15145/Log 15145

Log 15145
Date of Scene:	26 May 2023
Location:	A high society ball.
Synopsis:	A high society ball.
Cast of Characters:	Satana, Archangel

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Satana has posed:
=-=-= SETTING =-=-=

High society balls are such bores, no matter what AC/DC says about theirs. There is, at least, seafood at this one. It's one of those thousand-dollar plate deals with the proceeds going to Maine fishermen under intense economic pressure after some supervillain fought some superhero team or other blah blah blah. So naturally, in theme, most of the food is purchased from Maine. No, this isn't condescending at all and you're a bad person for even thinking it is.

Archangel has posed:
Warren Kenneth Worthington III, yes, the third was important, as his father, and his father, were each in turn, named Warren Kenneth Worthington, was pretty much the ideal candidate for these kinds of soirees. He was the epitome of old money, his ancestors having been wealthy contemporaries of Benjamin Franklin, John Addams, John Handcock, and so forth.

He was in attendance, and would look painfully bored, if not for the practiced hand of appearing to be engaged, whilst wishing he were in Aspens, Nassau, either to be honest, but preferably the one in the Bahamas, or really, anywhere but here.

The man wore an impeccably tailored suit, English cut, in grey, with a white collared shirt, and a tie that began blue at one end, and faded to purple at the other. He wore a matching handkerchief in his left breast pocket, but he didn't seem to be partaking of the food. Instead, he had a glass of champagne.

He was currently situated near the balcony, thinking about how easy it would be to simply take off his jacket, allow his wings to sprout forth through the back of his shirt, he had them tailored so at this point, it was so dreary to deal with them ripping under the pressure, and flying away. Of course, he wouldn't, and he couldn't. He had Worthington Industries to think about, and a secret identity to manage.

And so, he engaged with the other people at this party.

Satana has posed:
Satana Hellstrom of the Boston Hellstroms was also old money. The oldest of money, in fact, her father having been created at approximately the same time as the universe if you tend to believe such propaganda.

She does. Sort of. She just doesn't really care.

Unlike Warren, Satana isn't bored in the slightest. She loves these affairs, as some of the worst sinners with the blackest of souls beneath their gold-painted facades give her a veritable smorgasbord of offerings. And she set up the conditions for them to Fall (yes, capitalized) by the way she dresses.

Ever heard of the dance of the nine veils? Picture a dress made from that, only with random-seeming patches cut out and replaced with something so sheer as to be transparent. And as she walks, the interaction of these cut-out panels does two things:

1. It draws the eyes in lines, depending on where you start, directly to her not insignificant carnal assets, and

2. It promises without ever quite delivering a chance to see some of the bits people are not meant to see in public. A walking (slithering really) wardrobe malfunction that seems always imminent without ever quite happening.

She attracts a lot of eyes, in short, both those fueled by Lust (her tastiest sin) and Envy (which isn't bad; a bit bitter, perhaps). And, occasionally, both of them paired.

It was the discovery of that latter one that has her leaning back against the balcony railing, displaying everything she's got through nine insanely thin layers of silk, while chatting up another woman who has trouble keeping her eyes off of the demon, despite the scowl of disapproval on her face.

This one would be fun to reel in.

"So I was thinking," Satana says, in a light Bostonian accent, "if the fishermen can't catch cod any longer, why not pick another fish to kill off? There's plenty of fish in the sea."

You can almost hear the brain of the love-hate woman as it sprains from the nonsense.

Archangel has posed:
Oh, Warren has committed all manner of sin, routinely breaking a great many of them. A number of his employees have insisted upon working on the Sabbath, but Exodus 35.2 clearly states that he should put them to death.

Touching the skin of a dead pig makes one unclean, Leviticus 11.7, but he has no problem throwing around a football.

Nor has he stoned someone for planting different types of crops, side by side, or burned his mother for wearing garments made from two different threads.

Still, it might be a teensy weensy bit of a stretch to say that he has a black soul. Quite the opposite, if you were to believe the celestial propaganda.

Unconcerned by the dress, which admittedly, did look like it was ready to burst at any moment, but far more interested in the conversation, Warren would step in, literally and figuratively, to rescue the damsel in distress from the Bostonian beauty.

