Kindred Shadows Draw Near [Painterlee, Closed]

[Nascent]

The devil's world became a whirlwind of whiplash and collisions, a vertiable maelstrom of blows and words screamed into his face. One moment the faux-water of the balcony floor was flashing by, the next stars were gleaming in his blurred, addled vision. She whipped him this way and that, struck him again and again, leaving him bleeding, battered...

... and smiling.

He was coughing up his own sin-blackened blood, sure. And his vision kept swimming so much that he couldn't clearly focus on her face above him. But pound at him as she might, that smile would not be wiped away -- indeed, the more violent she became the more pleased he seemed.

And but a glimpse into his thoughts, even as pained and pressured as they were, would reveal why. Part of him, a part that seemed ascendant following her earlier chiding, no longer cared about his own personal fate -- indeed, he felt as though being ended by her would be the penultimate compliment. Better, the old devil reasoned, to be destroyed by someone who even now clearly showed herself better than him in so many alluring ways than to let some demon-slayer or anointed hero banish his essence to the void. In a way, it even struck him as an odd sort of insult to old Faustus, one that quite amused him. For those hands, those claws to be his final rite wasn't in the least unpleasant; he was savoring her hate, her rage, her viciousness even as they threatened his doom and made his existence increasingly one of anguish. Mephisto was relishing this, as though they'd finally picked back up where they left off at the cathedral. She was death and she was a goddess and she was hell in iron heels -- even if an army of angels descended right then and there, tore him asunder and scattered the pieces to the fathest reaches of the cosmos it would, he felt, be a small price to pay for the pleasure and fierce majesty of being in her presence at that very moment.

"Why...?" He coughed out, voice hoarse and dripping both pain and satisfaction. "It's just getting good."

There was another part of his besieged and nearly overwhelmed mind, too, that was silently goading her on, eager to see just how far she'd go. It challenged her, DARED her to end him. To erase one more of her father's mistakes. To let her rage run free and unchecked, a bloody sacrament upon the altar of her life's work. It teasingly mocked her -- power, it whispered, and brute force. That part of him challenged her to do it, do it, DO IT! To prove to him how RIGHT she was, how worthless he was in the face of 'a woman once scorned', as the saying went.

He WANTED this. BADLY. And in that moment he knew he'd be in euphoria all the way to the bottom of the abyss if she gave it to him. It wasn't just a good death, no -- whether she cut him down by inches or simply tore him apart Mephisto could think of nothing better, nothing he'd rather have, than a death at her hands.

And so she beat him. And so he kept smiling, face awash in unnatural black blood and crimson locks, just a bit more with each blow she landed. And in his mind he all but screamed it:

END ME, WOMAN!

[November]

With fists bloodied, the glint of rage in her eye faded out, and was replaced with frustration, Belle stopped hitting him altogether, and stood up. "No, you are a fool." Bringing her foot up, she stamped on his throat. "Just a man." In the moments before she continued, she just stared at him, disappointed, for not the first time that night. Her other belongings, the cloak, the gloves, the belt, re-materialized on her body as she stood above him. The turn out had again been unfruitful. "You take me as seriously as the rest. Not at all. You turn me into your own fetish, and that's not something I greatly appreciate." Something appeared in her hand. A mask with a painful energy. Belle sighed as she brought the evil thing up to her face. "I will not give you what you want. I don't exist to satisfy you."

"And I will not even give you the pleasure to remember me." The mask covered her face, and instantly began to eat at Mephisto's near-memories. She would erase herself from his mind, he would remember not her voice, her face, her touch or her purpose. Eventually, he would question of she had ever existed. Her job was done here, to the best that it could have been when dealing with a twisted man. "To think..." She mused, pressing a cold-steel boot to his face "The night started out so promisingly." The stubborn demon stood tall, and huffed. "See you in Hell."

And she was gone. Vanished before him as that enchanted mask bit and ate away at his memory of her. Leaving him in the silence, in the hour he had left before he forgot her completely, he might revise the proceedings.

~~~~

Marcus Memorial
Fable 2 OST

Quickly she blended into the crowd below, the mask now gone for the sake of not wanting to look suspicious. The night waned. God damnit. Belle had never quite been this disappointed in her life, even in her struggle to be taken seriously, she had doubted it's likelihood of success. She had been close, but that's what men do. When you pose a threat, they laugh. Because it's the only thing the need to feel superior. Her body cried at her. Everything hurt, her brain was starved. Belle cursed at her being, her unlikely success, her fragile body that needed everything a mortal would to live and she had just left a free meal behind.

Too stubborn for her own good, and she knew it. It didn't take too long, down some dark alley the other side of the city, and it felt as if even her bones had given up on her. A city of privileged folk, the last place the exhausted monstrosity would want to pass out. A place of men who knew in their heads that anything they desired was there's. Including a pretty face. Resting against a wall, she crumbled to a pile on the floor, breathing heavily, she tried to stay focused, but her brain pounded at her skull, her ears rang. Nothing made sense and it seemed cruel of the world to kill her here. 

She had nothing left. No needle of adrenaline, not shot of any drug. Doing so, running this empty, would probably just finish her off anyway. Her head rested against the cold stone, and she smiled, looking up at the now blurring. dancing haze of the moon. "Yeah...fuck you too and all." And she shut her eyes.

[November]

(Ignore this xD)

[Nascent]

He found himself with a headache like nothing he'd ever known as two workers from the restaurant slowly hauled him up and sat him into a chair. Mephisto's world of pain and confusion very slowly began to resolve until he was, at length, able to look up and gauge his surroundings. A waiter looked at his face as if trying to evaluate some unseen malady while his compatriot went about surveying the damage, which told a story all its own. Cracked and shattered enchanted tiles sputtered and fizzed as their illusion misfired. Part of the balcony was only holding together by the slimmest of margins. And demonic black blood was all over the scene. Deep down inside he cursed whatever fell luck had brought him to this... and then cursed it again as memory failed him.

He had been... with someone? The devil's eyes wandered from point to point in his surroundings. It was a table set for two, he observed -- two sets of everything for a meal and two very shattered wine glasses. The rest of the balcony seemed not to have had any recent diners, judging by the lack of plates and cutlery near the other two upended tables. But who escaped him. His head pounded and, from the sense of bruising and swelling he guessed himself to have been struck in the face repeatedly. Not an attempt on his life then, it seemed, but who could have...?

"He's coming around. Sir, are you alright? What happened here?"

Unsteadily, he got to his feet and fixed one of the two with a steady, silent gaze for a few moments. Both men were all confusion and alarm, but no more fear than one would expect given the scene. "... Hopefully you can tell me. I seem to have..." He pressed his hand to his forehead. "Hit my head. Who was I here with?"

"S-sir, your blood is--"

"It's a condition." He lied. "Just don't touch it and you'll be fine. Now, who was I with?"

The waiter looked as though he were about to say something, then stopped. "...Apologies, sir. I cannot seem to recall."

Worthless! This one would likely not have his job for very long, given current performance. Staggering to the railing, Mephisto looked out. He recognized Ilaceth's distinctive architecture at a glance, having been to the town-city numerous times over the last hundred or so years. But what he couldn't, for the life of him, place was WHY he was in Ilaceth! The harder he reached for answers the further they fled from him, and it felt like part of his essence had been spirited away with them. Humans were a collection of squishy organs and brittle bones that gave rise to higher thought and identity almost by accident; demons, on the other hand, existed as thoughts and concepts and self-concept congealed into a physical form, almost the precise opposite. Whatever was affecting him, whatever spell or enchantment, had sealed away the part of his being that could recall from the rest of him. He felt handicapped, like his arm or leg was in a hard cast and unable to move; some part of his own essence had been isolated and sealed... and the very fact that that was possible worried him immensely.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus on facts. He'd been attacked. That meant someone with a reason to do so, and the most likely was that his true nature had been exposed somehow. Yet the damage done wasn't that of an assassin... more like a brawler with truly remarkable strength. He wasn't at all sure what he could or couldn't trust right then -- he needed to get away, back to the troupe, back to --

Kaelstone, a small sea-cliff town a days journey from Cerenis. That was the last thing he could clearly recall before his memory became little more than a knot of anguish and jagged lines. A performance had just finished. He'd been taking off his stage make-up. Listening to the voices. It all seemed so far away now, a lifetime ago. What had happened since then? How many hours or days had passed? Reaching out, he found confusion and reassurance as his troupe responded to him -- they were still at Kaelstone, and only a few hours had passed in total. What could have happened to him in so short a time? Mephisto sought answers with his underlings but their memories were as sundered as his own. No surprise -- none of them were wholly independent beings, with more than a little bit of himself in each one. Whatever was afflicting him was, seemingly, afflicting them as well.

