Lady, you're crazy [ Peregrine / Jack ]

Jackalope

Locomotion's my Comotion
Original poster
Invitation Status
, , ,
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day, One post per day, 1-3 posts per week, One post per week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
Male, Female, , Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Fantasy (virtually all kinds); some types of Horror; Sci-Fi to a certain extent...I'm a big fan of mix-and-matching. Fantasy Cowboys. Space Pirates. Lawyer Werewolves. Gimme that quirky fun stuff.
It was finally starting to warm up again. Not that Samael was complaining per say--he was blessed with a higher temperature than most people, making it at least slightly harder for him to get chilled--but to be frank, if he had to choose between “Winter” and “Summer”...he was going to pick the summer every time. The junior yawned as he shuffled his way from his last class, giving a half-hearted wave to classmates calling out their goodbyes as he made his way along through the hallways. With spring finally begun, it was only a short stretch of time before summer break, and that meant hours and hours of reclining and relaxation, finally free of schoolwork he didn’t want to do and any residual responsibilities beyond those of his home and keeping himself fed and, well, that wasn’t a bad way to spend a few months.


He smiled, sleepy but pleased, as he waded his way through the crowds of highschoolers streaming this way and that, rushing to extracurricular activities or to buses or to waiting parents. They parted easily for him, his height making him easy to pick out amongst the groups, and he gave a lazy smile to a group of freshman girls that stared openly at him, rolling blue-grey eyes once they’d scurried off. It was a toss-up to determine whether they were staring because “ooh pretty boy” or because of well. His “accessories”. Even this late in the year it seemed some of the newbies hadn’t decided their stance yet. An irritating but, if nothing else, familiar routine. He reached his locker finally, one of the upper ones painted in the school’s traditional cornflower blue, and leaned forwards. Whereas a hand or palm on the surface was adequate for most of the other students, the magic in their blood picking up easily, he just didn’t have enough to manage. Instead, he leaned in to touch the front of his “accessories” into the metal, the matte black bone of his horns making a familiar clack as they touched against the steel. Light flashed as the lock recognized his particular flavor of magic, and he straightened, wholly unaware of the flickering of pale blue light that gathered around the tips of his horns, filtering slowly through the cracks and crevices of the ridged bone as it faded away.


Instead, he swung the locker open in perfect obliviousness, pulling out a sling backpack in a mixture of worn canvas and leather and stuffing it with his various notebooks, pencils, and marking materials. It took a minute of digging to find the bone charcoal sticks, tossed underneath a remedial casting textbook so heavily bent and scarred around its spine and edges as to require half a roll of duct tape to remain functional, but those were tossed in as well as he grabbed an armful of the books he’d need for homework tonight, and slung the bag over his head and across his back, the locker closing with a clang. The junior moved against the tide of students as he hummed to himself, maneuvering around the majority of underclassmen as they made their way to the bus stops and pick-up points until he could reach the flow of older students, heading towards the parking lot. He’d retrieved an old helmet from his locker, as well as a set of keys, and they dangled from the arm holding his books as he flicked through his phone with his free hand, checking his messages as he maneuvered thoughtlessly around the other students.


A slight frown curved into place when he saw that the “mom & dad” tab was, again, empty. Last message was from two weeks back, a quick snapshot of his parents covered in gravedirt and smiling happily, a celebrity his mother had raised from the grave rotting away as he...? She? Posed in the background. He sighed, short and only for a bare moment unhappy, before he let the emotion slide away as always, and closed the app, whisking through the messages of friends and chat rooms instead. It got him to the parking lot and to his ride, and he tucked his phone away into a pocket as he settled his textbooks into the saddlebags of an 1989 Tomos Bullet once owned by his dad. The metallic blue moped was out of style for the current aesthetic, but he’d spent his freshman year fixing it up the non-magic way, and he was damn pleased with how the thing had come out. Plus it could run on free-form magic rather than personal, which meant he could buy the fuel...a necessity considering his inability to produce enough to actually power one of the newer individually-coded models.


