14147/Top shelf keeps them coming back...

Top shelf keeps them coming back...
Date of Scene:	22 February 2022
Location:	Club Lux, Melville
Synopsis:	Sinister and Crowley have another chat. Interesting things foment
Cast of Characters:	Sinister, Crowley

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Sinister has posed:
Sunday was hopping in Lux, Monday less so. THe beginning of the week brings only the die-hard party goers to the club, though the quality of the place tends less toward the drug-addled and the raves. THe sophistikat of society and the groupies just wanting to bask in the nearby glow make for a very different kind of depravity. It tends to lurk beneath, rather than where all can see.

Down by the piano, on the sunken dance floor, the alcove of choice for Sinister is occupied by the man tonight, less pretense toward humanity being offered tonight though, he does not look remotely human. But nobody really 'sees' him regardless, saving for the staff here who know who he is anyway. Those dancing, talking nearby, they don't even look at the best seat in the house for the tickling of the ivories and the view of the sometimes celestial singer. This seems to suit the doctor just fine; once again, cognac and a bottle of it at the table, accompanies the haze of cigarette smoke...

Crowley has posed:
Crowley appears at another stool at the bar, this time with a bottle of Craig. After pouring himself a glass, Crowley sets the bottle back on the bar table, likely as an addition to Lucifer's stock. Like Lucifer, Crowley doesn't carry lighters around, and lights a new cigar with the snap of his fingers, dragging in the rich flavor as he glances about the room. A nod is offered to Sinister a few seconds later.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister returns the gesture, an incline of the head like the high-born gentleman he once was. There are some things that you do a certain way, when you're him, even when his eyes are currently limning his facial features with a reasonably good immitation of hellfire. They're full on glowing, after all. With a glance around the club, he straightens a little, gesturing to a seat at his alcove with an elegant open palm, if it's accepted.

Crowley has posed:
Crowley rarely walks anywhere further than a few feet and as such is sitting across from Sinister less than a second later. He takes a sip from his glass and exhales a bit of smoke, "Evening. Not as busy as last night, but that just means fewer ears about. Now if only I had a devious plan I needed to share.."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister laughs at that, "...Monday unfortunately means a work day for the blessedly -washed- masses. I do love that there's standards for getting past the door here." Lifting his glass in a silent toast, Sinister takes a sip, taps the glass as he settles it on the black marble tabletop. "I'd take a mildly surprising plan, at a pinch."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley shrugs, "Most of the time my schedule is determined by the order of deals signed within the past ten years, which is determined by how many deals I signed on a given night ten years ago. It's not as complicated as it sounds really. Tonight there's three. My own personal hound will be taking all three, her name is Fluffy, and she's sensitive about the name." Crowley grins, "Giant of a hound, as tall as a grown man, and teeth like daggers."

Sinister has posed:
"And of course, invisible..." Sinister's lips quirk a faint, crooked smile "...mostly. And methinks there's a story there, if you ever feel inclined to share. I had a dog once, a charming little terrier, named Duchess. My father's dog, really, but she was a loyal little thing. Sometimes, they name themselves, I find." He sips again, sucking his cheeks at the flavour. "A busy night for you, a decade ago. I imagine that deserved its own celebration."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley grins again, "What's to say? She was the biggest of a litter a while back and I decided to take her as my own. I can command any hound I want but this one is special. I only use her when a reaping is personal. These three tripplets all asked for wealth, they wanted to be Scrooge McDuck's nephews I suppose. They also told me that by the time I came for them, they'd have a personal army waiting to take me out, so that they could get out of the deal. I'm curious to see what awaits."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister's head tilts at that, a baffled look on his face "The audacity of that. I kind of have to admire the spunk, but it's deluded at best. An army wouldn't stop me and you're... a demon. What on /earth/ do they think they can achieve? Ah well, I expect that it will be rather messy by the time it's done." He grins though, enjoying his cigarette most thoroughly in the glow of his own gaze. "Although, bigger isn't always better, old boy. Sometimes, the clever curr wins out over sheer muscle." He leans a little closer. "A lesser man might think you were compensating by having the biggest bitch around."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley laughs darkly, "Oh this hound is clever, fast, and strong. I love the intimidation factor the most though. And as for these stooges? I don't expect anything. They weren't very intelligent from the first and I doubt much has changed in a decade. They didn't ask for brains to go along with the cash. Last I heard, they'd spent most of their wealth a year ago. I don't usually keep tabs on my 'clients', but I got a bit nosey. Unless they've won the lottery since then, my guess is that they are broke, and waiting to die at this point. The deal was wealth, not the know-how required to manage it effectively."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister's head tiltes the other way, now. "I wonder if they even have any holdings left. Do you have names that could provide a convenient paper trail, I wonder?" Those red eyes flare just a little bit more, but there's no sensation of mental intrusion or anything of the ilk, just a kind of ... static hum. Lux remains as it is, but it seems further away, people utterly ignore the table completely and there almost seems to be... a wall around them. A 'pay attention to the OTHER man behind the OTHER curtain' kind of vibe.

