parlideldiavolo - Tumblr blog

[parlideldiavolo]

serifsans​:

Through it all, Jean-Paul remained perched and poised, hands folded in their lap as they tracked every minute movement of the devil with a small, polite smile. If Li was a predator, then Jean-Paul was the doe putting their neck into the wolf’s mouth willingly in spite of the fangs. Of course, much like deer, Jean-Paul would also gore you if push came to shove. It wasn’t Vampiru who made them that way, not really. It was Earth.

Vaporvolphs had no natural predators back Home, a paradise of nothing but sparkle and stardust for aeons upon aeons. Vampires may have given them their first taste of fear but it was only after the Entity devoured home that they truly understood what it really meant. Did they fear now? Yes. They feared losing Vladimir much worse.

“Are you? Marvelous,” they said, and it truly was if true…but then again, Vivi learned quickly on Vampiru that fondness never compelled anyone to take off their collar. Still, it was nice enough, they supposed, being liked by someone holding the leash. Made life easier. Volphs that fall out of favor get sent to the fighting rings.

(To Jean-Paul’s credit, they did not even flinch when the glass shattered, though the frivolous little part of them that hoarded trinkets like a dragon wanted to point out that was good Waterford crystal and not the lower end stuff sold at Macy’s. Jean-Paul wisely decided to say nothing about that and focused on the pretty showmanship instead.)

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, darling,” the vaporvolph said. “I mean that in the figurative sense; of course you do. A living volph is much more useful than a dead one and I do so like to be useful.”

They also, naturally, had a vested interest in continuing their life as long as possible. Were they human, they might be so inclined as to let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding but as they were a vaporvolph and one whose human facade didn’t extend much further than purely surface level (and certainly not to the level of lungs when they didn’t need to speak), they instead delicately put aside their glass in preparation for what was to follow. Vladimir wouldn’t have wanted them to give up eternity just for him but Jean-Paul would’ve spent the last few decades of his life living as a human on all levels for his sake. Still, they liked living and Vladimir would’ve hated spending eternity alone. Jean-Paul had loved others in his life but Vladimir, despite his idle wanderings, only loved one man in his life.

“I never expect anything to come free, let alone something like this,” the vaporvolph said, bathed in flame and new understanding. “What you need from me, take it. If it hurts, then so be it. And no, don’t be absurd.”

The dainty little shopkeeper suddenly dissolved into smoke, replaced by the rapidly changing forms of the vaporvolphs he had come to know again in the past few months, even the horrid one who broke all those plates, which he was still cross about when he thought about it.

“They don’t have anything to do with this. It doesn’t mean anything to them. Meaning has to account for something, doesn’t it?”

Their form flickered to a tall, rail-thin rock star, both biter and bitten.

“It’s not actually a sacrifice if you’re taking it from someone else.”

A little pink volph, shivering in anticipation.

The problem with The Little Mermaid isn’t that every step hurt her feet.

And then a shopkeeper again, standing at the devil’s side.

“It’s that she chose the wrong fucking prince.”

“I don’t settle for anything less than the best, darling, and you shouldn’t either. Don’t you want the best, hm? I’ve been told I’m very good.”

The devil watched.

Li watched, and with the watching every grain of information was carefully tucked away and stored, every whisper of desire savored on the tongue like honey and every theatrical dance of Jean-Paul’s impassioned speech given its due glint of appreciation.

Once it was done and Jean-Paul was at Li’s side and the vestiges of passion stained the air like the scent of honeysuckle, well... the devil could only smile a warm, wicked smile.

“And so you are.” Li lifted the stem of their glass between two fingers and winked before setting it back down. “Forgive my little test, dearest one. It’s all well and good that I can sense your desires, but to have the strength of them spoken aloud? That is power felt even in the furthest reaches of hell.”

Li then stroked his face, stepped forward and swiveled. With the motion went his form; it melted into charcoal-dark and deep, deep scarlet so rich it seemed as velvet, and so too did the clothing fall away into smoke that rose from cloven feet to hug the naked lines of Lilth’s androgynous form. Tattoos spiraled over their body in arcane whispers and lines, transitioning from ink-black to trapped magma pulsing beneath skin. Their soft ears tapered into jet-like floating hair from which massive horns, flame-tipped, spiraled up and out to curl towards the walls of the room.

