Owner	Pose
Angel	Late night at Angel Investigations. All is quiet for the moment as the lead investigator is between cases. The lobby is quiet and the lights are dimmed down. The brightest light is the lamp over the reception desk. There is a soft sound from the back offices sounding something like a sports game going on a small TV screen. Angel sits in the back office, glaring at the Hockey Game with a brooding and dark look. His feet are set up on the desk as he leans back absolutely engrossed in his team losing pretty badly. He crumples up a piece of paper and tosses it at the screen with a growl.
Satana Hellstrom	Angel, of anybody, would recognize the screams of the damned in Hell. A sound that shatters the stillness of the lobby for a brief moment before it cuts off like the strangled scream of a murder victim at the moment of death. The sudden silence is punctuated by the sound of high heels rapping their way over the floor, making a straight line toward the back office entrance. Behind the woman, a tall redhead with a particularly seductive take on a '40s film femme fatale, wearing a crimson sheath skirt that's just a bit too high in the hemline, a black silk blouse that clings to her form like a jealous lover, and a sculpted crimson blazer that is seemingly designed to show off rather than conceal. Red patent leather pumps and red sheer stockings, the tops of which can be barely made out under the hem, held in place by garters, round out the ensemble but for the rakishly-tilted broad-brimmed red hat with its veil covering her eyes, and the patent leather red clutch in her right hand. Her left hand raises to the door and knocks on it. "Is there anybody in there?" Satana asks, in her deep, thrilling contralto that seems designed to enter the ear before wrapping itself around the male hypothalamus, purring.
Angel	Angel jumps up the moment the screams start to echo through the lobby of his building. He turns fast coming on guard immediately. He is familiar with the sound of the demonic and hellish, and he knows that whomever has come to breakfast certainly isn't just a random nutball coming off the street. Unfortunately the weapons locker is out in the lobby itself and not here in the back office. However, Angel is not completely caught with his pants down. He reaches down and scoops a dagger out of a hollow on the desk as he narrows his gaze at the office windows to look at who has decided to interrupt his night. "Who are you?" Angel asks with a growl in his voice. "Typically people prefer to use the front door rather than just appearing in someone's lobby."
Satana Hellstrom	"Oh, that?" Satana looks over her shoulder (just by "coincidence", naturally, striking a pose that shows off her form) back the way she came. "I'm terribly sorry about that. I didn't mean to startle. There's a little twist in the Ley line here I didn't catch in time and it deposited me about fifty yards away from my desired destination." She turns her face to look at Angel through the window once more. "I should have gone to the nearest cemetery and walked the rest, but I must confess myself a little bit lazy at times." She still hasn't introduced herself. Something she seems to catch on to after a few moments. "Oh, how silly of me. I'm Satana Hellstrom, of the Boston Hellstroms. And you are Angelu... Angel, of the titular Angel Investigations are you not? I'm so pleased to make your acquaintance!" She taps on the door. "Will we continue talking through glass or can we speak in person?" Beat. "The dagger is fine if you feel threatened by me, no matter how silly that might be."
Angel	Angel glares at Satana through the glass, his brow furrowed. He shifts his fingers on the dagger in his hand, holding the blade against his wrist. "Always knew this place was special," he mutters to himself as his visitor mentions ley lines. "Door is unlocked. Come in." Angel reaches over and turns off the TV. He walks around behind his desk and grabs the luke warm coffee pot simmering on the burner. "Would you like some coffee, Ms Hellstrom?" He says in the most professional manner he can, switching on the lights to a gentle amber glow. "It is probably slightly cooler than where you just came from." He gestures to the open chair across the desk from him, wordlessly offering her a place to sit. "I assume you came looking for me, as you already know my name. What can I do for you?"
Satana Hellstrom	Satana laughs, a laugh like tinkling wind chimes with a hint of large bronze bells underlying it. "Oh, I didn't come from there. I just moved THROUGH it. It's so much more efficient than driving all the way from Boston. And again, I do so apologize. I did not intend to alarm. I merely wanted to chat." She tilts her head and inspects Angel. "My, you are truly a well-built specimen, aren't you?" she murmurs. Taking a seat, crossing, then re-crossing her legs, though she didn't Basic Instinct Angel given that he is still standing. "A coffee would be wonderful. I've already fed, so this is a good dessert." Fed. Not eaten. Interesting phraseology. "And I am once again terribly sorry. Being lazy is only one of my vices. Being intensely curious is another. I happened upon you in passing a few days back. You wouldn't remember; we just walked past each other on the sidewalk in front of a lingerie shop. Well, you were walking. I was taking notes for ..." A sly grin flirts with Satana's lips before she continues. "... never mind. At any rate, the thing is ... I'm not accustomed to your type having a soul. And this ... intrigues me. I'm always fascinated when things don't work the way I think they do." She pauses. "That makes sense, doesn't it? I did try saying it to myself in a mirror, but now that I say it out loud I'm not sure: is it crazy?"
