Kindred Shadows Draw Near [Painterlee, Closed]

[Nascent]

Part of that power which would
Do evil constantly and constantly does good.
I am the spirit of perpetual negation.
- Mephistopheles, Goethe's Faust

Another show had drawn to it's end.

Mephisto, as Reymond Descartes, as "Mephistopheles", descended the steps leading behind stage, rubbing off a makeup of hard eye lines and gauche ghoulish-white skin paint as he went. The towel in hand was one he'd reused often and never really bothered to dispose of -- his minions had the luxury to change their appearances at whim and needed only pretend their costumery was real, but he, not so. Besides, little trinkets such as that gave an air of authenticity to the troupe, and helped to keep up appearances. He hung it in the usual place; one of the faux-thespians of his entourague would take care of giving it at least a cursory wash at some point, so there was no need to concern himself with it. For now, at least, he just let himself be at ease.

It had gone as it ever had: the scholar-turned-sorcerer Faust, lured by the promises of damnation's bargain, had courted his fate, toyed with redemption by whatever divine names were favored by the crowd, and ultimately been the victim of his own hubris. The dramatic fall of a foolish man -- that's what they'd all gathered to watch. To some it was a morality play, a warning against the darker powers that lurked at the edge of the moral abyss. In Connlaoth it was played as a condemnation of magic as the road to hell; here in Serenity the tale was angled specifically to those magics that lent themselves to the summoning of the demonic, which was just as natural a fit. Whatever the prejudice and taboo of a region, playing to people's fears -- and curiosities -- was generally a simple matter. But the overt "message" of the tale was a sham.

For he could already hear them, dozens of voices and more rising in his mind. Men, women, and children, priests and scholars, nobles and farmhands, all those who'd just seen the performance and those who were yet discussing the story from shows months or years past. He sat upon an empty crate and marvelled at the irony of it -- a performance warning against the calling upon of demons...

... and all of them were out there, saying his name, calling to him. He could hear their discussions, feel the souls tethered to the other side of the words. If he closed his eyes they were like stars, pinpricks of light in the dark places of his already very dark mind. The sense of power was, briefly, intoxicating -- he could be anywhere, vanish from this place and go to any of them upon a whim... and they hadn't the slightest clue. Fools, one and all. He would spread his fame and, in time, his will without limit, until he had a kingdom to shame any mortal lord or worshipped deus. It would be a subtle thing, like a snake weaving through the grass... but the poison was already spreading.

And one day it would overflow, and a new future would be born.

The harlequins made themselves busy, still wearing human faces as they packed up and prepared their caravan. The voices of the crowds dispersing still filled the background, a jumble of noise over which the soul-borne voices in Mephisto's head echoed like a chorus of angels ready to fall. He was, for a moment, truly at ease, reclining in the comfort of a plan coming together and ambitions materializing into reality.

He had, however, not the slightest idea what the night had in store.

[November]

Lily's Theme ~ Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows II

There was something about the calm, salty-sweet air of a sea town that enhanced the senses, and cleared the mind. A bitter attack on your being to clean you of distractions and conviction. If you would let it. That sea air began to roll in on a calm breeze to tell it's tale of people and their convictions. Or not. The task to get here had been tough, given the distance. Getting out of Connlaoth in one piece with her prize, even tougher, but she'd made it that way. The sun was sleepy and was sinking behind the ominous clouds miles out, just above the horizon. It was a storm brewing.

The town was a bustle that evening, the people had become enchanted and restless with new experience. Every corner of this town and it's human minds fed a dark blanket of power to it's assigned heart, and they didn't even know. They didn't have to. Belle, it seemed, had arrived just in time. Once more, she had watched a familiar performance play out before her, just out of sight. Just this once, she wasn't a part of the crowd. No. Tonight, she would be a part of the noise. His noise. From her perch atop a darkening roof, she watched that man retire himself. It struck her that he was probably the most human thing in that place at the moment. From a glance, it certainly looked that way. She fell, silently, to the alley below, like death skulking among the weak, and the reckless. Everything had been set up. That cold, metal presence around her neck reminded her that months of planning was about to start moving.

At the moment, the stage, the cart, and the encroaching darkness was enough to conceal her as she wandered the back allies that surrounded the make-shift stage, just a ghost. Simply taking in her position, and where she needed to get to. The hardest part would be making herself heard between the rattle of the common rabble. Those glittering ice blue eyes peered out from her shadows as she moved, without a sound, around the set that had been, just out of view. A test. In her hand appeared a rose petal. Simple. Charming. Healthy. Not yet dead. A removal of that enhancement and it withered before her eyes.

Would the devil be able to tell those primed to fall from those already cold and rotting? An enchanting voice called out, unlike the others. Uninspired from the previous show, but like an old friend calling to greet. Though the connection was there, she blocked him out. He could not trace her nor find her. Suddenly, he would find his connections compromised. He was a man. She controlled this power of his as it came to her frequency.

"A Faustus calls for their Mephistopheles. Will you answer them?"

From one of the shrouded run-offs, a haunting, surrounding giggle, in and around the perception of that red-haired devil. Belle had made her move, and very moves preceding it, should he adhere to her sinister invitation. Simply, she required his curiosity, his boredom, at full attention. She knew this world and it's blasé people and their blasé lives. Their predictability could only entertain for so long. So long she had been picking at his soul, it was all he needed. Something new. A breeze of wind...

...and the soft fall of a dozen petals, reaching out towards a demons feet. From the dim passage they crawled, helplessly driven, before they curled, and began to wither before him.

"Won't you play a game with me?"

[Nascent]

"A Faustus calls for their Mephistopheles. Will you answer them?"

Blood-ruby eyes bolted wide open, a momentarily horrified expression in the eyes of the ancient devil. Like invisible lightning leaping from one to another the troupe went rigid with shock, their master's jolted reaction echoing in each and every one of their beings. The sensation that coursed through each and every one was something they'd felt very rarely indeed... rarely enough that even the source of it, Mephisto himself was not entirely sure what label to apply to it. Fear? Anxiety? There was surprise, of that there was no question... but there was more to it -- it ran deeper, so very, very much deeper.

At length, and after several deep, calming breaths, he discerned it at last. Disbelief. Yes... very rarely indeed.