Samael adjusted the bag on his back, making certain it was situated properly before double-checking his saddle bags and, content, pulled out a pair of music buds, holding them up to his elongated ears for a moment before the mechanical magic inherent in them locked onto his signal, and settled to hover there. He muttered out the name of his preferred playlist as he settled his helmet into place, taking care to make certain his horns slid into the holes custom drilled into the protective gear before buckling it into place, turning the key into the ignition, and setting off. Swinging jazz purred enthusiastically in his ears, mixed alongside more modern tunes and electronic effects, and he sang absently along with the familiar songs as he drove home, weaving in and out of traffic with an ease more fitting for a broom or motorbike rider than really a moped was supposed to go, but this was an old classic and it handled it with ease as he shifted between wide streets and narrow cobbled ones, his eyes at a lazy half-mast as he made his way home on almost full autopilot. He ignored any yelling, tossing up a wave to those he knew, but otherwise staying shut into his own little world all the way out of the city and to the quiet open roads of the countryside.


Making this ride on a bicycle had been miserable, even for his stamina, but with the moped...it wasn’t so bad. Was almost peaceful, really, and as he pulled off the main road into his driveway he settled the moped into its place under a wooden carport, dismounting with familiarity and leaning into a stretch. His home was a bit under the weather, a bit disorderly and chaotic, but well...the centuries old cottage with its mixture of rounded and angled roofs and its diamond-patterned windows was home and he couldn't judge it for the age it sometimes showed. Absently, he smiled as he glanced out at the wildflower gardens his father had purred into growth nearly a decade ago, still massive and broad with sunflowers larger than his head and finally starting to buzz with bees as the hives woke from their winter naps, and the gravestones scattered randomly throughout--his mother's trophies from successful raisings. Samael yawned, pulling his helmet off and his keys from the ignition as he set to unloading the bullet, considering what he’d cook for dinner as he mechanically turned and began to make his way up he short stone pathway to his front door.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Invitation Status
Looking for partners, Not accepting invites at this time
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day, Multiple posts per week, One post per week
Online Availability
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
Primarily Prefer Male, No Preferences
Genres
High fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by modern fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
"You're... sure this is the correct place, mademoiselle?"

Eleanore de Orlean squinted out through the tinted window of the luxury Citroen sedan that came to a halt on the countryside road, pale eyes locked onto the house in front of her. It looked as though it had gone at least a decade without any sort of notable repair, and lacked even more decades worth of architectural knowledge. The whole place looked more like the set of some historical film than it did somewhere people would actually live, and for a moment the blonde-haired girl found herself worrying.

With a trace of trepidation, Eleanore, or Lea, as her close friends and family called her, glanced down at the phone in her hand, double checking the address and picture. It had taken her a great deal of time, pleasing, bargaining, bribery, and threats to get her hands on this address, and she wasn't about to let the opportunity in front of her go. No matter how much the place made her heart pound with nervousness.

"This is the place," Lea agreed, forcing her voice to sound upbeat. "Just like we agreed, yes? I'll call you when we're ready to go."

"Mademoiselle..."

Lea cut her driver off before he could get out more than that one word of concern. "I know. I know it's not... ideal. But nothing about this situation is ideal, and you know how much this means to me. I can't... fail here. I don't have much time left. Please, Alain."

The brown-haired driver stared at Lea's wide, pleading eyes through the rear-view mirror, before eventually sighing. "I know, mademoiselle. I will be just down the street. If anything goes wrong, you send for me."

Lea beamed, and nodded. "I will, I promise."

With a quick, short breath, Lea reached over, and grabbed an old, yellowed scroll from the seat next to her. Clutching it firmly, although not so tightly as to damage the delicate paper, Lea opened the door and hopped out of the van. Her wedge sandals crunched against the gravel, and Lea took a moment to straighten out her white spring dress, before turning to wave goodbye to Alain.

Once the car drove away, Lea took another breath, licking her lips nervously. "Creepy old house with a graveyard," she mumbled to herself. "No problems here. Where else would you find a demon living on earth?"