Angel	Angel listens carefully as Satana talks, busying himself with making a cup of coffee for his visitor. He does steal some glances back at her as he does so, attempting to not let his eyes linger on her lovely figure. "Thank you," Angel replies to her compliment. "I don't get many compliments in my line of work. Cream and sugar?" He leans down toward a mini-fridge and opens it, pulling out a small carton of coffee creamer. Satana would probably catch the clear plastic container inside halfway full of red and vicous-looking blood. "If you are asking if your words make sense, then yes," Angel replies turning to Satana and placing a cup of steaming coffee in front of her. "If you are asking me about the soul, then that is a different story."
Satana Hellstrom	Satana snaps her fingers and points at Angel in a single gesture. "The words, yes. I know the soul doesn't make any sense. That's why I'm so damnably curious." Her eyes have caught the checking out and there's an amused glint in them as Angel strives not to look. "Please, Angeluuuuuh Angel. If I didn't want to be looked at, I'd be wearing a chador. I mean one that's not sculpted to me like that time I ... never mind. But no, I like my coffee like I like my men. Hot and black. Or women." Beat. "Well, OK, black is optional, strictly speaking, but hot is not. But that's out of scope for your question and now I am talking nonsense. So black, please." She leans forward to accept the cup. "I guess I should put all my cards on the table since you'll work it out anyway, and as comical as that could be watching you do your little investigations activity, it would be tedious for you and that's just ... unfriendly of me." Leaning back to sip the coffee briefly, she eventually continues. "I'm Satana Hellstrom, as I said. You'll find that I speak mostly the truth. Indeed I aim for 100%, but that doesn't always work out. But perhaps I left out a key detail. My father. Kurios Marduk." She watches Angel to see if that names rings a bell, and if so, if it is an alarm bell.
Angel	Angel carefully slides into the chair across from Satana, his eyes meeting her gaze as he listens to her speak. He places the dagger in front of him on the desk, smirking at her comments about her tastes in partners. "Just Angel," he says gently correcting her. The coffee is not the best. Warmed over community coffee that has definitely been sitting in the pot for much too long. "Kurios Marduk," Angel replies slowly. "That is definitely a name I have heard before. Though I cannot say from where. Judging from your appearance and from your method of travel, I would wager he is some sort of Demon Lord or master of a certain circle of hell?"
Satana Hellstrom	"You might know him better by the title he's taken," Satana says with mischief positively radiating from every square inch of her body. "Satan." She watches Angel's reaction while taking another sip. She has the decency not to wince. "I am quite literally the Devil's Daughter." She shrugs performatively. "I don't try to conceal it, though I don't always mention it. But in the interests of building ... trust--perhaps even mutual respect--I thought it best to let you find out from these lips, not those of others." Beat. "Mine are so much more attractive than the kinds you'd likely hear things about me would be. Consider it my gift." She leans back, relaxed, recrossing her legs (this time almost, but not quite, Sharon Stoning Angel. She knows exactly how to catch attention, it seems, and how to frustrate delivery.
Angel	Angel arches his eyebrow as she mentions her father's actual title. "The Satan?" He says with a nod and letting out a sigh. "I suppose then that I am in exalted company. Wouldn't that make you a form of royalty?" If her charms are working on him, it isn't too obvious. Angel seems to be made of sterner stuff than most. His dark eyes resist the urge to dart down and look at her lovely toned legs, but it is truly a herculean effort. The vein on his forehead pops out slightly before his face returns to normal. "Are you introducing yourself as a professional courtesy?" Angel says, glancing away for a second before looking back at her. "Or maybe you need to hire me for a specific job? Angel Investigations don't normally have demonic clients, but humans are not the only people who qualify as helpless. Then again, you don't seem very helpless to me." He leans forward, placing his elbows on the desk. "Or are you just interested in me?"