Things were beginning to get out of hand. A crowd was gathering, both below and inside the restaurant. He hastily pulled out a bag of coin and, not caring for the amount, tossed the whole thing onto the ground; it landed in a small puddle of his own blood but he didn't care. Let the mortals sort out whether they wanted his money or not. He had to get away, avoid creating any more attention than there already was. He wound his way through the shocked masses, who all looked at his injuries with aghast expressions, and out onto the streets. His mind reeled and body ached but time was against him -- if he were to sort out what had happened he had to get clear of all of this and try to pick up his own trail, to remember. Something. Anything.

The daemon ducked into an alley between buildings and was gone, his name barely off the lips of his faithful troupe before he was spirited away. Back to safety. Back to a position of confidence.

But why did it feel so hollow...?

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

It wasn't even sunrise before word of the violated chapel reached his ears. he and the troupe were packed up and halfway out of Kaelstone when a member of the town guard caught up with them, all questions and queries but without suspicion. Mephisto marveled at the description of the scene: nearly all of the chapel's precious artisan-crafted stained glass windows were shattered, such that it seemed something from outside had broken them, and the floor lay strewn with a multitude of shriveled-up flower petals. No one knew what to make of it, of course. In the course of 'cooperating' with the man's inquiries the scheming devil learned many of the details... enough so that he couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity, a nagging suspicion that he, somehow, had been involved with whatever had occurred there. Whoever was at fault had a dramatic flair he had to appreciate. The guard further asked if the group had a monk's robe in their costumery and, if so, how many -- apparently a number of people had seen figures all throughout the town clad in the livery of the pious the prior night, another interesting detail. Satisfied when assured the group had only one, for their performance but involved one character of that nature, the guard departed... leaving Mephisto with his ever-darkening thoughts.

It was later that afternoon, the devil trying desperately to pry into the deep recesses of his own thoughts for clues, when a breakthrough finally came. Not from within... but from without. A voice -- one of many in his mind at any given moment -- called out.

For him.

And 'the woman'.

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

Juviel was certainly less shocked to see Mephisto appear before her the second time. What she was was slightly confused and disappointed. The devil's friend -- who, she remembered, wasn't his friend and was and wasn't, somehow, a demon herself -- wasn't with him this time; instead, as space warped to accommodate the shifting of reality and transience of location, there came with the demonic man a group of five creatures, human-like at a glance but strangely not so in their mannerisms. Jesters. Harlequins. They encircled their master as though to ward off any threat and leered at her coldly through black mask-eyes.

In the moments before summoning him Juviel had been elated, eager -- now worried hesitancy and confusion marred her soot-stained face. The devil and his troupe stood at a distance, silent and unmoving, Mephisto's arms crossed over his chest in a gesture both defensive and awaiting. This wasn't the reception the blacksmith had been expecting.

"Where is... you know, her?" The blacksmith clutched a letter in her hand, barely more than a tattered piece of parchment with a few hastily scrawled lines written on it.

Mephisto's eyes narrowed with a cold curiosity, then glanced around as if seeing the place for the first time, taking especial note of the man strung up near the forge before returning his gaze to the mortal woman. The way she looked at him... it was as though they had met before. And, when a whiff of forge-smoke flitted under his nose, he knew they had. He'd spilled his blood here, deliberately, laden with power and potential. The forge's flames burned with the taint of corruption's power.

"Let's just pretend," Mephistopheles unfolded his arms and stepped towards the confused and worried woman. "That I have no idea who you are. That, in fact, I have no memory of us having met, or having met this 'her'. In fact, let's just pretend that the last twenty-four hours are a complete wash and that I'm here, specifically, because you have memories that I do longer do."

"Now," He pointed to a chair. "Kindly sit... and start from the beginning."

[November]

(OOC: I really didn't want to post this but it's all I got T_T Think we ruined a good thread real quick XD)

When the air reached her lips it was always dry, forceful, and hot. The Alley way was dusty, the ground was brittle against her skin. The sun burned her eyes as it rose to it's peak, even behind closed lids. Outward, she could hear movement, people wandering about, casting eyes to her but no thoughts. Like this, she couldn't barely make any sense of the noises she heard from their minds anyway.  She wanted to cough, violently, but her throat protested at the thought. Her body wanted to be sick, with tire and the on coming heat stroke, but there was nothing in her left for her body to process. There was no respite from the heat, but it was the lack of water that hit most, and the alcohol the night before had poisoned her system. Her skin felt tight, screaming, constrained by dehydration, and the blood dried out.

3 to 5 days. Maybe a week.

When she opened her dry, lifeless eyes, she thought that, maybe, she had died. The bright white that was her vision was hot and merciless, overwhelming in it's power. It reminded her of...

"NO!"

"No. Back to the shadows. This is between her and myself, alone."

SHERLOCKED
BBC Sherlock Season 2
(Belle Theme)

...those eyes. Belle grit her teeth and cursed her body. She would have cried out in her frustration, but her throat did not obey her, the air that came was dry and horrid, full of dust. She was like any other who these city-dwellers would see hanging in the shadows. Drunkards, the homeless, the lost, the sick,and the dying. Belle found herself in a state in between not entirely caring about the position she now found herself in, and outraged at her own stubbornness, at his disrespect. He had not come to find her in the hour of cognition she had given him, and she'd staked her life on it.

"What are you doing?" A familiar voice rung out from the bright, unfading light, followed by a shadow creeping from it's glare towards her. "If I had known you would have given up so easily, I would have abandoned you ages ago." Belle narrowed her gaze, trying to focus on the large, black shape. Before she could pick it out, there came another, younger voice, yet still strong and sure, that pierced her heart. "This isn't what we came all this way to do, was it? Die in the dirt, where they would have left you anyway?" Her body tensed, and relaxed "I-" It took only one word before she started coughing up dust and dryness violently. "It seems you've lost your way, little kitten." Another voice. Her own voice this time. Belle herself refused to speak, trying desperately to focus. "The one time you put all your eggs in one basket and this is how it turns out? You are losing touch." -"I just-" "Thought it might be different?" the younger voice finished for her "We all knew a long time ago that it would never be different." "But you chase after the hope anyway." The faux-demon shook, confused and angry. "You could have done better, surely?" "You gave your life to a man once. None of us needs to see how that turns out again." "You didn't even have the guts to send him to oblivion this time." "Last time, you didn't hesitate." "Remember that it's never about what they want or not, sister. It's only about you." "If the two conflict...-" "You do it anyway." Then Belle realized. She saw them all. The little girl, the monster, and the one stuck in between. They were - "You send them off with the magnificence of your rage." "Then they might just know." "How frightening a woman can be."

Her.

"You're letting the human in you take control." The larger shot a glance to the younger "That can't happen. You know it can't. We've got too much to loose." Belle faced her twin, as she knelt before her, placing a hand to her face "You and me, we don't have much room to spare. Pull us back, dear sister." "He left you, though you gave him a window." "He thinks we are alike. Show him that we could not be more different. Fight your death, stare it in the face." "Tell it, no."