Nodding firmly to herself, Lea strode up to the front porch, seating herself on an old patio bench that seemed as though it might give her a splinter from simply looking at it. Tucking her dress carefully under her legs to make sure that no exposed skin would touch the old wood, Lea took another breath. "And now we wait."

And wait she did. Lea had come early, to make absolutely sure there was no way she would miss Samael's arrival. And she hadn't let Alain, or any of her other people, accompany her, because this was something she had to do herself. Normally she'd be in a dark, underground room covered in summoner's script for an occasion like this, but Lea wasn't in a situation where she had room to be particular.

She busied herself running through the words she was going to say, making certain she wouldn't get confused or tangled when the time came. And when she was almost sick of that, she pulled her phone out of her purse again, opening a book. She'd wait as long as was necessary.

The crunch of gravel alerted her to the approach of a vehicle, and Lea glanced up to see a blue moped turning from the road into the house. Her eyes quickly locked onto the two horns protruding from the rider's helmet. There he was. It was time. Lea pushed her way to her feet, standing to meet him as he approached the house.

"Samael Talbot?" Lea asked once he was close enough to be in comfortable speaking range. Although, frankly, her words sounded as much statement as question. There wasn't really any mistaking him. She smiled warmly, just like her mother had taught her. "My name is Eleanore, and I need your help. Can I have a few minutes of your time?"
 
  • According to Plan
Reactions: Jackalope

Jackalope

Locomotion's my Comotion
Original poster
Invitation Status
, , ,
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day, One post per day, 1-3 posts per week, One post per week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
Male, Female, , Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Fantasy (virtually all kinds); some types of Horror; Sci-Fi to a certain extent...I'm a big fan of mix-and-matching. Fantasy Cowboys. Space Pirates. Lawyer Werewolves. Gimme that quirky fun stuff.
He was thinking about the garden in the back, trying to remember what was ready and would taste good with the cut of lamb in the fridge, when the girl spoke. It startled him, but years of being startled by his mother’s undead thralls showing up in unexpected places in the house had trained his reaction, and rather than jump out of his skin like he was inclined to do, he instead stopped walking and lifted his eyes to meet hers. Slowly he tilted his head, eying the intruder with growing distaste, and the smallest of frowns curled into place as he gave her a careful once over, looking for any distinguishing traits that might explain who she was, or why she was here.


Standing on his stoop, she was a bit taller than him, but not by very much. On even ground he’d have half a foot on her...maybe more. She looked to be around his age, but he didn’t recognize her from any of his classes. Not that it would be impossible for him to have missed her, but certainly it was unlikely. Her blonde hair wasn’t unusual for this country or his school, but she held herself more primly than most girls did these days. It reminded him of that gaggle of private school girls that sometimes milled around the town square during holidays. Wealthy and important, and knowing it. His frown grew, nose scrunching slightly as his fingers flexed on the strap of his helmet, keys jingling in his grasp. She wasn’t an official, at least, so whatever she was here for it probably wasn’t to tell him that his parents were being contained for suspicion of trespassing and grave robbery and could he please come with them for the night.


The junior shifted his weight, cocking his head further to the side as he relaxed, giving her a dry look as he tucked the thumb of his free hand into his front pocket. “I don’t owe favors to people I don’t know.” He retorted after a moment, sighing and dismissing her as a threat entirely as he shuffled forwards, stepping up onto the stoop and going from below her eye-level, to significantly above it as he gave her a dull look out of the corner of his eye. The door unlocked, the tumblers making a loud, mechanical sound as he added, “I don’t care to know you either, and if you’re here to sell something you’re outta luck. I’m not buyin’.”


He looked away, stormy eyes sliding past her dismissively, and the door swung open with a cheerful creak as he strode inside, making to close it behind him without a second thought.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Invitation Status
Looking for partners, Not accepting invites at this time
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day, Multiple posts per week, One post per week
Online Availability
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
Primarily Prefer Male, No Preferences
Genres
High fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by modern fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Lea could only freeze as the door slammed closed in her face, the words she'd been preparing stuck in her throat. She took a shaky breath, trying to remind herself to stay calm. She'd been prepared for... well, maybe not this specifically, but she'd told herself to be prepared for anything. Some demons were sociable, but just as many weren't. She'd been somewhat hoping she'd get lucky, that living on earth for so many years might have had a positive influence on this one, but that seemed unlikely now.