He had, by instinct almost, already quieted the other calling voices to focus on the one -- the self-proclaimed 'Faustus' -- and found that emotion overtaking him a second time. There was no 'star' to illumine his dark senses; oh, he could tell there was a connection leading... somewhere... but his sense of it vaporized inches from his being like breath misting upon a cold morning. There was a thread to follow, or at least so he suspected... but something was masking it, overshadowing it. He tried in vain to trace it, to tug on it, to will himself to the speaker's whereabouts; whatever he was dealing with was beyond slippery, beyond elusive. For just a moment he considered that he was dealing with an Adhara or a particularly strong Mordecai, but disregarded the notion. None he had encountered had ever possessed the power to... to negate him like this, least of all whilst toying with him. And so he focused on the voice, mind whirling, thoughts whipping about, blurring, multiplying and dividing. Female -- of that he had little doubt. There were subtleties of tone and timbre, traces of accent and emphasis, but the most he could guess with any measure of certainty is that she had been to Connlaoth at some point. That helped precious little indeed. The red-haired fiend couldn't stop himself from wondering how this was being done to him -- magic, perhaps, but if so a truly worrying development indeed -- yet there was no answer to be found within his own calculations.

More than anything else, though... there was the word, the name. THAT name. He had been so careful, so clever -- he'd thought, at least. 'Faustus'... he hadn't heard it uttered in an age. In the performances it was always 'Faust' -- that way, if some savvy academic or over-curious mage managed to catch upon the thread of the performance's history he could simply claim to have adapted it from "a folk tale" he'd heard "somewhere" in his travels and left it at that. 'Faust'... he had always used 'Faust' -- never once 'Faustus'. A mortal-born might have been thusly careless, but he was no fleshling! His eyes, glimmering with dark suspicion, scanned his surroundings, and his minions similarly surveyed the environs of the stage.

Which was when the petals, shriveling to deathly crisps as they drew near, came borne upon a faint zephyr. As he reached down to grasp one lightly his eyes fixated upon the direction from which they'd come. And then he heard...

"Won't you play a game with me?"

A game. He was being toyed with. Whoever -- whatever -- he was dealing with, it could reach out to him with the power of his name... but gave him no advantage in return. He was completely, truly, in the dark. Mystified. Eclipsed.

And utterly intrigued.

Without a word he gave his commands; all as one the troupe ceased what they were doing and made their way to him. He, in a moment of deviously ironic humor, grabbed upon the hooded habit of a priest -- a costume meant more to look nice in a box than to actually be used, as the troupe had no real need of it, but packed and unpacked for each show nonetheless just to preserve the illusion of normalcy. Here, now, it would serve a better purpose.

~ A game you say, oh 'Faustus'? Indeed... let us play a game.~

The words were spoken without sound, and instead he whirled the robe open and donned it as his troupe surrounded him. Without prying eyes to oversee, each lesser demon briefly lost their human face and shape, harlequin mask and garb emerging in their place like moonlight flooding through a gap in the clouds before a fresh mask was donned by each.

The face of their master.

Fourteen sets of red eyes, accented by hair equally so and the facial trim of a savvy performer, looked towards where the flower petals had come from. As one, hood were drawn up to conceal faces; as one they stepped forward, then broke along different paths -- some took to the roads and walkways, others down well-beaten footpaths that led to the coast and cliffs. All were demons; one was a true devil. And so the game began.

~ Here is my answer and my game, dear 'Faustus'. Come to me, if you are able. Seek me out. And when you have... well, we shall see then, won't we?~

[November]

A diversion, to give her time to set a few more...stage props, up. She gave him enough time to get lost as she busied herself with the time she had relied on him giving her. Besides, her stage was different from his. One couldn't just bust into a place and work their tricks with it with a whole community watching. It wouldn't be hard to do though, but then you'd have a whole town of raving mad lunatics who couldn't be sure if they'd seen anyone at all. Including the people they'd known all their lives. An idea was enough to set of a chain reaction that would destroy all but the most skeptical and rational being. Humans were seldom rational. She couldn't leave a trace. No one was to be involved in this except her, and that demon. Belle was almost anxious. How long had she been tracing him, attending his do's and plays and another 'social' events now? Yet, she'd never really been within 10 feet of him. Excitement. Finally able to 'thank' her host.

"Interesting...

..but not unexpected."

Now all she had to do was play along. For now, at least, she wouldn't be pulling on her end of the thread just yet. The fourteen ghouls separated, walking their different paths to wherever. Through the walls of the town she saw them part. He carried this dramatic sense of being with him over into his life, rather than from onstage. At least his take on domination was different from the sheer force tactic she'd seen too often and cared very little for. Not that she cared at all for men who craved domination. They craved it over the world, over everyone, as if they didn't already have it.

She craved domination over them. Personally. Crush these men one by one, in any way she saw fit, until they trembled under her. They were her sport, and she was top of the League. Belle traced the steps of a few of his goons, minutes at a time, trailing back out of the way for a while. She let all of these bodies trail theirs ways around and outside of the town as the sun vanished leaving the town lit by it's candles, and the souls that dwell in the their shadows. She was a shadow to. For a time she simply observed her mask. That which made her a shadow, maybe one day she could be rid of it. Sink into the background without an object to make it so. For a while she left this demon in his silence before she let it break.

"Maybe it's not a case of me finding you at all."

"Maybe it's a case of...waiting."

Their connection was reeling in, she was taking it herself, pulling at it relentlessly, furiously. In his dark sky she was not a star for him to admire. She was a Black Hole ready to consume him, infinite and anomalous. She shouldn't exist and nor should he. She should have died too many years ago. There was a piece of him in her. He was her only conclusion. He had her answers. And her possessions. But she had his own powers against him. The connection between them strained and pulled at him as she fished him out of his dark. And then...


Nothing. The connection snapped abruptly, it rippled through their beings. Besides, she still had to wait for her stage to be decommissioned for the night. It wasn't in her nature to chase others when they demanded it, let alone men. Belle blocked him out completely, and her presences in his soul collapsed altogether, and his dark was filled with stars.

All he had to do was spot the bending of the light in his horizon.