"Your rage is your greatest gift. Never let it go, hold it close, always."

"Because no one in this world can take it away from you. Ever."

And they left her, as quickly as they came. The bright white faded and showed her the resting place of mortals. The rotten home of the worthless. Against her crying, screaming, aching body, she rose. Her whole body shook violently in protest, her legs and arm threatened her with the earth. With her Halberd forced into being, holding herself up, she pulled through her mind, her memories, to the connection with the red-haired man she had filed away, always on hold. The twisted being reached across their void, re-sparking their pathways and she forced her way into his mind.

And she freed him, with the shattering of a seal that undid memories before turning to pull at the dark forces that had connected him to her, when she first spoke his name. She would not submit to such a whim again. So, she ripped him, instead, from his place in time and existence, reversing his power, and dragging him back to this place. "YOU WILL COME TO ME, NOW." And when she would see him appear before her...

The point of the Halberd was thrust forward, aimed without remorse, without compromise, taking back her words and throwing her gained morals to the wind. "And I will give you what you wanted."

(OOC: PS This was the fucking worst thing to write you ass so don't be pissed if it's a piece of shit! I HAD TO ASK ORIAS WHERE I SHOULD GO WITH THIS. ORIAS._{he thought it was funny >.>} XD I wasn't going to play Juviel, she's not my character so I have no idea what I was supposed to do there. I literally had to hardcore BS Belle so she didn't die because you missed a set up so freakin' hard. Damn you, making me Mary-sue Belle to the limit just so I didn't have to kill her off XD You owe me >:V

Side note: Mephy's (and you) are gonna have to pull this back real fast or she will kill him and without the dagger or her bond to him, he can't come back, so yo' can kiss yo' sweet plots goodbai! xD #YOLO #MCSWAGGINS, #NO REGRETSJKIREGRETTHISWHOLEPOST)

[Nascent]

(OOC: Wow... that post is no 'piece of shit', love. O_O It's incredible. It's vivid and powerful and DANG, what a look into Belle's world!

I am seriously sorry I missed the obvious cues you were giving me; in hindsight it's so obvious that I feel really, really bad for bringing things to this point. >.< I'll try to keep things together a little better as we progress instead of letting Mephy's ego run away with me.)



Time.

Time has a sense of cruel irony that no one, mortal or otherwise, can predict. Those who lose sight of it inevitably find it catching up with them, a train wreck just waiting to happen. And so it was that, at the very moment Juviel was about to begin explaining things to the uncertain devil... it all came rushing back to him, all of it at once with an impossible force that left his head ringing. He recoiled physically, clutching at his forehead, teeth grit in anguish.

And, without time to recover from that blow, another came -- one that grabbed his essence with immaterial claws and pulled, HARD, in a way he had never experienced or even imagined before. Such was the force of this 'summoning' that ethereal pieces of him became dislodged and lost to the endless expanse between reality and the beyond. He wanted to scream but couldn't -- there was no air anymore, not "where" he was. He couldn't even hear his own thoughts.

Only hers.

YOU WILL COME TO ME, NOW.

And he did. Time and space and things without names screamed around Mephisto as his being was both catapulted and dragged from one fixed point to another. From the humble home of a blacksmith...

... to the spear-tip of a halberd.

The steely spike sunk into his chest, square in the middle and jutting out his back. Black blood gushed, ebbed, then flowed in streams. For that moment of clarity, of realization, of being dragged back to reality both literally and figuratively, he couldn't will himself to move -- utterly paralyzed, fixed in mind and body. But it wasn't the injury, grievous as it was, that affixed him so.

Her face. Her eyes. The pallor of death hung about her...

... and in that moment he realized the depth of his failure. His ego. As restored memories filled in gaps and brought to dagger-sharp clarity the current moment he saw himself, all through the entire night, as if an observer -- an audience of one watching a stage. How he preened. How he pranced. How he courted her... or what he thought was her. And now, to see the fruits of his actions, the terrible and marvelous creature he'd so adored and been so taken by, reduced to such a state, acting in one last moment of vengeance...

He saw himself a fool, worse by far than the fools he'd demeaned to her as they'd discussed the Grand Duke and his machinations. Was his vision truly so narrow? Or had he gotten so used to the collateral damage of his actions being someone else's problem that he only now saw it when it threatened to extinguish the one light he'd found in thousands of years alone. Pathetic. Blind. Callous. Self-gratifying. All those things and more.

His mind and body sagged, dropping to his knees, blood dripping in streams from his lips onto the weapon that impaled him.

Wrong. How had he been... so... so wrong?

"I . . . " The devil breathed out the word, gasped, sputtered, and spoke again. "I failed you."

His own eyes, devoid for once of pride and hubris, gazed at her face. Once, mere hours ago, so beautiful... now bleached and ragged. He had done this. She had tried and tried and tried, but he hadn't seen. Hadn't heard. All he could see in her was a beautiful destroyer, a furious seduction, a terrifying dance partner -- now he saw her, a woman -- a person -- caught halfway between humanity and something else, driven by anger and the burdens of the past. She had sought him out -- did that mean NOTHING to him?! Not to use him or kill him or get something from him. She was after something more... and all he'd given her was his own pretentiousness.

She was right. He was no different from the others. Yet she'd given him a chance anyway, and he'd FAILED.

Every moment they'd shared the night before flashed through his mind. Rose petals. Stained glass. Stone pillars. Red candles. Green and gold leaves. Amber wine.

No. It couldn't end here. Not like this.

Gods and devils and everything else, not like this...

She had said he only understood power; maybe she was right. Maybe when Faustus created him, a conduit for the energies of daemonic realms, he had been bound and affixed to that as a core of his being. And there had always been an exchange, always an exchange. Faustus had nearly bled him dry, and in exchange he later took the magelords' life and his soul. Every bit of power and service he'd doled out since then had come with a price tag attached. Even Juviel had been part of his machinations; her demonically-tainted forge would turn the woman's anger that Belle had sworn her to never release into tools of greater and greater power and malevolence -- an indirect 'exchange' and by no means costly, but of benefit to him in some future plan no doubt. It had always been about HIM, about control and domination and gaining the upper hand.

No wonder she hated him -- all men -- for it. But this time would be different.

In a momentary surge of inhuman strength Mephistopheles' hands came up and took hold of the halberd's shaft. For but a moment it seemed like he was going to attempt to push himself loose... or, as he would likely have done the night before, pull himself further onto it. Instead he just gripped it, hands tight and trembling.

"I failed you. I left you out here to die. To call myself the worst of all sinners would be absurd and a compliment; here, now, I am dirt and garbage."

Power. He understood power, at least.

"I won't let you die. One of us should, maybe..." His eyes began to glow. "But not you."

And then, it was like the devil's body suddenly caught fire -- unnatural black and crimson fire, starting from where the halberd pierced his chest and surging up until it engulfed his back and face. At the same time energy began flowing down the halberd's length like a conduit, glowing with a dark ruddy light like freshly-spilled blood. It wasn't just the power of corruption that was leaving him, but his own life force as well. Mephisto grit his teeth, shaking and trembling with the effort, finally unable to endure it anymore and screaming in anguish. It was there, all there in the halberd, everything she needed to keep her alive just a little longer, long enough to survive and continue on. No deals, no bargains, no arrangements. He didn't even know how much of him would be left when this was over, honestly, or if he would survive. All he knew was that he could NOT fail her now, not again. His screaming became a mad howl of raw, piercing torment as his right arm caught aflame and began to dissolve, its form and essence consumed by the sacrifice he was making. The pain was unreal, like nothing he had EVER known or imagined... but he didn't stop. REFUSED to stop. He wouldn't stop unless she made him. And so he poured his life into the weapon that was killing him with utter abandon.

All she had to do was reach out. Take it. Live. That was all he now wanted in return.

