A Visitor from Hell

April 24, 2015:

Satana comes out of Hell just where Fantomex is killing some murderers. Not a coincidence. Daimon comes running, because she is family, or maybe because he is afraid. He drags in Reese.

Green-Wood Cemetery - New York City

Green-Wood Cemetary lies several blocks southwest of Prospect Park in Brooklyn. It is considered a historic landmark and is the final resting place of several permanent residents. Of note, Samuel Morse, Jeremiah Hamilton and Henry George Jr.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Mood Music: None.


Fade In…

"You are almost ready."
The words echoed in Satana's mind just before that split grin almost cuts a jagged scar across her father's face. A Glasgow Smile that will never have enough stitches to mend. He'd rip them from his glorious facade anyway.
Satana's was a bit more demure, a bit more alluring, but it did not take from those fangs, the dual setting of them that gleaned threat upon the pillow of lower tier, a deadly quartet dimpling pillows of flesh and offer so much more if it was not for the fire in her eyes…
A flame that flickered as the pits of her layer of hell began to fade around her and the portal of Darkness ripped open at her back, drawing her to it whether she tred it's way or not. And on the other end:
The cemetery is still, no longer looking as dead as it should asspring has taken root. Branches of trees bearing fruits of tthe season as well as bushes, thankfully night time so crickets chirp instead of birds but all at once they went eerily silent… The portal opens, an ethereal tear that spills smoke and the acrid smell of sulfur from its maw, an infernal darkness spreading outward and swallowing anything the moons light touched into that abyss. But what came from it is one cloven hoof followed by another, locks of pale fur spill around the tops of obsidian, ridin upward to the flex of thighs beneath a coating of liquid shadow that caresses and paints its way up and over svelte figure, openings revealing the curvature of hips, spanse of sdes, and a deep V in the front of outfit starts just above apex, growing wider in shape just betwixt the heave of breasts. A devout feminine effigy, that black hair looking like aged bloodin hue spills like a war torn fall over her shoulders and down her back, framing the set of hirns upon her head, whispering just above the curve at the small of her back where a whip like tail snaps to and fro.
Eyes ablaze snap over the tombstones and surroundings, drawing from the woman a sigh and a look of utter…boredom.
"Go play with humans, daddy says. Learn and take from them what you can, he insists. I'm alreaddy /bored/."

It is just midnight, the witch's hour, the thieves work time. Cemeteries are not good places to steal this early in the Twenty First century. They are a good place to make deals, though. Which is why a few scumbags, half of them representing the Friends of Humanity, and the other half Intergang, were here to trade some high-tech weapons for jewelry. Which was also stolen from mutants that are now dead.
And so Fantomex, who renounced his promising career as an assassin not so long ago, and has actually been quite good at not killing unnecessarily ever since, has really made a number with the gangster and the racist thugs. It will very likely be in the newspapers tomorrow. None of the six men is alive. There is quite a bit of blood, too, because one of the thugs had a combat knife and Fantomex borrowed it to gut him and his friends.
The portal to hell was unexpected. Mostly unexpected. Some day he is going to go there, he is quite sure. The redhead was definitely unexpected, and although his common sense tells him to duck and hide, Fantomex just needs to answer that comment (and he never listens to his common sense, anyway). "Sacre bleu, a Friday night and bored? Not. Allowed."

*FWOMP*
That is the sound that Reese makes as she holds Daimon's hand.
Yes. That was a hand she was holding. No, she really didn't intend to take him with her. It was luck of the draw really; whenever something bad happened to poison the lines of the world, Reese could feel it, the entire pulsing sadness that rocks her body on a mental way instead of physical. To know is worth knowing.. but to do? So much different..
Thankfully, Max was there to begin his incessant barks; there were people nearby. Perhaps they were the bad ones who had made the earth sad.. (as a five year old would say), but there was only so much Reese could do, blind as she was, and with a potentially evil guy attached to her hip. Or her to his. Or was it both?
"Max! Shhh! Shhh!" But, the poor mutt.. well, he wasn't a mutt, the pure, meat-eating, acid pissing pup was on full guard. He did not like anyone near his Keeper, even if she chose to walk that path of where most had stood. She dropped down to curl an arm around his neck, smacking his side in attempts to cool and calm, even curling her fingers to scratch at the coat which draws him into silence and sends the rear leg to thump like mad.

