InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "jen knows the muffin man"

Bailey Cunningham | Centurion MD (torchit) wrote in forgotten_gods,
@ 2010-01-06 18:06:00

Current mood:	predatory
Entry tags:	aim, divorce

Leave me out with the waste, this is not what I do
Who: Desmond/Divorce (itsnotyouitsme), Aim's 2IC (NPC) & later Aim (torchit)
What: Little demon needs money. Desmond has a shiny price tag on his head.
Where: Desmond and Lust's home.
When: Wednesday
Warnings: Language, violence.

Every demon under Aim's command was loyal to him and the duke had made it very clear from the beginning that they answered to not Satan, not Lucifer, nor any of the hell kings, but him and only him. This, taking notice of one of Satan's orders and following through, was not something the right-hand man of Aim would consider under normal circumstances and he still had his doubts. However, circumstances weren't normal and the prize at the end of this road was too good to pass up.

The demon missed being able to speak. Ever since his superior had cut off his tongue and ripped out his larynx several millennia ago, he had learnt to communicate without spoken language which was the main reason why Duke Aim's legions were one of the most quiet in Hell. But still, he missed making sounds, forming words, communicating with the help of air. The emptiness in his mouth and the scars on his throat kept bothering him, even more so when he was in the presence of his grace and had to fall back on glances and hand signals.

Finding the heathen and the defected Sin's home was easy. The demon entered the villa on silent feet, suppressing as much of his aura as he could because he didn't want to alert the inhabitants of his presence. Slow and easy did the job or something. He would take the head, collect the reward and buy back his voice. Duke Aim had said he would consider it and his grace wouldn't lie about something like that.

It was nothing personal. 2IC just needed some money and he could hardly apply for a normal job, could he?

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itsnotyouitsme
2010-01-07 03:09 pm UTC (link)

Desmond was a little drunk. Just a little, mind. The first couple days after Asmodeus appeared in their home and made a show, a mess, a murder, a kidnapping, those were days where Desmond lashed out at anything he could lay hands on. The happy marriages of Southern California felt a creeping pressure like they'd rarely experienced in the past.

Lust was dead -- presumably back in Hell -- and her demon lord had absconded fuck knew where with their daughter. Divorce was, in a word, furious. He couldn't go to Hell and he couldn't summon Asmodeus, so what next?

Once the lack of options presented themselves, drinking seemed like a good start. It took some of the edge off, toned him down to something not unlike an angry cat with a twitching tail. Unfortunately, the morning's conversation with Pride... didn't exactly help.

When the voiceless demon found his quarry, Desmond was sitting on a wooden chair in the blood-stained nursery. At his feet were deeds to numerous Catholic churches, a two-thirds empty bottle of scotch and an open bible. His elbows were propped on his knees, palms pressed together in a mockery of prayer, fingers against his chin as the New God stared off into the distance.

Desmond barely acknowledged any other presence than his own. His initial reaction was to take a deep breath, nostrils flaring. A moment ticked by, then: "This isn't a damned way station."

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torchit
2010-01-07 11:41 pm UTC (link)

The demon didn't pay attention to Desmond at first. He was more intrigued by this strange room and not because of the blood. Blood was nothing new but all the things decorating the room were. Having spent most of his life down in hell, 2IC wasn't familiar with baby furniture or its purpose. And the heathen's words didn't make much sense to him...

Tilting his head, he studied Desmond, a curious look on his face. Church deeds, a bible and alcohol. What was that man doing? He wanted to ask which reminded him of why he had come here in the first place.

Ink black eyes fixated on a spot above the heathen's head, as the demon scraped his teeth over his bottom lip. Should he? Could he? Or would he...

2IC lunged himself at Desmond, toppling him and the chair over. The bottle of scotch slid across the floor spinning.

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itsnotyouitsme
2010-01-10 05:20 pm UTC (link)

Yet another fight, big fuckin' surprise. Any other time, Desmond would have relished it. Divorce were not the most battle-ready people, but conflict was conflict, and blood was blood. Des liked a good scuffle... but now wasn't really a good time.

Which didn't stop the demon -- definitely a demon, it reeked of that common thread Desmond now recognized as Hell -- from leaping forward, or the back of his skull from slamming against the floor. The impact made him grit his teeth; it didn't make him see stars so much as just knock him back into the present rather than his own head.

"What, no witty one-liners? Nothing cute to spout off? You weren't invited, little man. Fuck off!" It was nonsense talk; half the time the words which fell out of the New God's mouth did so just to fill the void. Now was no different. Desmond talked to talk while he grabbed 2IC by the jaw and squeezed, feeling for threads he could possibly stretch until the breaking point.

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torchit
2010-01-16 01:26 am UTC (link)

A talker? Of course, 2IC's luck would have him pick someone who was chatty. Scowling he punched Desmond in the face - nobody had said anything about keeping the head undamaged - and stretched his arm, palm facing down to summon a sword.

The fingers clawing at his jaw felt strange, almost as if they had sunk through the top layer of his skin. It wasn't impossible. The demon knew that some of hell's denizens - even some of the bottom feeders - were capable of reaching into bodies and tear out the insides without leaving a wound behind.

Was this one capable of the same?

Whatever that heathen was doing, it was distracting, kept him from focusing long enough to finish the incantation. Balling his hand into a fist, he slammed it into Divorce's face again.

He wanted that head. He needed it and he would get that head.

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itsnotyouitsme
2010-01-18 08:17 pm UTC (link)

Desmond laughed, a bitter and bloody thing. As angry as he was tired, it didn't occur to him that maybe he needed something like this. There were times back when he was the full-time Divorce where he'd find the tetchiest sonuvabitch on the street and push and push and push. Instigate until every button had been found, then dive headfirst in to the resulting fight.