It had become noticeably hot. Obsidian eyes slit by fire regarded Jean-Paul with a tilt of the head.

“To your sacrifice.” They bowed, gentlemanly still. “And Vladimir’s long life.” The floating, ephemeral lines of devilish runes they had drawn before cascaded and coalesced between them. The sigils drew in before they dispersed outward to form points. Threads of fire connected the points and lit a circle that vined out into more and more details, and in the blink of an eye a glyph floated between them, pentagram-like, where the terms of a contract--a trade--reflected back in fire.

Lilth’s hand lifted and waited in the center of it.

To everything you desire.

This time, the handshake would mean something.

[parlideldiavolo]

thehoaxfish​:

<Have you ever thought about talking like a normal person? What is a regular conversation with you like, huh?>

As invective as her words were, the feeling to them was exhaustion. She was gathering the strength to raise the tide and pull her bulk back into the water, where it would be easier to move, get home, and eat. That this human knew something he probably shouldn’t would sit with her for a bit, but right now it felt like bait she didn’t want to bite. Something horrible she didn’t want to know. If he knew that, then he might know it wasn’t technically true, either. Guarding her eggs was still the most important thing in all the universes.

<If you wanted to actually die for some stupid reason, go do it somewhere else. Take your weird intellectual bullshit sorta-threats with you. You were hurt, I saved you, you’re welcome. I’m gonna just think of this as, I don’t know, a trauma response or something. You’re welcome again.>

He sighed and stood. The pack went over a shoulder and the Saint adjusted the straps.

“Exhausting,” he stated. “To answer your second question.”

(And Hoax was clever to avoid the bait. Still, it was its own kind of halfway confirmation, with the somewhat limited knowledge he had of active Regulators in Maroa.)

“I may not feel thankful in this moment, but thank you. I make for a poor patient.”

[parlideldiavolo]

thehoaxfish​:

The sound Hoax made in response was like a backed up fountain, gargling and hacking, sputtering out water and bile. She’d tried to laugh and had instead choked. Oh, she was not feeling good at all.

<The dying guy who kicked me in the face when I saved his life was way better than this. God, you’re such a shit.> The coughing seemed to tire her out, and she settled in, pulling water in gentle waves over her body while she recovered. <Look, whatever we did to you, I can’t do shit about it. Sorry, I guess? Fuck off, for real, or try and kill me. Whatever you’re planning with your hand on your knife and your shitty eyes on your shitty holy rope thing.>

Mercy continued packing and was careful to tuck the mirror-charm he’d taken from Vic’s car into the folds of his clothes.

“You ‘save’ brazenly for the only one of your kind.”

[parlideldiavolo]

thehoaxfish​:

<I would prefer not to.> Hoax mocked, watching him, wiggling backward into the lake very slowly. <Everyone is so ungrateful. I didn’t do anything wrong. Not even a thank you! Fucked up. What’s it called? Toxic masculinity. Humans don’t stop at making toxins, just are toxic. We’re in a toxic relationship.>

Her babble was a bit disjointed, tired and somewhat incoherent insults. She was so hungry. But his movement towards his belongings sparked a bit of recognition and warning from her. <Don’t grab that whip in the bushes until I’m gone. I hate that thing. Can’t believe that shit still exists. You suck so much.>

“Ah. Regulators think in terms of ‘wrong’ now?” Mercy mused, weary, almost to himself. The world was disorienting. It had been agony but now it was better, and the absence of suffering almost felt like a punishment. Ah... and how many times had he admonished a patient for that same thought process?

His family was dead.

(Sobering grief.)

(He reached up to touch the old, old burn that had graced his face for many years, half-expecting it to have vanished with the fresh ones, but it was still there. Was he thankful for that? Was it time to move on?)

(You never move on. You just learn to carry the weight of it.)

The Saint grimaced to quell his mind and knelt to refill his pack of the clothing he’d been cleaning. His rejuvenated eyes, which still burned with the haze of healing as though the light was too bright and stabbing to look at, flicked over the bushes Hoax had mentioned.