[Nascent]

She was doing more than merely playing with him now, he realized. She, whoever and whatever she was, was playing him. His effort to divide her focus, to make her act openly against at least one of his decoys, had been met with no real response at all. Suddenly he felt himself a deer being stalked by a hunter, a fox running from the howling of not-so-distant hounds. He had, at first, fancied it more like a chess game... but he'd made his move, and all his opponent seemed to be doing was waiting patiently for him to make a mistake, smiling knowingly in the dark. It frustrated and infuriated him in some small way, though another element of his being couldn't help but find this all...

... refreshing. Different. He was on the defensive, for once not the purveyor of damnation into the souls of weak, pitiful prey but the one trying not to become prey. So many questions filled his mind. How did she know about him? About Faustus? Who was she, and what did she want? What was her angle, her motivation? He tried for a moment to imagine the two of them as characters in a play, to fill in the blanks and queries with his own imagination; he the base, scurrilous villain (of course) and she... what, wondered the devil? A brazen sorceress out to control and use him, as Faustus once had? A sanctified warrior on a mission from some unknown ecclesia to draw him out and destroy him? But every drop of speculation merely sent out ripples of fresh questions, ones he knew he could not divine the answers to. He was, Mephisto realized, completely at the whims of this new 'Faustus' to discover the answers.

She would make her entrance soon, he guessed. Yet minutes continued to tick by and walking aimlessly only left him with more time to ponder. He didn't like it. It was like waiting for a dance to begin without knowing when the music would start, or a journey by sea without knowledge of boat or port or day. And as he felt her manipulate the invisible tether between them and then snap it altogether he knew she held the utter and complete advantage over him.

This was one very, very dangerous woman. He already liked her almost as much as he distrusted her, and he had yet to even get her name.

With the connection between them snapped -- something else that baffled him -- he truly had no choice but to wait for her. The streets and paths became a blur as he focused more and more on his thoughts and on the voices echoing within him, searching the chatter for clues. Above all else, he realized, he couldn't afford to die here... but he was too intrigued, too alarmed to blink away to some distant place and regroup.

'Moth meets flame, perhaps.' Mephisto mused grimly to himself.

[November]

He was an interesting one, for sure. Even observing him for so long wasn't really a substitute for their interaction, if it could be called that at all. For so long she'd just hung back and studied. Observed him as he was, taking in this fame of his. Maybe his fame wasn't such a good thing, if it led people, things, like her crawling to his doorstep. Belle was certainly not the kind of person you wanted showing up at your feet. At the least, he hadn't figured out who she was. That gave her some kind of satisfaction, just feeling what he was, trying to clue it together but nothing felt right, nothing worked. Anything she could be in order to know of Faustus, everything else he had encountered had never been able to twist his own forces against him the way she was. They would be nuances at the most. She had played him into separating from his troupe. His protection. He was realizing it. That he'd danced into her hands like he'd rehearsed it. In his head though, there wasn't a trace of trickery. She had him beat at his own game. And how she loved it.

A wiry grin appeared from under the she-demons hood as she kept her eyes firmly on her prize. She felt him wavering in the lack of understanding and it was beautiful. Belle had begun to keep close, as close as she could manage, until she was sure her stage was cleared out of the life it would so often hold. All that pathetic life, gathered like a herd of sheep. Single minded, simple minded, all trying to find something else. It was likely that place housed the same fools that had witness the production of this devil earlier in the evening.

And then she decided it was time to set things in motion. She couldn't keep this gem around her neck concealed forever. It wanted to be heard, and she wanted it to be heard, too. What she had done was too great to keep hidden from everyone forever.

In among the crowds of the evening her true devil roamed with the last trailing souls as they departed a building she was familiar with. At his feet, a dozen more petals danced a withered; they followed him silently as he moved. They singled him out in a crowd, and led him back towards the alleys that cut through the city like arrows. They would get you anywhere. Bring you anywhere. You just had to follow them, and their promise of salvation in the dark. He moved, and sprung a trip she had placed in case he allowed himself to wander. Her voice would over come his thoughts again, after a prolonged silence.

"Follow. Come to the place beggars find their false gold and their packaged hopes."

A breeze of wind that called to his senses. Petals on the wind the died with their hope of freedom as they escaped the dark that consumed the pathways that connected this place, only to find that it was only in the dark that they could ever exist. She watched him from a shady roof top, looking down onto the street. She needed to be sure he would follow, she had to be ahead of him.

"I have a secret, Mephistopheles."

"And I have no intention of keeping it."

Her voice left him with an empty promise, that led him into the dark, where the roses hoped and dreamed for the breeze, so that they might find light wherever it would carry them. Maybe he would fall onto that breeze, and find himself drawn to the light it would carry him to. 

[Nascent]

Ah, so she was leading him onwards now. Mephisto allowed a grim smile to dance briefly beneath the shadow cast by his hood. It was as he'd thought -- she was the hunter, he the prey, though this was not strictly a 'hunt' in the traditional meaning. She had baited a hook, placed fodder on the trap, and he, moth to flame, was drawing towards it. A glance down revealed the petals whirling and withering at his feet, leading to a trail of them leading... where, he wondered?

He paused, ignored by the few who were still coming and going with the darkening hour. Two choices played themselves out before him, two roads. One was safe, perhaps -- he could ignore this stalker's "invitation", go back to his caravan under the protective cover of his troupe. It might dissuade her, it might not; she might merely choose to do openly whatever it was she intended for private. That could... complicate things, he realized. With a scowl he admitted three truths to himself. First, she knew his methods and habits, likely his plans to at least an extent, too. An... altercation in public could unravel quite a bit in either case. If this 'Faustus' had arranged all of this then surely she had a contingency plan, too, and that was likely it. Whoever he was dealing with was singularly cunning. Second, of course, she knew the true name of "Doctor Faust", and likely a good deal more besides. That was a dangerous thing, no less so than a knife pressed to his throat. And third, she could seemingly manipulate his power to reach out to other minds at her whim, severing and restoring the connection with the utmost ease. She hadn't even spoken his true name at first when she resumed it, for hellfire's sakes!

Yes... whatever was going on had to be addressed. He made a few quick mental calculations. It was a gamble, and even with every step he could take to lean the odds his way the uncertainty was still... disproportionate.