"Tradition, mostly. For example, take the European Spider Crab. Delicious, easy to catch, under no threat, and quite easy to maintain, and yet, few have the stomach to eat something that looks like it came out of a Ridley Scott film."

Satana has posed:
"I just remembered," the rescued damsel says, Satana's spell over her snapping with Warren's arrival. A brief smile of gratitude is launched at him. "I have to be..." She looks around frantically before just blurting it out. "...anywhere else right now!"

And with that, and another glance of thanks Warren's way, she scurries off, leaving Satana looking more than a little peeved at her. Hell, it's almost like there's flames in her eyes. Briefly.

Then she recovers her composure and turns her face toward Warren, studying him in the dim light out on the balcony, lit only by the festivities within and some low-hanging globes giving off barely the light of half a dead firefly. For 'romantic' lighting.

"I have consumed many things," she says, with something of an ironic lilt to her voice, "that people would be horrified if they looked at. I think I shall try one of these spider crabs sometime. Thank you for the tip."

She holds out her hand, palm down, for the old-school stoop-and-kiss.

"Satana," she says. "Hellstrom. Of the Boston Helstroms."

Archangel has posed:
Warren smiled, he had a range of smiles. Most couldn't tell the difference. One smile was as good as any, but at his level, there was a smile for every occasion, each as different as a fingerprint. This one was amusement paired with sympathy. "Of course, lovely to meet you," even if he didn't hear her name, or know who the woman was, he exchanged pleasantries as she wiggled out of Satana's proverbial grasp with his assistance.

"They are expensive delicacies in Spain and Portugal, where I suppose people aren't quite as squeamish. I'm not sure why, they eat Haggis in Scotland, but Scottish fishermen and women can't seem to give them away."

"Sometimes it helps. Have you tried Dining in the Dark at Leuca in Brooklyn? You are taken to a black room, without windows or lights, and the meal is served to you that way. It's unconventional, but all you are left with is the taste, the smell, the texture, and I suppose the sound, such as it is."

He took her hand in greeting, though he didn't press his lips to her skin when he did, only miming it, as was modern tradition on the old-school greeting. Warren Worthington, of the New York Worthingtons."

Satana has posed:
"I know," Satana says with a grin. "I make it my goal in life to know everybody who attends such affairs. That way I know who's most rife for an affair."

She glances at the fleeing woman.

"She was more a target of opportunity. A minnow. Frances of the Los Angeles Cortez. Crime family, don't you know. Very Catholic. But she doesn't swing in the direction of marital bliss with a cornucopia of children." Her lips quirk into wry humour. "Indeed without outside assistance the way she swings can't involve children at all. She would have been fun, with all that suppressed passion."

Satana looks Warren up and down. "But you, you're ... I'm not going to say a boy scout. I mean it's impossible to acquire stupid levels of money while being decent people, right? But there's scales of indecency. And you're on the far low end of it."

Beat.

"I'm hard over on the most indecent imaginable."

That last paired with a playful wink.

Archangel has posed:
It was refreshing to meet some so refreshingly blunt. She reminded him of another. And he smiled, wistfully, before burying that thought, somewhere far beneath, away from such conversations. He took the opportunity to collect his thoughts by taking a sip of his champagne.

"Thankfully, for her sake, and perhaps yours, we live in a world with ample outside assistance. If you have the money, and minnow or not, she can afford it. She could still be fun, if you hurry, you might catch her." He winked, smirking at the thought of Satana, in that dress, chasing after someone.

"Oh, I didn't acquire it, I was born into, as was my father, and his father, and so on. I will grant that it does take a certain flexibility, to grow and maintain it. Anyone can make money, anyone can lose it, and such things are fleeting. No matter how much wealth one family accumulates, the next generation can so easily tear it asunder."

Her last line though, yes, she did remind him of someone.

Satana has posed:
"Oh!" Satana seems shocked. "What would I want with a child? That would interfere with my hobbies! As I said, Frances was just a target of opportunity. I'm looking for big fish to ruin the marriages of, not little fish."

She looks Warren up and down again. "It's a pity you're not married. I think I'd enjoy ruining any marriage you'd be a part of." Her smile widens into something predatory. "And I guarantee you that the people I'm with when ruining marriages enjoy the process a great deal, until the consequences catch up."

