Desdemona [prp]

[Cassus]

It's the forties. The second world war it's just falling from it's peak. The germans thwarted. It is a good year for Cassus. Violence is at it's peak and she's never fed on so much energy. It's enough that she's smiling when she watches the forlorn soldiers -- tea cup in her hand. Somewhere in the unaffected part of Britain. There are a billion other things to worry about and nobody takes notice to the mysterious woman alone in the far booth. And nobody cares.

She's sat here, completely still. For the better of ten minutes. Tapping her vessels fingers against the scritch of the board patiently. It's only when a man approaches her smiling his best, that she snaps from a reverie and moves gray eyes to meet blue sullen.

She's in a good enough mood to maybe even talk to him.

But of course, Cassus can never been in a decent mood. Never for long.

There's a sudden push and pull. Her eyes bulge, wide and light. She opens her mouth to gasp for something -- maybe water -- maybe help. But nothing comes out. The young man watches in horror, unsure what to do as he runs to her shoulder. Shakes her violently. It triggers convulsions. And through a veil of consciousness the voidic entity can feel something distinctly crack crooked as she bashes her head on something. Drips through the nostril and against rivulets of blood and slides between crack and tile.

A ambulance is there twenty minutes later for the woman with no records of ever being born. And Cassus has manifested into a dark cloud of energy, traveling over the town like a black foreboding shadow. Just like a dreary day sapping the vim from every person she shades.

And then she's there. Trapped in a salt circle with a ginger haired man who smells like coagulated blood and tears. She senses his fear, feeds off it it -- and there is a dangerous shrill screech, ear splitting, as she voices her rage. Flies against the binds of her summons and meets the barrier like a brick to ground.

Five long minutes of the man holding his own until she's sure he wont break before she takes possession of the host laid out on the floor, a petite brunette woman with terror in her eyes.

It's easy to manipulate her fear and longing. Twist it and pull it until she seeps under the ribcage and attaches to her with a age old magic like a parasite.

She stands. Brushes off herself. And gives the man a stepford grin. Lays out a hand in a encouraging notion.

"You called?"

and thinks about all the ways she's going to kill him when she convinces him to break the circle.

[Liam]

He misses his family, he misses his sisters and brother, walking them to school everyday. He misses his mother's home cooking--and maybe even the smell of the cigars his dad smoked in the evening. But Liam isn't a boy anymore, or so tells himself; he is a man, with an important job, a place of his own. It should be enough, and yet it isn't.

A nun at his school, his English teacher once told him that his sin was greed. He wanted too much in this world and that the greed would consume him if he didn't learn humility. Liam had shut his mouth and suffered her words and when he came home, stolen his father's Bourbon, drank himself silly, nursing the rage in his heart with each fiery sip.

Liam thinks she's right, but he can't bring himself to the confession booth. His priest wouldn't understand. He says God will always be with you, that he is a shepherd and if you truly believe you will protected by his love, his guidance.

There is none of that in this world. It's made of chaos and hate, war consumes the country and Liam turns his back on the faith that his mother and sisters had believed in so blindly, so lovingly. If there is a God he is of the Old Testament, wrathful, and uncaring to the plight of his so called 'lambs'. Instead of trying to ease that plight, the man fuels it by joining the city gangs, allowing himself to be used as an informant--anything they want as long as he has food in his belly and a roof over his head.

And still they betray him, friendly fire so they say, so they say, but the agony of the buckshot in his side, dug out in Mama Romano's kitchen with a steak knife says otherwise. Liam is terrified, terrified of the death that he only now realized crept so closely to him. He is mad with it all, tears through the libraries and his own family records for something, something that will give him the means to solidify this uncertain existence.

It's a lot of work, getting the girl, the proper ingredients for the spell. But it'll be worth it when he stands immortal, stolen from this creature of the chasm. He watches with utter fascination as she appears, snarls and twists and screams against his trap. No book or writing can describe the terror of the moment, but Liam stands strong, forces himself to look her dead in the eye--to see nothingness and feel it look back at him with hunger.

"You called?"

She fills the young girl's body and Liam simply cocks his head to the side, watches her move with his own yellow eyes. The animal is close tonight, and he wants her to know that he is no simple human to be twisted and swayed.

"And you came. How is your host? I tried to pick a pretty one." Perhaps it doesn't matter to something like her, esthetics long ago lost on a creature ancient as this. "I want to make a deal with you, I want immortality--" Raises a hand and stops whatever she may say or do. "And youth, I want youth as well."

The price hardly matters.

[Cassus]

(( Havent roleplayed with Cassus in sooo long ahh, trying to get back into her batter swing is hard. e__o)

--

She stands there in all of her glory and confidence. Despite her current predicament the void monster crosses the brunette's nimble arms under her breast and plants a heel. She watches Liam through striking gray eyes. Chin tilted up to regard him through long eyelash and shadow.