Crowley has posed:
Crowley takes another sip, "I don't need records like that. You've noticed that I never use the front door and that I just 'poofed' right over to your table. Same thing with them, or anyone I know about, I can go to wherever they are, watch them, talk to them, dance, fuck, whatever."

Sinister has posed:
"THat wasn't why I was curious." Sinister replies with a chuckle, stretching his legs out as he watches, lashes lowering to narrow the beam of red just a smidge. "People with more money than sense, wealth in the extreme, spend a wallop of it as silly money. That usually ends up with a few things that are things -I- actually might value, in their sordid collections. And they won't require them any more, after tonight. I might repossess what little remains. Usually, it's the frivolity that they hold onto the longest. People are, by and large, predictable."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley cannot help but laugh as he is taking another drag on his cigar. Luckily he doesn't actually "breathe" as such, "Ahhh. Greedy greedy greedy. I don't care, have at it, you can even come with me to search their records if you'd like. I'm sure they've also carelessly left their phones logged into their bank accounts as well."

"You're right, they won't be needing any of it where they're going, and it'd be a shame for it to all go to waste wouldn't it? I've got more wealth than I know what to do with already so.. yeah have at it."

Sinister has posed:
"Not about the wealth, good sir. So very much not. More to do with not wanting some things lost to the miasma of the black market. Some things are too unique to end up in the hands of some yakuza boss." Essex waves his hand with the cigarette. "So I appreciate your candor and your magnanimosity. Actually? All I'd really need is their phones to clean house of anything of worth. But, comme c'est comme ca, n'est pas?"

Pause, beat. "I'm going to guess the stroke of midnight, again? Oh, how -did- the collection go last night? I got tangled up with... things."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley nods and takes a drag from his cigar, "Right, anything you want from them, you can have it. I already know they don't truck in the things I'd want. Their money can burn for all I care. They did have some odd looking paintings the last I checked, I'd check behind them if I were you. You know how sometimes a painting bulges out a bit too much? As if there's something behind it? Morons like them can't even get a crawl space right for their baubbles. Like I said, have at them."

"As for last night? The modern day Tony Soprano? Squeal, scream, choke, gag, dead. The fun part was watching him and his mates trying to shoot at.. nothing. You see I was wrong, he didn't run away, he tried to stand and fight. I guess he was still thinking about the deal after all and had been ready for a bit. In the end it's all the same, he somehow convinced his inner circle that "the devil" was coming after him, and they decided to play bodyguard. They all died, they're all in Hell, not a single angel in sight to take them upstairs. You could say that I got six for one."

Sinister has posed:
"Bargain," Sinister lofts brows a little, an impressed look. "Dead man's honour. At least that was brave of him, if ultimately doomed." He is quiet a moment, ear turned just a little toward Crowley, as if listening very carefully to him. "I meant to ask you this, by the by, but it slipped my mind yesterday. You mentioned hunters. Should I probe more than just to suppose it to be the very literal and obvious?"