Satana Hellstrom	"'Just' is such a self-deprecating way of putting it. You intrigue me a great deal Angel." Satana locks gazes with Angel, bringing to bear the impressive weight of her personality ... before narrowing her eyes and releasing the pressure. "Impressive. To break that would take more energy than I'm willing to commit." Courtesy. Of attempted ... mind control? Domination? Some other unholy relative? "But yes, consider it partially a professional courtesy; most people would get nervous if they found out a Hell Lord..." She breaks into a sheepish, self-deprecating grin. "...which is, technically, what I am even if it's me being a nepobaby. Anyway, people would be unnerved if they found out such was working in their neighbourhood, so I thought I'd drop by and tell you I have no designs on you or yours. Just a pleasant chat over coffee." While she speaks her form subtly changes. Hair colour. Body shape. Facial structure. Each such very small change being paired with sharp eyes watching for Angel's reaction as she homes in on... Blonde. Athletic. Blue eyes. Porcelain face. A very close approximation of Buffy sits before him, though still dressed in the femme fatale outfit (an outfit which has transformed along with her body to keep its sharp fit). "Oh, how disappointing. Blonde and blue-eyed. Tsk. I'd have thought a good Irish boy would have had a preference for red hair and green eyes." And the red-haired, amber-eyed fully-matured woman is sitting before Angel again. "Still, you're built the way you're built, and who am I to disparage taste? There are those who would find my appetites ... disturbing."
Angel	Angel sets his jaw as he feels the weight of her gaze on him. His brow furrows again as he resists with his full concentration. He is no slouch when it comes to his own telepathic resistance, but he is also just a vampire versus the daughter of the devil himself. He lets out a small grunt as she relents, gritting his teeth as his face starts to shift into its vampire form, but stops and slowly shifts back. "Professional courtesy," Angel replies, clearing his throat. "Are you asking for a truce then? I stay away from you while you stay away from me?" He flexes his hands, loosening all his muscles as though he was just lifting a very heavy weight. Angel leans back again as Satana starts to shift, his eyes getting an angry glare as it seems she is almost mocking him for his tastes. The glare passes just as quickly though. "I suppose we both cannot help the way we are," He says darkly.
Satana Hellstrom	Again Satana snappoints. "You have it exactly right. I can't help the way I'm made any more than you can help how you're made. I eat souls. I have to. You drink blood. You have to. It's not 'good' or 'evil'. It's how you go about it that counts." She pauses. "Oh, did I forget to mention that? Daddy cursed me. I have to eat a soul every ... call it ten days to two weeks. If I don't ... very, very, very bad things happen. Beginning with me losing control of the Basilisk." Her voice gets very dry at this. "That would be bad. Just to be clear." Appearing momentarily discomfited at what she's just said, she pauses to regain composure. "But, the souls I consume will not be missed. The world will be a better place without them. I give them a final thrill of intense ecstasy, a short burst of even more intense agony ... and then they're gone from this plane." She doesn't mention she excretes their remains into her domain for an eternity of torture. That's probably impolitic. "So basically, I go after the people who hurt others." She holds up her hands in a mock defensive gesture. "Oh, not for any moral grounds, I promise you!" And if Angel has any ability to sense someone lying, she's doing so now. "Practical grounds only. Sin-stained souls taste better, and entities going around eating the souls of children are going to be hunted down and evicted from this plane while those who go around and eat the souls of the truly vile ... don't." She watches Angel's reaction. "I don't have the option of pig souls, after all," she jabs. "Though I can't say that your solution can possibly taste any good. Would you care to...?" She doesn't finish the question. Instead she pulls her skirt up very high. "The femoral is a good place to bite, probably. Doesn't leave any visible marks." And her eyes dance with malicious amusement.
Angel	Angel listens very carefully as Satana explains her situation and her ways of dealing with her own personal curse. "Basilisk as in the legendary monster?" He asks with a tilt of his head. "Isn't that the one who has a gaze that can kill...or is it petrify?" Angel listens intently as she describes the way she feeds. He does not show very much of a reaction, his face staring at her impassively as her words pass through his mind. He blinks at certain innuendos, nods where appropriate, and furrows his brow. He does not seem to fully pick up on her lying, but his eyes are enough of a give away to let Satana know that he is aware she isn't saying the whole truth. Angel glances at the mini-fridge when she mentions 'pig souls' and then he turns back he catches the sight of her rolling up the hem of her skirt. It would be a terrible untruth to say that Angel wasn't tempted. She was gorgeous from head to toe. Satana blood would definitely be a bouquet any vampire would love to sink their teeth into and sample. Temptation dances through Angel's head. Then he looks away and furrows his brow. "No...thank you..." He says quietly.
