(2016-07-22) Ideas for a Party
Log Title
Summary: They discuss a magic party.
Date: IC Date (2016-07-22)
Related: None
NPCs: None
Scene Runner: NA
Social/Plot: Social

Seated in the back corner booth and surrounded by three succubi (who appear human), Daimon Hellstrom wears a stylish business suit of charcoal gray. In his right hand is a tumbler filled with Scotch, the bottle rests upon the table. In his left hand, which is laid upon the back of the semi circular booth is the hair of one of the succubi women whom rests against his left side. The other two women are on his right. They all seem to be having a charming time. Also upon the table is a grimoire of ill repute which glows with dark magicks and is very likely dangerous and shouldn't be openly displayed - not in this place.

Which brings to light another question, where is Topaz, the owner of the bar? Surely she wouldn't allow such dangerous elements to be open in her bar and sanctum.

Another beautiful creature enters the Voodoo Lounge, one Illyana Rasputina, though hardly a succubus (though some might think differently). She's dressed in mostly fitted black and her face is somewhat covered thanks to a pair of oversized and chunky dark sunglasses. Her stride is quite confident as she easily navigates down the steps and into the bar proper.

Her steps will take her half way across the room, clearly heading for the bar, before her sunglasses will be pushed off her face to rest atop her head. When that occurs, her gaze will move to automatically scan the people, creatures and things held within the opulent room. As soon as she's at the bar, the young woman will casually lean an elbow atop the polished black marble. While she could have been content to wait quietly for the owner to appear, something tickles at Illyana's senses.

Black magic. Or, at the very least, dark magic. It's enough that Yana's gaze sharpens as she searches for just where that magic is emanating from. It won't take her long to trace it to that back booth where Daimon Hellstrom and his 'women' sit.

Of course there's magic, being that this place is guarded and warded (for the most part) against violence and overt magical spells. But then there is indeed Daimon and his girls. Daimon's dark green eyes fell upon Illyana when she walked in. He smiled and recognized the Darkchilde.

"Such a perfect expression of demonic beauty.", he reflects to one of his girls in a moderate tone, not afraid of anyone else hearing him.

One on his right answers, "Oh?" and they look upon Illyana with curiousity.

Another asks, "She looks like a girl to me. What's so special about her?" because she doesn't have the full sight.

He adds, "You should see her when she's angry. The horns come out, that delicious tail out of that perfect ass. And then her legs, they get ultra sexy with hooves and coarse fur."

True, there is an expected miasma of magical might around this particular lounge, but that curl of black magic is enough to stand out. Well, stand out to Illyana's particular senses, at the very least. As such, the blonde will follow that faint trail to its end. The booth in the back, more shadowed than most, thanks to intimate light settings within the lounge.

Straightening from her casual lean against the bar, Illyana will now make her way towards that back booth. It's only when she's half way there, that she'll pause a moment, her gaze flicking back towards the bar. She's just realized what's missing from this picture - the owner, Topaz. It's enough to cause her to frown ever so slightly in thought, but, for now that's all it is. A thought, not actual concern.

Returning her attention to the matter at hand, Illyana will arrive at said booth, her gaze flicking over the two Succubi before finally moving to focus upon Daimon Hellstrom. A blonde brow will quirk upward as she gives the other demon a look, before she finally drops her gaze to the grimoire. "Interesting reading, Hellstrom." She says, in the way of greetings, unaware of the conversation the trio had about the beauty of her half-form.

"Not half as interesting as you, Darkchilde." he intones and shifts in the booth. He glances to his girls, waves his hand and they all slide out of the booth to find other interests and perhaps victims for their sexual vampirism.

His attention returns to Illyana and says, "Join me?" while motioning to an adjacent side of the booth, to his left.

In the past she would have reacted badly, or perhaps, visibly to being called by that name. Darkchilde. Today, she's different, more in control of herself, her more basic urges. She knows she'll never be a paragon of white light, but now neither is she completely consumed by the darkness.

At his compliment, Illyana will offer a faint quirk of her mouth, as she says, "Still the sweet talker, I see." And when the women leave, Illyana will simply answer that last question of his, by sliding into the booth with him. To his left.

When she's settled within the booth, the demoness will finally ask, "What brings you to the lounge? Besides, trying to flaunt the 'rules' of the house."

