Owner	Pose
Satana Hellstrom	Satana, commensurate with her now *two* roles for Bruce: as his personal assistant, and as his tabloid trash fodder, has been coming out to the Mansion more and more often, at first under the excuse of work, and then later just as someone for the paps at the gate to take pictures of as she drives in with her sensible Kia and is photographed by powerful telephoto lenses in her ever-so-slightly-too-revealing outfits as she bounces up to the door, to be greeted by Alfred and taken inside. And, naturally, this involved overnight stays, with Alfred making up a room for her, so that the next morning she and Bruce could be seen leaving the mansion together with (telephoto-)public displays of affection before she drove off in her Kia, having Bruce leave later so they could reach work "independently". It is in one of these trips that Satana decides it's time to investigate that library again, this time without the oversight. A quick gremlin in the security cameras and motion sensors, and she's rendered invisible to surveillance. Then, in her supplied nightgown, she slips out of her room and starts heading in the direction of the library.
Damian Wayne	Damian was not so easily convinced. Robin did not become Robin by being at the right place at the right time. When Bruce leaves to attend his responsibilities, Damian is attending the security systems so Alfred may maintain his work. Only...for something strange to be happening. Where's Satana? The she-demon in question approaches the library doors with purpose in his step. Yet the *instant* that door opens, Damian's standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, a black long sleeve shirt tightly worn with black cargo pants and combat boots. He's a spitting image of his father when he was the same age. "Satana."
Satana Hellstrom	The act is convincing. Satana's short little muted shriek of surprise is pitch-perfect, as is the tensing of her body, the hand covering the mouth, the head and eyes turning as if looking for escape. Even the subsequent relieved gasp and chiding tone to the voice is perfection itself. "Why you surprised me!" she protests, the picture of sudden relief. "You must be Bruce's ... son?" The guess is tentative, the thrilling contralto of her voice, seemingly designed to wrap around the hypothalamus and purr, rises in questioning tone. "Bruce told me I might run into you sometime." It's all picture perfect. Just ... one small little thing might give Damian a seed of suspicion. There was a short delay between Satana seeing Damian and the full-on startled reaction. And for just a fleeting instant, so fleeting that most wouldn't even spot it, the expression in her eyes wasn't startlement. Nor was it fear. It was murder. "I couldn't sleep," Satana continues, a little sheepish, "so I thought I'd find something to read to help me relax and get back to sleep." It's plausible. Highly plausible. And she's been in the library many times, listening to Alfred. But that tiny, wee instance of murder in her eyes...
Damian Wayne	Damian's powers of observation were superior to many. Even as Satana puts in her best looks of surprise and tentative demeanor that could trick a king off of his throne, Damian's facial features give every tell that he's unconvinced. His green eyes are hardened, able to tear the soul out of someone with a stare. Yet, the rest of his face gives no indication of his thoughts, guarding them well. "It does you no favors to lie in this home, Satana. Even your micro-expressions betray you. The minute delay between seeing me and the startle is a rousing performance, a capable actress you must be." He dissects her process down to the bone."You've gone in with Alfred, but only to listen to him. Never have you gone in alone. Unsupervised. I know the sight of murder in your eyes." Damian is not easily tricked. He's his father's son.
Satana Hellstrom	Satana purses her lips in thought, staring at Damian with more than a little curiosity. "How unusual," she finally says, "to have a son who is ... this different ... from his father in personality when so frighteningly similar in physical form." She tilts her head, as if to view Damian from another angle. Her amber eyes bore in on Damian with seemingly the weight of the universe behind them filling all of his world for a bit, suggesting that Damian should step back. Out of the way. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, with a hint of shame in her voice. "It wasn't a book I was after, yes. I know there's a bar in there and ..." She swallows, looking somewhat embarrassed, as the eyes stop filling Damian's world, and instead it's her form. The sound of air flowing in and out of her lungs. The sound of blood pumping through her veins. The subtle heave of her chest. "... I was after a drink. Someone like Bruce is going to have brilliant scotch." She makes a wry face. "And ... well ... as for murder ... it's like getting between a hungry dog and the food bowl." She closes her eyes. "Don't make me say it out loud, please."