But that didn't mean she could just give up. This was her last chance, and she only had a few months left before her 18th birthday. She'd promised herself she'd do whatever it took, and Lea wasn't one to break her promises as long as there was any sliver of hope remaining.

Somewhat hesitantly, Lea reached out to the door, before finding the handle turned under her hands, and the door swung open easily. Collecting herself, Lea pushed her way into the house.

"Mr. Talbot? I'm not leaving until you hear me out."
 

Jackalope

Locomotion's my Comotion
Original poster
Invitation Status
, , ,
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day, One post per day, 1-3 posts per week, One post per week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
Male, Female, , Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Fantasy (virtually all kinds); some types of Horror; Sci-Fi to a certain extent...I'm a big fan of mix-and-matching. Fantasy Cowboys. Space Pirates. Lawyer Werewolves. Gimme that quirky fun stuff.
The red-head had tossed his keys in a little bowl by the door almost the moment the door had shut, hanging up his helmet and heading into the open kitchen without a second thought to the girl on the stoop. He figured she was probably here to talk about some new religious sect popped up recently, or to sell small magical aids or something. It wasn’t something his parents had ever bought into, and he wasn’t keen on hearing the door-to-door pitch. Last time he’d heard one of those people out, he’d been leaning on the door frame for forty minutes before one of his mom’s thralls had gotten fed up out in the garden and chased the lady off. Sure, the girl was kinda young for that, but he’d seen enough kids with the gleaming eye of Marketing to be wary.


He hadn’t thought to lock the door--assuming no one would be that rude--so the sound of her voice as she opened it, made him physically jump, his eyes wide as he whipped around to stare at her in surprise. “Dude what the hell--” It came out more high-pitched than he’d intended, his shock making him nearly squeak, and his cheeks flushed in embarrassment before he scowled, brows dipping low over his eyes, “A closed door isn’t an invitation, lady.” He snapped, his cheeks still nearly as ruddy as his hair as he hid his mortification behind a false temper, baring his teeth and slightly over-large canines as he gestured at the door, “Pretty sure that’s considered breakin’ and entry in most places!”


He wasn’t actually sure of that--his mother knew about 50,000 different legal ways to get around that roadblock--but he wasn’t going to tell the girl that.


Instead he cocked his head to the side, lifting his chin and mimicking the ‘I’m displeased with you and you are going to walk away’ stare his mom gave the thralls when they tracked rotting flesh onto the carpets, his nails tight against his textbooks as he bluffed, “Get outta my house. Don’t think I won’t call the cops just ‘cause you look underage.”
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Invitation Status
Looking for partners, Not accepting invites at this time
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day, Multiple posts per week, One post per week
Online Availability
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
Primarily Prefer Male, No Preferences
Genres
High fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by modern fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Unaware that she'd been relegated to the domain of telemarketing, Lea smiled somewhat apologetically. "I didn't break anything," she replied, still forcibly maintaining her cheerful attitude. It was rude, she knew it, but she was never going to get anywhere if she remained perfectly polite. Drastic times called for drastic measures, after all. "It's not like the door was locked."

Of course, her assurances didn't seem to do anything to assuage the demon, who still seemed dead set on getting her as far away from him as possible. Well, they'd have to start talking first before she'd be able to offer him anything, so she had to start there.

As for him calling the cops... well, Lea was fairly sure they wouldn't have the nerve to actually arrest her. But she didn't want the news getting back to her family. Not yet, anyways.

"I'm not leaving," Lea stated again, casually working her way further into the house. As long as he didn't try and bodily grab her and throw her out, she'd probably be fine. "As I said. I need your help."