[November]

In the next few seconds, Mephisto would find his pain dulled slightly, and the reason was her. With her reason and concentration shot, she couldn't hide herself from him. Belle pressed a boot off to the side of the prong of the Halberd, taking in whatever power was in the weapon, and in the flames. It would do, for now, and he might have just saved them both because of it. She pushed him from the spear-end of the blooded weapon. "No." Her voice came harsh, grabbing his collar. "You failed yourself." Next thing he knew, he was being dragged across space again, finding himself in what appeared to be a storage room. It was lit by candles that showed no sign of prior use, and despite the shelves of questionable items stacked upon shelves and in chests, hung up on racks, the place showed no sign of wear, no dust, but well lived in. There were no windows that anyone could see.

Belle dragged him across the immaculate stone floor over to a large four-poster bed "You'll regret these days for as long as we both live." Her voice rang, sounding as if she wasn't entirely sure herself what she was doing, as she heaved him up into the made-bed. The demoness leaned over him, pulling back his blooded coat, pulling open the ruined black shirt below, exposing his chest and the wound she had given him. Turning around to leave him there, staring up at the engraved wood, she motioned her arms wide, and the room changed. A Laboratory, full of vials and strange liquids, and shelves of books and strange things in alcohol. Stepping forward, Belle pulled away one of the book-cases with force, revealing another case, full of jars, glowing in a variety of light, flickering colours. Grabbing one from the top shelf, she started back, opening the lid, grabbing the light inside.

A soul.


Motioning behind her, the room reverted to it's original state. She placed the now empty jar on a small table besides the bed with a clattering thump. Belle knelt one knee of the side of the bed, leaning over again, one hand brushing loose crimson hair from Mephistos face, and the other pressing the unbottled soul to his chest."You should feel so lucky." She laughed softly, resting her forehead against his and grinned a wicked smile. "I don't usually bring men home." Then she got up. Motioning again, the room turned small, resembling more of an actual bedroom than previously, smaller, with a dresser, and wardrobe. Walking towards the furthest wall, she pressed a hand against the featureless edifice. Under her touch, wood began to form, a door. "What on earth are we like?" Belle looked over at him "Stay here, rest a little. Neither of us die today. If that's alright with you." Opening the door, she walked out into the room beyond."I still have need of you." When it closed, it devolved completely, back into the stone wall of before leaving him with silence and candle light.

Leaving him, Belle arrived in another room, like the one they had arrived into, but with more furniture than just items and book cases. Approaching a cupboard, she opened it, and examined the contents. Just bread. She sighed. It would have to do, she supposed, reaching inside and taking it, and a leather drinking bottle, with clean water. The power he had given her was enough to bring them here, but she was still hungry, still thirsty. Belle sat upon and open-ended couch, stolen an age ago, and laid there, waiting. She reflected, on that sofa, with only bread and water. Sighing again. "Just my luck. Promised the best food and beds in Jadenshire. This is what it comes to in the end." Taking a drink, she laid out, her boots, gloves, coat, and belt vanishing away to some place nearby.

It seemed as if Belle could never truly get her promises.

[Nascent]

Strangely enough, despite her words Mephisto didn't feel lucky. Truth be, her earlier statement about 'regretting these days' summarized his mental state better -- beyond the all-encompassing pain there was the unfamiliar sting, deep down at his core, of emotions he should never have allowed himself to feel. Regret. Remorse. Self-loathing.

Doubt.

In humans doubt was just simply doubt -- sometimes it was negative, causing harm to confidence and relations, but other times it was an aid. A searchlight. In the dark of a world full of unknowns and deceptions doubt, second-guessing, had kept people alive and in possession of their will and their wallets on untold occasions down through the ages. But in demons, doubt -- especially in one self -- was deadly poison. Mephisto tried to take a deep breath but only managed a wheezing cough. A day ago he had stood so assured of himself, his plans, his place in the order of things. Of what he was and wasn't, would and wouldn't do. There had been no reason to question, nothing so unusual as to unseat his self-concept. In his mind he flashed back briefly to a stern lecture the old man had given him in an age past about daemonic nature, how his existence wasn't "anchored" like those born of flesh and blood -- that, in a strange, twisted sort of way, Mephisto would only continue to exist as long as others acknowledged that he did and he, himself, maintained a surety of his own being. He had honestly thought that when she'd stepped into his life the change from the doldrums was to his benefit, that a fresh perspective would emerge from meeting and courting and working with the daughter of that damnable sorcerer. And he'd been right.

He just hadn't realized what that truly meant.

The old devil could feel it now, gnawing away at his core like a dozen tiny scarabs. He had barely anything to anchor him at this point, was running on fumes and the "faith" of those who yet spoke or feared his name. Yet if doubt continued to claw at him even that wouldn't help for long -- sooner or later his self-concept would become so divorced from the notions held by others that that power would become inaccessible to him. What then, he wondered, holding the glimmering soul up and looking at it. Would he become just a blob of congealed essence and thoughts, like what he held in his hands? Could such a thing feel pain? Regret? Self-loathing? Or did it exist in isolation, unaware of anything beyond itself until it ceased to exist altogether?

His brow creased. He didn't know -- couldn't know. All he knew with any certainty -- certainty he desperately needed right then -- was that he was still alive, as was she. She could have taken everything, all his power and knowledge, everything she could have had need of from him save his name, and even that would be forgotten in time. Why would she spare him, keep him alive? And yet again she demonstrated her knowledge of him with this, a soul. Just enough to sustain him, stabilize his pathetic existence. She hated him... so what did she see in him that made him worth not only keeping around, but actually preserving?

"To hell with it." Mephisto murmured, dropping the soul into his mouth and swallowing. For a moment the amusing image of it popping back out through the hole in his chest and flitting away like a vindictive fairy played through his mind before he felt its essence suffuse into his own. The pain in his chest eased and the blood flow finally slowed; the demon breathed in deeply, feeling every ache and burn acutely as he did so. His right arm was little more than a charred stump; half of his face was pitted and blackened, horribly disfigured and numb to the touch. He could only speculate how badly burned the rest of his body was; this level of damage wouldn't heal with a single soul and a night's sleep, that was for certain. He'd need time, both to mend his essence and recenter himself, and a whole feast of good, quality, debased souls to bolster his own.

Why did she have a jarred soul -- more than one, likely -- on hand? Maybe she took after her old man's penchant for "tinkering", though almost certainly with very different reasons.

"Not a great first date." One hand -- the only one he had left -- came up to rest in a fist against his forehead. "Way to go, Mephisto..."

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

Sleep hadn't come easy; he wasn't used to needing it, for one thing, nor to the unpleasant thread of his dreams which followed. When Mephisto awoke the first time it was to his troupe reaching out to him, wordless voices in his own mind asking... well, everything, really. Was he all right? Where was he? What should they do? Why had he been disconnected from them for so long? With what little strength he could muster he reached out and re-established his bonds to them, instantly learning all that had occurred since the dying demoness had summoned him away and into her presence. Apparently the "summoning" had been quite a bit more intense than any he was used to -- a shock wave of sorts had occurred as he was ripped from one place to another, blasting a hole in Juviel's roof and knocking the poor, confused, terrified blacksmith off her feet altogether (not to mention creating quite a scene in her small abode). To their credit the troupe demons he'd brought with him did what actors did best; they donned fresh masks and created a story, and a clever one at that. They were travelers who'd heard of Juviel's skill at the forge and, passing through, wanted her to appraise ab lade they'd found in a ruin along with some odd bags of dust. The 'dust', as it turned out, had been poorly formulated homemade gunpowder, likely -- so the story went -- from some fraud merchant trying to pass it off as an illegal export from Connlaoth. The troupe had since made it their business to stay with the woman and help repair the damage; Mephistosm iled faintly and silently applauded their handling of the situation. They were to stay with Juviel for the time being and appraise him of any new developments.

As it turned out, there already was one.