"And you came. How is your host? I tried to pick a pretty one."

"She couldve been taller."

She suggest simply, rolls a hand in a flippant notion. This woman is five four, and she's notorious over the centuries for choosing taller host. She dislikes having to look, hardly a creature -- even in her legless form -- that prefers to crawl.

"I want to make a deal with you, I want immortality--"

There's a bitter comment somewhere on the edge of her tongue. Maybe a thousand of them. Drowned out by curiosity and flitting anger. A deal. She thinks she hasnt made a deal in over five centuries.

" And youth, I want youth as well."

But as much as she thirst for his blood. The idea of tying someone to her, especially some sort of lower class cryptid - a shifter of sorts - is a lot more interesting then killing him outright. She was always a conservative of sorts. But she's forward in a flash, flitting to stand just at the edge of the salt border and meet the eye of the ginger man just on the other side. She's naturally compelled to stand straight with the threat. A attempt to resist the urge to fly backwards into the center of the radius and remain intact.

"Unbind me and I will consider your offer."

Because she cannot leave the circle, and she is more inclined to compassion when she has her freedom. But she's no fool, and before Liam can object she's piping in, voice impassive. "I give my word I will not harm you." There's a pause, a smile curling the corner of red lips. "Unless," Cassus begins. "You're side of the quid pro quo is unsatisfactory."

She's silent as she waits and watches. Taps a fingernail at the edge of the woman's pale skin. Keeping out the point that although he was able to summon her here. Keeping hold of her was far too risky. And surpassed his waning power.

[Liam]

She finds fault in the slim brunette and Liam can't help but smirk, some sure fire cockiness that does not dissipate even in the face of the void. "I could have gotten you a whore off the street, be happy with what you have." It would have been a much easier feat, and perhaps an easier feat on Liam's heart. Small and cold may it be.

But whores require money and he has little of it, while young girls require charm and time which the fox shifter has in spades.

Besides, Liam likes looking down on her. With only seals and salt between them it is a small comfort, but a comfort none the less. Before he can blink she is in front of him, buzzing energy and setting the irish man stumbling back despite his earlier bravado. For a moment he thinks that all those old musty library books and writings lied to him, that common salt is nothing but a joke to something like her, and yet she stays behind the line and Liam is able to calm himself somewhat.

Something tells him that a little jumpy around this creature might not be a bad thing.

"I don't trust you," He says uneasily, slides forward with narrowed gold eyes and hunched shoulders. Demons are bound by their words, or so he has read and Liam wants to speed this along anyway he can. He is hungry for power, for reassurance that his life will not be cut short as he has seen happen to so many others. A mugger on the street, a stray bullet, sickness--they could all take him. One moment here, and the next, gone.

Liam doesn't think anyone would remember him and the thought scares him deeply.

With one outstretched foot he rubs away the salt line, takes a calculated step back to give her space, to avoid anything she may try. "I know creatures such as yourself require containers, as I have so kindly provided you with one," He allows himself a slow smile, taps the side of his nose in indication. "Would you not prefer a host more stable? Someone more like me?" The length of his body is displayed with a sweeping gesture of his hand and he flicks his eyes back and forth between human and beast, sharp little canines pressed firmly into his lips. He displays himself as would a merchant selling his finest cut of meat.

"Grant me immortality and I give permission to take my form as host whenever you so please."

He lays his cards on the table and can only hope that she finds them satisfactorily. Will she reduce him to another corpse, blood running between the mortar lines of the brick street, or will she give him what he covets so dear?

[Cassus]

Humans are such dynamic creatures. There are some of them that are as stale and simple as a stale puzzle pieces. Then there are others, others who leave even the void monster gaping like a wide mouthed fish. Liam, unfortunately, is not one of them. She has met a thousand Liam's. She has perhaps even killed a quarter of them. Men who fear death. Men who sell their soul to greedy demons or live in some hut far off hunched and old with terror.

"I could have gotten you a whore off the street, be happy with what you have."

She says nothing but lifts lips over her teeth to bear them glint and square.

"I don't trust you,"

He says, and the idea is so preposterous she even hitches her lips into a hard lined smile. "Fortunately for you, this type of deal hardly requires it." She waits patiently as Liam reaches forward a foot and breaks the barrier. Immediately she feels lighter - maybe even a bit light headed, and almost to secure her freedom -- to reassure her. Cassus steps from the boundary with a carefully arched foot and wheedles beyond it.

"I know creatures such as yourself require containers, as I have so kindly provided you with one, Would you not prefer a host more stable? Someone more like me?Grant me immortality and I give permission to take my form as host whenever you so please."

She seems thoughtful for a moment. Considering the shifter through a delicately narrowed gaze and sharp chin. But that moment is fleeting as she lunges forward, quicker then human eye -- a buzzing of energy. To grab at the man's throat and lift him, one arm needed, towards the ceiling. Peering through blazing white eyes and husking needle teeth.