For a moment, her hands closed slightly tighter around the scroll that was still clasped in her hand, before she loosened her grip again as the paper made slight sounds of protest. "I'd like... I request to form a contract with you."
 

Jackalope

Locomotion's my Comotion
Original poster
Invitation Status
, , ,
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day, One post per day, 1-3 posts per week, One post per week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
Male, Female, , Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Fantasy (virtually all kinds); some types of Horror; Sci-Fi to a certain extent...I'm a big fan of mix-and-matching. Fantasy Cowboys. Space Pirates. Lawyer Werewolves. Gimme that quirky fun stuff.
His blush darkened, just the faintest bit, and he unconsciously jutted out his lower jaw, obstinate. She wasn’t wrong...he should’ve locked it. For a moment he glanced to the door, glaring at it as though it had been the one to betray him, but his eyes were quickly back to her, widening as she began to move forward. Almost immediately he took a step back, remembering only after the first step that he was supposed to hold his ground against threats.


“The thralls will never respect you if you scoot around them like a puppy with its tail between your legs,” His mother always groaned, side-eying him over whatever semi-illegal text she’d spread out on the kitchen table, “Stand your ground. You’ll be bigger than them one day, but it doesn’t help to make sure they know now.”



He’d never actually understood what she’d meant by that--there was no guarantee that a six year old that was 30lbs soaking wet would grow to be larger than her thralls. Generally speaking she preferred 6’+, strapping athletes and hollywood stars who’d died in dramatic circumstances, and more than a few of the rotting corpses shambling around the house at the time were like 6’4” of once-solid muscle. Still, despite thinking his mother greatly overestimated his genetics--his dad was maybe 5’9” if he stretched--he’d taken her advice to heart. Mostly.


Right now he was wondering why the woman hadn’t taken the time to teach him what the fudge he was supposed to do when young ladies in nicely made white dresses were the ones approaching him. He was fairly certain that sticking out his chin and saying ‘NO--BAD. Go stand in the corner!’ was not going to have the right effect.


Blue-grey eyes flicked between the girl and the door and the hallways to either side of him, his jaw working as he anxiously decided whether outright running from teenaged girls was an appropriate reaction as she made her way steadily closer. He took another unconscious step back as she got even nearer, looking down his nose to stare at her as his nails dug harshly enough into his textbooks to pierce one of the covers. Shit. He wouldn’t get full price back on that now. “Lady, I really don’t think I can help you.” He managed, eying her uncomfortably as he took another shuffling half-step back, trying to keep as much space between them as possible. The sound of paper caught his attention as he leaned back, swallowing awkwardly, and without fully intending to his eyes snapped to the rolled up paper, his elongated ears twitching forward.


It was a scroll of some kind...yellowed and aged. His brows knit slightly as he unconsciously tilted his head to get a better look at it, frowning. That was a weird thing to bring door-to-door even if she was a religious nutcase, and it smelled...uncomfortable. His nose scrunched, the hair on the back of his neck raising as he leaned further away from girl and paper, glancing between the two with displeasure. “What is that.” He asked, not quite registering her final comment as he did. It smelled almost sour...an acrid, over-spiced smell that made him want to aggressively rub his nose. There was something familiar about it too, a coppery tang that reminded him of scraping his knee as a kid and how horrible it smelled and he looked at her sharply, “Is that blood? Are you carrying around bloody paper? Who does that?”


Aghast, the flat-line in his thoughts allowed her final comment to click in his head, and before she could have answered the question about blood, he gave her an incredulous look, lips curling, “What are you talking about? A contract for what? I don’t donate blood to papers if that’s what you’re goin’ for--Mom is pretty damn strict about putting blood in things. That’s how you get cursed for like, six generations.”
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Invitation Status
Looking for partners, Not accepting invites at this time
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day, Multiple posts per week, One post per week
Online Availability
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
Primarily Prefer Male, No Preferences
Genres
High fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by modern fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
"You don't have to put blood on it," Lea replied with a laugh. "It's for signing, not cursing."

Somehow, Samael's continual backwards scoots away from her had done a lot to put the young woman at ease. At the very least, she was now certain that "bodily throwing" was out of the question.