Juviel hadn't pinned all her hopes on demonic intervention -- she'd been snooping about the Rasaldani's businesses and paying what bribes she could to those lower in the organization for any information related to her sister. As it turned out she'd just recently been given word that her sister was currently in the family manor -- likely the ragged page she'd been holding when last Mephisto saw her. He made a mental note to pass that information along to the demoness and bid his minions to be watchful and alert, then promptly passed out again. He'd never been this utterly spent in his entire life; if he'd been the type to believe in miracles, his continued existence would certainly have seemed like one.

His second awakening was some hours later, though how many was beyond his reckoning. Begrudgingly he sat up -- not without significant effort -- and willed his body to stand. Never had he experienced anything but complete, perfect control over his physical shell; to now feel it rebelling against him, stabbing him with pain and weariness in protest... he wondered silently how mortals could STAND such a thing, and realized afresh what the nameless lady must've gone through to get from Connlaoth to coastal Serendipity all in one go. He certainly had a new appreciation for... well, a great many things, in fact.

Clothes in tatters -- his favored boots charred and all but ruined, his exposed body showing a burned, repulsive mess of previously enviable male anatomy, Mephisto half-walked half-slumped his way over to the wall where he'd previously watched her create a door. He had no idea how she'd done it beyond that magic was most likely involved, so when, in the process of leaning himself against it and trying desperately to get his head to stop swimming, a door suddenly materialized from the stone and deposited him unceremoniously face-first onto the floor of her chamber. He coughed and groaned and found himself without the will or the strength to get back up.

"How the mighty have fallen." The demonic man grumbled out, just so she wouldn't have to say it.

[November]

"I don't know, but, it's nice to know you at least have a sense of humor in there somewhere." Belle sighed, peering over at where he had fallen, not moving from her reclined position on the sofa, a hand hanging from the piece of furniture. "But I tend to have that effect on men. Not to brag. The 'mighty' don't get off on that one." Sitting there for a while more, she didn't move, and just left him there. Looking up at a simple chandelier handing from the ceiling, the flames on the candles hypnotizing her in the dark. Eventually, Belle got up from her resting position on the sofa. A changed attire, a simple night-dress coming down to her mid-thigh, and bare feet, touching the cold stone floor, walking towards the fallen, now disabled and disheveled man, crouching before him. She grinned a sleepy grin, obviously haven fallen asleep quickly after sitting herself down for some much needed rest. It seemed that it had come to her much more easily. Though, she needed it, he didn't necessarily. "Need a hand there?" The demoness chuckled but didn't extend a hand herself.

She cocked her head, he definitely wasn't as spirited as he had been, but then again, she couldn't blame him. Though she was sure she'd find a way. Belle ran an almost comforting hand through his deep crimson hair in strokes. "Oh dear." She mused, with a patronizing undertone. Her touch wasn't supposed to be comforting in the least. It was almost as if she'd got him exactly where she'd wanted him all along. This place was a fortress, somewhere in space and time. It felt as though, beyond the walls, there was nothingness, an expanse of forever before they would even find the Universe in which they had roamed previously. There was no real exit. He would not be able to leave unless she willed it.

Standing up, she placed her hands on her hips, looking at the mess at her feet. "I suppose that what I gave you didn't do the trick? I have way too many. If you want some I'm looking to clear stock." Her words came in reference to the souls she kept, hidden in jars. Belle lifted an eyebrow. "And probably some new clothes, as well?" Turning away, she walked over to a glass case, full of glasses and bottled liquids, never used, never opened. Unlocking it, she carefully pulled out two glasses, and a bottle, undoing the cork in the top of it with a pop, she let the foam flow from the bottle, unbridled, over the top, over her hand, and onto the floor. Placing the two glasses on a small table by her sofa, she poured the golden liquid evenly into them, before putting the bottle down along side. Falling back down onto the seat, she reached for one of the glasses.

Belle stared at the man she had known for maybe three days now. Her eyes dim and somber. "Look at you. What a shame." Her tone came long, stretched, without hints of compromise or coy undertone. "Why'd you have to do that to yourself? Or is there something you want to tell me? You seem to be quite the masochist." The blonde haired woman took a drink from the glass. Still, it seemed, she wasn't sure why she'd brought him here, why she was doing what she was doing. She had told him she still had need of him.

Though she wasn't sure of that herself anymore.

[Nascent]

"Maybe. Not sure, really." He managed a reply, somewhere in the midst of trying to climb up to a sitting position. Not easy to do one handed; even more difficult feeling as he did. "Never... met anyone worth finding out for."

With a single great moment of effort he managed to at least pull himself up to a sitting position, though it left him breathing quite heavily. "How the hell do mortals do it?" He muttered, groaning. To be this weary and powerless was taking its toll in ways he'd never have imagined. This was going to take some getting used to, at the very least... as was accepting the generosity of his host, to whatever ends she decided to take it.

"I have some news." As he spoke he began the struggle of getting to his feet. "It seems Juviel has been pursuing more than just demon-summoning and forge-craft. She's acquired information suggesting that her sister is currently being kept in the Rasaldani manor. Seems quite eager to make her next move... and though I certainly won't be as useful as I'd like in this... condition... I'm still willing to do my part, if you want."

Finally finding his footing, the hobbling demon took his glass with a grateful nod to the hostess... before executing a half-controlled slump to the ground, breathing heavily. "Thank you for this, and your other offers. I'm certainly in no position to decline. What's more..."

Mephisto sipped at the golden liquid -- he'd never much cared for the sustenance of mortals before, enjoying its flavors and textures but never deriving from it the same satisfaction that they clearly did. Now, though, he suddenly realized just how parched his throat was and how incredibly relieving of that unpleasant sensation it was. Remarkable. He had to force himself to sip slowly, to savor it, not down the whole glass at a go and pour himself an endless succession of more.

"I think it's time that I listened, really listened. To you. To whatever you have to say, no matter how harsh or disagreeable. In the short time since we've met I've viewed you through the lens of myself, my own pride and ambition. Idiocy, considering. You... you're more than what I am. Time I started truly appreciating that fact. So..."

"... Whatever you intend, whatever you want, I am well and truly at your mercy, dread lady."

[November]

Belle chuckled quietly before laughing out loud for a second or so. "I thought you said you'd experienced all matters of the flesh?" Her eyes narrowed at him. Nothing he had said hadn't been filed away for later reference if needed. Even if it came in the form of calling out when and how he would trip up in this information he had given. "It seems you might have been lying to me. Tut tut." Belle took another sip from her drink, letting the alcohol do what it should do, unlike the night before. Relax her, calm her. In some ways sharpen her ability to think and process. Breathing out, she embraced it, her body relaxed visibly, letting her weight fall into the sofa it gladly received her. The icy-eyes of the woman were caught back into the flickering flames that danced above her head, lighting the room they occupied together. They were likes stars, up there, if she wanted them to be. 

SPACE LION
Cowboy Bebop OST

Her head fell to one side, hair falling over her face ever so slightly, catching his eye. It seemed that, despite Juviels desire to move quickly, Belle was happy to just lay back for a while. Here, she was separated from outside. Whatever was going on didn't concern her while she was here until she made it so. The blacksmith could wait a few hours more, and she would. She would have too. Belle just held the mans gaze for a while. "Do men ever really listen?" The words came softy, like they didn't have to be thought about, they were just there, ready. "Is there a point in trying to make you? I tried every way I knew. I beat you, I came onto you, and I just talked." There was a pause. They had come to the last of each others ropes just a little too late. Keeping up with each other, they had burned up and out. "I've already tried to get what I wanted out of you." She faced away, turning her eyes to those bright lights once more. "It amuses me how men don't really care about much other than themselves until they loose something and want it back. Money. A home. Control..." Belle closed her eyes. "An arm." And then smiled "Not a good look for you, personally." Taking another drink, she sighed.