[parlideldiavolo]

Warning Signs of Satanic Behavior. Training video for police, 1990

[parlideldiavolo]

thehoaxfish​:

There was a pause. Hoax held his stare wearily, though without lids one could forgive anyone from being disconcerted. She could not emote quite the ways humans liked. A gurgling sigh washed out of her; her breath smelled like iron and fish, and she purposely let it wash over the hale and hearty human.

<If I say yes, are you going to stab me again?>

Mercy sheathed the blade but didn’t remove his hand from its hilt. His palm relaxed atop it instead, as provocative as the fish-breath was.

“I would prefer not to.” It was a straightforward, if noncommittal answer. He suddenly turned and trudged toward his belongings that were folded neatly at the shore.

“It creates such paperwork for them.”

[parlideldiavolo]

dirty magic

It was Friday night in Maroa in the simmering throes of a new summer, and the city’s own deviously delightful devil was on the prowl.

Well.

Okay, so for once Vic hadn’t planned on weekend (eh, it was still early) mayhem. He’d been out on the town, sure, but he’d been there meeting with talent and cinching the last few supplies he needed for his newly purchased nightclub that wasn’t yet open but when it did open, well, everyone would know it.

Besides! He was behaving these days. Mostly. Sort of. (Not really. In some ways, he was worse.) His boyfriend was at said club going over the sound equipment and making sure they had everything they needed for the bar and Vic was sure Tom had plenty of help from Pepper and whoever else had crashed the place to help and Vic fully intended to crash with them after making a stop at the pole dancing studio to pick up some supplies he’d asked Mandy to pick up for him. (Yes, one had to be careful doing favors for a devil. But he did love Mandy.)

He’d loaded up the car and then--habits being what they were--decided to cruise by a few familiar haunts on his way back.

You see a lot on the streets at night if you know where to look. A devil sees even more--can taste it on the tip of their tongue, should they dip it into the weave of desires that paint the heat-rippled night and its neon signage. Vic had an elbow propped over the rolled-down window next to him as he gazed across the street towards a particularly loud and overlit bar. Its door was propped open and bodies milled in the entryway amid the sound of laughter and music. He tapped his fingers against the side of the car while it idled at the red light and he tilted his head, thinking...

... And honing in on something particularly sinful.

Hm. Vic clicked his tongue along a fang and glanced back at the light when it turned green. He needed to act fast.

gonna be a few minutes late. might’ve found dinner 😇

Vic fired off the text and took a sharp turn into the inky shadows and out of sight.

_

Among his many talents was getting dressed (and undressed) fast. Mere moments later, Vice Vicar was striding up to the entrance of The Black Cat in an equally silky black dress hiked a touch too high on the hip while wearing reflective leather thigh-highs with a crimson-lined heel wicked enough to profane God. He also did not have a bra.

The devil flipped his hair over a tattooed shoulder, smirked, and went to introduce himself to the bar.

[parlideldiavolo]

thehoaxfish​:

<Oh, he’s got jokes.>

Hoax’s voice in his head was pained mockery. The orange eye rolled to look at him as she heaved another breath, then wound her long head up and over his form. The last of the blood on her hide fell from her in watery rivulets; the wound had closed.

<Does it matter? You can’t do shit about it.> She twisted her head back and retrieved–his dropped needle. It had wedged into her coral while thrashing about, luckily causing no damage. She held it out to him, the tentacle shaking with irrepressible weakness. <Don’t leave your trash on the beach. That’s how people get hurt and sick and have to have nasty shots and their feet rot off.>

She felt sick. The whip and the healing, it had taken a lot of energy out of her. She would have to get another treatment soon. Fish wasn’t enough when someone had to be healed near death, but it would help.

“I’m not known for my humor.”

As even-headed as he sounded, in truth, Mercy wasn’t sure how to take his sudden renewed health. He watched his hand clench and unclench with the finesse of a surgeon and the return of youthful strength. Those same fingers reached out to grip the blade Hoax offered to return it with a surety that was almost comical considering he had nearly tried to gut her.

