Daimon

Love is a fickle thing, of course. Even demons know that. Veronica, knew this, she had a prime example after all. What had been a friendship had blossomed, much like a rose as the spring arrived. Out of nowhere, she’d started feeling things for her… That made her think for a moment, as she wrapped her fingers around the thick, silver handle of the even thicker oak door, wrenching it from the doorframe and pulling it open, sighing to herself as she stepped into the rather grand oak and gold gilded hall, the walls adorned with similarly grand doors. Each one held a small golden plaque that read a number, 1 through 6. And then, there was a larger, more grand and solid door that stood at the end. It was as if the hall led specifically to it, to her office.

She took it in, the glittering plaques and polished oak walls so refreshingly different from the harsh greys, whites and fluorescent lighting of the hallways outside that she spent oh so much time in. And as she entered, heeled footsteps proceeding down the empty hall, filled only with the soft exhales of the head reaper, she decided. Lucifer was both her employer, and her friend. Well, friend was a loose term. The high queen of Hell held a special place in her heart, one that ached, empty even now, with distance. Long nights of coffee, wine and the strongest of the new batch of liquors that Lucifer kept under her desk were plentiful, almost every night she’d pop by to sit down with Lucifer, help ease that same little knot in her neck she got every other day from the angle at which she held her head. Once she’d even convinced the damn workaholic to give it a break and take a day off to a spa, which was admittedly no small feat.

“They really should clean up the shitshow down at F7.” She muttered to herself, pulling open the door to her office and slipping in, letting the heavy slab of wood slam closed behind her. She looked up, nothing on the ceiling, to the left, a bookshelf and her shelves. To the right, nothing but the fantastical pictures she’d taken from the far away lands of Earth. Ah those few times she was given an assignment outside of Hell… The air was so much crisper, the breeze was always wonderful, even the freely running water was beautiful. Hell hath no thing such as rivers. And then, she focused upon the main piece of the room. The beautifully sanded, polished ebony desk that sat in front of a chair that looked quaint in comparison. Upon her desk sat a rather odd assortment of items: a well maintained S&W K22 (Stars, did humans have a way of inventing tools of murder), a stack of fairly well organized papers sitting under a simple glass paperweight, a mug of questionable contents, and a small bottle, a satin ribbon tied around it’s middle in a rather pleasant bow. The liqueur that Lucifer had insisted she take with her, maybe use it the next time she made a fancy drink. Knowing herself, Veronica would probably use it to sweeten up some cheap whiskey for a back the next time she found her way into a particularly potent sake.

She sighed, relief washing over her in the comforting silence of her office. Quiet clacks were really the only things that filled the vast empty space, walled in with brimstone and oak. Around the desk, fingertips running softly along the table’s smooth lacquer finish. And then, she paused. Something was off. Horribly wrong. She hadn’t… Left the papers on the right side of her desk, no, they’d been on the left. Her gun was set on the table at the wrong angle, it’d been pointing at the corner of the room when she’d left, but now the barrel was trained next to the doorframe. And then, well, everything felt even more wrong. Her legs went numb. Come to think of it, she couldn’t feel them anymore. She glanced down, and then it made sense. The burning started. Her dress shirt had turned into more of a tent than a shirt, something underneath pointed and sharp. A blade, she could feel the cold embrace of animo umbra through her midsection. The chilling sensation of the solidified demonic magic that now resided in her. She slowly unbuttoned her shirt, expecting the same beautiful, bright crimson color that almost all demon’s weapons shared, but no. It was a shadowy black blade. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the handle of the scythe that was buried in her. Thin, piano player’s fingers wrapped around it. She opened her mouth to say something, but only thick, viscous blood came out. So, this was how it ended. She slumped back, well, tried. The scythe dug deeper, more blade coming out the other side as she hung upon it, almost like a meat hook, until an arm wrapped around her waist, hoisting her up to stand once more. And then, that voice, all too familiar in her ear.

“You were fun, while you lasted. Too bad.”

And then things went dark and quiet as the scythe left her body, her vision like a noir film’s scene, the vignette creeping in around the edges of her shadowy gaze, her eyes losing focus as she was set rather gently in her seat. Her eyelids felt like lead, all she could see was the blood running down her porcelain white skin, staining her rather fair skin as the viscous fluid ran down her hip and onto the seat. What a shame, the leather of the seat was quite nice. She didn’t mind too much, besides, there was little she could do. This was where her road ended, not in a valiant effort, not by sacrifice, not in the arms of her lover, no. Cold, sad sabotage. She shut her eyes, might as well spare them the effort as she did her best to hold herself up, at least die with some form of dignity. And in the pounding silence of her heartbeat, there were footsteps, rounding the seat, tearing her shirt open and then the cold pain of animo umbra digging into the skin below her collarbone, and then, a hand, long fingers prying into her flesh and pulling out the little misshapen remnant of whatever she’d been before becoming a demon.

