443/Devils Do

Devils Do
Date of Scene:	16 May 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Hellstorm, 183

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Hellstorm has posed:
The cultists scatter in the wake of their ritual. They were amateurs, really, barely out of their teens. Toying with the forces of darkness, their dorm rooms no doubt drenched in blacklight, drenched in the smell of candlewax and pretension and hormones. Oh, and weed, of course. There's always weed.

The altar they'd created wasn't much to look at - they'd stolen a goat skull from the science labs, created a half-assed pyre on some 19th century mausoleum. Scrawled some Latin they probably learned in Catholic school. But they got lucky - or unlucky. They chose the point of a ley line by sheer chance, their relatively pathetic incantations tinkling bells all up and down the magickal web.

They asked for the Devil. They got his Son.

One flare of his pentagram, one flash of his glowing ember eyes and they ran for the hills.

Luminitsa (183) has posed:
The feeling of trickling magic had caught Luminitsa's attention as she was on her way home and is what caused her detour through the cemetery just as the teens were hauling ass out of it.

The flare of dark magic causes hr to sigh and make her way further in, shaking her head. "Stupid kids." She, of course, wasn't -terribly- much older than most of them but she had learned long ago...

Coming up on the mausoleum, she lets her magic sense and second sight take over. What she saw and felt caused her to groan. "OF course it couldn't be some low level demon..."

Hellstorm has posed:
Daimon Hellstrom glances up at the pretty woman who's brought herself into his business. His demonic sight lets him see the magick in her aura, those sparks and signs that she is more than mere mortal. Or, at the very least, a mortal who knows how to deal with the preternatural.

"No need to worry yourself," he says, stepping fully into the light and running a hand back through his dark hair. The pentagram on his chest isn't precisely reassuring, still crackling with embers of hellfire. "Just breaking up the sacrifice party before they did something stupid and murdered a cat for no good reason," he says.

Luminitsa (183) has posed:
The half witch-half succubus stares at Daimon for a moment. "Daimon Hellstrom..." She eyes him warily, staying near the door of the mausoleum. "Out of the kindness of your heart, I'm sure." Her brow arches. "Why answer?"

She was aware of his reputation... You don't have over eight generations of magical knowledge rattling around in your head and NOT know who Daimon Hellstrom is. "And why stay?" Because it can't possibly bode well for the Son of Satan to be wandering the surface, right?

Hellstorm has posed:
Daimon Hellstrom pops the collar on his jacket, giving him a rather handsome profile as he turns and looks at the remnants of the alter. He snaps his fingers and hellfire springs up, consuming the trappings left behind, burning the wax and offerings to ash.

"Because people attempting to invoke my father, even in jest, do so at their peril. I might have saved their admittedly overrated little lives," he says. "My heart may not be overflowing with goodness, but I do battle the forces of darkness. Mostly," he says.

"As for sticking around, well...I live here. Not in the cemetary, mind you, but Bludhaven proper. I thought maybe there might be an interesting party nearby. Maybe a club," he says. "Hellmouths do attract all kinds of strangeness.'

Luminitsa (183) has posed:
"You're hunting for a party in a cemetery? I don't think they allow you to set up clubs here." Lumi leans back against the door, arms crossing over her chest. "If their lives are so overrated, why choose to live among them?"

Pushing off the door, she turns to head back outside. She's not afraid of him, clearly, or else she wouldn't have turned her back on him to leave. "Dear old dad piss you off or something so siding with the humans is a way to get back at him?"

Hellstorm has posed:
Daimon Hellstrom smiles, "More or less. It's all very complicated and very personal and, to be honest, you have me at a disadvantage. You seem to know me, but I know nothing about you. Well, besides the obvious things - magickal talent, beautiful body, something of a suspicious demeanor," he says.

"Don't get me wrong, some humans are quite charming. Not those, however. Those were scum. Rich, entitled, brattish little scum."

Luminitsa (183) has posed:
"I do. And it will stay that way until I can personally figure you out." She's still reading him, letting her sight show her his magic, his power, what side of the spectrum of good and evil he falls on. "I've hd my fair share of run-ins with demons in the past." Hell, she is half demon. "Not pleasant experiences."

She shrugs, turning to face him once she's outside. "Most of the ones who decide to play around with such things -are- entitled brats. The 'charming' ones are smart enough to do their research. Some are dangerous enough to summon anyhow."

Hellstorm has posed:
Daimon Hellstrom nods, "And these weren't particularly skillful, but had just enough smidgens of worthwhile knowledge to be dangerous, especially in a place of power like this," he says.

He seems more bemused by her attention than anything, "Should I turn to the side so you can scan me in profile?" he smiles, "I can't pretend to be some sort of saint - I am what I am. But I mean you no harm, stranger."

Luminitsa (183) has posed:
"Luminitsa." Romanian, as her accent seems to give away, for 'little light'. "And no, I can see you just fine. That's quite a bit you have going on there." Her eyes tilts, eyes narrowing faintly as she 'samples' the 'flavor' of the air and magic around him.

"They got lucky. You scared them off but chances are, you gave one a rush... and they'll be back. Either solo or with others..." She sighs and shrugs. "I'll have to ward the mausoleum. In the mean time..."

She straightens and finally smiles. "I have a bar in New York if it's a drink your looking for. I tend not to do the club scene much."

Hellstorm has posed:
Daimon Hellstrom tries the name out, "Luminitsa. Exotic," he smiles, "Certainly better than Sally or Tammy," he says.

He shrugs, "I warn where I can. You can't prevent bad people from becoming bad. You can stop them from acting on it on occasion but some people are awfully picky about the whole free will thing. So, they'll make their choices and they'll face the consequences, in due time," he says.

"And I wouldn't mind seeing this bar of yours," he smiles. "I bet it's...interesting."

Luminitsa (183) has posed:
Lumi laughs softly. "I would have chosen ironic, all things considered but exotic works. I like it as a descriptor better."

The mention of her bar causes the smile on her lips to widen. "I certainly hope so. Strictly Switzerland though, got it? I don't allow any kind of fighting. We serve everyone. On both sides." A brow arches at him. Once she's certain he understands, she turns and makes her way out of the cemetery. Time to head 'home'.

Hellstorm has posed:
Daimon Hellstrom smiles, "Darling, I assure you, I'm a Swiss citizen. Cheese and bank accounts and clocks and chocolate galore," he says.

He moves to walk and there's a flicker of power around him, his eyes flaring, and he's suddenly alongside her, walking in stride, "So, is that where we're going?" he says with a teasing, crooked smile.