~I have many secrets, 'Faustus', and this night you've uttered one of the more carefully kept ones. Very well -- I'll follow to this place of 'false gold and packaged hopes' as you're leading. You have my attention, so how could I do otherwise? But a question comes to mind...~

Boots thudded lightly against the pavement as the old devil followed the trail of flower petals, barely illumined by a rising silver crescent, into the dark. He had, it seemed, an appointment.

~Have you ever danced with a devil in the pale moonlight?~

[November]

And there it was. He had been baited, and they shared that same dim path towards a tall, reaching building, a trail of dying petals led him the way. The shining hope of every soul in this putrid city, or so it would seem at a glance. The whorehouses and drunken dens spoke otherwise of the virtues that these people pretended to keep. The nature of men when they believed that the Gods, and the Demons, were no longer watching them. The Gods never watched them. The demons did instead, always and constantly. The dark forces of this world were more active than any good. This was true, and had always been true, and for the most part, would always remain true.

Belle was scanning his emotions, his thoughts, as they came into his head. Who she was, where she was leading him, how she knew that name he had thought he had buried. Apparently he'd lost track of the other Faustus members at the time. Kyla, her brother, and her Mother. If he'd had tabs on them, and brushed his tracks down thoroughly, he wouldn't have this problem arise. Had she danced with the Devil, he asked. She smirked to herself. Really, that wasn't the question he should be asking.

"The real question is have you? And how would you ever know. Maybe you already have."

He followed that rose trail, maybe he would have picked out that building by now. It was the center of this town, but abandoned at this time of night as the demons crawled in. Sin would run in the minds of those who dwell outside after sundown. Cleanse yourself, and then hide in your hole for the rest of your life.

The Chapel.

The roses came from under the giant, imposing wooden doors, trailing down the steps of cold stone. They seemed never ending. From the other side the dim light of candles, but the glass too rugged to look through except to see that same light distorted, overwhelming, broken like the flame was alive and fluttering in it's life. On the door, the faint tapping of something. The stone that rose into the sky, pointing out it's existence, so begging to be heard that it sunk into the city like any other building. The place no one would suspect of anything. Demons dared not go into it, they dared not defile it. Or so they said. Perhaps to make themselves feel safe in a world that served as their judgement, their trial. Belle braced herself.

On the steps on the building, a crimson cloak, and a pair of armored boots.

"We should find out."

[Nascent]

The chapel. He couldn't help but find amusing her choice of destinations, nor could he help but wonder at it. Was it simple irony, or did a trap await within? This was not, despite public opinion, 'hollowed ground' in the sense most would believe and yet... and yet he hesitated. This had all the markings of a trap. The details, though, were interesting -- as were the abandoned items left upon the very steps of the church. Wreathed in a sea of petals was a hoodless crimson shoulder-cloak and a set of masterfully crafted boots with green gemstones inset into them. Curiosity got the better of him and he knelt to examine them, remarking on the craftsmanship and attention to detail.

Of course, the question was obvious: why take these off? Mephisto could assume this meant his 'Faustus' was within, but to be certain scanned the nearby rooftops. No sign of archers. The alleys he could see were empty of skirmishers as well; he'd known this without looking, but now was not the time to solely trust his other senses in anything.

Another glance saw the slightest shifting of smoke coming from a chimney, the very faintest hint of movement that should have been invisible at this distance. He knew they were there -- had he not he never would have seen anything out of place. His troupe had abandoned their false faces when she'd laid out a trail of flower petals for him and, color-shifted to match their environs like unto chameleons, now took up points surrounding the building, watching and waiting. This had been as he'd ordered. Considering his situation, though, the elder demon paused a moment and reconsidered his plans and approaches. He couldn't account for how things would unfold once he passed through those doors, even whether or not he would still be free to exert his will upon his minions. Unusual steps had to be taken... and so, hand pressed on the door, he gave one last order before pushing it open and stepping through.

'Do whatever needs to be done.'

It would confuse them initially -- he was their final word on everything, ever since the day he'd created them using Faustus' methods, and to be granted a dose of independent determination now was, at the least, uncertain. Unpredictable. Even he had no idea how that would turn out.

Which meant it was the one thing he could rely on. The doors opened, and the devil went to church.

[November]

He spared no expense for her sake. The troupe stood watch over this scene just in case, but it would not be necessary. While she meant him no harm, at the moment, she was glad to see that so far she had this devil on edge. Curious, but his hand had been forced, this was the only real option he had. All he knew of her was that she could twist his powers against him, that alone would be a hint enough that messing in her affairs and plans might be more dangerous than playing along. He couldn't tell if that was the true extent of her powers after all. Going off of what he could deduce with the scraps was all he could do.

And he had come to her.

With the door opened, he would step inside to find himself overwhelmed with vivid red, and the door closed behind him with a sound that echoed off of the stone walls with a thunderous boom. Hundreds upon thousands of bright red rose petals adorned the air as they rose and fell on the breeze they had all their hopes on. They twirled and danced, falling from the roof of this grand building like lost souls trying to find a way home. The sheer amount of them and their speed made seeing anything for more than a second or two challenging, a soft noise almost like fluttering surrounded the air. The silence, the flurry of movement, the thought that this all could be a distraction and she would kill him there by the door of the house of Gods. It mattered not what gods they were, what they did, or what they meant to the people. But he'd have known. She'd thus far not even shown herself and her mention of a secret to be told was nothing short of the truth. But it would be ironic, the sense of placing cliche but not unlikely.

But it was not so. A dagger never came. An arrow never struck. No blade or blunt came his way just the fluttering of an uncountable mass of red that would brush across his skin and then part. Just a mere second. A snap of fingers came sharp out of the silence. The petals hushed, they slowed, but still floating on.

"Welcome, Mephisto."

A figure, came from out of the red. Blonde haired, blue eyed, and icy stare that may have echoed familiarity if he could try and remember. The soft skin of inhumanity, and not an inch of clothing to be seen adorning the body of the woman who had dragged him into her presence. Bare and beautiful, save for a gem gold necklace that ebbed darkness from her neck. She felt sheer anticipation, after all this time, months or years of gathering her sources, gathering this, and information. Pulling all her strings, planning corruption. She would meet her final player. The lonely King on her Chess board.

Belle stood before him at the other end of the Church, by the alter, not bothered by the cold or his gaze. Nor the gaze of any God who dared to pay attention. There was a pause as the movement in the room slowed. "What can I say.." She breathed, letting her slim shoulders fall, as she turned to look at this red-haired devil from over them. "I've been a little...naughty." Her hand rose to that jewel. "Do you care to listen?"