It felt false--this health; the sudden washing away of blood. This. It felt as though today had never happened. He almost wished it hadn’t.

The grief bundled tight in his chest. At least his eyes were trained on Hoax herself--ever practical, the doctor, a detached clinician marking her weakened state. So, she had healed herself. She still did not look well.

Tired.

“Will you live?”

Other words nested on the tip of his tongue, waiting.

[parlideldiavolo]

thehoaxfish​:

Hoax did not care one tooth or scale for the poetic imagery, heaving like she’d forgotten how to breathe oxygen without filtering it out of the water. The cry when the knife cut into her was both audible and telepathic, miserably reproachful. This was much worse than a kick in the face.

Her blood dripped down the man’s arm. She hurt everywhere. The temptation to abandon him to his fate, or, worse, rip him apart, flared up in white-hot anger.

It would be so easy!

Her tentacles seized him about the waist, wrapped around the stabbing arm and the other, lifted him off the ground, and she shoved her healing into him. That anger was glad it would hurt, that it would itch, that her power manifested in a fast-forward of the agony of health. Her energy left her in a rush as his wounds closed, his burns receded, and his heart beat strong.

She set him down, the last of her will spent in wrenching out the knife and making sure she wouldn’t bleed out. Her breathing heaved and her long eel form twitched, but Ha! Ha ha! You fucker, I hope you’re embarrassed. I hope you’re ashamed. I hope you feel guilty and sad you stabbed me.

Maybe she shouldn’t gloat like that, but, considering the circumstances, she’d forgive herself.

The agony was white-hot and searing, as though the flames that had scorched him were withdrawn in reverse. The water of the lake burned and sloughed off healing flesh and retracting bruise as suddenly, Mercy endured a snapshot of healing that in other instances would have been considered a miracle.

Tendon snapped. Flesh bloomed and receded its bloody purples and blues and blacks and the Saint crumpled to one knee after finding the ground. Mercy caught himself just in time--whether due to stubbornness or the renewed zeal of his knees.

The pain of his hyper-healed body grew and diminished like the waves that eeked around the body of the massive eel before him. He sucked in a sharp breath and felt his ribs ache by how full it was.

Slowly, he stood. With clear eyes, he stared at the weakened Regulator in front of him.

Healed. He had been healed.

For a moment, he wished they could talk about it. It was something they had in common; something that could save lives, ones more than his.

Mercy looked at the blood in the water and licked at flecked lips and then back to Hoax. Labored breaths colored the quiet.

“How do you feel?” he asked suddenly.

[parlideldiavolo]

Li had settled into the seat and so, too, had his eyes settled on Jean-Paul with the unwavering focus of a creature perched on the edge of a burrow, rapt and attentive for the stirring of some smaller creature within.

The stirring, in this case, was of Jean-Paul’s heart, ephemeral and silly and pink and ephemeral as it was, all candy-coated, champagne-bubbled, tremulous and naked as it was beneath the veneer of business and cocktail sips. The devil’s eyes were alight blooms of living flame that reflected all light and was echoed by the still spear-like flames that stretched above the still-lit candles.

No; not a word was missed from Jean-Paul’s shifted mouth, nor was a single quaver of yearning that battered their insides, saccharine and sweet as it was to a devil’s tongue. Li’s expression was intrigued intensity, but calm--and so it remained when he was suddenly walking in a long, ponderous pace across the floor despite there being no clear transition between his sitting and his standing, as though he had himself shifted through ghostly smoke and reassembled mid-stride, one arm tucked behind his back while the other raised his own glass to his lips.

Sip. Pace. His ears, now pointed, swiveled to keep his company’s voice clear. Faint cobwebs seemed to kiss his steps as he walked, like the stirring of dust, if only dust was an unearthly, spirit-bright blend of teals and greens shaped like trailing hands grasping for his shoes and legs. The whispers of souls followed him, not-quite visible and gossamer-like. They whisped and thinned to nothing with the faint imprint of pleading eyes.

Li stopped when Jean-Paul did and, after a considering and gentle stir of the glass in his hand, turned. There was a smile on his face.