For a short while, she just left it as that, leaving him to think, as she was doing. As she did, all the time, no real way to escape from her thoughts. She took a deep breath, breaking the pause, and shifted on the sofa. "There isn't really anything left to say to you. Not sure why I brought you here at all, not sure why I went to all the effort I did just to meet you. All my questions, you said you wouldn't answer until I finished this little job for you. I was almost content to die without knowing, and I would have done. I'd have liked to add 'because of you' on there." She cast a judgmental eye upon him for a moment before switching away. "But, there you go." A defeatist sentence with a defeatist sounds carried on them. Belle rolled onto her front, resting her head on her folded arms. "I don't put faith in much. My abilities to do what I have to, get where I need to." She buried her head into her arms "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. You left me to die, and I've almost killed you twice. Now your in the one place I call home, drinking my alcohol, sat on my floor, without an arm." She chuckled. "You don't need to know anything about me. My name, my purpose, what I'm doing, and you certainly don't need me to tell you everything I've already told you because you couldn't be bothered to listen to me." Once again, she paused.

And then she sighed, frustrated, like her next words had forced themselves into line, and she had no choice but to say them.

"Belle. The name is...Belle."

[Nascent]

"It suits you."

Even as he said it, he wasn't sure whether he was taking about her name, her take on men, or her resentment towards him. Maybe all three, really. And as he chewed over her words, carefully, he realized just how right she was. It had taken seeing her on death's doorstep -- with a halberd shoved through his chest, at that -- to jar him loose enough to REALLY pay attention. She spoke with the voice of the scorned and the knowing; he really was just as bad as any man she'd ever met, maybe even worse than some or many of the names on the list. Mephisto let that thought linger and penetrate his deepest awareness for a moment. In his arrogance he'd always assumed he was something special, something clever. And now he had to confront the possibility that, this whole time, a precious few things indeed had ever separated him from the seediest lowlifes he'd ever eaten the souls of.

He'd thought, in the chapel, that he'd been ready to receive her anger -- as though it were some kind of spectacle to be admired, a dance, a game. And in the restaurant he'd thought himself ready to receive her understandings, her insights, as though just reading a book -- and then his death at her hands as casually and pointlessly as consuming the wine he'd never gotten to finish. He was a demon of thousands of years... acting like a hells-damned child.

Was it REALLY any surprise she'd lost patience with him?

"Well, Belle," He rather liked the sound of it, truth be told -- a short and sweet name, yet with a sharp edge on it like a well-honed knife. "Considering everything that's gone on, I really can't see myself as being in a position to deny you anything right now. And given that I'm probably as good at apologies as I am at truly listening -- not very, obviously -- it seems the best I can do right now is tell you whatever you want to know. So please, go ahead."

"What would you ask of your Mephistopheles?"

[November]

"Absolutely nothing."

The two words broke the silence, as she suddenly rose from the sofa, the sleepiness seemingly gone from her movements, but not from her eyes. The cold floor fought against her warm skin, the nerves in her feet not exceedingly happy about the change.  Grabbing the glass on the table, she took a drink, and move onward, without a word as she went. She pulled a case from the darkness. This placed moved around her, things came to her at will from nowhere, as they would anywhere. The space around her was her's to command. But the man inside was not. With one hand, she pulled away the front shelves and the false back. It was the case of souls. "How my father died is irrelevant. How you escaped him? Also irrelevant. What he did to you? Irrelevant." She scanned the shelves for a minute. "It's all irrelevant. I wanted to know out of curiosity, but what reason is that to know anything?" Pulling a jar from one of the shelves, she stared at it, the glittering light from the soul inside, her back to the Devil.

"It wouldn't help me understand anything I really want to understand."

It seemed that Belle was going back on her actions, even thinking about approaching him in the first place seemed foreign. She thought she had known why, and what she wanted to know that he could tell her. Now, it seemed, that nothing really seemed important enough to have endangered herself for. And yet right now she wasn't willing to just wipe his memory again, and dump him back with his troupe. She would still have hers. Turning back, she walked towards Mephisto. "But, if I think that way..." Setting her glass back on the table, she undid the lid with her now free hand. "Why did I let you know my name?" In her hand, the lid dispersed into nothing, vanishing at her whim. "I don't know." Belle smiled in the light of the soul she now held, letting the glass jar vanish too.

She held it out to him, offering the ball of glowing energy. "This is the strongest I have. I can't do anything with it. I've tried. Don't say no. You don't get to here." Her eyes seemed tired, like even thinking about the time and energy she'd spent trying to do something with it, drained her. "No clue who it is." Looking at the soul, she knew what she had wanted from him, really. But she didn't so much fill with purpose as she did with tire. Like she had spent too long trying to do it herself that she didn't believe that it could be done anymore. He would either take it, or she left it suspended before him. Sitting back down on the sofa, her shoulders fell low, as she brushed the hair back from her face, closing her eyes again. "The things I want I can't attain or don't exist. The things I need?" She laughed, but not in humor. "Never will." Her expression mellowed again. "I had thought that maybe you were the key." Her voice drifted off as she laid back. "But now I'm not so sure."

[Nascent]

Her words were cryptic and oblique to him -- she seemed more tired than anything, so weary of the chase that even having captured her prey she was no longer sure she wanted it. Too much a reminder of fruitless and chafing efforts, perhaps too little "meat" left on the bones. There had been something to her pursuit of him, that much he felt confident of... but didn't dare guess as to what. Perhaps she would toss him back to the wilds, memories gone once more. Perhaps she would keep him in the trap in the remote likelihood of finding a use for him. Wordlessly he accepted the soul and downed it, mulling over the situation in his own mind. He wasn't going anywhere unless she chose it, that much was for sure... and for the moment at least she seemed content to keep him alive.

As the soul's energies were consumed and filled him, one particular phrase jumped out at him. 'I can't do anything with it.' And she'd tried. In that instant he had his suspicions verified -- she was doing something with souls... but what? What couldn't one do with powerful enough souls? It was an intriguing riddle.

What did soul research, the Grand Duke of Connlaoth, and everything else he knew about her have in common? Maybe nothing -- separate pursuits for separate reasons -- but he had to wonder. Even if she now felt uncertainty towards her endeavor with him Belle didn't strike Mephisto as the kind to act without thought or indulge idle curiosity with extravagant efforts. 'The things I want I can't attain or don't exist. The things I need? Never will.' There was meaning and substance there, he felt certain of it. And she'd thought he might have been key to her pursuits. It wasn't power or domination she sought, that much was clear. Too simple. Too blunt. Too male. To... claim something, perhaps? Some knowledge, or object?

To... reclaim something...?

He had no way of knowing for sure, but his suspicions were certainly growing. And she'd know what he was thinking, too. There would be no point in making grand offers or promising his aid -- if she wanted something from him she'd get it, in her own time and way.

"I don't know for sure either." He admitted with a -- painful -- shrug. "Everyone who's ever wanted something from me seemed to think I was the 'key' to fulfilling their desire. Usually they come away from the whole business wishing they'd never met me. I suppose it was naive of me to think..."

"... To think this, you and I, would turn out differently."

He laid back a bit, letting the strong glow of the soul infuse him, begin to heal the damage he'd done. "I know it means nothing to actually say this, but you're absolutely right about me. I only understand power --not  just because that's all 'that man' ever wanted from me," The demon chuckled grimly. "Besides, you know, unwavering obedience, adherence to his every whim, being completely unseen and unheard when he couldn't be bothered with me, that sort of thing." He gazed down at his glass, now mostly empty. "But because all I've ever seen, in thousands of years, is people -- all sorts of people -- wanting power to be the solution to their every problem. Family killed by bandits? Power to snap their necks and burn their hides. Scorned lover? Power to fill their dreams with nightmares forever making them regret having an affair. Unrequited love? Power to change that 'special someone's' mind, for good. Short on coin? Power to compel the markets, or take out a competitor, or acquire some lost treasure. Power to impress. Power to suppress. Power to compel and compete and control. Everyone seems convinced that power is the sure-fire road to whatever they want out of life..."