And she grinned. 

[Nascent]

M u s i c a l   S h i f t
{ Shadows }
by Lindsey Stirling

A storm of lightly fragrant petals descending like flakes in a blizzard from the ceiling. He had to admit, he was impressed -- in fact, for perhaps the first time in at least a century, Mephisto found himself actually touched by what unfolded. Not in the sappy sentimental sense -- he doubted that was even within the scope of what he could experience -- but rather with a dramatist's artistic appreciation of another performer's work. All of this took no small measure of planning and preparation, that was a certainty. He took in the scene for a moment, breathing in the aroma of airborne roses as they covered his monk's habit, and then he took in the sight of her. It was not with the hungry eyes of lust and awestruck disbelief, as just about any mortal man drawn to women no doubt would under such circumstances; no, he appraised her features like a jeweler examining a fine necklace or ornate ring. She was beautiful, no question. What's more, she was stark naked -- save that curious bit of ornamentation she'd previously alluded to. That had to be important, surely. What's more, the fact she was willing to meet him so openly spoke volumes itself. No chance of hidden weapons, which meant she either didn't think she'd need them or thought she'd have no need of them.

It was still an ambush, he realized, but of a very different sort. Mephisto couldn't help but applaud her... and, in fact, he did. A slow but appreciative clap of his hands, accompanied by a wry smile, met the grin she gave him, echoing but oddly muffled in the vast and flora-dominated chapel. And then he began to chuckle, bemused.

"Indeed you have been 'naughty'. Someone's going to be very surprised to find this place tomorrow morn. I can almost imagine the look on the priest's face -- they'll likely think it a sign, mayhaps a miracle of some sort..." One eyebrow raised. "But we'll know better, won't we? Bravo, fair one. Bravo!"

In a whirl he removed the faux monk garb and hung it idly over one hard wooden pew, stepping slowly but not hesitantly towards her. "After going through all this trouble, how could I not hear you out, lady 'Faustus'? You've laid out quite the invitation, after all." He paused, the elder devil scrutinizing her face as he reached the steps of the altar.

"There is... something familiar about you, something I cannot place." He almost whispered it, and it wasn't clear whether he was speaking to her or himself. Eyes searching her visage, and cautious to keep yet some distance betwixt them, he began to pace back and forth with long, deliberately slow strides. "You know the name Faustus. You know who and what I am. Yet I can read nothing of you. Nothing. It's like you're not even there, and yet clearly you are very, very real. So please, speak as you will, that I might yet find some... some grasp of the situation I now find myself in."

[November]

"Of course we will, of course." She nodded her head in agreement once with a slight grim smile, looking out up to the ceiling, musing at her own art, her own creation. Holding out a hand, a petal came to the call happily, resting in her palm. And at the arrival of that priest all these would die. It would be an omen. Her omen. A call to everyone who cared to listen that all was not well anymore. Her hand clasped that petal and it began to crumple and die, before she let it fall into the wind again and join it's healthier companions in a never ending free fall. A soft sigh escaped the she demons lips as she closed her eyes briefly and took in the culmination of her efforts with unbridled satisfaction.

Well, that wasn't quite true.

Her eyes seemed to grow darker at his question, dim and lost, but she smiled all the same at his appreciation at what she had gone to great lengths to achieve. Belle turned to face him, at the foot of the steps before the alter. It was no longer the center of focus in this house of the people. Not too unusual, seeing as, for tonight, this wasn't the house of those people anymore. It were their house. Marked with her power, marked with her unrelenting dismissive approach to faith, and all people held dear to them. Belle held her head up as she listen to him. He was musing. There were elements of her face he recognized. Pacing, Belle was amused by his attempts to try and piece her together. It was so much fun to feel his mind working to no avail, clawing at the details he had to find with only his eyes, anything he'd heard her say. Vanilla it like a human would have to. To have him analyse her face so thoroughly, to intently. "So please, speak as you will, that I might yet find some... some grasp of the situation I now find myself in."

Belle would have been happy enough to let him try and guess, fire his questions with no real clue as to what he was dealing with, who he was dealing with. After all, she had just used a name. He couldn't tell if that was her name at all, or if she'd just been very, very busy indeed. There was a silence for a moment while he continued to pace restlessly. "I might not be here at all. Sometimes I'm not sure of my own existence, but I can't remember not being that way. I've always doubted my humanity. How alive I can really be considered." 

Suddenly she was gone from her place at the alter as the red-haired devil paced, and the next thing, Mephisto would feel a hand pressed to his chest, stopping him in his tracks for a few seconds, before it trailed down to his wrist slowly. "I've never found anything that really lets me know if I'm alive anymore." She whispered, calmly and gently into his ear. Turning him around, she pulled him softly with her, walking backwards, up the steps, where she sat upon that alter and crossed one leg over the other, letting go of him, her hands pressing against the stone. "Would you like a peak?" Belle grinned and winked at him. "In my head, I mean. I don't recommend it, honestly. There are much better things to be doing, after all." Belle grabbed the necklace she adorned, the last thing on her body, and pulled it off, offering it to the Devil. "This necklace is from the Grand Duke of Connlaoth. Isn't it odd? It's enchanted to halt the effects of The Fell, as I'm sure you can feel."

"You should take some time to appreciate what lengths I went to in order to get you here on time, Mephisto." Belle leaned in closer to him for a second and simply caught up his gaze for a few moments. "I practically sprinted from Connlaoth nonstop." She pulled away bringing her legs up onto the stone, and stretched backwards, laying over the alter and sighed, running a hand through her hair, spying him out of the corner of her eye. "I still ache so much. It's awful, honestly."

[Nascent]

"I'd imagine so, yes."

His gaze traveled from her to the arcane trinket she'd placed into his hand. The gemstone gleamed so darkly, radiated a kind of power that he couldn't help but be intrigued by. An enchantment to halt the effects of the Fell? It seemed preposterous -- the magical corruption of that region was so absolute that it suffused any spell or arcana it came into touch with, and any person. But why would...

... and then he began to piece it together. And then a bit more. And finally, he couldn't help but laugh at the irony.