Daimon Hellstrom laces his fingers with Reese's as he takes in the world beyond the lines again, everything solidifying. He could sense the presence of Hell - it had drawn them there inexorably, a magnetic resonance with the essence of his Darksoul, causing him to manifest with Reese at his side as faithfully as if he'd been summoned.
His demonic aspect arises quickly, pinprick horns forming above his brows, fangs slick in his mouth as his canines extend. He inhales and mystick senses detect her - she is unique, after all, and he has known her for all of his life, all that he can remember at any rate.
"Hello, little sister," he says softly in the funereal air, Max's constant alert not seeming to distract him from his task. "If you're bored, please, by all means, feel free to return from whence you came. I don't think the humans will much miss your tormenting presence," he says. "Outside of the lonely men, of course, but they usually end up in your clutches one way or another," he says.
"Stay close to me," he says sotto voce to Reese, maneuvering himself somewhat to place himself between Seikatsu and his sister. As for Fantomex, the assassin is, for the moment, something of a lesser evil for him to consider.

The first presence to speak draws Satana's attention. A lash of her tail and leaves fall from the brush, completely severed, though wiltedand shrivelled as if burnt. The pertals closeness having already touched upon the small vacinity, showing the truth of the matter, even after it slowly began to close and then utterly sealed leaving what it had blacked out once more able to view, though a small lone shadow zipped into the shrubbery.
Her moment of revelry (hatred), is shattered though and she is weavin between headstones, nostrils flaring at the scent that lifts a dulcet purr from the depths of her throat, much like a growl mingled with it. One hoofed foot steps over a body, the sound of a gelatinous squish reounds, but does not seem to so much as make her twitch, instead the fanged smile spread. Finers unfurled, clawed appendages darin to almost tease at Fantomex's chin in a gesture most dangerously flirtatious.
"You smell utterly delectable. Like death, greed, lust… Though I hear the French… Oh nevermind. I'm hungry already.."
The barking cut it short, snapping those black on orange eyes snapping towards the spanse of the cemetery, brows furrowing and then snapping to take a fucking hike up her forehead at Daimon's voice.
The smile that peeled upon facade bore a death-toll bell of laughter, hands clapping slowly like in view of the par. "I have missed you too!" Satana shouts, her hands flying in the air as if in exalt, heading towards them and then pausing between the people, her hands clapping together with two fingers touching at pad tip, lips pursed. Perplexed. "When did you ever think it was /just/ men dear brother. She's so cute." The remark made as those infernal eyes fall upon the tucked-away Reese.

One has to admire (or be wary of) a woman that steps over the freshly dead to flirt with the killer. Fantomex studies Satana very carefully, judging her intent with his enhanced senses. Scent? He has no scent whatsover. None. “Well, they are dead and greedy enough…” he remarks. “I’d invite you for dinner, but… ah, I hate to interfere in a family meeting.”
Finally, he allows a spare second to glance at Daimon and Reese. And the dog. “Bonsour to you, too. Don’t judge me too quickly. For these men deserved death, worse than death.”

The barking from Max, it ceased to low growls, his eyes drawing from one foreign being to the next, his tongue lolled out of his mouth as he pa-pants in betwixt the angry rumbles. She listens, however.. to the three of them, her brows furrowing as she feels the heat move in front of her instead of upon her side. "You have a sister?"
Reese, is old and wise. And smart, but there were times where that judgement actually lapses. "Why didn't you say you have a sister?" Even though Max was still on edge yet stilled, she draws herself upright to try to shuffle to the left, and then to the right to come into view of Satana and Fantomex.. however.. the words from the unknown Frenchman causes her to frown and truly step forward.
It was the smell, really. The copper and everything else it entails, her gaze drawing alight as her body subtily begins to glow from the fresh travel of the earths lines. She could see them, the dead, lain upon the ground, her feet shuffling forward, leaving Max in his place behind Daimon to lower herself to her knees to reach out to touch the arm of the fallen.
"What did they do to deserve worse?" Reese asks, a little upset. Was she too late to save them? Could she even try? Should she? "What did they do?"