As her vision faded and her breaths became deeper and slower, she cracked an eye open, just a tad, as she watched gloved hands lay out a small sheet of paper and place her heart on it, followed by a small glass bottle, and a cork. The same heart she’d torn out of so many demons. And then, the hand rose, fingers curling into a fist before coming down.

And all was quiet once more in Veronica’s office.

Well, The Head Reaper’s Office. No longer was it occupied, but that would come to change soon enough. Soon. Enough.

Smoke rose into the air, billowing from crimson and purple lips to flirt with the black tiles of the ceiling. Dim blues and reds shone through, lighting the intertwined bodies and giving the bottles that sat behind the bar a unique glow. This was bliss. A wide room that stunk of alcohol and sin, the doors shut with lock and key as it’s inhabitants bathed in the luscious rays of soft lighting and all the pleasures that money could buy. Everything.

The establishment was what one could call a foyer to the back room, a much smaller, less grand room, however it held infinitely more importance. It was the closest thing to an auction house that the shadowy V-B-B corporation held and the prices were high, but the benefits were plentiful and ready to be reaped. Those who sat among the moody tones of blue-ish purples of the plush couches and the carpets that looked as though they were colored solely with blood were the few lucky enough to bid on the wares of V-B-B, and watch the demonstrations. Of course, it’s not exactly a 0.001% party without one hell of a reception. Nothing was against the rules, except for vandalization, and murder. Everything else was on, and well, under the table.

Ash was one of these patrons. While she held the reins of a rather prosperous business racking in tens of thousands, no, millions, she didn’t mind a little fun from time to time. After all, what’s the point of ruling a kingdom, if you don’t enjoy the cream of the crop sometimes? In some cases, cream of the crop meant some friendly competition with people of power, perhaps even maybe some less... innocent, competition. She was here to have a good time after all, a half gone spliff trapped between her right index and middle fingers, the dregs of a rather pricey wine swirling in the bottom of a glass as the color of Ash’s lipstick formed small pools of color that sunk into the dark liquid, the slow music that pounded through the room sliding through one ear and out the other. She was less interested in the ambience and the soon to start auction, and more in her starry-eyed emotions as she caught herself looking into a pair of eyes as dangerous and smoky as her own. She felt pulled, and while not an easily excitable person, she already felt herself practically floating out of her perch on the edge of the couch she had somehow managed to claim for herself in the room of high class drunkards and alcoholics in dresses. And, just as soon as she’d found herself enraptured in the shadowy figure, a pair of rather young looking women wearing dresses that looked as though the stars themselves had been wrangled into the weave, twirled their way past in a messy but intricate dance, blocking her vision long enough for her to lose sight of her quarry.

Such were the pains of being so close to the top, every diamond catches your eye before sinking back into the inky depths of the pile of even brighter gems. Fishing around in the pile, the fine edges might catch and tear at your arm. While lost in momentary thought, Ash found herself sitting alone, painfully so as she stared vacantly. She blinked hard a few times, trying her best to focus on something, looking up to stare at one of the lights as she brought the singed paper back to her lips, taking a long, slow pull, flicking the ashes and stray embers aside as she sighed fairly heavily, letting her vision stray upwards. She shut her eyes, smoke creeping from between her lips as it climbed towards the ceiling. And then, well, she didn’t feel so alone… And then she found why, she was looking up into eyes, red eyes. They looked… No no, not bloodshot. Neither were they the trademark red of somebody heavy on the smoking. She blinked a couple times, her breath coming shorter and shorter as long, lithe arms ran along her neck, those piano player hands clasping together as this… Person leaned close. Oh god, full, plush, crimson lips… They kissed her forehead, the corners of her lips curling upwards slightly. And then those arms tightened and breathing got hard.

And then it got harder, her vision blurred as she clawed at the arms that were now pressed tightly against her throat. Then came a short moment of reprieve, before the crook of the woman’s elbow coddled her adam’s apple, tightening around her neck. She cursed her decisions that night, wondering what might have landed her in this situation. Maybe it was a competitor that had heard she’d be around tonight? Thoughts flitted through her head like fireflies burning through the night as everything else blurred. Her vision darkened, her gasps became more violent as she tried to pull air into her lungs and received nothing in return, her awareness slowly dying, flickering like a fire burning through it’s last charred twigs. Through squinty eyes she watched another woman dressed rather sharply, reaching into her suit and pulling out a pistol, holding it out at arms length, before pulling the trigger. Then the head of a patron who’d been sitting at the bar blossomed, a rose of blood blooming out and painting the bottles on the call rack behind the bartop. She could barely hear anything anymore, her legs uselessly kicking at the air as she squirmed, but she could faintly hear screaming and gunshots as the woman in the suit took shot after shot, somehow killing somebody everytime, before she felt the arms around her tense, and twist.