"The Grand Duke? Truly? Hah HAH! Oh, but fate is indeed twisted and cruel if he would have need of this!" He held it up, appreciating the way the light glittered off its surface. The demon's attentions turned towards his generous, sensuous host. "My, but someone has been busy digging up secrets, and not merely mine. What a delightful taste in mischief you seem to have."

"As for the glimpse into your head..." He gently placed the enchanted bauble on the corner of the altar and looked into her eyes. "I'd rather, simply, that you instead ask before waltzing into mine." He tapped at the side of his skull lightly, just above his temple. "Very subtle, very artfully done. Again, bravo. If you hadn't let yourself slip up just now I might never have known, but..."

He waggled a finger at her. "I only go by 'Mephisto' with a very... select few. And most of them are dead. That leaves, effectively, my troupe, and I know all of their comings and goings as I do my own. Perhaps, with your gift for... evasion you managed to spy upon us at some time, but I think it far more likely -- especially given the penchant you've already shown for getting into my head -- that you have some way of reading me, dear lady, as I can read others. More so, I'd wager, given that you know that about me as well. So," He stepped back somewhat, holding his arms wide. "As a matter of courtesy, then? Let us both use our words to understand each other. Let me first ask who you..."

His voice trailed off and eyes widened as memories of long, long ago finally caught up with him. It was just a flash of a connection at first -- the angle of her face now suddenly reminded him so very much of a young woman from... from then. All the way back THEN. She doubted her own existence, she'd said . . . and for a handful of moments, where breath and pulse seemed simply to stop to make room for thought, he doubted as well.

But the more he looked, the more certain he was. He stepped forward, eyes searching aggressively now, taking in the line of her cheekbones, weighing the blue in her eyes, the way her hair fell, the gentle crest of her brows. No longer was his the gaze of an appreciative fellow artisan -- now there was a hunger there, not carnal, but just as greedy it its search for affirmation of what he suspected. As if in a trace he pursued the trail of his suspicions until, revelation in eyes and mind, he drew back, stunned and disbelieving for a third time that night.

"You... you're HER!" The elder devil's eyes locked onto her cerulean blues and held there, unwavering. His voice dropped to a whisper. "But that's only possible... if..."

He sighed. And chuckled. Then roared with laughter and collapsed back into one of the pews, tears of unbridled hilarity burning down his cheeks.

"You told me plainly but I didn't believe you. 'A Faustus', you said. Incredible! For that old bastard to have failed so spectacularly, yet succeeded in a way he never even imagined... heh, fate is twisted indeed. It's the only way any of his line could still be alive... the only way you could be here. Unbelievable... simply unbelievable."

"You..." He waggled a finger pointed at her, still chuckling in disbelieving merriment. "You were his daughter, weren't you?"

[November]

"You were his daughter, weren't you?"

Belle's gaze turned sharp and full of malice, as she got up off of the alter. A dreadful silence hung in the air along with the petals she had taken so long to lovingly collect for this night. It was like she didn't want to really remember, like that name was simply a staple, it was her announcement. It came from nowhere, or she didn't want it to. "I wasn't anything to that man." The she-demon spat furiously, before bounding up to Mephisto with angry, heavy steps, and she pressed herself up against him and hissed her words against his neck. "You might be his failure, but trust me, that doesn't come close to the hell of being his success." Belle remained tense simply trying to force herself to push back her past, but relaxed into his shoulder for a brief moment before she stepped away, eyes changed from blue to red. "There might be parts of you in me, but there isn't a thing of me that's in you." Recoiling back her fury, she held her head high, and blinked away that red hue, all too similar to his own.

"Yes. I was his 'daughter'. He was a stranger to me, though. A stranger who was willing to sell me to whomever asked for me." A Ring around her finger that hadn't been there before seemed to appear, suddenly come into focus. Or had it been there all along, hidden, but never gone. Something she could never rub off. If she wanted, Belle could show him all of the bruises. They had never left either. She brought her gaze to his again, just ars strong as it had been before. Belle wandered around the aisles, almost like she was trying to claim them for herself again. "You probably know more about Faustus than I ever did. But anyway, that's all...in the past, I suppose. No need to bore you with my life story. Like I said-" She stopped in front of him again, no less than an inch between their lips "-I don't recommend it." Her eyes scanned him quickly before meeting his and parting again.

Somewhere down in the pits of her stomach she just registered his laughter. Apparently her existence amused him, he found her funny. Another steadying breath. She didn't want to remember anything. Composure, keep it. "I might stay out of your head somewhat, if you truly request it, but trust me-" He wouldn't feel anything, but something changed in his perception "-that might not be all you should worry about." Picking an emotion out of what there was at her disposal, she cranked a dial. After all, there was a beautiful woman within mere inches of him, and she was hiding nothing of the physical sort. "You should be keeping yourself in check."

"I've just stolen from a Grand Duke, after all. Best not to get...distracted, man. Unless, of course, you fancy being distracted for a while..."

[Nascent]

At first his expression was somber, almost mute and pallid. Slowly, though, as she began to work her whims on him, a smile gradually broke through. It was different from his expressions before -- this was not a grin of amusement or a sly look of cunning, but against all likelihoods... just a sincere smile of appreciation. "Or what? What shall you steal from me, then? My power? My troupe? my life?" There was no haughty chuckle at that as there might have been, no arrogant demeanor suggesting he believed such was beyond his power. Instead he stood, approaching her slowly and, placing his hands on her bare shoulders. "If it is within your power to take, take it. But know that I have much, much more than merely that to offer."

"I was... curious and amused by you before. The showers of rose petals, the cryptic clues about a church -- your actions intrigued me. But now, now you distract me." He slowly ran one hand down her arm, lightly tracing its curve and contour. "But not by this. I have lived upon this world for just as long as you -- I have seen all that temptations of flesh have to offer, and that is not what draws me to you now. Make no mistake, you are beautiful... but you have a quality that is yet more beautiful to me, which you have just now demonstrated for me."

"Your anger. Your rage. The fury within you is a thing of majesty and power -- in that moment, when you laid bare your wrath towards him, then, lady, did I see you truly bare all, reveal yourself in all your glorious appeal." His voice sunk to a whisper. "The nature of demons and mortals are far removed, as I'm sure you know. Where mere men would have seen a tiger ready to strike a killing blow just now I saw an outpouring of raw, uninhibited passion far more tempting and alluring than mere sex. We are natured of things far less transient, the embodiment of concepts and ideas robed in power and suffused with a darkness that burns with the essences of life itself!"