"The mistress is away, shouldn't the cats play?" asks Hellstrom in a coy voice with the hint of a rising smile. He then drinks from his tumbler and places the glass back on the table. His wrist flicks and another tumbler appears next to his own. He takes the bottle and pours the Scotch into both. Then slides the glass over to Illy.

His eyes are still alight with her presence. They only glance away to ensure that he doesn't miss the glass when pouring. Otherwise, they are very keen on her form and appreciating it, clearly.

Once the glass is in front of her, he leans back into his seat and awaits her commentary.

When the glass of Scotch is slid her way, delicate fingers will reach out to neatly catch it, making certain not to spill a drop of it. His words bring a faintly amused expression to her face, at the mention of cats playing, but for now she says nothing. Instead she'll raise that glass to her lips for a slow sip.

It's only when the glass is set back down upon the tabletop with a soft clink, that the Mistress of Limbo will speak again. "I believe the correct expression is 'when the cat is away the mice will play', though we're hardly mice, are we?"

Her lips have quirked upward with amusement now, even as she leans forward, her fingers playfully walking towards that open grimoire of his.

She's correct in the saying, however Hellstrom notes in a confident voice, "You may consider yourself a mouse, dear. However; I am more predator than prey."

His glass is returned to his lips, he draws upon the liquid and then sits it back down. He glances to the grimoire and with the now free right hand, he telekinetically pulls it to his fingers. While his left arm remains on the back of the booth, toward her.

Opening the book, she can practically smell the magic within it. Old magic, Atlantean origins. Something that Jennifer Kale should own. Not the Son of Satan. Even though he's a known collector of the dark artifacts. He turns through a few pages. They possess a magical sound of hissing with each page turned.

"Hardly." Says Illyana, her voice still holding that tinge of amusement; she's by far from a mouse.

And when her fingers just miss the book, the demoness will simply rest her arm on the table now, even as she watches the grimoire slide across the booth and into that waiting hand of Daimon's.

"Cheat." She says simply, but for now, she'll allow him to be the victor in this particular battle. Of course, that doesn't stop her from still giving the book a look, especially when he opens it. Her head will cant slightly to the side at the hisses, before she finally adds, "That doesn't seem like your usual acquisition - a new hobby?"

.oO(Mystic)Oo. Magik says, "He is mean, isn't he?"

"This old thing? Just a trinket that I liberated from a faux-coven of witches last night. Silly girls, they had no idea what they had. They claimed it was something that their grandmother gave to one of them years back. Old crone is long dead. They were trying to invoke some magic to make themselves prettier, get more boy's attention." Hellstrom states with a smirk indicating that the girls weren't really witches, just girls who were about to get in over their heads. He adds, "You should have seen the look on their faces when I appeared in their living room. I think one wet herself. The other two shreaked and tried to run away. Instant comedy, if you ask me."

He closes the book.

The tale of the young girls garners a headshake from the blue-eyed demoness, as she says, "Stupid children." Her voice sounding rather caustically; only because she knows (like Daimon) what trouble they were really getting themselves in for. The occult is not something you play with. Even Ouija boards. They can open portals to elsewhere.

Her annoyed expression doesn't last all that long, especially, at the mention of frightening the children. "Isn't that the best part?" She asks, as she offers that quirk of a grin to Hellstrom. "I don't believe I'll ever tired of scarying people. Ever."

Idly her gaze will drift towards the main areas of the Voodoo Lounge, keeping track of who's coming and going, even as she asks, "So, tell me, what's been going on in your little world lately? The realms seem relatively peaceful of late."

"Peaceful is what worries me. Minor things have transpired. Little things since the remaking. And still, some people haven't shown back up. Like our lovely Topaz." Hellstrom glances at the bar and the few employees that still work here.

Returning his gaze to Illy, he notes, "I've also noticed an absence of Kale as well and a few other key players. While others have appeared and not made themselves noticed."

Automatically at Topaz's name, Illyana will look towards the bar, a faint frown dipping her lips downward. "The remaking. I suppose that's a good enough name as anything." Remarks Illyana, even as she steeples her fingers in front of herself, her gaze still upon the bar for a few seconds longer.

Eventually a more serious gaze will now be focused upon Hellstrom. "Have you noticed that some of those that do appear aren't the same? Several people I've seen are different. Sometimes drastically so. While others it's only little things. Memories, friendships, things like that."