“I am fond of you, Jean-Paul V. Poinsette.” There was no mocking to the devil’s tone; it rang as truth, for it was. Devils rarely dealt with those they weren’t fond of in some way, after all. Why draw payment you wouldn’t want to keep?

Li set the empty glass on the table. The faint imprints of where his fingertips rested glowed a faint kiss of red.

“And I am quite fond of your request. You don’t want to settle for what this world has, in its pointless, writhing chaos, decided to give you. It is loveless. It cares nothing for you or Vladimir Volchenkov. It should. “And so it must be broken.”

The glass shattered, silent, cracked by heat-lines coasting beautiful webs across the glass. The shards danced across themselves and along Li’s fingertips before they snapped back into place in a new form, faceted and crystalline. The reflection of Li’s infernal slitted pupils shifted up from the glass.

He sat.

“You want Vladimir to be close to what you are; to have a vaporvolph’s strengths and not the human weaknesses that disservice him. For him to no longer be beholden to the tick of the clock, or shape; to be strong, to know some joy of Home.

“This can be done. And no--” (A devil’s smile, kind and wicked.) “I will not need your life to do so. As you said, what’s the point, then? You will live.

“But though we devils break the world and are damned for doing so, we can’t create from nothing. You say you are willing to give for your love to receive.”

Li leaned forward and began drawing infernal sigils in the air with a fingertip. The candelight dimmed low to sharpen the shadows of the room. The iron-hot flickering of the devil’s writing, incomprehensible at first, would slowly begin to pulse and shift in Jean-Paul’s vision as a strange, temporary understanding crept through them. It was every point they had brought up, layered by flame.

“To gift Vladimir a life eternal, unyielding shape, tireless feet and swift hand and biting teeth and the light of Home that will bring him as close to vaporvolph as he could be, as an innate understanding and merger of the two--I will need to sample these things from you, as I myself am not a volph. There’s no way around that.”

The devil’s eyes shifted up to find Jean-Paul’s face.

“Unless you would like to settle for something less? Or ask another vaporvolph?”

parlideldiavolo​:

Li’s hand was delightfully warm and just firm enough. He sat back and folded his hands.

(The devil did already know that.)

A suitably devilish grin followed. “Oh, too true. I’d say it keeps us young but creatures such as us may struggle to relate.” One of the delicate cups was retrieved, sipped, then set down with a curling plume of steam that escaped Li’s wry smile.

“I’m rather picky about the people I help, you know, but when I caught wind of this–well, let me say that spiting the laws of the universe is a favorite hobby of mine. Life, death. Who decided these things? Time? Why should we be beholden to it?

“Now… tell me exactly what it is that you want, dearest.” The devil’s eyes smoldered and the spear-headed plumes of smoke clinging to the candles quivered like silhouettes. 

“In full.”

“Oh, exactly. Now, I admit that I may be asking for a lot but nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? I think everyone would benefit if they just reached out for what they wanted, what they needed instead of being demure about it.”

Jean-Paul practically shivered in anticipation, in *want*, but they wouldn’t allow the indignity of such silly volphish weaknesses in front of anyone but Vladimir and even then, they hated the reminder of what they really were under the suits and polish and the posh affectations. As far as they were concerned, the little pink vaporvolph died the minute a vampire lured them away with the promise of unknown treats and all that was left in their place was a black hole of want and resentment and need. Vladimir saw something more there. For him, they’d try to become a person. For him, they’d rebel against the forces of nature. For him, they’d give everything. For him, it was all worth it. It was an acceptable cost. Acceptable risk. You don’t go into business expecting everything comes for free and Jean-Paul was a consummate businessman.

“Vaporvolphs were never meant to exist alongside anyone else,” Jean-Paul began. “We came from paradise, you see. No one died and no one grew old and if you were ever hurt, it wasn’t on purpose. But the rest of existence? It dies just as soon as you truly understand it. I’ve taken naps longer than some empires. Everyone lives such brief lives. It’s best to avoid becoming too attached to mortals. It’s only going to break your heart in the end.”

A rueful smile.