There are no words to explain the satisfaction one feels when their wrist snaps back just the appropriate amount and the wall gets a new coat of paint. Oh but how she would try, almost every night she did her best to talk Une into using a gun, but she never could, the other reaper just wouldn’t budge from her conviction to use her blades. She rolled her eyes as her mind drifted upon these topics, she’d almost zoned out while clearing the room, though she focused upon Une, for a short moment, marvelling at her darl’s proficiency with knives. She would never understand her affinity for such, but she couldn’t help but love watching Une do her thing. Then, she returned to the situation at hand, well, her situation, continuing to empty her magazine into the assorted patrons, well, the ones Une wasn’t popping up behind. She knew how Une liked her targets, she always picked the ones with the curly hair first.

Quatte enjoyed the screams, they meant it was successful, and not only that, they were just music to her ears. Perhaps that was why she was so good at her job, she liked it. It was infinitely satisfying, and as a reaper, she’d never run out of people to kill. As the number of people left in the room dwindled, so did the screams. Quatte soon ran out of bullets, seconds later Une finished off, throwing a blade across the room which flew, burying itself hilt deep in the remaining patron on the other side of the room as she snapped the neck of the last one she’d had in a choke-hold. She chuckled quietly, “Sorry babe, think I won.” She said with a light-hearted chuckle, letting go of the final corpse, who slumped over on the couch, before rolling off and onto the floor in a crumpled heap. Quatte chuckled, shaking her head as she slipped her pistol back into the little holster she had sewn into the inside of her jacket. “Sorry to break it to you, Unus, but I think dinner’s on you.” She said, snickering to herself as she stepped over a rather close body on her way to the other demon. She stopped in front of Une, who’d waited patiently as she cleaned off her knife with the collar of the other corpse on the couch, straightening up and smoothing out her dress at the hip. She smiled rather softly, turning to face Quatte as the other reaper set her hands on Une’s hips, the two slowly stepping back and forth to the music that still continued on in the background, Quatte let her head tilt back as she smiled, “Reminds me of our first date.” She said, her voice soft and silky, barely making its way from her mouth to Une’s ears. Une rolled her eyes, “The bodies or the smell?” She asked, the hint of a smile hiding below her faked pout.

She was a sucker for Quatte, admittedly. As the two shifted back and forth among the bodies that littered the floor, their respective messes of hair disturbing the clouds of smoke that floated above them, Une found herself staring at her rather striking partner. She had to admit, for an idiot, she looked good in a suit. Quatte leaned in, dipping Une before straightening up to grasp her hand, twirling the more elegant of the two past her before catching her in another dip. “Ah hush, you know what I mean.” She smiled, “The refreshing smell of copper, the beautiful crimson on the walls…” Une paused long enough for Quatte to mess up her timing before flicking the other demon on the temple. “Sometimes I think you’re a little too into our job.” Une said, glancing away towards the bloody scene that lay around them, it was so still, almost like a painting that was sprawled out around them. Of course, they’d have to clean up, but it was beautiful how it was, the bloody streaks and splatters, the long shadows cast by bottles and corpses and the way the moody blues and reds mixed with the crimson liquid that was now starting to pool under their heels.

Now it was Quatte’s turn to roll her eyes, “Can we be too into our jobs?” She asked rhetorically as she paused to pull Une against her, the corners of her lips curling up just a tad as she leaned in close. Her eyes focused on Une’s own, reminiscent of the pools of blood they stood in now. Deep, red and rather enticing, the way they caught the light and shone. Even the almond-esque shape of her eyes seemed all too perfect to Quatte. And then her eyes flitted downwards to focus on Une’s lips for a short moment, before returning to those pools of molten ruby. “Especially when it yields moments like this?” She asked as her smile widened just a tad. Une scoffed, before leaning in closer, marrying their lips together for a long, pleasant moment before pulling away, cheeks a tad redder than they had been, though she supposed the color of the lights hid her flush enough for her to explain it away as a trick of the light. She huffed, “Come, let’s get this over with.” She said simply, pursing her lips as she stepped back from Quatte.

Quatte did her best to pout, however fake it was. Une let herself smile just a tad to herself as she turned away to walk around the couch to start dragging the two bodies towards the center of the room. The quickest way to clear this all out was to pile the bodies together, then burn them. Trial and error was a bitch, but it yielded results. She waved Quatte of, “Go get the pieces, you know the drill.” Quatte huffed, “You’re no fun,” She said, turning to look back towards the door to the back, pausing long enough for Une’s retort. “No, I just know when to work, I’m plenty fun.” She said, wrapping her fingers around a corpse’s collar dragging it towards the slowly building pile of bodies. Quatte snickered quietly as she walked with long, slow strides, heeled flats muffled against the carpet, toward the back, “I’m sure you are.” She called in response as she shoved open the door with a shoulder, letting it fall shut behind her.