Crowley has posed:
Crowley raises a brow as he takes another small sip of drink, "You really don't know then? Hunters.. they hunt things that don't look, seem, or act human. That includes witches, wizards, and psychics who don't use their powers the way that said hunters believe that they should be used. Self righteous, vengeful, on the warpath for some unresolved trauma. Basically head cases that would rather kill things than see a shrink. Most of them are easily dealt with but a few know what they're doing. If you ever see someone from across a room look at you funny, I'd keep my guard up. I am guessing that an immortal who can read minds might just fall under 'watch' in their minds."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley clears his throat as he remembers something else, "Especially if she's blonde, tan, beautiful, and looks like a cheerleader."

Sinister has posed:
"Ahhh, so it was. I've never really dealt with the common garden variety vigilante type, whether or not they're protecting the world from the bad things. I usually get the slightly higher powered nutters, or those individuals that absolutely believe I should be stopped. It doesn't work, fairly obviously." He gestures at himself. Intact. Definitely still here and with all his body parts. "It's also probably not much of a surpise to note that it's very hard to get the drop on me. Happens once in a blue moon, but..." he shrugs, a kind of 'eh' gesture. Sometimes, thoughts are right at the top of the mind though, so easy you don't even have to poke to pluck them. "Ohh, yes, Buffy Summers. I've met her. She wasn't remotely interested. She was far more interested in her pulseless boytoy at the time. I really don't see what fascinates so many people about vampires. Hopeless romantics that really do ignore the teeth and the bloodlust, I suspect."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley smirks, "Learn to teleport. If you've got enough psychic juice you can probably pull it off. Even if you only manage half a mile away, it works every time. I can handle hunters, vampires, werewolves, witches, whatever comes after me. But unless you know that face across the room, trust me, it's better to have an escape handy, then find out who they are after the fact. Then the next time you meet, you've levelled the playing field. I don't give advice much, but Lucifer's love gets the exception I suppose."

He drags the cigar again, "And you're right, Buffy Summers, a name only a rock beneath miles of earth wouldn't know by now. Vampires embody everything a normal, mortal human being wants to be. If they can't convince a vampire to turn them, it seems like they'd go to bed with one as an alternative. I guess even the Slayer isn't immune to those Anne Rice charms of theirs." He grins.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister snorts softly and nods, a voiceless chuckle following. "It might even be a little bit of the nihilism drive kicking in. Highly likely, actually." A plate of fries with cheese on it is set on the bartop a ways off, presumably to be picked up by the waitress. HOwever, it levitates and floats on over to the table, through the barrier of 'we are not here' to land atop the table. Sinister takes one. There's a smell of rosemary and olive oil drizzle on them also. "Sometimes, chips are just what the doctor ordered..." he gestures to them. "Help yourself, if you like." He looks up again, as the fry is ferried to its ultimate demise. THere's an odd flash of teeth in a broad and be'dimpled grin, for some reason or another, currently unknown.

"Is lycanthropy contagious? The only ones I've ever come up against, have come by it a different way. Witches though. Well... quite a number of them seem to be quite personable types. Warlocks, also. Mind, I do find that whole ... aspect of reality rather fascinating at the moment. Whole unexplored avenue of usefulness. So far, that's been a mixed bag."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley nods, "As contagious as a cold. One bite is all it takes and you're growing hair in places you've never seen it every full moon. They tend to get men and women into a horomonal craze like vampires. Humans love their predators, they just won't admit it. Magicians as a whole tend to be more civilized unless you've screwed them over, which I have, more than once. Just business but they didn't see it that way. In my case it's trap them before they trap me, not at all like dealing with a hunter, or a vampire who thinks you've stolen his lunch. It's a different game entirely to be at war with someone else who can bend the elements to their will."

Sinister has posed:
"And who know how to summon you, or can find out, I suppose. Interesting, regarding Lycanthropy though. I wonder if it would be contagious on myself. I might have to experiment with that, see what it does on the genetic level," Sinister strokes his beard a few times, proving once and for all, hammishly, that he's a villainous sort. There's no moustache twirl though, that would be -too- twee. A lingering look is given, but absolutely nothing is commented. Rowena. Interesting. And testament to the appropriateness of some names. "I would guess... you can end up with an annoying abjuration in your face, or worse... a binding circle?"