Satana Hellstrom	"Not even if I was blonde, blue-eyed, and athletically young?" Satana asks, more of that malicious mischief in her eyes and smile. But still she rolls down the skirt. "You have more self-control than most vampires too," she concedes. "More and more curious become I." If she's miffed at not being taken up, it's not showing on her face. "But no, Basilisk is just the name of a Pit Fiend that is bound to me. He is ... how shall I put this? ... have you ever seen a dragon? Not in person, I mean, but say in a movie. Picture something like that. Only demonic, almost impossible to kill, and not the kind who distinguishes between friend and foe. He's an instrument of destruction I can control. If I'm fed. If I lose control ... well ... a great many mortals will lose their lives and wind up joining me as my mortal vessel is obliterated by Basilisk and I'm sent screaming in frustration back to my throne." She smiles, and this is not a pleasant smile. It's the smile of a predator. "Daddy did this as a dead man's switch. Nobody sane will risk doing things that result in Basilisk coming forth uncontrolled by me. In a city like this, there would be tens of thousands of deaths before he was finally destroyed and sent back down to my domain for ... re-education." The way she says that final word is chilling. "But let's not talk about unpleasant things. You don't want to feed off of me; I can see that. Why don't we just have sexual congress right here on your desk?" Beat. "Oh, I guess I probably should have mentioned. I was trained in the arts of the succubus. Though that might have been obvious in retrospect, no?"
Angel	A great deal of tension seems to flow out of Angel as Satana rolls her skirt back down. He rolls his shoulders and leans back, putting his feet up on the desk again. He doesn't look at her, letting his gaze wander but still listening to her as she speaks. "Your father sounds like quite the loving and doting caregiver," Angel says, shaking his head. "Much like mine actually. Does he also want you to follow on in the family business and eventually rule Hell? Is that even possible? Can devils retire?" The thought makes him smirk. "Also this Basilisk certainly sounds like quite the challenge. Probably have to take a break and eat a power bar halfway through that fight. Hydration is always important when fighting dragons." He looks back at her when she makes her second offer, his eyes meeting hers with a furrowed brow. Again the temptation is there, the offer being something that any straight man would take in a heartbeat. "I can see that you are more than just a succubus," he says with a sigh. "You are the succubi's succubus, if such a thing could happen." He shakes his head again. "Thank you, but no. I don't like the person I become..." His voice trails off as he looks away.
Satana Hellstrom	Satana doesn't answer that directly. Instead she pulls out a phone (with a very unusual design, especially on the fondleslab's UI). She purses her lips and taps on the screen rapidly, looking up at Angel. Her eyes suddenly widen, then turn back to Angel. "Oh, my! You're cursed, like me!" she says with ... almost a gleeful joy? "We're soul siblings in a way: cursed into things we neither wish to do, but yours has that added bit: you regret!" She pauses, wrinkling her face. "I have none of those," she lies with a smoothness that would do a soft serve ice cream proud. "But I can imagine how ... inconvenient those would be." Inspecting Angel like he's a medical experiment now, she tilts her head left, then right, scratching her cheek, wrinkling her brow, and pushing her eyeglasses up her nose. She has eyeglasses now. Thick horn-rimmed glasses that make her look like a science nerd, or would if the rest of her wasn't spread out for licentious display. "I could probably help you get rid of that inconvenient curse if you like, but the price would be ... very high, I'm afraid. Whoever made it knew their job well. It would take months of research to unwind those threads."
Angel	Angel arches his eyebrows and spreads his hands wide as Satana seems to just look up his whole backstory like he's on wikipedia. "So is there some type of hero database that I am on?" He asks with a tone of exasperation. "There was a time when I was mysterious and strange, but now you can just look me up on the internet?" He shakes his head dismissively. "I suppose when you've been around for 300 years, people start getting wise to the tall, dark, and mysterious routine." He listens to her lie and somehow senses a level of falsehood there. His eyes narrow for half a moment, but he lets it go. There is something about this seductress that almost strikes him with empathy. "I'm not a science experiment," He grumps when she suddenly looks like the sexiest of sexy librarians. "I'm just an anomoly with a burden. Maybe one day I would take you up on your...myriad of offers tonight. But right now, that isn't in the cards."
Satana Hellstrom	"Oh, not the Internet. ScryNet." She hands Angel her phone which ... emits a VERY palpable aura of disturbing evil and violence and suffering. "I simply adore mortal technologies; they're like degenerate magicks. And I very much enjoy melding the two. It's somewhat of a hobby of mine." The phone's display currently shows a lot of information in very small, inhuman type, whose very shapes are unnerving as they scroll ... around a very good picture of Angel. Or, rather, Angelus. For this is Angel in full vampire mode, and not looking even slightly broody, more proud and arrogant. "I already knew you were ... once, shall we call it? ... Angelus. ScryNet is a very powerful tool and I'm very good at souls." She leans in conspiratorially, stage-whispering, "Possibly better than sex, even, though I'll deny it if you say it publicly." She leans back. "Once I caught your soul's scent, so to speak, I did some research and found Angelus. Hence my intrigue. But seeing you here ... seeing you stick to mortal morality ... made me dig a bit deeper. And then your curse just leaped off the screen." Text on the screen, in time to Satana saying that, leaps literally off the screen to hover in front of Angelus, reading in (horribly deformed, but recognizable) English: cursed to suffer awareness of his crimes for all eternity. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit of a showgirl too," Satana laughs as the text leaps out. "I'm really quite terrible. You probably think me vile."