His mention of people not making themselves noticed earns another faintly serious expression to mar her features. "Perhaps then we should go looking for those that aren't coming forward. Especially if they should have. Make sure all is well within their world. Make sure they haven't suddenly decided to conquer the world." And while some might think she's joking, she really isn't. She understand that something happened to the universe and not everything is the same.

Seated in the center of a circular booth located in the back of the lounge, Daimon is dressed in a swanky business suit. To his left is Illyana. On the table are two tumblers, a bottle of scotch, and an ancient Atlantean grimoire < http://tinyurl.com/j6tbodd >. The book is closed, but very magical. They seem to be discussing things of recent import.

Hellstrom states, "I coined that myself; 'Remaking'. It just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?" he adds after drinking, "I had a party a few weeks back, invited several people to have a 'getting to know you' moment. Basically re-identify all my former associates. I think we need to have another one to identify all the mystical names. Make sure they are who we remember them to be."

For Illyana she's dressed mostly in black, form fitting black, and currently her fingers are steepled in front of her face. A contemplative look is upon her features, as she considers what Daimon has said, and then her own response to his words.

"It does." Roll off the tongue, that is, and with a faint frown the demoness will say, "I agree. Let us start with the Mystical side first and then after that, perhaps the mutant side. Or at the very least, the heaviest hitters on both sides. Those are my main concerns."

"I shall have to put all the names to a list and we can cross compare to see if we missed anyone." Are her last words, before her left hand drops to her tumbler full of Scotch.

The door opens and a curvy redhead struts slowly inside. Satana wouldn't be easy to miss, even if it weren't for the form-fitting black leather. A quick look around the club with those unusual eyes, and her gaze settles on the pair at the booth in the back. She smiles silkily and heads that way.

"Well, well. I'd heard a rumor that this place was opening again. I suppose I should've known that you'd be in the thick of it." she greets, mostly aiming her words at Daimon. Turning to Illyana, she offers. "Hi there. I'm Satana. Love the skirt, toots."

The lounge is indeed open again, but Topaz is nowhere to be sensed/smelled/seen. Her presence hasn't been made since the 'remaking' of the universe. So the place is on autopilot. The manager still keeps the doors open and people still work it. But the guards and wards aren't as strong as they used to be.

Daimon offers greetings, "Satana, that's Illyana Rasputina, or Darkchilde - you remember her from the Inferno event a few years back. She's the ruler of Limbo, the place that the Goblin Queen opened up and let all the demons try to take over Manhattan."

He then offers the counter introduction, "Illy, that's Satana, my lovely sister. Succubus daughter of Satan and currently my partner in crime."

"Satana, please, join us. We were just discussing the recent events of the remaking and the need for a mystical influence gathering. Something to get to know all the newbies and identify all that are still here."

The tumbler of Scotch almost made it to her mouth, but at the appearance of Satana, and then Daimon's introduction, the half full glass pauses mid-air. At the mention of Inferno, Illyana will offer a faint grimace, even as she gives Satana the once over. "Thanks." She finally says, at the compliment to her skirt, "Your outfit isn't too shabby, either." She adds, with a quirk of a smirk lifting the corners of her mouth upward for a brief moment.

Her gaze will return to Daimon for a moment now as she adds, "And to see who might be a new enemy. We can't discount that fact." With those words of hers, the demoness will finally take that sip of scotch that halted, before she places the glass back upon the table.

Satana reaches up to tousle her long, red locks with her fingers as she looks from one to the other. She steps over to grab a chair, reversing it and straddling it at the end of the table. Elbows resting on the back of the chair she waves for a server. "Bring another glass, please."

"So who're we inviting to the remaking party, then? And where has Topaz gotten to? This is supposed to be her place but her scent has long faded."

"I doubt Dormammu, Belasco, Diablo, Modred, Baron Mordo, Morgan le Fay, or Umar will show up. But it would be nice to see Rintrah, Strange, Scarlet Witch, Amanda Sefton, Topaz, Kale, if either are around, Spiral, the Enchantress, Clea, Voodoo, Tarot, Nekra, Karnilla, Wiccan, and a few others again.. And yeah, I'm already making out the hot ass A list of invitees. They always dress so provocatively." Hellstrom smiles, another glass forms on the table in front of Satana.

A faint snort can be heard from Illyana when she hears those last words of Daimon's, but while she would have liked to say more, her words pause. Her blue eyed gaze will un-focus slightly, as she turns her attention off to the left of herself. Whatever she's focusing upon is clearly not in this room, as she frowns slightly.

