beside Remy, the demoness brings the glowing moth of a soul to her lips and captures it between lips, suckling upon finger before withdrawal, making those flames not only spear towards the heavens but begin to seek out further prey in the assailants.

"Oh bother," Spoken as she sweeps finger over bullet wound and blood coats it.

"Appears I have torn a stitch…"

Soulfire drowns Moochon in it's firey wreath amidst screaming and flailing. Gambit twirls his staff and steps back almost defensively in front of the other man he had downed with the flying kick, "Merde!"

"Not sure who you be mon cher or whether to say thanks or jus' run… " The unease is evident, the Cajun is prepared for fight or flight at this point. Flight has been a thing all night however and he is kinda tired of running.
"These assassins, they not good men so maybe it just safe to assume you got beef with 'em too, yeah?"

Like a leaf upon the wind the moth formed from Moochon's death flits towards Satana, defying the whirls of glittering snow to reach it's host.

Those eyes that had glowing brimstone dim, eyes of a fallen angel, eyes of a tragedy, revering to a topaz blue flecked with gold to upturn towards Gambit when he speaks.

You don't see…me. The moth lands upon her bottom lip, that black fading to Utopian humanistic hue upon impact and absorption, lids lined in a thin line of kohl flitting closed as she breathes in and the wound upon her shoulder from the bullet fades.

Here I am expecting just a little bit too much from the wounded… "It depends. Follow your -la vie-." As Satana speaks she rises to stand beside Remy, the hole within the arm of attire fingered idly before left alone to seal just like flesh. "But you have much more within you. And I want what they do." Those humanistic eyes flick to periphery, landing upon him before her body turns and faces him, a single digit trailing along the bo-staff's length to pause just before his hand's grip.

"It is not -mine-. But your darkness can be. Be free of you."

The bo is collapsed and shifted away from the touch, "Pass. I dun know you and I learned my lesson on dealin' with your kind. Which… " A motion at the crumpled heaps, "You either a life suckin' mutant dat real good at what you do or… the alternative."

Circling around the fallen man behind him he nudges him with a boot, "Leave this one be, yeah?" Half respectfully asking her and telling her to back off. He really doesn't want to see what else she is capable of. Wrolf the Black Dog should have had him dead to rights, hes a bogeyman for the Assassin's Guild who never fails or never used to. A rare homo magi among the people who only got called on when special cases arise, Gambit has always been a special case and he made the mistake of reaching out to the Guild's last year… bout time they caught up to him. "Lemme start over, t'ank you… but no t'ank you. I got dis."

// But I see, see through it all, see through, see you..//

"And what is the alternative?" A slow blink and her eyes barely flutter to the fallen man he nudges. I am more then just a little bit curious, "Is there a problem with who or what I am?" A hand is placed upon exposed plexus with a faux offended bat of lashes as she steps closer, even bereft of the bo.

How you're planning making your amends… To the dead… "Let me start over…" And as she speaks her hand reaches towards Remy, as if to stroke the back of fingers along his jawline. Nails grow and those claws press from slightly pointed to extended and fully, but only to skate the backs over his jawline towards the tuft of hair behind…

"Oh, I believe you. But I want what you -got-." And with a swift attempt of motion she pulls him into her, a grip mother-borne and possessive and yet /soothing/ with encroachment upon his very being. It screamed for release, and then to succumb to the succubus as the heat swathed around them and that call tugged from mind to -middle-, begging in its ply for desire to do nothing but give.

With your halo, slipping down.. From his lips she passes that temptation for another, her hand seeking to knot in his coat over his chest, lips caressing upward to rest upon his brow in a sweep of such warmth…

To choke you now.

"Come Chthon, release the 'hold' of 'darkness' upon the innocent and let me take the weight. The Daughter of Marduk would be /far/ more ~pleased~…" The final word sounding more like a plaintive cry, one that could be easily mistaken in the embroiled embrace between Satana and Gambit…

At least that pedestrian's would see.

The embrace was resisted and unexpected in that manner. Remy is a enjoy life sort of guy but he isn't easy or at least he likes to think he isn't. The violence aspect of it is bled out by her quick snare and the sudden kiss perhaps a Demon's charm or the allure of a warm enticing female body that burns beyond even the cold January night the thief succumbs and finds himself returning the liplock. As a reward the final tendrils of the Darkhold are pulled free of him one after another. It takes a moment and his eyes widen only to grip on to her shoulders and thrust himself backwards, wiping a forearm along his lips, "What did you do?! I don't even know your name." Not often he feels like the one being assailed in the game of the sexes.

The embrace shifted. One upon brow to the darker and deeper cravings. Carnal. When his lips met her own the hunger was equated, but one wanted freedom, the other wanted to covet, and Remy was in thrall. Just. One. Moment.

That is all it took, and when lips parted, a single pant exhaled from Satana's lips, that extension between them on a clear saliva thread glowed with a darkness that pulsed in time to draw a parasitic embedding betwixt lips and within.

Several steps nearly bought her to knees as her own light pushed out, those souls screamed as they scorched within her and the air pulsed, her hands coming to her head as she fell in genuflect, clutched her temples and strung fingers through tendrils of vitae…

Lips parted, eyes clenched and when her body rocked the effulgence of her own life force seemed to choke away and become a pulsating deep amaranth instead of that amber -heat- of her own. A moment she wretched and then gasped, a choke that almost would have been fervid had she not been knelt within the snow alone of his touch…

Or anyone's for that matter.

When she looked upon him her single hand clutched her throat, raw but not of her own screams, swallowing against it as a wavering smile bearing malevolence crept upward. "I took your /obscurity./" A pause and she rises, a motion smooth, one that when she does so sends the snow from her and melting beneath her steps back towards him.

"Be free. Something I only seek to be." A hand rises, but then withdraws, tucks back into a light fiset curl so as to not touch him, to keep what she had stolen…


A single word, a name unaffiliated but given, and she is turning away.

"I dunno what that means, chere. Gonna assume it wasn't nothin' drastic as my virginity cause you bit late and doin' it all wrong if so." Remy teases but remains at arms length, "Remy, Remy LeBeau… " He offers up while quizzically studying her. "Always free. It's part of what makes me, me."

"We meet again most likely. Hopefully you someone I can trust an you didn't just eat somethin' I need. Like my conscience or sumtin… " A lingering step then he spins and brushes past that fallen man, tapping him with his toe again, a groan escapes him this time. "Member, dis one be off limits. Someone gotta spread word not to mess with Remy cause he apparently got some friends that are real thirsty…" A flourishing half-bow and Remy takes off down the street again, making sure to pull his scarf back over his frost blasted mouth which was still somehow very warm from the kiss of the devil.

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