Angel	Angel has a look of confusion and slight disgust as he holds the phone awkwardly in his hands. He follows along with the text of the screen, looking back and forth from the hellish phone screen to her face as she explains what her little toy is and where she got her data. He stares at the picture of himself, the dark mirror of who he was now. The look of disgust and shame twists his face and he drops the phone on his desk, scooting it back toward Satana. "Its more than just suffering awareness," He says softly. "Human soul trapped in a Vampire body. Human souls were not meant to live with more than a century of memories. Much less memories of how much blood I have spilled." Angel looks back at her, meeting her gaze as she laughs about her vile nature. "No," he says shaking his head. "If you were actually vile, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You are simply...what is the term kids use these days? You are very extra."
Satana Hellstrom	"Huh. I'm not familiar with that. I'll have to find out what it means," Satana says, scooping up her phone and replacing it in her clutch. (The clutch that's too small to hold that gigantic phablet. A subtle bit of flex there.) "Unless you'd care to enlighten?" she adds. "But at any rate if you feel the urge at any point to talk..." She twists a lock of her hair in a finger while coyly looking through the veil of her hat at Angel, while biting her lip, posing like ... she belongs in the pages of a euphemistically-named 'men's magazine'. "...or, you know, anything else, feel free to look me up. The offer of blood is still on the table. You won't harm me, and I suspect you'll really enjoy the experience." She tilts her head. "And I must confess I suspect I'll enjoy it as well. Your kind has ... a reputation for supplying the mythical-to-all-but-my-kind 'zipless fuck'." Her eyes bore holes into Angel's as Hellfire sparks in the depths of her now-all-black eyes. "So don't let your morality get in the way. I'd be willing and indeed actively assisting. Not resisting nor despairing. Even if it hurts. ESPECIALLY if it hurts..." And again that cruel mouth is in a mischievous smile as she winks. "Cheerleader, right?" she asks out of the blue. "That's your type."
Angel	Angel cannot help but chuckle at Satana's comment about a true 'zipless fuck.' A small smile invades his stony facade and he shakes his head. "Your seduction is taken as a compliment," he says with a soft growl. "Though I am not the kind of person who enjoys sponetaneity in his relationships. Not any more at any rate." He mutters the last part, regret creeping into his voice as he looks away. Angel looks back at her again. "You will excuse me if I allow my morality to get in my way," His voice is distant. "It seems to be all I have left now...I am not a fan of pain myself." When she mentions Cheerleaders he furrows his brow. "No," he says quietly. "Cheerleaders are not my type. She's not a cheerleader."
Satana Hellstrom	"Ah. So there is a 'she'. I was wondering. Athletic. Young. Blonde. Blue-eyed. You can see how I came up with cheerleader, but now ... you intrigue me." Satana rises from her seat like a ghost from a tomb. "It has been a genuine pleasure, Angel. I'm SO glad we could come to an understanding. In the end, I'm a lover, not a fighter." She bites her bottom lip as she stares up at Angel through half-lidded eyes. Incorrigible. "I'll be sure to be in touch, for company, for conversation, for business, or for ..." She winks. REALLY incorrigible. Slithering her way to the door (well, not actually, but the way her shoulders and hips sway in counterpoint has more than a little of the serpentine in the imagery), she pauses to look over her shoulder, once again showing off her entire form by 'accident'. "And think on that offer. The price will be very high ... but perhaps worth it to you?" And with that she exits the office.
Angel	Angel stands as Satana turns to leave. His old world manners still strong despite three centuries of time. "A pleasure to meet you, Ms Hellstrom," he says with a nod. "I am sure we will be seeing each other again soon. One way or another. I will keep your invitation in mind...all of your invitations..." He watches her go, following behind her. He waits to see if she decides to exit through the main door or decides to take the Hell Portal express again. When she is gone, Angel returns to the office, taking the coffee cup she drank from and walking over to wash it in the sink. He stops though, looking at the lipstick imprint on the rim. Instead he sets it aside unwashed...a reminder of her visit.