She blatantly ignored the rest of his statements, instead stepping forward lightly. She tried to visualize herself as bright and cheerful, that girl in TV who always seemed to have light twinkling within her eyes. The kind of girl men could never say 'no' to.

"And you can help me. As a matter of fact, you're the only one who can." She unrolled the parchment delicately, before presenting it in his direction. "It's very fair, you'll find. Well paid, in whatever currency you prefer. The terms are far better than anything anyone else would have offered. And..."

Oh, gods above, was she really about to say this to a demon? Yes, she was, because not even the gods could save her now. If she didn't do this, if her last chance went out the window because she didn't make every possible effort, she knew she'd never be able to forgive herself in the future. She's promised herself, whatever the consequences. "And I left the last clause blank. As long as it doesn't contradict any of the above terms, you can add w-whatever condition you want."

She hadn't meant to stutter, hadn't meant to let her nervousness through like that. She'd said she'd resolved herself for anything, and she'd meant that. Hadn't she?
 

Jackalope

Locomotion's my Comotion
Original poster
Invitation Status
, , ,
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day, One post per day, 1-3 posts per week, One post per week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
Male, Female, , Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Fantasy (virtually all kinds); some types of Horror; Sci-Fi to a certain extent...I'm a big fan of mix-and-matching. Fantasy Cowboys. Space Pirates. Lawyer Werewolves. Gimme that quirky fun stuff.
The reassurance that he would in fact not have to put blood to it, did in fact not reassure him whatsoever. In a direct contrast, it made him wrinkle his nose further, his nails going completely through the cover of his economics text book and into the pages. He didn’t seem to notice as he gave her a look somewhere between “deeply disturbed” and “baffled beyond reason”, and debated heavily whether or not the clean-up would be worth screaming loud enough to wake some of the thralls napping in the front yard. If this was a religious thing, it was getting really creepy really fast. He could cross off “selling you something” at least.

His mouth was half open--he couldn’t decide if he should yell for help, tell her off again, or call the cops--when she started to unroll the scroll, and it shut with a click as the scent hit him again and he scrunched his nose, fighting off the urge to sneeze. He didn’t resist the urge to rub it this time, scrubbing at it with the back of his hand as his eyes distractedly drifted from the crazy girl’s ridiculously smiling face--seriously; it was kinda creepy how cheerful she was while holding a blood soaked scroll--to the paper itself. Sam hadn’t actually meant to read it, not even the slightest bit, but it was hard for a speed reader not to skim words the moment they saw them, and his face scrunched as he caught a few words, rereading the lines to assure himself he’d got it wrong.

He hadn’t.

Obedience clause?” He let out with a squeak, his face flushing ruddy again, “Permissions for harm to others and murder?!” Samael gave her another aghast look, his face ten kinds of shocked and disturbed mixed into one as he took two hasty steps back, bumping into the kitchen island. “What kind of people are you contracting? Who the fuck needs a murder clause in their paperwork?” He scrunched his face again, unconsciously drifting back to the scroll, blanching when he caught sight of some of the numbers, “...that is an ungodly amount of money.” So much money, in fact, that combined with the stuttered utterance that she’d added, he came to a sudden conclusion and lifted his chin, staring at her with narrowed eyes and tight lips.

“This is a sex thing, isn’t it. This is like, one of those bondage things with like...doms and subs and shit. Sorry to break it to you, but I am so not into that it ain’t even funny so you can take your creepy-ass blood-fetish-y thing and just...” He lifted the hand not currently half-buried into a textbook and shooed her towards the door, “Scoot right on out.”
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Invitation Status
Looking for partners, Not accepting invites at this time
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day, Multiple posts per week, One post per week
Online Availability
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
Primarily Prefer Male, No Preferences
Genres
High fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by modern fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
"What?" Lea all but yelped, almost tripping over herself as she took a half step backwards. Oh, god, was that what this demon was into? He said he wasn't into that, but why would he even be bringing it up in their contracting?