Damian Wayne	Damian's green eyes narrow as he looks at this woman. "I don't know how you managed to convince my father to let you remain here even for a single moment, but your 'curiosity' will not be tolerated in this home." Damian was a bit more...firm. He wasn't much for conversation, wasn't much for negotiation when it's clear that dark intentions are evident. Even still, those amber eyes bore on him with the weight of Hell itself behind them. Damian's eyes briefly widen, as if her spell had taken effect in suggesting him to step back and move out of the way. She even puts on the new air of a innocent and bumbling supermodel who has no idea what she's doing. She tries to fill his mind to focus on the rise and fall of her chest, the air in her lungs, the plumpness of her lips. Instead, Damian's eyes harden once more. If he inherited any kind of 'power' from his father, it was a truly absurd wall of human will. It will take more than her magics to dominate his mind. "It will take more than that to control me. I recommend a different approach. If I'm between a hungry dog and the food bowl? Then the dog is going to have to reconsider it's options." Is he calling her a dog or following a metaphor?
Satana Hellstrom	Stymied in her attempt to force her will on Damian, Satana purses her lips and drops the wasted effort. Her presence vanishes back into just her usual natural charms which, formidable as they are, lack force. "Interesting..." she says, looking Damian up and down like he were some kind of fascinatingly colourful insect. *Burn him.* That's one voice inside her, the one most in tune with the demon bound to her soul: Basilisk. The urge to destruction is great; part of her father's 'loving' training. *Turn the insect to ash.* But no, that would not do. This looks like it could be Bruce's actual son and he'd be upset were that to go missing. "I didn't get your name. I assume you are the Damian who has been mentioned?" She pauses a moment, giving Damian a window to answer, verbally or otherwise before continuing. "What is it that you protect in this library, Damian?" she asks. "It's just books and a bar." She tilts her head, raising a curious, sweeping red eyebrow. "Are you afraid of knowledge being passed on? Not very Enlightenment of you, is it?" She gestures vaguely in the direction of the master bedroom. "Bruce lets me in here because we are in cahoots. I'm his personal assistant, but too I am fodder for paparrazi. A distraction. A mask, if you will, letting others write him off as a lightweight while he eviscerates them in the boardroom. I think my qualifications in that role speak for themselves. The diaphanous nightgown certainly illustrates the truth of that statement. "But, too, I am the best PA he's ever had. Ask him. He leads a chaotic life, and I excel at chaos like no other PA before me."
Damian Wayne	Effort dropped. Effort *wasted*. "Not really. Even someone like you could've been able to anticipate it." Though he doesn't know /what/ she is. She attempted to control his mind. Mutant? She's focusing /far/ too often on her sexuality and her physicality. Metahuman with a nymphomaniacal urge? No. It's the eyes. She's manipulative. He recalls in his readings of myth...a kind of woman whom very few could deny. Succubus. When she asks for his name, Damian remains silent. He doesn't confirm or deny his name. Seems he's smart enough to know that there's power in a name. "Whatever knowledge you're looking for. Who are you trying to kill?" Damian is straight to the point. He doesn't try the social beating around of the bush, as it were. "Knowledge is never 'just' anything. If I have even an inkling of who you are, then you would know that too." Damian frowns as she states she's the best PA Bruce has ever had. "You won't last long." Damian tells her, a trheat? a promise? a superstition?
Satana Hellstrom	"Kill?" Satana is taken aback at the accusation and it seems--some heavy lifting being done with that word--genuine. "I have no idea what you think I a..." She pauses. Frowns. "No, I think I have an inkling now. But no, killing someone is not in my desires." Again ... heavy lifting. But seemingly genuine. "I'm a lover, Damian, not a killer." True enough. Her eyes stray to the library behind Damian. "Look, I'll play it straight since you're being so bluntly honest." Her eyes fall on Damian once more. "There may be something in that library that could be ... inconvenient ... for me. I need to confirm its existence, if there, and to ... how shall I put this? ... emasculate it if it is present."