He drew back from her and spun on his heel, a black-steel blade flashing into being in his hand. This he flung through the air -- not at her, but at the very frame of the stained glass windows which decorated the chapel and lit the religious assembly chamber with dim moonlight. The dagger lodged between stone and glass... and then a curious thing began. From where it stuck began to grow tendrils -- tendrils of stone glimmering with shards of multi-colored glass and slim thorns of black. They extended quickly along the walls, behaving like creeper vines but all wrong, going every which way instead of just up and out. Soon that entire side of the chapel was covered, and more continued to grow.

Mephisto turned back to the daemonic beauty.

"That is demoncy -- the dark gift that the man you so hate, the one who sired us both to be slaves to his whim -- desired more than anything. He was already powerful in magic, outstandingly so in a time and land already great with magi, but he yearned for an ascension to something more. His ambition was such that he felt no force in existence could deny him; first he would transcend humanity, then the gods, and whatever lay beyond, or so he arrogantly told himself." And as Mephisto explained on the backdrop to his tale warped and gave itself shape according to his words -- the form of a man in ornate robes shaking his fist skyward, tome clutched in his other hand.

"Yet try as he might, even with the ability to create a demonic servant for himself," Here Mephisto scowled, his own memories giving the 'mural' of stone-glass tendrils new imagery. "To experiment on and bleed for raw power and knowledge... he could not succeed. He tried so hard, all in vain. Several times he felt sure of his formulas and aetheric solutions, so very very sure that he at once performed them on himself, bending and twisting his spirit and soul. Yet he never achieved his goal."

And now, as the tendrils displayed a family -- with a 'father' storming off into the distance -- the elder devil's expression changed once more to curiosity, eyebrow lifted in intrigue. "But you... with all his failed attempts, somehow he must have passed just a seed of potential to you, likely at conception. Do not mistake my earlier laughter for mockery of you, my lady of rage -- I was mocking him in absentia. The old fool thought he was just putting on a show to seem... well, I suppose 'socially normal' when he begot a wife and family. Yet now," He held out his hand, gazing appreciatively at the creature of sublime demonic majesty before him. "We see the truth."

"It is as you say -- you were his success, to your hellish torment. But do not so quickly mark me for his greatest failure." His lips twisted into a wry, devilish grin. "He fulfilled that role himself."

With but a shrug of shoulders the tendrils shriveled, becoming mere blackening dust that itself dissolved into nothing as he stepped towards her, voice calm and accepting. "You hate him. You hate me. And clearly so, so much more. I welcome your hatred, in all its splendor, such that I can just barely keep myself 'in check'. I want to watch the world burn with you, even if my blood is used to fuel the fire. I want to see what power, what will and greatness could lead one born to flesh and blood to surpass a master sorcerer's mad ambitions. I want to know you, lady Faustus... for I have traveled this world for much, much too long, and at last I have found something TRULY wondrous."

"Yes, I do fancy being distracted for a while -- perhaps a few centuries for a start, if you don't mind."

[November]

Belle kept a stern expression, focused on his little display. He'd seen more of her father than she ever had, and she was curious as to how much time Mephisto had spent at his 'service'. Servitude didn't suit this man, nothing about him seemed willing enough to be kept down. Exactly when Faustus died had alluded her for as long as she had searched. If he had outlived his Wife and Son, then she could have never been too far behind Mephisto. Or had he been killed while they were alive, and Kyla stilled lived, not a life worth living, but alive, nonetheless. "Pretty speech, pretty show. But..." Pausing, she pressed three fingers to the bottom of his jaw, tilting his head. For a moment, she simply examined him narrowing her eyes and lifting her head. It struck her that she'd never actually looked at him properly. "...you're a pretty man. They tend to go hand in hand." Her gaze turned cold "There isn't a lot one can do on a pretty face alone." The words fell from her mouth with the harsh tone of experience.

Letting her hands move to his shoulders, she pulled herself to him like they were about to dance. In a way, she supposed, they were. "You welcome my anger, you say? My rage. You want to see what Faustus created?" Belle rested her head against his shoulder with a shiver, suddenly being forced to acknowledge the cold that pricked her skin while pressed against his warmth. Turning her head into his neck her tone suddenly became heavy. "Let's see how long it takes you to regret that choice." Giving him no time to think on her words, her knee came up to hit him in the stomach, and her elbow came down onto his shoulder, forcing him down to the ground. She vanished back up to the altar in a blink of an eye.

By the time he looked up, her red cape was completing it's materialization, donning her clothes, along with those boots he had inspected outside. With a Halberd in hand, she lifted it vertically, and forced it back down, the end of the pole colliding with the cold grey stone with a spark, and an echoing thunder. "You still want my rage, man?" Her voice became filled with power, her eyes turned red, her skin paled, two pitch black horns twisted from her skull and an aura of power radiated from her body. Standing firm, she brought the pole-arm to ready, pointed at the red-haired man recovering from her first move. She would, at least, wait from him to stand and catch his breath. However, whether his answer would really change anything was another matter. After all, a lady doesn't just put her clothes back on for no reason.

[Nascent]

"Heh heh..."

The more he saw of this alluring demoness, the more he wanted to see. Even reeling from her blows, which struck like lightning and resounded with a thunder all their own, the smile never left his lips. Not, at least, until the sound of stained glass windows shattering reached his ears -- acting on their prior-given directive the Troupe, brandishing dark-bladed knives and short swords, erupted into the chapel in a shower of colorful shards. They were quick to leap to his defense, but before any of his minions could draw nearer than they were Mephisto raised an open hand as if to hold them back.

"NO!" At his voice all froze; his eyes burned bright white for barely a moment at the indignation of the interruption. It had been a private moment, and now thus exposed a touch of its magic felt wasted. His anger was for but a moment, though; they had been acting in his preservation as much as their own, and he could only fault his creations for that so far. "No. Back to the shadows. This is between her and myself, alone."

The moment he'd finished speaking his body began to lose substance; beginning with the outstretched hand he dematerialized into a vaporous black mist which rose and swirled, tendrils of it reaching up and around the room.

