Conversation Space: The Ultimate

[powersthatbe]

You feel as if you've stepped through a door.

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XV. The Devil

[powersthatare]

The room is circular, carved out of polished basalt, and around the circumference of the room is a boundary of crystalline firepits giving off faint blue flame. Distant subsonic noise thrums unsettlingly throughout the space, setting teeth on edge and putting the hair on the back of your neck on end. A brushed steel coffee table supported by an empty cage sits in the middle of the room, and beside it is an bronze chair cast from the image of one fetal, kneeling person as the seat, and one arched and contorted human form as the back and arms. A reservoir glass half-full of green, licorice-scented liquid and a silver absinthe spoon sit on the coffee table,

[meanballerina]

[Natasha's first priority is walking the circumference of the room, looking for any possible way out. She doesn't know how she got here, but she's definitely not going to just stand around waiting for whoever the chair's for to show up. Touching the absinthe doesn't even cross her mind.]

[powersthatare]

No-one appears, at least not yet, giving her time to examine whatever she likes. There is no visible exit.

[meanballerina]

Hmm. Discomfiting. Not that she lets any of that show.

Natasha walks back toward the center of the room and crosses her arm. "If anyone's listening, why don't we skip the 'creep out the prisoner' part of the program and skip to whatever you have planned next?"

[powersthatare]

NO.

The voice, grating and distorted, issues from directly behind her, and there is, suddenly, a twisted figure eight feet tall, clad in black leather and a horned motorcycle helmet. The muscles beneath the leather appear too many, too much, not attached in quite the right places or the right proportions - as if someone took multiple bodies and braided them together.

[meanballerina]

Natasha whirls around in surprise before she can stop herself, but quickly schools her features and posture into something a little more nonchalant, crossing her arms with a defiant jut of her chin. Though she can't quite mask the slight tension in her shoulders.

"Then?"

[rooktakesknight]

"Well, isn't this cozy?" Jacob comments drily to himself, absently adjusting his bracers as he paces the room, giving the strange chair a curious look in the process.

"Anyone home?"

[powersthatare]

YES.

The voice, grating and distorted, issues from directly behind Jacob, and there is, suddenly, a twisted figure eight feet tall, clad in black leather and a horned motorcycle helmet. The muscles beneath the leather appear too many, too much, not attached in quite the right places or the right proportions - as if someone took multiple bodies and braided them together.

[rooktakesknight]

Jacob isn't the kind of man who gets scared easily, or even mildly nervous. This... 'thing' inspires a bit of the latter, though he's good at hiding it, brow rising as he stares up at the tall creature.

"... And what are you supposed to be?"

oops only the dialogue was supposed to be bolded...

[powersthatare]

I AM THE LORD OF MATERIAL POWER. I AM ZIE WHO DOES NOT SERVE. THE ETERNAL REBEL, THE HEDONIST, THE SCAPEGOAT. I AM CALLED MALBOLGE, AND I AM THE DEVIL.

[rooktakesknight]

"... Okay, Mally-boy," he begins, going for levity because he'd rather not go down the route of the God-fearing man potentially in the presence of the actual Devil himself. "That's all very nice, but why am I here? Not that it isn't all charming in here, especially with the mood lighting you've got going on-" A hand waved to the blue flames. "-but I've got places to be."

[missing1ship]

Of course, the first thing Jack does is sniff at the liquid in the reservoir and then try to dunk a finger in to liiightly taste it on his tongue because hell if he has to be where ever the hell he's ended up, he'll be dipped in fuck if he can't be smashed for it.

Unconvinced about the drink in the center of the room for now, the pirate sashays around the middle table, snatching up the absinthe spoon to bite it a bit.

How silver is this anyway?

Really silver?

Oops it's going in a pocket oops OOOOPS

No one's in here who gives a shit.

The subsonic noise is, of course, getting to him, but Jack seems to be displaying his displeasure by, what else?

Talking.