“When you find someone who’d kill for you, someone who’s your partner in all things, someone who makes you feel like you’re Home, you better make sure that you take care of that person. It’s rare. It’s very rare. And it’s unfortuante if that person can die. It’s hard loving something you can’t hold. And if I let him die, am I taking care of him? No. His name’s Vladimir Volchenkov. He’s one tough son of a bitch.”

They reach for one of the champagne cocktails. Alcohol doesn’t do anything to them unless they want it to, but it’s something to busy their hands with.

“What I want is that the man I love was a volph from the start so that he never would’ve endured some of the things he has, but there’s no turning back time and he wouldn’t want that anyway, so I don’t really want that. I’m not honestly sure if there’s any force in heaven or hell that could make a new vaporvolph when we’re so unlike anything else I’ve ever encountered, but damned if I won’t take the next best thing. So what I want that’s more realistic is an end to the human weaknesses that plague him. He’s been in terrible pain for most of his life, you see. I’d take that from him if I could but I’m no Achillea. I can change my body in a second if I feel like it but for humans, they can only achieve that through dyes and pills and surgeries. I don’t think that’s fair, do you? I want him to be able to cut right through that bullshit and take whatever shape he damn well needs. I want him to know even a fraction of what it was like to run and float back Home. I want him to be able to defend himself if trouble comes knocking because it inevitably does at some point. I can bite a neck if need be but he can’t. I want him to be free of sickness and I want him safe and I want him to be just as powerful as I think he is and most of all, I want to be his wife and spend the rest of eternity with him -I would very much prefer to maintain my life- because a life without him in it is hardly worth living. Most of all, I want him to live forever for his own sake because he deserves more time. And if I have to give up something of my own for that to happen, then I do so gladly.”

They took a sip of the cocktail. They normally only drank champagne as a status symbol rather than any actual enjoyment of it but right now it was the sweetest thing they had ever tasted.

“So that’s it in summary but if you’d like to review the finer points of what I have in mind, I’ve prepared a proposal document outlining further details and covering risks and conditions I find acceptable and unacceptable. Anything less would be gauche on my part, darling. Now what do you want, hm? I think we can make a favorable outcome for all of us.”

[parlideldiavolo]

Mercy watched him, still. “Likewise.” He turned his attention back to the menu before listing off a series of numbers.

“My number,” came the explanation. ”Should you change your mind. Happy hunting, Jack.”

(A brief glimpse, then—as the hunter is leaving, or one that lingers after.)

“I pray you find your answer.”

parlideldiavolo​:

“To be in this line of work, as you are? Something that breaks my heart.” Mercy sighed, hands folded. “But you don’t need my sympathy.”

He glanced back up and over at Jack with firm, bright eyes that carried a distant sadness.

“Should you one day want help, or to help us–that offer will always be open to you.”

Jack wanted to snuff out that sadness. Like a candlelight, he would use his bare calloused hand, closing around that spark of pity in a vice grip until it stopped breathing.

Externally, he hadn’t moved. His eyes flicked lightly over Mercy. “The offer is not necessary.” He stood up to leave. “I am grateful to have a face to the name.”

[parlideldiavolo]

There was something bitterly divine about a bloodied Saint fighting a serpent amid froth and foam and sin-red water that stuck, stinger-sharp, to raw, fire-licked wounds. Mercy had wept here; perhaps he would die as well, if that was the Plan, an eye for an eye, a life for a life.

He was no fighter, though he did so well, but Justice would’ve done better, and Humility, Temperance, and ____. But this Devil in Maroa had been his to handle, because suffering is cruel in that way and so is love. Mercy was old and tired and dying.

But he was still a Saint.

He felt the blessed weapon leave his hand. He heaved against the coils and, wrenching himself among them, smaller but mountainous, he freed a gilded blade from his sleeve and flashed it, blinding white, up to be driven behind the joint of the serpent’s jaw.

It was not the soul cleaver he had used on the devil, designed to break down soul-casings like acid, and that was its own mercy. He was still this.

parlideldiavolo​:

Too close. He would not be hemmed in and corralled.

“Back!”

Waning as he was, weakened as he was, still Mercy struck out and lashed the brunt of his inlaid whip across the massive eel’s ringed body. It was not with full force, not with cracking coil, not yet, not so close, but it would hurt.