Daimon Hellstrom sighs and runs a hand back through his dark hair, "I have a sister. This is Satana," he says, not bothering to introduce back, in part because he's not sure having Satana know Reese's name is a particularly helpful thing. "I have a higher opinion of women - I thought perhaps they had better taste," he says with a soft snort.
To Fantomex, he shakes his head, "Judgment isn't particularly a problem in current company, monsieur. If anything, fates worse than death are something of a family specialty," he says.
He returns his attention back to his sibling, flexing his free hand with the reflexive urge to summon his trident, an urge he, for the moment, resists, "I suppose it's too much to hope that you've decided that Father can shove his head up his ass at last? Or, at the very least, have decided to stop being his tool?"

"The more you talk the more I could just eat.you.up." Satana's head rolls back, that cascade of blood huen hair shining as it falls off her shoulder to join the mass down her back. But those eyes roll Fantomex's way, and that eerie incandescent hue that normally shows green of an animal's gaze at night burns a red orange, moving to land upon him. the steepled finger srise to her lips that lay a kiss upon the fagger tips of claws, then blow his way. "Just wait right there since you promised me dinner."
Reese's aplomb though drags Satana's eyes from Fantomex back to her as she steps towards the bodies and sets those hooved feet to moving. The dog is given a second glance /not right/, but she backs up anyway, coming to lower by one of the fallen bodies bearing the combat knife standing erect in the chest cavity of a former FoH member. One hand rests over latex clad knees, the other curls clawed grip around the blade's hilt and slowly… Oh so slowly… Starts to withdraw it, the wet sucking noise of a corpse clinging to its murder weapon still viable despite death.
The blade, coated in blood resembles and matches the sheen of hair that spills like spiderwebbing over the crook of bent arm, flowing to tease tips onto the corpse, is now eminating, a small flicker of light, a beating of wings and then nothing as it wraps ethereal wings around her hand and sinks in… The tip of the blade is pointed towards Reese, all the while he spine straightens in a shudder of adoration at the sensation of enery obtained all the while a threat loomed. Leaning towards Reese those painted lips split into a grin, tongue pressed between slightly parted ivories. "It means don't waste your energy. They're gone."
Snapping to a stand she looks towards daimon, incredulously and the mockery in twisted grin is there in the light laughter as well as the cock of her hip to the side her empty hand comes to rest on. The other hand still weilding the blade points towards Daimon. "I do not care where Father shoves his head in his spare time, but I am not as much the winch that removes him from tight spots as you think I am. I am doing as /I/ please, as usual!"
"Still siding with the frail I see. Tsk." In that finality the blade in her hand is wavered for balance and flipped, bare palm catching the blade to open a slice into the palm of her hand…

Fantomex smiles at Reese, glancing back vaguely alarmed, maybe amused, to Satana. “Well, it is a long story… see, mademoiselle… these three belong to a human supremacist organization called the Friends of Humanity. They harassed, beat and occasionally murder mutants. They killed a young couple last week. These other three, they were part of a strange sect of crazy thugs called Intergang. They worship crime. No, seriously. So they uphold theft and murder as virtues. All very interesting from the, ah… anthropological standpoint. Sacre Bleu.”
Looks like he owes the redhead a dinner. That is what he gets for having a tongue that is too fast for his brain. Now, the trick will be not to become the main course. It will be fun, he is sure.

"Satana. Hi." Reese murmured quietly, nodding her head as she turns her gaze towards the bodies.. her hand reaching out to press upon the neck to feel for pulse, the temperature of the skin. They were freshly dead but too far gone, even for her. She doesn't mind the little banter, often finding herself phasing herself out of conversation, worrying about what was going on within her own mind before she deals with others. It was better that way, to be clear thinking..
Hearing the footsteps in her direction, her hand presses hard against the chest of the fallen, one ear tilted and twisted to finally draw in the world around her to listen, unable to see what was happening.. but guessing.
"What.." Reese was confused, hearing the woman to tell her not to waste her energies? She already knew. "I.. know. They're too far gone. But that was over-.." Her perch disturbed, she draws herself upright slowly, Fantomex's words catching her attention as she keeps a clenched and straight jaw. Fair enough. She wasn't going to mourn their deaths.
But with her eyes still lit afire she draws up a hand in a snap towards Satana's direction; a quick gust of blue light drawing from the pits of her stomach.. following the trail of life, straight from her finger-tips and into the cut hand that Satana had produced.
"Be nice to yourself. You don't deserve that." At least, in Reese's opinion as of now, she doesn't.