Those were fun days. For a moment, when 2IC punched him one-two in the face, it was almost like being back then. And as his lip split against his teeth and the demon's knuckles came away with New God blood on them, Desmond cackled with manic glee.

"Stoic and silent, huh? Cute. It's weird, kinda creepy, but I can see the sex appeal. I'm sure all the little Desdemonas down in Hell must love you."

As the nonsense patter kept coming, he tightened his grip on 2IC's jaw. The demon would, appropriately, have a hell of a time getting away with Divorce's claws sunk so deep. Desmond further the effect by grabbing 2IC's shoulder with his other hand. He made no attempt to get away, but instead clung that much tighter, grinning and grinning even as he plucked at the threads which made his attacker up like one crazy-looking harp.

It wasn't until they were stretched thin between his fingers that Divorce went stone-faced, staring up at 2IC with dead eyes. "Say uncle, bitch."

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torchit
2010-02-03 05:54 pm UTC (link)

This wasn't, by any definition of the word, going well. In fact, it headed towards a medium disaster and, to make it worse, 2IC had no idea why. This heathen was doing something he didn't understand. All he knew was that it made him feel like a novice demon minion all over again which he was not! Hadn't been for a very long time. Yet here he was, struggling and fighting like the pus that infested the slime which covered the bottom feeders who licked the ground in search of crumbs of scraps that may or may not have fallen off their masters' tables.

Say uncle... Was that supposed to be funny? Heaven and Hell had hierarchies, had titles; kings, dukes, earls, generals, commanders and so on but nothing even remotely close to 'uncle'.

"Yes," a calm and amused sounding voice said from behind him, "do as the gentleman says, little one. I'd love to hear, too."

The demon's eyes widened, shock and fear warring over supremacy on his face. The grip on Desmond loosened considerably, all fight flying straight out the window.

Busted. Blasted. Game over.

Aim sauntered towards them and like his 2IC studied the room with curious eyes before he grabbed his subordinate by the scruff of his neck, twisting the fabric in his fist and pulling it tight against the demon's throat.

"Pardon the intrusion," the duke said to Desmond, smiling pleasantly, as he tugged on 2IC. "I don't know what this little dummy was thinking. Would you mind letting go? It would be very appreciated."

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itsnotyouitsme
2010-02-05 03:18 pm UTC (link)

Another one? Were they trooping out of Hell like lemmings toward a cliff?

"Cute." Desmond's fingers continued to grip 2IC tight; there would be hand-shaped bruises punctuated by needle-pricked flesh later, as if the poor bastard were a normal man with a normal body. He held on without thinking, too busy looking past the demon in his grip to the one standing over them. Comparatively pretty, affable, stank of ash and char and smoke.

Huh.

The New God went from solemn to cheerful in the blink of an eye, grinning a vibrantly bloody grin at Aim before he looked back at 2IC. "This belong to you, dreamboat? They make leashes for this shit, y'know." Clearing his throat, he hacked a wad of bloody spit into the lesser demon's face. Appeased, that was when he unclenched his hands. 2IC was released back into his master's care.

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torchit
2010-02-07 03:41 pm UTC (link)

"Leashes require someone to hold the other end." Chuckling, Aim pulled his subordinate off of the New God and carelessly flung him across the room. "Some might get off on it but I have better things to do. Normally." Behind him 2IC tried to make himself as small as possible, wishing that heathen had killed him.

He briefly considered helping Desmond up. That, however, would require touching the heathen so the duke slipped his hands into his pockets and opted for taking a closer look at the cot. He hadn't paid much attention to the Sins versus Satan business and had paid even less attention to the illicit Sin and Heathen love affair.

"Boy or girl?" Aim asked, lifting his gaze from the tiny blanket to cast a glance at Desmond, still smiling.

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itsnotyouitsme
2010-02-19 05:49 pm UTC (link)

"So buy a shock collar. They're handy. Bzzt, zap, lesson learned." Divorce stayed on his back, taking a deep breath to test 2IC's love taps. Desmond was a god, sure. But there was an annoyingly fragile candy coating which contained his power, and it didn't much care for being abused. His head ached -- a mortal would have one helluva concussion going for them -- and his own blood trickled down the back of his throat. Adrenaline had the unfortunate effect of knocking the alcohol out of his system, a fact Desmond lamented as he stared up at the nursery's ceiling.

A second later, he'd rolled to his feet and was eyeballing Aim with solemn eyes. It was a sharp contrast from his light, laughing tone of voice. "Friendly inquiry?" The bottle of scotch was back in his hand, and Desmond being Desmond, he practically did a soft-shoe to the corner 2IC huddled in.

"Or are you on the market for one of your own?" Turning his back to Aim, he smiled down at the Hell Duke's lackey. It was bright, electric, and showed too many teeth to be a good thing.

"Dear Abby might say you're not cut out for fatherhood, Beatrice, if you can't keep track of your dog." The hypocrisy was irrelevant; all Desmond focused on was bludgeoning 2IC with the now-empty bottle, a meaty point of punctuation between every word.

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torchit
2010-03-19 05:35 pm UTC (link)

Aim silently counted the hits Desmond landed. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen.

"Enough." Closing his fingers around the bottle, he stopped its descend onto 2IC head. "Disciplinary actions from strangers don't do half as much good as when they're dished out by the owner," he said, reaching down to grab his wayward demon and pull him upright.

2IC couldn't even look at his duke. "Personally, I've never seen the appeal of fatherhood, but to each their own." Casting a last glance at the New God, he strode out of the nursery. "My apologies for the inconvenience. This isn't how I usually do things and be so kind as to send the lady my regards. Or maybe I will do so myself should I see her," he added with a soft chuckle and then the two demons were gone.

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