Crowley has posed:
Crowley nods and drains his glass, "If you can control it, lycanthropy can give you one hell of a boost, especially being immortal. You'd have an eternity to master whatever powers that curse, gift, whatever provides. My interest is peaked now as well, believe it or not."

"As for magic? I know more than a few spells, rituals, and open sesame's myself, but rarely is any of it needed. Intricate plans utilizing mundane logic are the most predictable in my experience."

Sinister has posed:
"Now that, I believe, is quite rare. From what I've gathered from Lucifer, most of the demons he regularly deals with don't have that much talent with the mystical arts. Is that a legacy, or a hobby?" Sin asks, with a genuine interest, though truthfully he's vested interest in this entire conversation so far. Even nasty little details. "Though I do tend to agree. Doing things the hard way, seems ridiculous when you can do it much more simply. Occasionally, I'll admit I'm guilty of overthinking..." and yet also not, on a general level of planning." He smacks his lips, looking long at the King of the Crossroads. "I'm going to borrow off the morningstar here a moment, because I am intrigued. You've been quite jovial for a demon. Now, given... we are in Lux, where your former King and still Lord of Hell's laws and metaphysical aspects resides. But you're still... well, a demon. I've come to the understanding that the up and the down, they're not exactly what everyone thinks they are, but... what is it you desire, Crowley? From me, that is."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley laughs, he really laughs now, quite amused, "A bit of everything you might say. I'm old, you know it, I know it. Most demons don't last long running around up here. They bite off more than they can chew, it's why they need someone stronger than them to boss them around. But the Crossroads is my only problem so I don't care about the rest of them. Hell isn't as.. unified as some might think it is."

With a grin he answers the next question, "I came here to see the old king. I'm not going to ask him to come back down and rule again, he's done, he's not coming back. He also knows that it wouldn't change much I'm sure, Hell is Hell, and it doesn't matter who's ruling it. We all know the drill by now, at least those of us who've lasted longer than a decade without getting blasted into oblivion by some ancient artifact, or other. So what do I want from you? Nothing right now. This is just what it looks like, me coming around, having a drink, talking. Later? Who knows? We might all find ourselves with a shared interest at some point. It's possible that we might decide to collaborate. I don't have anything in mind right now, so I come around here, and build rapport. That's what I do. None of us likely entirely trust each other, and I wouldn't expect anything different, but.. that doesn't mean we can be allies."

Another drag off of the now fading cigar, "That's really it. You're a mind reader, I'm sure you can tell that for once I'm not embelishing. Unlike those sods down there..." He points to the floor, "I don't expect Lucifer to care about Hell's interests anymore. In fact even I have started to pay more attention to what happens in the.. mortal realm so to speak. It's not like it was fifty years ago even."

Sinister has posed:
"It's not remotely like it was fifty years ago, no. I saw it all coming, you know, but... nobody listened to me then. I was hah... I was Cassandra trying to open everyone's eyes. That stopped right around the time my existence spiralled down into who and what I am, these days. It isn't going to stop either. Hence why I ... have taken an interest in other things. Once, those barriers... the separations were more obvious, but they're melting. Blending. Magic is surging back into reality, bending it in some places, breaking it in others and I couldn't afford to cling to pure logic and what I could record, see, analyze and comprehend by measuring it. Turns out, that was exactly what I needed to... ahhh... I suppose, damn myself." He points to the elevator. "It's liberating in its own way, to respect and work with someone that never lies. Even if he never tells the entire truth, if it's not advantageous..." Sinister plucks another cigarette, lights it by staring at the end of it for a CONSIDERABLE amount of time, until the end smolders and catches. "One day. /One/ day I'll manage pyrokinesis. Force application is tricky. Still, it's not like I'm getting any older."

It's placed to lips and he nods, mildly. "So yes, I suspect we can be useful to one another from time to time. And conversation and company is... a novelty or me. I won't refuse the sublime, only the ridiculous. Lucifer though? He does still care about hell's interests. It's just more oblique these days. We could say that he's mastered the art of working remotely." He smiles, it's ever so slightly wicked. But then, Lucifer did end up with his very own Sin to embrace.