"I mean I wouldn't have picked that chair, all things considered. Bit depressing to look at."

[powersthatare]

It is, indeed, absinthe. And the spoon, indeed, is silver.

And then there's someone in the chair, a knotted muscular figure eight feet in height and almost twice as broad as a normal human form, clad in thick black leather and an opaque helmet of black glass with horns rising from its temples.

Zir voice is a staticky growl, polyphonic and distorted.

THAT IS THE IDEA.

[missing1ship]

OOoooh JESUS.

Jack leaps a good foot, hops back, and quickly remembers there's no immediate way out of the room.

Well.

... Shit.

"... You've got somethin' on your..." Never mind.

"Have we met? I've got an inkling I should be aware of you."

[powersthatare]

YOU HAVE HEARD OF ME AND FELT MY PRESENCE. I AM THE ADVERSARY, THE LORD OF THE MATERIAL REALM, THE GREAT DRAGON, SON OF THE DAWN, ACCUSER, DECEIVER, THE REBEL, THE TEMPTRESS. I AM THE WEIGHT OF CHAIN AT THE BOTTOM OF EVERY HEART. CALL ME MALBOLGE.

[missing1ship]

"I always thought that was a location."

Mind, the panic is internal, he's working quite hard to not let a bit of it appear on his face but hell, if this is the devil well, no doubt they're already well aware.

"Always imagined you'd be a touch ruddier in the face, mate, tell you what those bible pictures have you all wrong."

IS HE IN HELL DID HE DIE-

"I've a thought, most people don't usually stumble across you unless something rather significant has happened, and I don't quite feel like I've reached the physical state necessary to be having this conversation with you."

[strongestimouto]

Ako stands in front of the chair for a moment, arms folded, looking down at it. Then, turns and speaks vaguely but loudly to whoever might be listening.

"If someone's out there, I just want you to know: This chair is super weird, and you're super weird for putting it there."

[powersthatare]

DEVIANT. YES.

The voice comes from directly behind Ako, and its source is a looming figure, eight feet tall and inhumanly broad, twisted musculature clad in tight black leather, face hidden behind a horned biker helmet, its voice a staticky basso growl.

[strongestimouto]

That's more like it. This guy looks awesome.

"So what's this all about? You wanna fight?"

[powersthatare]

YES. BUT NOT YOU.

[strongestimouto]

"Then what the hell am I doing here?"

Re: XV. The Devil

[youandyoualone]

Anafiel Delaunay's first, wild thought is that he's in some secret chamber of Mandrake or Valerian House that his mind has made up for the internal world of his dungeon--but if that were so, wouldn't Alcuin and his lady, Thorne, be with him still? After all, it had been mere minutes ago since they'd coaxed him away from the Cecilie of the dungeon and her salon.

But there are enough alien elements here--the glassware, the liquor, and the thrumming--that he doesn't think it's a creation of his mind, however subconscious. No, he's been fetched here by someone--or something.

In the end, after circling the room, there's really naught to do but take his seat on the chair and wait for his latest captor to reveal themself.

"Well?" he drawls in his most aristocratic fashion.

[powersthatare]

THINGS ARE NEVER WELL a grating voice replies, coming from directly above and behind him. The hulking shadow appeared soundlessly, and with ripples of muscle beneath black leather that look wrong to the human eye, zie crosses to the opposite side of the table, fingers curling and uncurling from fists in an almost beckoning gesture.

NOR WILL YOU BE WELL FOR SOME TIME, ANGELBORN. FOR YOU HAVE BEEN GRANTED TO ME FOR MY USAGE.

[youandyoualone]

... the menace this creature exudes is palpable. It's enough to make Anafiel flinch, even as he assumes his blandest expression.

"Your usage? And who might you be?"

[powersthatare]

I AM THE LORD OF PRINCES, THE WAILING CRY, THE ACCUSER AND ADVERSARY. CALL ME PHAETHON, CALL ME ICARUS.