Forcing herself to calm down and stay focused, Lea straightened her shoulders, the contract still held delicately in her hands. "No, it's not about sex." She almost sounded calm, as though the sentence hadn't really bothered her. However, her voice was slightly over-loud, and if that wasn't enough of a clue, the blush creeping up her neck and across her cheeks was a dead giveaway.

"It's a demon contract, and while you seem to be living quite peacefully, I am still going to insist on the basic precautions."

There. That was back on script, mostly. Things seemed to have gotten a bit mixed up, but she was quite sure that was one of the lines from somewhere in her prepared speech.

If only she could remember what came next.
 

Jackalope

Locomotion's my Comotion
Original poster
Invitation Status
, , ,
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day, One post per day, 1-3 posts per week, One post per week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
Male, Female, , Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Fantasy (virtually all kinds); some types of Horror; Sci-Fi to a certain extent...I'm a big fan of mix-and-matching. Fantasy Cowboys. Space Pirates. Lawyer Werewolves. Gimme that quirky fun stuff.
Samael kept his eyes narrowed, squinted in suspicion as he watched the girl’s exclamation, seeming to have been as caught off guard by the accusation of it being a sex contract as he’d been at just well. Reading any of it. Her voice was off when she denied it, however, and he wasn’t exactly sure if that wasn’t supposed to be part of this weird game she was trying to play. Hell, maybe for all he knew that was how that sort of thing was supposed to be played. So he stared at her, warily wondering how exactly he was gonna get her out of his house, when all of the sudden...it clicked.


“You said a demon contract?” His expression loosened, almost relieved, and he shook his head with a shallow laugh, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, “Oh, that’s what this is about. You’re one of those uh..” He gestured loosely at her, frowning slightly, “Summoners.” He scoffed, shaking his head, and reached up, tapping one of his horns, “You’re here ‘cause of these, right? Jeez...”


He shifted shuffling a foot, and straightened from his terrorized lean against the kitchen counter, pushing off of it to walk instead into the kitchen properly and grabbing a glass from the cabinets, “Look lady, I’m not a demon.” He gave her an annoyed, flat smile as he pulled a carton of milk out of the fridge, not offering any as he poured himself a glass, “The horns are a condition, ok? If you’d have asked like...anyone around town they would have told you that.” The fridge closed and he leaned against the counter next to the sink, keeping the kitchen’s island between himself and her. “My mom did something stupid when I was a baby and it kinda...” He gestured to his face, “...did that. I’m just as human as you are. You’re gonna have to look elsewhere for one of those...” he scrunched his nose, indicating the contract with an expression somewhere between baffled and displeased, “...things. Closest to a demonic force you’ll find here are some of my mom’s thralls.” He paused and added, “...completely legal, officially licensed thralls.”


Not that she wouldn’t find the illegal completely unofficial ones too but...he was supposed to deny those.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Invitation Status
Looking for partners, Not accepting invites at this time
Posting Speed
1-3 posts per day, Multiple posts per week, One post per week
Online Availability
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
Primarily Prefer Male, No Preferences
Genres
High fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by modern fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Of all the possible responses she could have heard, all the potential conversations she'd imagined in her head and tried to come up with counters for, this was a response she'd never even dreamed of hearing.

Lea stood there, eyes wide, mouth slightly gaping as she listened to his words, too shocked and surprised to even quite know how to respond. Finally, his words seemed to run out, and Lea managed to get her own tongue in alignment again.

"...You must be joking." It didn't seem particularly funny, and he didn't seem to be laughing, but Lea could only assume he was trying to pull her leg. However, after another couple seconds of staring, Lea's eyes widened further.

"You're not joking? You really think you're human?" Lea had grown up learning everything there was to know about demon summoning. She was the kind of person who was trained to deal with illegal and dangerous demonic activity, hid below the surface of society. She'd been trained to recognize the traces of demonkind, even when it had been hidden.

There was no doubt that Samael had been carefully hidden, his birth and hospital records in particular had been carefully doctored so that people who didn't know what they were looking for would miss the telltale signs. Lea was not such a person.