Crowley has posed:
Crowley raises a brow, "Never thought I'd hear that he still cares about Hell. You'd know better than those fanatics down there.." He crushes his stub of a cigar into the ash tray in front of him, "Either way it seems that we see things in a similar light. I won't ask anyone to trust me, trust isn't needed, if a few 'men' can work together, they can work together. When it's time to show for it, we'll know after that. When it comes to.. creatures like us? That's how it goes."

"And as for pyrokinesis? It takes a bit. Only a small fraction of demons can even manage a spark. I can summon an inferno if I want. Keep at it, you're how old now? You've probably got the juice. Just get pissed off enough one day and think that the tree behind you is your ex." Crowley smirks, "Really believe that it's your ex.."

Sinister has posed:
"That tends to manifest in explosion of said annoyance," Sinister replies, with a sigh. "I suppose it's a matter of getting my mind right. Which it keeps not being..." he taps his head at the temple, slow and rhythmical. One, two, three. "Only a couple of centuries, but they've been busy ones. One thing you might wish to know about me, Crowley, is that I turned myself into what I am. Samael seems to admire it, which is ... well, I suppose because he's who he is. I used to just be a human being. Telepathy was the first ability I developed and honed, which segued into ..." his zippo lighter is lifted, the hand that tapped his temple holding in a loose spread, turning it slowly about. A narrowing of his eyes though and it lazily continues to float and turn circles, but disassembles itself very, very carefully, screwed undoing, floating free, then reassembling with the same careful precision. "I was a doctor. A surgeon. I still am. I think sometimes, our talents tend to manifest into what we know. Moving beyond them can be challenging, even when you know that you're capable of more. Pyrokinesis, cryokinesis, it's all a matter of micro-fine control over the very atoms of a material item, or even the very air itself. Visualizing it, honing it, stilling it or agitating it. But What I know very well, is how to perform precise cuts into terribly delicate organelles, without them shedding a single. Tiny. Drop. of blood."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley nods at Sinister's explanation, "Ahh. Yeah I'd say that complicates things then. You're used to focusing on small details, minute by minute. Your talents lie in subtlty, as do mine. They used to call that what? Left brained thinking? Heard about that once in the nineties, then suddenly it's misguided."

Crowley smirks, "Either way the idea behind that seems to hold true. If you ask me? You just need to learn how to focus on a larger 'area' at once. Not literally, but in your mind, don't abandon the way you naturally think, just expand it to the point where you can shift your thinking to a larger surface area.. if you know what I mean. Then it's likely that other abilities might come more naturally. I can't really explain how I learned to do what I do. The whole 'tree behind you' bit worked for me. If you don't see the tree, it can be whatever you're pissed off at. Then after I did it once? It was like breathing."

Sinister has posed:
"Hence why I'm also called Sinister," Nathaniel flashes his grin again. "I like the subtle jokes, sometimes at my own expense. Nobody expects it from me. Or well, they don't when I've presented as terribly serious at any rate," A halo of white surrounds the edge of the red of his eyes, almost like those coalfires are going white hot for an instant or two. It fades away though, back to ruby red. "Turn the knowledge into the knack, yes. I imagine if I wanted to set gasoline on fire, it wouldn't be all that hard. But as you saw, the cigarette is naturally inert and requires the flame to incandesce. Therefore agitating it sucks my mind in." He clucks his tongue in a mild scold at himself.

"Hmm. Actually, you've given me an idea. Thank you. I might have a bit more success if I embrace that..." he inclines his head, gracious in the gratitude. Cigarette, much as it was yesterday, is meticulously shaved at the tip, to a cone. "Now. Do you happen to know where I might find a werewolf?"

Crowley has posed:
Crowley considers for a second, "Because you see things in detail, you consider the composition of what you are trying to ignite. I think I see a possible difference now. I just want whatever is in front, behind, or beside me to ignite. That's it, I don't care about the composition, it will catch fire because I want it to. Does that necessarily mean that cement will catch fire? Not likely, because it isn't combustible typically, but also don't go around trying to ignite concrete either. You know something can catch fire, but you don't think about they 'why', you just set it on fire because you want it to burn."