Daimon Hellstrom shakes his head softly, 'I think, too often, that what you think is your own desire falls a little too neatly in line with Father's plans. Put simply, he plays you - he always was a fiddler and he knows your strings all too well, sister mine," he says.
He shakes his head at Fantomex, "No mourning here, kemosabe. I'm not what you call the sentimental type, although my friend's of a more sensitive nature," he says, just as Reese flares up, drawing a raised eyebrow from the Son of Satan.
"She deserves plenty and don't doubt it for a second. Still, she is my sister, so I suppose I should provide some benefit of the doubt. It's not as though I don't have my share of dirty laundry," he says. "As for the frail…yes, I suppose I do side with the weak on occasion. Someone has to - the strong don't need anyone to stand up for them."

Satana had meant -any- energy, whatsoever. A band-aid even because she had her own motives. The combat knife now turned into her own personal anthame, her blood rouching down from that hairline slice…. Then the glow comes and heals her quicker then she does on her own, bringing her upper lip into a recoil, canines flashing as eyes narrow upon Reese witha bird-like snap of her head to put the woman back into view.
"Get her away from me, dear brother." The words are simple, concise. No bullshit. The blade is flipped back to hilt in her grip, glistening with black blood upon its edge, a balancing of that single thick droplet that had managed to escape just before she stands over the first body, lowering to a crouch at its side to dra the blade like a feather duster over its chest, even her gaze from tilted head seems adoring… Sweet spot. Plunge.
The knife sinks in and through it and the use of the blade the glow eminates again, that small blue butterfly. "You killed them all?" She lifts that brimstone gaze to Fantomex and that heated gaze almost praises him if it is not for the gluttanous smile that stretches her lips. "And for a good cause too, let me see if any had money upon them. Dinner should be /my/ treat." Without further ado she is checking the pockets of the dead, using hooved feet to roll bodies. Yep, nary a care…
"Oh Daimon." Satana sighs as she pulls out some gems, one held betwixt claws for a fang riddles smile of appreciation. "How will you ever teach them to be strong then? At least father has let me off this leash you speak of." Although it is to see how she dabbles in the world of two legged dogs it is still freedom.

Fantomex would object if Reese tries to heal the people he just has killed. He is not a murderer; it takes quite a bit to rile him enough he will go for the kill, it is not even easy to annoy him enough to get him go out of the way to beat up some criminal.
So he steps out of Satana’s way to gently usher Reese away from the dead thugs. Still keeping an eye on the redhead and her blood games. He figured out quickly enough Satana comes from a rather low and fiery place, he is smart, worldly enough. He too foolish to see why that could be a problem, though.
"Oh, I am partial of a better educational system, myself." He mentions. Because Fantomex has opinions for everything, and they are free. "We have to think of the children, oui?"

Reese's hand draws down, a little frown gone out towards Daimon. He couldn't possibly think that about his own sister, could he? But she was going to stay out of it; this was their argument, her and Fantomex.. well, she alone seemed as if she were intruding. Satana's cold words towards Reese's healing gift causes a little bit of puzzlement, her gaze akin to someone who was taken aback and stung by words. But, she doesn't say a thing, only grasping Fantomex's hand as he grips her and moves her out of the way, keeping that hand there so that he does not leave her side.
"Right. For the children." Reese mutters, it wasn't as if she didn't agree with Fantomex, just that some things were unforgivable and messing with children was one of them. To let Reese say that aloud? Well, it would be out of character for her.

Daimon Hellstrom shows a little darkness of his own as his eyes flick towards Fantomex grasping Reese and pulling her out of the way, the pentagram on his chest flaring slightly, the brand of his birthright running hellfire along the marked lines of his father's mark.
"Strength without purpose - Father's kind of strength - is merely predation. It requires neither subtlety of thought nor wisdom of purpose. Simply appetite. And while I can appreciate the pleasures in slaking one's cravings, I aspire to be something more than a dumb animal."
"If you truly are unleashed, as you say, you might take the time to get to know humans as more than mere snacks to pick out of your teeth. You might be surprised at how much they have to offer - especially because Father has so very little by comparison," he says.
"That said, my toleration goes only so far. You threaten anyone under my protection," he says, his gaze flicking towards Reese once more, "And you'll find out why Father avoids me so assiduously - he values his skin."