Completing her sizing up of Warren, she looks over the boring dinner party. "Is there anybody present you would like to see put into the hot seat? If so, take me by the arm, pretend I'm your date--that always piques interest in the so-called alpha personality--and let me at them. You can have a competitor distracted at a key time, or a rival put in his place."

Archangel has posed:
"Well, I'm afraid that I am not married, so you'll have to look elsewhere if you want to pursue that specific goal." He was infatuated with someone, did that count? He did incline his head at the line about enjoying it until the consequences caught up, "that's always the catch," a glance at their surroundings, "no pun intended."

He looked surprised at her offer, and for a moment, briefly contemplated taking her up on it. "That is a tempting, and highly unusual offer, but Ms. Hellstrom, I'm afraid that I'm not that cruel." Although his body language may have betrayed him, as he eyed up a tall man with a thick, but well maintained beard. That was Jackson Ramsey, someone who had scuppered a deal on a property that Warren was invested in. The project still went through, but it had cost him an extra ten million in the end.

Satana has posed:
"He's ... intriguing. And the process of ruining him will be quite entertaining."

Satana doesn't miss a beat when his eyes pause on someone, apparently.

"Beards have ... uses. I mean more than just storing the last six months of soup for later consumption."

She probably intends to have it store different fluids.

"I think we can safely say that his marriage is over. Do you want to introduce me or do you want to keep distant from the fallout?"

And wouldn't you know it. By SHEER COINCIDENCE Jackson Ramsey, deep in conversation with someone (probably someone else he was going to screw over in business) pauses in his conversation and looks... directly over at Warren and Satana.

Satana's eyes are focused on him while she wears an inviting smile, and takes Warren's arm. Ramsey shakes his head, says something vague to his companion, who is looking confused now, and saunters over the pair's way.

"Warren, nice to see you out and about. And who is this delicious piece of candy you're wearing so well?"

His oily smile and his eyes were all on Satana as he spoke, not even really looking at Warren outside of a quick glance is way.

For her part, Satana is just smiling. And staring. The smile one of open invitation.

"Jackson Ramsey," he says to her, pre-empting Warren's introduction.

Archangel has posed:
Feeling a tinge of regret, he wanted no part of this, and certainly wasn't about to assist. What he had done was simply think, that wasn't a crime, and his body, his eyes; he had just looked at the man. He was not guilty of anything that could be convicted in a court. Still, he felt guilty all the same. "I would appreciate it, if you did not." Plain, simple, and straight to the point. He wanted no part of this.

Oh, hell no! She grabbed his arm. Rolling his eyes, Warren thought so much about jumping off that balcony. It would make less of a scene than what Satana seemed to have planned.

Faking a smile, remember, he has a veritable rolodex of smiles, he greeted the man, offering a raise of his glass in lieu of a shake, "Satana Hellstrom of the Boston Hellstrom's. Avoid at all costs." He laughed, having told the truth, but in such a way that it seemed like it was a joke.

Satana has posed:
"Oh, Warren is absolutely right!" On a first name basis already? "You really should avoid me Jackson. I'm positively ... demonic ... in my bad influence on people."

If ever there were a mixed signal being sent, it is now, as Satana holds Warren's arm even tighter with hers, while extending her free arm toward Jackson for the kiss.

"Enchante, monsieur." (OOC: with the accent that I'm not allowed to type lest I break the logger.) Simple calculus: most North Americans think French sounds sexy, so...

"But if you're the brave sort...?"

Her eyes pin Jackson in place and he stoops to kiss her hand, making contact which has Satana squirming fetchingly in response. "Ooh! So many people do the air kiss only. You really are brave."

She's spinning a little magic here, a little magic there and not even casting a spell. Once she's certain she's got him by the short and curlies, she relents on the pressure, letting his own desire now flood through and govern his actions. It's only sin, after all, if it's done willingly.

"What is it you do? Me? I mostly just attend parties and test bedsprings."

Face. Meet palm.

Archangel has posed:
Without moving his face, or his body, Warren cast as sideways glance at Satana. She really was incorrigible. At least he did warn Jackson. That alleviated his guilt for what comes somewhat.

"Don't take the bait Jackson, bravery, unlike brevity, gets you nothing," he added, still teasing in tone, but deadly serious in intent.

Listening and watching this exchange, he felt that he really should take his leave. "Perhaps I should take my leave. I wouldn't want to interfere with any... tests."