Yet somehow, he still managed to speak to her.

"I apologize for the deeds of my underlings -- seems I let things slip, regrettably. But to answer you, yes." A hazy image of himself appeared before her, incorporeal and again smiling. "I still want to experience all your rage and fury, all your hate and malevolence, everything that makes you what you are now, dear lady Faustus. However..." The mist-image looked around, as if hearing distant sounds. "... it seems the locals have been stirred from their complacency and are coming this way. A change of scenery is in order, I think, before we continue."

"I've been to this town before -- there is a seaside ruin, the remains of a long-destroyed temple not far from here where we can continue at our own pace. It's directly north, just far enough outside the town that no one will bother us there." The fog-phantom pointed to his miscreants, who were now all bowing towards Belle in apology and reverence. "They will lead you there. I shall be waiting for you, with eager expectation."

And with those parting remarks the semblance of him withdrew, becoming mere tendrils of dark haze that filtered out through the broken windows leaving the bowing lesser demons and the daemonic maiden.

------------------------------------

Re-materializing at the site he had described to her a short while later, the elder devil stretched and breathed deeply, a satisfied and delighted look upon his face. Not since before Faustus had first bound him to this mortal form had he felt this good, this focused and alive! He had only just met this demonic woman and yet... and yet, despite her being the prodigal child of his hated once-master -- or maybe in part because of it, he was fascinated and enthralled by her. Not beyond reason and sense; he wasn't some juvenile boy discovering women for the first time, after all, but it was... refreshing to find that there were still parts of him that could feel wonder, thrill, desire like this. She posed the most intriguing of problems -- she'd gone to such lengths to arrange their meeting so almost assuredly she had some purpose, some plan in mind... whether or not the sound thrashing she'd seemed ready to give him fit into them or were just a spur of the moment addition was, indeed, an open question. Had she come to dominate him, as her father had thought himself able? To kill him, in a manner that suited her? To use him for her "business" with the Grand Duke? Or perhaps it was something else entirely that had caused her to seek him out.

Whether she was manipulating him or not, however, he wanted -- needed to be part of whatever she was doing. Not merely out of curiosity or a desire to understand this fascinating new player on the board. It ran much deeper than that. He moved crumbled pillars just so, shifted broken masonry aside, and hastily swept piles of leaves out of the corner with his boot-heel. The skeletal carcass of an unlucky adventurer with an arrow lodged between its ribs, however, could stay -- added atmosphere, he decided.

Soon. She'd be here soon. And then they could pick up where they left off. Mephisto couldn't help but grin at the thought.

The thought of her.

[November]

Among the ghouls of the Devil, Belle moved through the town of now shaken people, left with their petal filled church and it's shattered windows. In the distance she could here their cries, there terror. It had pretty much been the opposite of what she had wanted. A man turns up with a story of demons and hellfire, and that night, the Church is left in ruins, wrecked by a force no one truly knows of. On top of it, Belle still had her reservation about these...actors, of his. She trusted them much less than you average demon. Mephisto controlled them, certainly, but they fell into her uncanny valley. They were silent machines, doing as ordered, when ordered. Mephisto had told her to request a presence when she crept into his head, but with these minions as his beck and call, that couldn't always be true. She could deal with him. Deal with the Troupe. But all of them at once? Unlikely. No matter how Mephisto split his focus, the genuine devil was always more dangerous. All he needed was their diversion, and he could have her down in seconds.

The ruins loomed in the distance, finally the adrenaline was coming down, even from Connlaoth it had lingered, in dire ache for her next moves, drove her on, almost nothing to eat or drink, and certainly no sleep. It appeared that this moment of calm wasn't exactly in her favor. She spied Mephisto moving about throughout those dark silhouettes, shifting things, moving things. But she didn't think he would stoop so low as to bring her to his high ground simply to set traps.

Bringing his demons with her, she entered the ruin, examining it briefly before setting her sights back onto Mephisto. Her eyes blue, her skin tone back to normal, and not a pair of horns to be seen adorning her head. "I hope you know that I'm significantly less angry than I was." A tone of disappointment floated in her voice with a sigh, placing a hand on one hip, putting her weight on the matching foot. "Despite your little minions only going and ruining the greatest set I've ever made." Belle paused, sighed again, and paced up to the red-haired man in complete silence. She trailed her hand over his shoulders as she moved around him, running some of his crimson hair through her fingers. "I was all so worked up too, until they spoiled the mood." Walking a little further away she turned to face him again with a sly grin "It's always a shame when people just turn you off."

[Nascent]

"Isn't it just?" He agreed with her, no small measure of snark in his tone. By now he knew that her displeasure was mixed with other elements and guessed, rightly so, that if she was really upset with or disappointment in him she wouldn't be here right now. The loss of her 'stage', as she put it, was no small loss at that, true... but, he hoped, she would forgive him under the right...

... motivation.

Mephisto turned, striding away from her towards the edge of the stone platform on which they both now stood. Over his shoulder he glanced back at her, a truly wicked grin on his face.

"...Do you want to know how he died?"

[November]

She lifted an eyebrow at his response to her. Finding out how her father had died was certainly something she wished to know it wasn't at the top of her 'bucket list'. For the first time tonight, and in a long time, she had found herself caught well and truly off guard. Surprised. When her reply came after a shocked pause, Mephisto wouldn't need to delve into her mind to know it. Belle tilted her head at him, like she hadn't really understood what he said. "You'd just be willing to throw that information at me? We've fought, flirted, gone on a date in the last two hours, and now you want to tell me how my father died? We haven't even had sex yet. Down boy." When she paused and reflected on her words, she grinned, almost pleased with herself. On occasion she made a joke others could appreciate. On less occasions could she make one she amused herself with.

"But seriously, I'm more interested in you. How he made you, why you served him. Why you didn't have tabs on me. You must have known I wasn't right. I hardly had a soul, for one. To be honest, I still don't." The she-demon shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not really fussed with how that man died..." Belle seemed dismissive of the question, like she honestly didn't care for it. If she hadn't killed him, then she didn't want to know, what was the point. It wasn't like she cared. Her eyes lit up at him for a brief moment, however. There was something she was interested in, more than anything. "But I do know he left something behind. I believe you have it."