"As for a werewolf? Can't say I know where to find one at the moment. I would try the next full moon, take a walk at night, past eight PM if you want the best results. It might take hours but at some point you're likely to hear a howl, and last I checked, wolves don't roam around here naturally. So the kind of howl I'm talking about can't be mistaken for a dog, a coyote, or anything else. You'll know it, it's not even the howl you'd expect from a wolf. Hell hounds have an unnatural howl as well, but werewolves terrify mortals because they can also hear something human there."

Sinister has posed:
"Mmmm. It may also be related to the source of your power. But likely less so than my comprehension and logic wants to dictate..." spreading his hands out, Sinister bows his upper body in a kind of mockery of the crucifixion, however inadvertant that is. "...a matter more of a different way of thinking. Which as I've noted, I'm relatively recently come into. Give me a few years and I might have an epiphany." He grins "In my right mind, if I get it there, I probably could make cement ignite. But we're not there yet. I may never be." Folding his arms back, he draws on the smoke, exhaling slow through his nose.

"Intriguing..." he stares a moment, tilts his head again, left, then right, almost avian. Description is a fantastic thing, but then so is a soundbyte from a plethora of horror movies -- a howl sounds, high, mournful, definitely not an animal, definitely not human either. Thank the Howling for that memory. "A little like that?"

Crowley has posed:
Crowley smirks, "A bit yes. It's hard to place, hard to mimic, possibly be design. Granted I don't know where werewolves come from, but it seems that whatever their source, they were meant to be distinct. They don't look like wolves, they don't look anything like a human, typically anyhow. Yet I've heard tales of werewolves taking the form of a wolf, something in between, a giant wolf on two legs, and certainly the form of a large wolf. Since I haven't come across more than a few, I can't say with any certainty whether all of those depictions are accurate, but I can say that you'll know when you're face to face with one."

"My advice would be to incapacitate it quickly with whatever means you have on hand, be it a weapon, or that psychic juice. Restrain it, take it back to your place, and wait for it to wake up. I don't know if the bite will work if they are in human form, so you may have to wait until the follow full moon to try it. Until then keep your werewolf alive. So worst case scenario you'll have a house guest for a month. Some say that werewolves turn for three nights in a row, since the moon at least looks full for that long. If that's the case then your experiment will take a fraction of the time."

Sinister has posed:
"That all depends on your religion and socio-cultural confabulation, as I understand it, but nearly every culture has a kind of cursed shapeshifter legend, others it's a gift, not a curse. I suspect those have a different ... mechanism than others. But as far as yours and Lucifer's mythos come from, they're the other children of Lillith." He hooks his elbow on the back of the alcove seating, matter of factly adding "...once, in order to study the medical, you had to study the theological at the same time. I've always been a bit of an over-achieving student. But goodness, can you imagine me as a priest? Mother of mercy..." Nathaniel shakes his head a few times "...Mother of Monsters, of which demons were considered the worst. I suppose that's what the Lillim are, in Hell. The born-to-it Demons. There's an occasional fond reminiscence."

He nods though, pressing his lips into a firm line. "I -suspect- I know how it will go. But my interest is nevertheless piqued. Are silver bullets necessary? I can't imagine that they would be, unless they, like some ilk of vampires, have a particular sensitivity to it."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley grins, "You've done your homework, which saves me a lot of banter, and I appreciate it, because I think I'd like to watch this experiment of yours. Obviously vampires can't be infected with lycanthropy, since they're dead, but you aren't dead, you're immortal. The solution to this question isn't useful right now, but it could be useful later. You're old enough to know that something you learned a century ago can suddenly be the key to your survival. This question is unique enough that I doubt, among the trillions of minds populating the known universe right now, a very small fraction know the answer. I say let's count ourselves among that number."

"Silver bullets should do the trick if you need to put it down. I'd recommend destroying it once you have your answer. Large, thick, silver chains in a reinforced cage should keep the creature at bay should it turn unexpectedly. Best to be prepared right?"