Satana is rolling each of the bodies, a flick of her wrist and she is brandishing a few stones and several wallets. "Dinner for two /mon amour/." Satana purrs as she then hands the blood coatedpieces to Fantomex, leaving them in has grasp just before her fingers sweep across the blade of the anthame to clean it of all of its vitae, plummeting it into the earthwith a downward flick of her wrist.
Standing over it a low chant casts a glow around it, almost simultaneously with the flare upon Daimon's chest except a neon glow of the aether that whisps around in that symbol like a flame set to a scripted path and then disappears.
Reese is not devoid ofthat gaze, not when her /dear brother/ lays a threat upon her. Oh the puzzle pieces easily fit and her smile is slow growing, but there, narrowing her eyes into a predatorial form of pleasure. One step, and then another, leaving the disenchanted simple blade stabbed into the earth those hooves come to crush upon the earth, burning a path with the flow of power eminating, leaving imprints scorched into green only to fade as she lets it slip and the facade come to play.
Hooves turn to feet, though the locks of fur still remain, ruffling around feet, the tail whipping just before it shrinks and is non existant, the hors curling back into her skull with the evident bone readjustment that momentrily warps her features and puts them right back to place. What had been hidden beneath the hair makes a quick show though, leathery wings expanding and that clawed digit upon the peak of their fold reaching forward to touch beneath Reese's chin and lift it so Satana could meet those vacant eyes. "You should know by now I do not threaten. But my promises… /Oh/, they are nothing but delicacies of the sweetest ambrosia. They wont even suffer if I do not want." Withdrawing though from Reese the long flesh coated philangae traces along her jaw almost like a lovers stroke before it departs and then flutters. A pained motion as they too disappear.
"I am not father, so stop thinking his rule, his motions." Satana makes a puppet gesture with unclawed hands then. "Or his fear is mine."

Fantomex chuckles with little humor at the bloody money. "I’ll keep it for you until we can find a purse for you?" He offers. Then he snatches the knife before it hits the ground, palming it up with a dexterous flourish. "And this too, for good luck," and so her fingerprints are not in the murder weapon. Sheesh. Those alien superbeings, always underestimating the human police.
He glances at Daimon, almost considering for advice, or maybe permission. “Oh, don’t worry monsieur. I will be a gentleman, and I won’t let her kill me or anything too unpleasant.”
He steps back and bows to Satana, gesturing flamboyantly. “Mademoiselle, your chariot.”
The air shimmers, flickers, as E.V.A. drops her invisibility cloak and hovers down, extending a ramp from a side. E.V.A. is a living being, though, and has more common sense than Fantomex, so she is having words with him, in his head. A demon, Jean-Philippe? You. Idiot.

This is one family drama that Reese could not get behind. The flash of heat felt against her skin has her drawing her hand away from Fantomex so that he could move as he pleases. Max, on the other hand, wandered off, the conversation that he heard was tiring, just a simple series of blah blah blah to him. No one spoke of 'meat', so he was not interested. That and Reese wasn't in danger. So it was time for him to roam, to pee, to lick worms and eat them if they tasted delicious. Even sniff a flower and sneeze out pollen. He was busy.
She moves closer to the familiarity of the heat, only to be captured by the jaw, her breath caught as the woman speaks, her lips turning into a full frown until the tickle to her jaw causes a slight reaction that she didn't expect.
Laughter.
It wasn't her fault that she was ticklish, that gesture alone had her jaws raising and chin lowering to hide that fact, her tanned cheeks a slight reddish hue due to the little outburst of a giggle. And then she was moving again, the last words hitting home for Reese as she takes her perch at Daimon's side, her hand wrapping around his elbow, yet keeping a careful distance lest she wants to sweat.
Her words were quiet, murmured. "I like her. Scary. But I like her."

Daimon Hellstrom shakes his head in disgust, "That's because you are a nice person," he says to Reese, "I, on the other hand, have the luxury of a certain degree of hatred - and the context in which to justify it," he says.
"I see you've still got your taste for the florid and the profane, sister. And if you do not fear me, then you have not been watching. Which, given your attention span, is hardly shocking."
"Try not to leave the Frenchman an empty husk. Come, Reese…let's not interrupt their date night any further," he says. He mutters a few arcane words, obscene sounding syllables that grate against the skin of the world until a portal opens in the air…

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