"... And then when it's done, when they get what they thought they wanted, it was never as they thought it would be. Mortals are never satisfied -- no one is, I guess. Do you know how many times I've been offered the soul of a friend or loved one, a child even, to release them at a bargain's end? No one ever wants to deal with consequences."

He downed the rest of the glass and glared contemptuously, not so much at it as his own reflection.

"And I'm no different."

[November]

ALL GONE (NO ESCAPE)
The Last Of Us OST

"Did you expect it to? Turn out differently I mean." She could feel him turning over her words in his mind, trying to know what she had meant in reference to her collection of souls, that she could do nothing with. There were few, if any, recorded beings in history who could not tap into the power of souls. Their energy was universal, and yet she couldn't use it. Really, it was simple. She just lacked the conduit. Her hand reached out to him, once again running through his hair with some sense of pseudo-affection in her touch. "I suppose, in our own ways, we might share that about us, too. People like to use us, but never face the consequences of what that would mean." Belle, bottle in hand, filled Mephisto's glass, without asking, and not even referring to his mind to know if he really wanted anymore, she just did. Putting it back on the small table, the clink of the glass was sharp as it met the shining wood surface.

Belle wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her head against the Devils neck and breathed a relaxed sigh, laying out on the sofa again. Not knowing what she was doing was becoming quite the theme of the last few days. In some ways, having nothing to plot, nothing to scheme, nothing to mess with or deceive or trick was strangely comforting. It was her turn to think on his works. Mephisto was some kind of anomaly in her armor. Her prejudiced affliction was certainly altering her view of him, but is was by no means consuming her view of him. A silence between them was not exactly uncommon so far, and it held no awkward atmosphere, just some kind of understanding, if that was possible. Lifting her head up, she removed the tattered coat from his shoulders, and moved back to her previous position at the crook of his neck. "I don't." Her voice came calm, sudden. "Wish I'd never approached you." Maybe it was the sleepiness talking. It might be the alcohol, but she'd had less than a glass, and had lived not too much less than him. It was unlikely.

No. Those words were true. "People do to me what they do to you. We have our uses, and that's all." Her arms held him closer. "Surely I would be no different from them, and those I hate, if I were to reciprocate the same behavior." She let go, getting up from the sofa, not before finishing what was left in her own glass and placing it back. Smoothing down her dress and brushing her hair over one shoulder, she turned to him, icy blue eyes glowing. Mephisto would find the beautiful woman resting, facing him on her knees, just looking at him, her hands on his, she leaned in "Who else do we really have if not others like us?"  Belle simply kissed him, once, but softly, on his cheek- "Maybe someone I hate..." -before she turned around, sitting in his lap, resting her back against his chest, letting her weight fall against him. "-Is better than no one at all."

The she-demon laughed. "I don't know. Maybe that's just the human talking. Maybe I ran out of hate a long time ago. I'm not sure." She took a deep breath. "Maybe I will still ask something of you, when all of this is done. Maybe I will learn not to care for the things I do not have."

"Will you be here to find out with me?"

[Nascent]

Mephisto couldn't stifle a chuckle when she said she didn't regret approaching him -- now THAT was a first, and certainly not what he'd expected given all that happened. Not resenting him? Did she truly mean that? Really?

He supposed, strangely, there had to be a first time for everything.

She surely knew the answer to her question without even having to read his mind. She had been -- was -- so very different. From the moment she'd first reached out and spoken to him he'd known she wasn't like anyone else he'd ever met, human or demon or otherwise. Even a devil should be allowed to hope, and he had. Still did, perhaps, but held no assumptions about whether or not it would come to pass. There was, after all, still plenty of time left before the crumbling of the world in which she could grow to loathe and despise him utterly, or simply become so off-put that she no longer cared what happened to him. Weighing the two in his mind he realized just how much worse her apathy would be compared to her spite; he could perhaps accept being just another man to her, a name to be hated and reviled... but to drop below that decrepit status, to be as nothing in her eyes -- not even a bug to be squashed or a corpse to be stepped over -- that, he feared, he could not endure. He momentarily recalled a very old tale of a man who had lived underground his whole life, only to be suddenly thrust out of his home and into the searing sunlight by an earthquake; even after returning to his damp caves the man could never quite forget the open world with its blinding, burning light... at once beautiful, terrifying, new, and alien.

How was she any less that sun to him? Even when they parted ways her memory would be seared into his very being. For a moment he shuddered, remembering the power she held to wipe his mind... and realized it the single most fearsome thing he had ever encountered.

Thanking her for the refill with an appreciative nod, he took in her relaxed affections with a sense of marvel. It had been mere hours since he'd nearly been the end of her through his negligence and egotism, yet here she was, running hands through his hair and cozying up to him as though they had been lovers for years... though not with quite the same affection. There was something there, no doubt -- made all the clearer when she leaned in and kissed his unburned cheek -- but... perhaps neither of them really knew what. It felt like trying on new clothes, with familiarity, comfort, difference, and casual uncertainty all rolled into one. The curious emotion was heightened when she sat with him -- not lust, not necessarily endearment, even in a dark or twisted sense. It was like they were trying each other on for size. And strangely, he found he liked the relaxed, even unsure, nature of it. It was... comfortable. Simple. Undisguised.

"If you want me to be." It was the only answer he could give, the only one that seemed right. He could no more see the future than she could. Perhaps they'd be like this forever, caught in a limbo somewhere between desire, hate, and disconnect. Maybe time would have them become enemies, or allies after a sort. Maybe more. Maybe less. Maybe one or both of them would die and vanish into the void or be cast down to some tormenting hell for their sins. Really, none of it mattered -- the future would take the course it chose, and all anyone really had was the here and now. So yes... if she wanted him here -- or anywhere else -- with her, he would be. That, at least, he felt sure of.

"And no, I don't think you've run out of hate. I can't imagine you being that way, especially not after what you've said to Juviel." The old devil paused, putting his glass aside and, hesitatingly, placing his hand over hers. "... I hate to say this, but there is the possibility she's being led into a trap. If so, she will most definitely not survive on her own. She will need you."

"Belle of retribution."

[November]

An exaggerated sigh fell from Belles lips, as she slumped into Mephisto and then turned back over to face him, taking his hand and pressing it to the stone floor, pushing him up against the sofa, and herself against him. Belle rose above him, legs either side of his, looking down with a gleam in her eyes, shoulders back, chest out, powerful. She thought for a few moments. Juviel...they had made a deal, that was true, just over a day ago. It was likely that she was too caught up in their meeting that the Blacksmith would ignore anything suspicious about whatever she was given. She would have her heart in her head. Though Belle didn't exactly want her to get hurt, though she wanted to strike down her targets with all due fury, she was here, now, looking into the eyes of a man that seemed wholly different. Who had caught her attention and had been ready to leave her, dead. But still, now always, ready to give where she would receive.

And she wanted to receive, and he would see it in her eyes, large, black pupils forcing away the icy blue.

Her expression turned to one of scorn, mostly out of having to ignore her other, scratching, wishes. She closed her eyes, softening her expression, and gave a one sided grin, dropping her head, resting it against his. "I suppose it can wait." Belle vanished and the room changed to an armory. When the semi-demon appeared again, she was dressed as she had been, ready to leave. Picking up a Halberd from one of the weapons racks, it was one of her prized weapons, that much was obvious, and she was not afraid to wield it again in front of him.  A weapon he knew, at least in part, that she could use at least somewhat effectively. "A girl gets sick of waiting, you know." She eyed Mephisto over her shoulder wickedly. "I suppose I can ask for some kind of reward for my efforts after I'm done."

Halberd in tow, she held her hand out to him. "Show me where she is, and we'll go to her."

[Nascent]

'Well,' The devil thought to himself, frowning slightly. 'Seems I managed to ruin that moment.' Why she continued to tolerate and even indulge him, after a fashion, when he kept striking out repeatedly was as much a mystery to him as her half-human half-demonic nature.