Sinister has posed:
Sinister chuckles and nods. "Or a very, very strong sedative. Elephant tranquilizer to the spinal cord might do the trick. Perhaps two. However, I'm not too worried about being ripped to shreds by one, to be honest. More... getting annoyed enough at it to accidentally kill it and have to start all over. Frankly, if Lucifer is there, the entire thing is moot. It wouldn't be able to harm him, he'd just... fwooosh. Pin it and ask me where I wanted it put." Which is true, but a hell of a lot less satisfying.

"But yes. Best to be prepared. An abundance of caution is worth a million moments of 'Well, bugger, you squished it'."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley laughs, "We're more alike than I thought then. It's hard to stay patient when you want something from someone you know you can snap like a twig. But that's a skill I've had to learn over the centuries. My day job requires it after all." He grins, "I won't give you a pep talk about focusing on the bigger picture. So maybe let Lucifer handle the werewolf? It'd be a pain in the ass to have to catch another one. If you find even one then you're lucky."

Sinister has posed:
"Indeed. Although, patience isn't so much my problem. I have an abundance of that. My problem is usually an occasional niggling little scruple. Dratted things those. And I do work -so- hard to be scrupulous. But every once in a while, you know? One of the little buggers wants an explanation, a rationale, or pushes the right button to have you explaining something and then, well..." He wrinkles his nose. Huffs. "I have a bad habit of having pet projects. This ought to occupy that urge for a while."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley smirks, "It happens to the best of us. Hell has its' own scientists. If I wasn't in sales, I'd probably be down there with them. You know full well that when you live long enough, your curiosity only grows, more questions are raised, and at a rate higher than answers given. If a ditch digger lived long enough, they'd eventually become a scientist. I was once an ignorant demon, full of puffed up dreams, and if I'd stayed that way, I'd be long gone by now."

Sinister has posed:
"Oh, now I just -have- to know. How can that work? I mean, what are they researching? Soul soup? How to split infinity?" Sinister chuckles. "Not that I'm doubting you, it's more that it seems antithetic to itself, given the nature of extra-planar hell dimension and its own laws of physics, shaped around will and celestial doctrine." He leans forward, relinquishing his arm on the back of the couch, to rest his chin on his palm, elbow propped.

Crowley has posed:
Crowley smirks again, "Science works a little differently when you're aware of.. certain things. I don't know a lot about it, but Hell consists of several 'planes', creatures you couldn't even imagine if I explained them to you. It's a civilization in and of itself and naturally there are scientists, researchers, scribes, philosophers. Given the nature of Hell, you can imagine that it doesn't quite go the way it does up here, but it goes. Magic and technology aren't so different, the understanding of how the universe works can also help a magician, or a psychic perfect their craft. It all comes together at some point, and if you can get to that point, I imagine that you've discovered the most important question. And I don't even know what that question is, I just know, that from watching humanity for so long, that the answer would probably unbalance the entire system we have. Humans with the power of an archangel would be entertaining for a few hours until they decide that -you- are too dangerous to be left existing. Am I right? Doesn't matter that you, Nathaniel, were born human. You have been 'different' for a long time. They won't see you the way that you see yourself."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister gazes at Crowley for a long, long time. If he wasn't sitting across from a four hundred year old demon of the crossroads, that would probably be very unsettling. But, you don't become the King of the Crossroads without learning a thing or two about how mortal or formally mortal minds work, do you? Even if the expressions are very subtle, almost miniscule, they're still there. He -was- human. And it does take a long time, to lose all of that. Emotion is a dangerous, double-edged sword. It sells a person's soul, because it overrides rational behaviour, in desperation, desire and a multitude of sins. But it also drives someone to be more than human, to uncover a miriad of secrets, some of which have never been shared. Humans, actual or former, are governed by the feels. And Sinister, is currently arguing with himself, if the tells are right. Subtle jawshifts, tiny ticks at the corner of the mouth, iddybiddy tensions at the corner of the eyes. But he's very, very good. He could play poker with a Dead Man's hand and win. But you don't become the king of the cross-roads by not knowing you've struck gold, right?

Pride. There's a reason why it's counted as the most deadly of the sins.