The air around the Saint sigils branded into the hilt sparked. He kicked out, moving back as best he could in the sudden froth.

Hoax let out a low sound like distressed bass reverb as the whip hit her. That hurt far more than a whip should! And with it, she felt another stutter of her control on everything. Everything important.

That whip had to go.

She struck forward like a snake while he struggled to get away, teeth and tentacles closing around him, around the whip, and tugging. The moment it was free, a toss of her head sent it flying into the bushes. Everywhere she’d touched it felt like burning, but thank the sea and brine, she was already starting to feel better with it gone. She could even help this asshole in a moment, when she’d caught her breath.

[parlideldiavolo]

Too close. He would not be hemmed in and corralled.

“Back!”

Waning as he was, weakened as he was, still Mercy struck out and lashed the brunt of his inlaid whip across the massive eel’s ringed body. It was not with full force, not with cracking coil, not yet, not so close, but it would hurt.

The air around the Saint sigils branded into the hilt sparked. He kicked out, moving back as best he could in the sudden froth.

parlideldiavolo​:

Mercy watched Hoax’s form writhe and contort with the same distant calculation as he might a particularly gruesome injury. His chest heaved and the burned skin of his face had started to bleed again, bruises and cuts alike reopening with all the sudden movement.

He caught his breath and blinked away the dark encroaching on his vision.

“You will not touch my mind,” he stated, fierce and ragged. “And you will not touch me without saying what–” (Breathe. Release.) “What you are doing.”

He took a step back from the eel’s convulsing, morphing figure. With a sharp, thundering snap the massive coils, like an eerie mirror of Hoax’s were brought back to his hand and caught along with the whip’s hilt. It trembled.

Hoax stopped fighting whatever weirdness had hold off her and let her full form take hold, the large eel-and-coral creature ringing Mercy as suddenly as his snapped whip. Her head rose up level with his from the flippers and she gurgled in annoyance and frustration. The tentacles around her head squirmed as she felt everything about herself–her grip on the oversoul, her powers–flicker and fight.

<ł a₥ tryi͓̽n͓̽g to h𝕖al you, you §t̾upid, dying INFAN̸͠͝T̴̀̆!>

[parlideldiavolo]

“To be in this line of work, as you are? Something that breaks my heart.” Mercy sighed, hands folded. “But you don’t need my sympathy.”

He glanced back up and over at Jack with firm, bright eyes that carried a distant sadness.

“Should you one day want help, or to help us--that offer will always be open to you.”

parlideldiavolo​:

Mercy held his gaze for several seconds before his shoulders relaxed and he smiled sadly as if to himself.

“I do not believe that will be necessary. I don’t think we’ll be reaching an accord today.” He signaled for a member of the waitstaff who gestured that they’d be there in a moment. “I’m not trying to debate or entice you with honeyed words.

“But I am sorry for what has happened to you.”

Jack’s gaze was steady as steel. Somehow, the rejection was more infuriating than anything else.

“What is it do you think has happened to me?”

[parlideldiavolo]

“Ah, I see...” Mercy (or Keegan, as he had introduced himself--which was not wrong, either,) smiled until the edges of his eyes wrinkled. “At least you have a phone, yes?”

Hm. It wasn’t in the best shape. The larger man hummed in thought and paused to fumble in his jacket. “Yes, I can show you. First I will need to charge this. It will run out of power if I don’t.”

He retrieved a mobile battery charger and unclicked the inset cable. Jax wouldn’t notice how conveniently it fit into the small port Mercy was able to locate after a bit of probing, nor would she know it contained a latent backtracer that would copy what contents it could--including whatever little spy-bug the phone may or may not contain.

Of course, it was likely the phone contained nothing of real note, especially if it had been out of Regulator hands for so long. They did not enjoy losing their property.

“Here,” he spoke while swiping through the screen. “I will add my number here, like this...” (He tapped, screen tipped towards Jax so she could watch.) “You save it like this... and there. Now, press this, and it will connect to my phone. Then we can speak. Think of the numbers as being a vine that links to another person.”

parlideldiavolo​:

Hm. Perhaps he’d jumped the gun.