"Anything you'd like -- that I can give, anyway." He held his hands -- hand -- wide open. "And I haven't forgotten: I still owe you the best food and bed Jadenshine has to offer. After all," A wry grin snuck onto his face. "If a devil doesn't keep his promises no one will want to make deals with him. That's just the way it works."

He stepped closer to her, feeling fresh strength coursing through him. It would still be some time before he'd be whole again, before the energies he'd consumed restored him as far as they could, but he was certainly far better than he was. "I shall... endeavor... not to make you wait longer than necessary."

Mephisto took her offered hand gently in his and willed his mind to focus on Juviel. It had been quite some time since she'd called to him, unfortunately, so even if he'd had his usual level of power he couldn't have whisked them both across the distance as he'd like. Still, Belle seemed to have other means at her disposal to get them where they needed to go. His mind spun with soul-stars and fragments of maps, charting out her whereabouts. Geography wasn't normally something he concerned himself terribly much with aside from planning the troupe's travel performances but he knew enough to work it out. He compared the locations of other souls he knew, those calling and those silent, and with less difficulty than he'd expected extrapolated the location of her village. Redwillow, just over a day's walk from Ilaceth. Part of him very vaguely recalled the name now, perhaps somewhere he'd been to once a long time ago...?

No time to dwell on it. He affixed the village's location in his mind and gave Belle a nod. They were ready to go.

[November]

His promises always made her grin, it was more of a challenge. If they would stay each other long enough to actually get food next time, let alone a room. She didn't really need either of them anymore, but she wasn't one to skip out on a little glitter, especially if it meant not denting the coin in her pocket. If he was going to keep his promises, and she would not hold it against him if he didn't, she had offered him no soul, and he was certainly not bound to indulge the little trivialities of her life. They were not exactly partners, nor much, in all truth. She walking up to him with a sway "Going to be honest Mephisto...might want to wait until you get your other arm back." Belle teased. "I'm not going to help you eat. Or much else." She placed her hand in his. "You can have all the souls you want from this little trip. I'm not going to do much with them." He fixed their Blacksmiths location and she caught it. But she paused, and backed off, giving him a peculiar look up and down before giggling.

She spun 90 degrees, and the room changed with her. A long, large room, full of hangers and wardrobes and all other manner of things. "Alright, no." She chided, amused. "You aren't going anywhere like that. I don't want to hang around a man who looks like a beggar rather than a bringer of nightmares and all things nasty so get to it." Her hands waved by her head in some sort of teasing, mocking gesture at Mephisto, before she showed him down the hall. "I'm sure you'll find something to your taste." There were all kinds of items from many, many ages. Some of them, you could spy in old painting on the walls. Belle had matched them up in her grim humor. "After all, I only keep the best." She turned to him again, pulling at his shirt collar a little. "I'd help, but, I might get carried away." Sighing again, feeling her clothes get just a tad more uncomfortable, she walked away, leaving him to change into something more practical than burnt rags.

After he was ready, she took his hand once more, a little more satisfied with his appearance, and took her to that place he had tracked Juviel down to. Belle wasn't sure what to expect, she hadn't asked and probably should have, but it was too late now, the par of them tumbling through the void of space, to reach wherever it was he was taking her. Juviel might not be in one piece at the other end, and they might find themselves suddenly through into more trouble than they were prepared to expect, but either way, what was to come, was to come. Belle could feel it, in his head, he thought he knew this place, and it made her curious too. There was to be a time for questions later. For now, it was onward, to the whatever awaited their call.

[Nascent]

What a woman. Mephisto had watched her walk down the hall, and literally all he could think of for a few moments was that he had never met anyone even remotely like her, nor did he imagine he'd ever encounter her equal. Perhaps they had both been looking for someone who would be different... she certainly was, without question.

Time would tell if he could be, too.

Right, clothes. With the demoness out of sight his mind regained a measure of focus and he set about the task at hand. Part of him couldn't believe he'd almost gone out in the shambled state he was in -- burns, an absent arm, and a gaping hole in his chest was one thing, but the tattered and ruined state of his apparel? The actor in him chided him -- presentation, presentation, presentation -- and so he set about the business of disrobing and putting on something fresh. Mephisto debated on what to do with his former attire; it certainly wasn't appropriate to leave his old rags laying around in such a grand depository as this, even less so to expect his hostess to pick up after him. Debating for a moment, he relinquished with a sigh and flung the tattered raiment into the air; hellfire crackled and they dissolved in black and crimson flames before they could even touch the ground, leaving not even ashes in their wake. He'd worn them so often that part of his own essence had 'rubbed off' on them over time, and after all of himself that he'd put to flame recently a single suit of clothes doused in his aura was by no means a heavy loss. Still, he'd miss those boots. Those were his favorite boots.

The pickings around him were certainly grand, of that there was no doubt. Stark naked, with every range of flesh and every burned scar showing plain as day, Mephistopheles walked the embroidered and portraitured hall with keen eyes roaming, taking in cut and hem, fit and fashion, make and markings. Impressively, a few things struck him as familiar -- a suit of half-plate armor worn by an ignoble knight, a rune-scrawled robe of a debased priest-turned-heretic, the garments of half a dozen nobles he'd had dealings with and... was that Lord Markion's crest? The demon chuckled to himself; he'd been busy at the time but had wondered about the circumstances of Markion's 'untimely demise' during that expedition. Now, the mystery was solved. Belle had been quite busy since becoming what she was, and if the evidence of his eyes was to be believed it was truly amazing that their paths had not crossed before now.

At length he settled upon a particular outfit on a mannequin towards the back. The overcoat suited him nicely, even if he had to fold one of the sleeves inward to avoid it flapping about awkwardly with no arm in it. A pair of black leather boots just down the way a bit turned out to be a good fit. The frustrating part, as it turned out, was all those damnable buttons -- getting them secured in place with only one hand proved an almost infuriating challenge but, at last, he was once more fully dressed. A bit more posh that his usual attire, but it would certainly do.

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

Redwillow had always been a quiet place, a refuge for craftsmen, simple folk, and those who just didn't settle well in the likes of Ilaceth. The village was built upon a sloping hill with a simple dirt-and-stone road weaving like a serpent up from the farms and workshops at the base to the ruins of an old watchtower on the hill's crest. The town itself was named for the red willow brush that grew up the hillside in abundance, swathing the town in a wind-swept crimson veil that, in season, was quite the sight to behold. When Belle and Mephisto arrived outside of Juviel's house that season was at its height -- Redwillow was awash in red hues.

The blacksmith's home was a simple, unassuming wood structure on the eastern edge of town, grown heavily about with the low-hanging crimson plants. There were a small gaggle of people around the front and up on the roof doing repairs -- these Mephisto at once recognized as his troupe en masque, keeping an eye on and assisting the vengeful woman in mundane ways. He nodded as one approached him, silent words passing between the two, then looked up to where he could hear hammering coming from the rooftop.

Juviel was most of the way done with patching up the hole that Mephisto's earlier 'summoning' had put in the helm of her house -- the amused thought briefly crossed the devil's mind that she ought to consider a skylight or at least a small vent for fumes from her forge, but there were more important things going on right then than home repair critique. One of the troupe assisting her, masked as a common handyman, tapped the blacksmith on the shoulder and pointed down at the newly arrived guests; Juviel wasted no time, stowing her hammer and sliding down and off, landing with impressive grace before walking up to them both.

"I'd ask what the hells that was all about, forgetting everything and then nearly blowing my roof off," The young woman, somewhat less soot-covered than usual, glanced between Belle and Mephisto. "But I'm guessing I don't really want to know. Was worried you weren't coming back, y'know, even with all your 'friends' here assuring me you would."

"Complications." The devil reassured her dryly, then added in a somewhat more melancholy tone. "Mistakes were made... and had to be fixed."