After a second or two more of that staring, the blonde will snap her attention back to Daimon and Satana. "I think that's a good start. I'll start looking into those that have or rather had friendly ties with the School - " Again she focuses off to the side for a moment, "- If you'll both excuse me. I have a matter that's suddenly cropped up that /must/ be dealt with." A look will be flicked to Satana, "A pleasure meeting you, Satana. I'm sure we'll chat again soon." Her blue eyes now turn to Daimon, "Hellstrom."

And then, just like that, Illyana will call forth a portal. While the portal is small and only whisks Illyana away to Limbo, the bright light and crash of noise that accompanies it might be startling to others within the Lounge.

Satana rolls her eyes at her brother as the blonde rises and excuses herself. Brows lift at the woman's un-subtle departure, and she sniffs as the remnants of the portal dissolve into ozone. "Please tell me I don't leave that kind of residue when I teleport…" she muses. Turning towards Daimon, then, she rolls her eyes again for effect. "It's always about tits and ass with you, isn't it? I'm kind of surprised you even remembered some of the males on the list."

Hellstrom expands on the subject, "She's a mutant. Her power is teleportation. However… she teleports through Limbo to get from one place to another. So there's always going to be residue when she uses that power. And no, you don't leave any residue, except for your lovely fragrance and what ever human husk you leave behind."

He further notes, "And yes, it's always tits and ass. But, there's method to my predilection. As hot as they are, they make other's lower their guards through their sexual prowess and presence. So, we'll stand to learn a bit more than we would in a one-on-one situation or even in interrogation of the mystics we want to get to know."

Satana chuckles softly at that, pouring herself a glass of liquor. She tosses it back and pours another while she speaks. "Well that's part of the appeal, honey." Sipping this time, she stretches her legs out under the table. "I've found that most guys in our profession tend to give me a wide berth, and understandably so." After all, when you have Satana's reputation for dining on male souls…

The grin widens as he visualizes what she speaks of, "Understandably so is an understatement. If I weren't your brother and able to offer an unlimited supply of sexual energy from the depths of Hell, then I'd probably steer clear of you as well." there's a light chuckle and he also finishes the tumbler and looks down at the grimoire on the table.

He comments on the tome, "So I found this last night in the hands of would-be witches. Three girls playing games that they shouldn't have. I took it from them and was going to bring it here to see if Kale wanted it - since it's Atlantean. But turns out, neither she nor Topaz are around. So I'm thinking that we need to figure it all out."

He then offers her to add a new subject or continue on the original, "What brings you out today?"

Satana tilts her head at Daimon, wrinkling her nose with a soft chuckle. "That, and the fact that your soul is off-limits to me." she replies. Then her attention shifts to the book, her fingertip gliding lightly over one of the sigils on its surface.

"Since Jennifer isn't… available… I should take this for safe-keeping." Satana declares. "After all, the three of us swore an oath to keep interesting-looking books out of the the hands of even well-meaning practitioners." Like her brother. "I was just out following my nose and happened to pass by, really."

"That's what the vault is for." Hellstrom intones turning the book clockwise with his index finger. He also references their own vault beneath the Necratorium room that they use for summoning stuff. It's the safest vault since Ft Knox. "How about we take it together, back to the house, and you can read it there to get all the juicy details in it. Cause it's pretty safe in here…" he looks around and adds, "…, at least for the time being. Topaz needs to come back and re-up these sigils and wards. Otherwise shit's going to go down and people are going to get butthurt."

Satana considers for a moment, then she nods. "I can accept that." she declares. "And I'll come back tonight to refresh the wards. I'll shock fewer people that way." Yes, Satana has this thing about performing rituals in the nude. For ease of movement.

Hellstrom begins to slide out of the booth. As he does, he leaves a large bill on the table and grabs the grimoire. He stands and offers his free hand to Satana, "Shall we, dear sister?"

Satana pauses long enough to toss back her drink, leaving the glass on the table. She scoots out of the booth and rises, slipping her arm through Daimon's. "Yes, let's." she replies with a polite smile.

His word is simple, "Home." and the two of them are ripped through time and space to their home in Massachusetts. Directly into the Necromanteion. There's no muss, no fuss, just their presence and a light scent of brimstone and treacle.

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