Her voice is neither as kind or seductive as it was before. It's loud, mechanic, screeching like two metal plates.

"How brave of you, to seek to control someone far superior then you. Such a gamble." She screeches, as impulsive and chaotic as always. Fingers tightening and suffocating. Let him think, she wonders to herself, let him think he is dying and see how silver his tongue is now! "I could take, I could take anyone I wanted. I could kill anyone I wanted and no one could stop me. No one could kill me. I could have you right now, I see that evil in your soul -- I see the fear in your eyes."

It's all she's ever needed to jump. Even a hair of wrongdoing, some secret buried in past and briar - she could clutch to it like a leech. She could crawl inside pore and bury beneath rib. She could seize heartbeat and push out black blood.

"I could magnify it." She says after a moment of sharp silence. "It could eat you alive."

But there is desperation and it filters across the room. Interested as she may be, and absolutely livid as she may be - reason has always trumped impulse. She is a business woman first, even when she has a discouraging poor atmosphere. "If it has not already." She replies simply, distantly. Uninterested as she releases the fox to his own devices. Dropping him into a puddle of trembling breath and conscious.

Her hands fall to her side and the monster remains unmoved as she looks at him and exclaims arrogantly. "You're body is worthless to me. You have a brain tumor the size of a fist. How you've managed to function now beyond speaking gibberish and eating paint chips I hardly know." She waves him off dismissively for a moment, lifting small hands to wheedle at her vessels stringy hair.

"Thank you for the offer though, try again."

[Liam]

Liam thinks the promise of his supple body is going to appeal her and he grins a business man's grin, cocky and arrogant. A nineteen year old boy who believes that even with this creature free, bound only by her word, an unsteady promise that depends more on her opinion than any sure fact, that he has her under control. That by virtue of the little people (his mother lays out a saucer of warm milk for them every morning), of his good luck and fortune she will not kill him.

One skinny, freckle faced boy will surely be more than a fair bargain for eternal life, isn't that right?

He is wrong, so very, very wrong and the sheer surprise that lights his eyes will perhaps grant Cassus a sick pleasure as he chokes and sputters, blunt human nails scraping uselessly at her wrists. She speaks in her wicked voice and it feels like ooze poured into his ears, drumming out everything but the sound of his frantic heartbeat, bright light bursting behind his corneas as she lifts him up, forces Liam to stare into the face of the abyss.

She sounds like the pastor, it is such an inane, random thought, but he can't help it, the rapid firing of his neurons, that desperate flight or fight instinct kicked in--and absolutely useless when held in her grasp.

He hears "I see evil in your soul, Liam Fitzpatrick. You must repent! Christ died on the cross for your sins and they will eat you alive, they will damn you to hell!"

"If it has not already."

Oxygen, blessed oxygen fills his lungs and he gasps the sooty, smoke filled city air in like a dying man, hands shoved down into the puddle's murky depths, catching himself, just barely.

"You're body is worthless to me. You have a brain tumor the size of a fist. How you've managed to function now beyond speaking gibberish and eating paint chips I hardly know."

Lies. Lies from a demon, from a creature of hell that he has summoned here willingly and as the boy gasps and pants his thoughts are of how much he wants to go back home, to feel his mothers embrace and the chirp and chatter of his siblings who love him, who thought he could do no wrong. Tears trickle down his face and he sniffles pathetically at the idea of such a thing nestled inside his brain, so clever and young. Muddy hands rub at his temples and he scrambles to his feet, well shaken like a child, sucking in air after it's baptism.

Is this his baptism into evil? He is not a strong man, he can not kill others, he ran the summer his father tried to make him work at the slaughter house, slitting the throats of young lambs. Liam has no stomach for blood or murder and suddenly he wishes he could run away from all this. Pretend it never happened.

"Thank you for the offer though, try again."

The urgency of it all crashes on him again, but it is fear, fear of death that motivates him, not bravery. "My children--the first born," His eyes are wide and he's grasping at the cliches, hoping that this promise of innocent flesh could appease this monster. Isn't it always like that in the stories? A man promising his child, perhaps before it is even born or conceived in the mind, to some type of beast in exchange for wealth or power. The sin of the father is the sin of the son, and so and so forth, but at this moment Liam is willing to pledge anything for his life--a life that may already be doomed without her help. "Son, daughter it doesn't matter. They'll be shifters like me." As if he can promise Cassus that, but his family was thick through with them, both sisters, even his pudgy little brother could take the form of a fox. Magic ran thick in their blood, almost as thick as deception and greed.

"Isn't that what you'd prefer? A vessel untarnished. "

He doesn't think Christ ever died for these sins. No amount of repenting in the world could save him now if Cassus chose to gut him like a veal calf, to let him bleed out on these cold, lonely streets.