Mercy smiled and indicated the paper. “Solaris is the secret word, yes. These numbers are for… do you have a phone?”

(He knew Regulators usually provided one, but if Jax didn’t… well, he had spares.)

To help illustrate his point, he made several gestures with weathered hands to indicate what a ‘phone’ might be.

“Oh! Yes!” Jax whipped the phone out of her pocket, the Regulator eye glaring (now somewhat faded) from the back of the case. “Jax Regulator phone take, because Regulator take Jax crash, dead is.” She eyed him for his reaction, because apparently, this fact upset some people.

“Show? Keegan show how numbers work?” She scooted over to sit next to him, leaning into his warmth while she put the phone into his big hands.

[parlideldiavolo]

“Whats UP YOUTUBE! Today we gonna do another Unboxing Video!” *a shovel in hand, I enter the Graveyard*

[parlideldiavolo]

Li’s hand was delightfully warm and just firm enough. He sat back and folded his hands.

(The devil did already know that.)

A suitably devilish grin followed. “Oh, too true. I’d say it keeps us young but creatures such as us may struggle to relate.” One of the delicate cups was retrieved, sipped, then set down with a curling plume of steam that escaped Li’s wry smile.

“I’m rather picky about the people I help, you know, but when I caught wind of this--well, let me say that spiting the laws of the universe is a favorite hobby of mine. Life, death. Who decided these things? Time? Why should we be beholden to it?

“Now... tell me exactly what it is that you want, dearest.” The devil’s eyes smoldered and the spear-headed plumes of smoke clinging to the candles quivered like silhouettes. 

“In full.”

parlideldiavolo​:

The devil smiled. “Your words are honey to my ears.” He tucked his jacket in and sat with grace before retrieving a sandwich. “Many of my clients and business partners are in… dire circumstance when we meet, so I don’t often get met with such treats. I’ll endeavor not to take up much of your time, however. For that’s the problem, isn’t it?” The infernal eyes flashed; they had scarcely left Jean-Paul at all, like deep inkwells and embers. “Time.”

The devil paused. “But I’ve neglected my manners. Such a boor.” He held out a hand. “Call me Li.” The fiendish smile returned, almost playful. “And this is a pleasantry, I assure you; not nefarious,” he added while indicating his hand.

“I’m afraid it is, yes,” the volph said with a brittle smile.

And what a problem it was.

God (and Jean-Paul was religious in their own way) played a cruel joke when making vaporvolphs and putting them into a world where they could smell everyone else dying around them. As far as they were concerned, it wasn’t the Entity that devoured Home. It died the instant the first vampire offered out a hand for them to sniff and they learned the meaning of death and fear. Jean-Paul didn’t know what they were anymore but they weren’t vaporvolphs anymore. Ghosts too stupid and silly to die, perhaps.

By the time they arrived on Earth, they knew that to survive in a cold universe, you had no other choice than to become cold yourself. Letting yourself become attached to people who would only die in a few years was such a stupid, stupid idea…but god, it taught him there was so much more to life than the little games they used to play and then it taught him what it was like to mourn. They told themself they’d never give a shit about any mortal (or volph too for that matter) after Bonnie vanished and then one night, they met one tough motherfucker in the woods covered with Brux blood and couldn’t stay away from him. Ever since then, Jean-Paul had only been prolonging the inevitable, burying themself in work and parties and their own dramatics so they didn’t have to face the fact that there would never be enough time for the two of them, that Jean-Paul wasn’t actually human or that Vladimir wasn’t a volph. It was so easy at first but now? It’s not like Vladimir was elderly but he was getting older, he was in more and more pain with each passing day, and Jean-Paul could smell sickness on him.

Vampirism would never be enough. Vladimir needed more time.

“Li. Lovely. And no, darling, don’t be absurd, you aren’t at all,” Jean-Paul said and shook the devil’s hand. “Jean-Paul V. Poinsette. The V stands for Vivienne.”

‘Though I suppose you already know that,’ went unsaid.

“Between you and me,” said the volph. “I don’t mind something a little nefarious now and again. Keeps it fun.”