He glances up at the air above them, nothing else. What happens next, is a distinct smell of ozone, of immense electrical energy being discharged, so much that it's fixing some of the nitrogen in the very air, then a ring of crackling... dimensional fold... opens above the table and a silvery mechanical tentacle descends through the hole in the fabric of reality, to drop a small box on the table, only to ascend back into the circle and vanish. The ozone dissipates with it. It's one of those things though, that little box, that says 'Do not, under any circumstances, dick around with me' -- the power radiating from it, is practically tangible. "I think this is one of my greatest achievements and probably one of my most fundamental quandaries. I am fairly certain that I should not have worked out how to do this. This was... science meeting a kind of ... fundamental alchemy. A perfect mathematical equasion. This is tesseract energy."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley raises a brow, then smiles deviously, "Well well.. what have we here then?" He stares at the box, "It seems that you might have learned something new, remembered something old, or just plain old reached down into something you never knew at all. I'll let you open this, if you want to open it, I've learned not to open containers that explicitely say not to."

Sinister has posed:
Sinister simply gestures with his right hand, a kind of flipflop prone to supine gesture with a twist of his fingers, that unlocks a series of complicated technological locks on the small cube. It opens. The light is reminiscent of Lucifer's glow, when the Celestial is showing his truest face. What lies within, is a box lined with diodes and crystals in very precise alignment and a teenie, tiny, iddy, biddy, nearly pinhead sized cube of brilliant blue-white energy. It is at the same time as being tiny, persistent in the fifth dimension as a forethought /and/ an afterthought. Which sounds crazy, until you realize that that tiddly thing is a helluvalot bigger on the inside of itself, than on the outside.

Crowley has posed:
Crowley studies the contents of the box from the other side of the table, "Interesting puzzle box. Definitely magical, definitely technological, just like what we were just talking about." Crowley grins, "Any idea what this might be? And, or, what it does?"

Sinister has posed:
"It's a spacial fold. Essentially, a contained wormhole energy. A fold in space, ostensibly held by extreme magnetic forces and the harmonizing effect of absolutely pure crystal formation, holding vast mathematical data. The purity of crystal formation is what allows vast amounts of information to be stored in the polarity of structure in a computer chip. Sillicone has a natural tendancy to alternate itself, depending on electrical current, which can be interpreted as information." Sinister replies, leaning down to look at the contents of the cube silently for a moment. He then reverses the handgesture he made, locking it all up again. "Splitting infinity." He exhales, then takes a sudden sharp sniff. "What it does is akin to Tony Stark's invention of cold fusion, that allows the power of the sun to be encapsulated in the palm of the hand. Or in his case, in a mechanical medical device over his heart. A nigh infinite power source. In the simplest terms, unlimited electicity. Beyond that, probably a vast and abominable over-reach, if applied to say... dimensional barriers."

Crowley has posed:
Crowley hmms for a brief second, "I would keep this hidden from anyone else, except for Lucifer of course. Gods, angels, hunters, and any number of mortal organizations would see this as something either 'dangerous', or useful to their agenda. But I suppose I didn't need to tell you that, just a habit. Still it illustrates what I said before, about magic, and technology not being so different. Methods, means? They mean little when the result is the same right?"

Sinister has posed:
"Indeed," That sounds kind of final from Sinister, staring at the cube. He looks up after a protracted moment, to Crowley. It's a blank moment, where decisions are being made at a cross-roads. <Did I know it all along, did I have another moment of prescience? That would be two in the whole of my existence. Why is that so rare as a talent? Why do I feel as if ...> but it passes, as a decision got made. Once again, the ozone circle of electrical energy materializes and he tosses the tesseract up, into the ring, where it is snatched by another silvery tentacle before the whole thing vanishes. "I am not a magician," that sounds very grounded, but there's just a hint of doubt. Tiny, but there. "It was a pleasure, again, mister Crowley. If you will excuse me now though, I do have some other things I should get done before I have to begin all over again. /Do/ have a good night. Save me their cellphones, eh?" He slides out of the booth, bows, heads toward the elevator with a crisp click of heels on the hard flooring.