InsaneJournal

Who: Mephistopheles and some NPCs of the cultist variety
What: This is what he had armies of demons for, now he has to go seek out humans.
Where: The Pacific northwest, 'round about Humboldt County, California
When: Tuesday evening, after hunting with Athena
Warnings: Surprisingly, no.

What little good could be said of the devil himself was slowly waning. He was still dark and handsome in all his human guises, but his one virtue was being compromised. Not that it bothered him much. Mephistopheles was known to occasionally ponder his one virtue quietly as he sewed in his little human home, in the darkness. Calliope was a sore temptation, even to him. Especially to him. After all, she was beautifully wicked, truly skilled with her torturing methods. He could tell with his deft, sensitive fingertips that she was just as physically beautiful as she was skilled in her methods when he touched her face. Up until the night prior, all he knew of her looks was her face. All her curves and soft, chilled skin lingered in his mind as he went out with the only other creature known to be as old as he, and as chaste.

It was not unlike Meph, really, to cut things short with little to no reason for it, so he doubted it came as any surprise to Athena when he placed a hand on her shoulder and told her he had to take his leave. As much as he enjoyed listening to Athena's hunting, and showing off his less skilled abilities of bow and arrow (Being sightless made it more sporting, but he was surely making a fool of himself that night by pegging more trees than animals), he needed to consider this further descent in the quiet and isolation to which he was accustomed. But first, he needed to talk to someone a little more mortal. He bid her a quiet, low good evening, and left her side.

He whisked himself away to the front of a small, single-storey house which was in need of a new coat of outside paint, nestled cozily in a thicket of bushes and smaller, stout trees. The redwoods surrounding that excited his sense of smell, and made the scent of living humans and their nightly rituals stand out more astutely. The sound of their chanting was as easy as siren's song to follow, and he did, his coat licking at his heels as he put his hands in the pockets.

Stepping through the wall, Mephistopheles listened to the three humans in silence as they chanted to their false God, the scent of their burning herbs smoldering in the chalice at their alter wafting through the air. He could smell that a single hair had gotten into the mixture, and it annoyed him, so he took a seat on the alter, tapping his long, hard nails against the edge of the stone topped table. Even then, it took the three humans a fair amount of time to notice him.

"Who are you? What are you doing on the table?"
Mephisto picked up the ritual knife and ran his fingertips over the black handle, chuckling faintly, though the mirth was lost within the terror of his tone. "You asked for your Lord, but I'm afraid he's indisposed at the moment. I've come in his place. I only need one of you." He sounded almost bored with the prospect, but only one of them had truly learned the magics of the world, and only she was the one who truly believed in false gods.
The woman in question stood and spoke up. "You're not the horned god?" Her voice faltered, and it was obvious, even without the fact that Mephistopheles was feeding off of it, that she was nearly petrified.
"Ha, no. I could have horns, if you want. If that makes you feel better. You happen to be the one I need, Christine. Tell your little coven good bye."
"How do we know you're not just some freak?" Asked the leader, the man with what sounded like wooden beads around his neck. It made Meph tut and shake his head. He slid off the altar and walked over to the man, leaving the other two to watch. He set his fingertips on the man's bare shoulders, curling his fingers around them.
"Oh, I am some freak. But not as you know it. How much do you know about other religions, Daryl? The Gnostics called me Abraxas. I came to Eliphas Levi and inspired him to write his little... stories. I have so many names, and my army has more names that can be said to be me." He leaned over and whispered into the man's ear as his fingertips seared the man's shoulders. "Yes, I'm that one. Really. Don't worry, I'm not here for you, yet." That said, he walked over to the shivering woman and put his coat over her bare shoulders, before leading her out through the wall once more, and into the woods.

"I'm not all that hungry," Mephistopheles explained, once they were well and away from sight of any of the buildings, where no light but the moon above them, "But I need a human's opinion. Consider your words carefully, Christine. They won't save you from your fate, all things considered, but it might give you extra time to come to grips with it." He felt the girl nod and curl deeper into the coat made of the skins of the other magicians and liars he'd killed since his arrival.
"Good. I've not been known to love, nobody knows me to enjoy other people's company, and I don't.  But every so often, every couple hundred years or so, I find a woman, red haired, beautiful in form and function, and she takes me over so utterly, that I have no recourse but to consider throwing away the one virtue I've still got. Would you give up the one thing that could save you for love?"
The girl paused in her movements, and bowed her head, obviously considering. While she thought, Mephistopheles walked around to face her, waiting for her to run. They usually did, but she didn't.
She stayed still.
"Lord Mephistopheles," She said after a few minutes, naming him easily as she likely could the trees around them, "is love worth destroying the one pure thing about you? I don't think it is. Love can spoil. It goes bad quickly. And any lover you'd choose would have no choice but to love you, but you can be fickle. You have an eternity to regret." She looked up at him, her eyes going to the white, sightless abominations that were set into his face, and muttered, "If all that earns me is a choice of what I become, can you please use me for buttons and hats?"

The devil considered this and shook his head. "You're too young yet. Maybe in five years. For now, you are going to go back and tell them how to do what you've learned how to do. All of them. If you don't, I will know, and I'll cut your life down little by little." He faced her once more then and settled the coat more comfortably over her shoulders. "Consider it a gift." That said, he disappeared to go and consider his heavy burden once again. What Christine had said definitely put perspective on it that he hadn't considered. He would eventually grow weary of Calliope, and then what would he have?

He took a seat in his chair and picked up his sewing. The sinewy thread pulled through the soft, thick leather, and he drew quietly inward into himself.