Lindsey McDonald (morallydamaged) wrote in parabolical, @ 2008-09-02 15:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | lindsey mcdonald, narrative |
Who: Lindsey McDonald, Abner the Demon (NPC)
When: Later evening
What: Demon summoning, consultation on his a contract
Where: Abandoned warehouse in the downtown district, then the streets
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete, narrative
It was a pain in the ass summoning an elder demon. Especially when it came to a lazy, avoident ass like Abner. Unfortunately, he was one of the few not actively throwing his allience in with his higher cousins and that made him the demon Lindsey wanted to question. However, he seemed to be a call screener.
The warehouse had been vacant for over ten years after changing owners more than thirteen times in twenty years. There were rumors, as all good haunted places had, but they were relatively tame in comparison to some of the places around Los Angeles. It was just enough of a mystical hot spot to give Lindsey's demonic summons an extra kick across dimensions. Candles set up in a circular arrangement, the contents of the spell in the black bag at his feet, anointed by the sacrifice (Lindsey's cut palm wrapped with a rag), and the short spell in Latin.
Then he waited.
It took Abner nearly an hour to show up, the demon appearing inside the circle with a flourish. "Yeah but where's the fun in that? How about this, we start something in...hey, I'll call you in a little bit. Got a meeting." He snapped the cell phone shut and eyed Lindsey, who regarded him with a wary boredom. Finally Abner grinned. "Mr. McDonald! I haven't seen you since you were a wee little lawyer thing stumbling over your own name," he said smoothly, extending his hand. "What's shakin'?"
Lindsey shook his hand before taking a step back. "I had a few questions regarding souls and contracts."
Abner flipped his sunglasses off and leaned in closer, grinning in a manner that bared razor sharp teeth. "I just picked up this sweet one in Berue for, get this, a married woman." He waggled what passed for eyebrows. "The owner was supposed to invent the cure for some lukemia or something. Silly kids." He nudged Lindsey in the side. "I'll sell it to you. What will your division offer?"
"Firm, now, actually," Lindsey replied shortly before pressing on. "It's not about buying or selling. It's about wiggle room and contracts. Specifically one created and held by the Senior Partners. Are there any loopholes, any demon congress that I can invoke? Even human law would suffice."
Abner pursed his lips and took a step back, drumming his claws on his dark green chin. (The orange Hawaiian shirt he wore clashed so badly that even Lindsey found it hard not to notice.) "Senior Partners like to lock theirs up nice and tight, lawyer man. They comb them and tug out the loopholes before they even hit this dimension." The mischevious grin overtook the thoughtful look. "Know someone trying to get out?"
"No," Lindsey lied easily, "I'm just looking to make sure it doesn't happen." Abner leaned in until he was nearly nose to nose with Lindsey, staring at the human in front of him in deep concentration. Seconds passed before he scowled and leaned back.
"Damn. I bet Norrie that you'd be the one with balls enough to go up against...eh, forget about it. There probably isn't a way out that I know of." He tapped his clawed fingers against his chest. "But what do I know. I'm just a soul shark." He grinned and slid the glasses back on.
Taking a step back, he pulled the cell phone back out of his pocket. "Might want to hit a doctor too, McDonald. Your blood sacrifice had a little bit of cold or flu in it or something." He snapped open the phone and dialed a number, fading away into the next dimension of choice. "Hey, about that pro skater you were looking for..."
Lindsey stepped on the little black bag, grining the spell ingredients into a useless powder under his heel. The candles were snuffed out next. He made his way across the barely lit floor of the warehouse and back onto the sidewalk. The entire time, his frustration had gone from a calm rolling to a simmering and was, at the moment, bordering on boiling by the time he reached the corner of the street.
"Son of a bitch."