Quatte took a deep breath, glancing around the back room as she perused the silent wares that sat among the shadows in boxes and on pedestals. All of them reeked of the ashen stench of Hell, she knew it well. After all, it was where she was from, where she’d grown up. The smell of demonic magic was pungent to her, and not all too pleasant. Of course, it depended on who it’d been cast by, but few were pleasant to the nose. Most burned like sulfur. She sighed as she flicked her wrist and from her palm fell a sack, which she caught by the lip. It wasn’t very large, a burlap sack that was probably large enough to fit a young child. And Quatte went like a thief through the night, dumping item after item into the bag, though it didn’t grow any heavier. A wash basin, a box of identical lockets, a cigar case, a small and solid gray doll. That one irked her, it reminded her all too much of the crawlers she saw out at the edge of the fields sometimes. Terrible things, they moved like spiders, stopping in the shadows and crawling much too fast to reliably keep track of, to the next pool of darkness. She shook her head, dropping it into the sack as she continued along, picking items from box after box, scooping items off of pedestals and retrieving things that had been most likely spilt onto the ground to drop them into the bag.

“Damn humans,” Une mumbled under her breath as she dragged the last one out from around the bar towards the pile, heaving it onto the other bodies with little care, treating the corpses with the same respect she would a kyuban that strayed into her office. Quietly she cursed their tendency to wear clothing that was hard to get a decent grip on and to bleed so much. She admitted Quatte wasn't exactly the cleanest killer, but hell, they could've at least made an effort to keep all their disease riddled guts inside. They all smelled terrible, under the thick, sickening scent of drugs there was the smell of sweat and grime. Ironic, she thought. A demon thinking people unclean.

"How far God's children have fallen," she muttered to herself, straightening up and bending back a bit to stretch. Bent over yanking around corpses wasn't exactly easy in heels. She could take them off, sure, but she liked the way they looked. Besides, comfort wasn't important, she was fairly tolerant. She glanced toward the back door which stood in the corner of the room, still. She zoned out a tad, staring at the windowless door, contemplating it's composition. Perhaps painted metal? No matter, Quatte would finish up in a few minutes, they'd burn the corpses and leave. That easy. This sort of thing was commonplace among reapers, an almost constant life of going from congregation to congregation, clearing rooms of people, taking outlawed items back to be destroyed properly and burning bodies. If it wasn't a person, it was an unruly demon who'd stepped out of line enough to be suspicious. Of course, that was a little more complicated than point and pull, but the premise was similar.

Out the door Quatte came with a flair of her arm, "Yes, yes, it is I, Quatte. No, no, at ease," She said, before dropping her arms with a light chuckle, balling up the sack and tossing it to Une who caught it, flipping it over so the bottom fell through the opening. Well, it should've, but as it passed through it disappeared, continuously before popping entirely out of existence. "Convenient, gotta give it to Doe, it works well." Quatte put her weight on one foot, crossing her arms with a rather small smirk. "Yeah yeah, I still think the portal was cooler." Une snorted, rolling her eyes, "It also cost somebody an arm." Quatte grinned, "That was the best part!" She retorted, stepping past Une as she giggled. "This all of 'em?" Quatte asked, gesturing towards the pile. Une nodded, "Would you like to do the honors?" She asked. Quatte nodded, "My pleasure," She said, bringing her hand to her mouth to take a pull from an imaginary cigarette, sighing as she flicked it into the bodies.

Suddenly, the shirt of one of the bodies caught ablaze, slowly spreading along as it grew, crawling into the bulk of the pile, licking at the clothes and flesh. In moments the flames roared to life in the middle, quickly consuming the bodies in its heat. The fire rose high from the bodies, licking at the ceiling as it stretched for all the oxygen it could, hungry for air as it cast it's orange glow over the dim room. If it weren't for the smell, it might've actually been pleasant. The pair stood there, staring into the now alive pile of bodies, giving rise to a whole new animal as the fire clawed at the corpses, flesh soon turning a goldish brown. It wouldn't be long until it turned black and the skin would start falling off. Quatte took a deep breath, “Ah, I love the smell of crispy people in the morning.” She said, stepping away from the pile before pausing to sidle up to Une’s side. “I’d say we did a good job, hm?” She muttered, her breath warm against Une’s ear.

Une rolled her eyes, “Quat, honey, we do this every other day.” She said, still staring into the fire. Quatte kissed Une’s cheek, “Aw c’mon, I think we deserve to take a little satisfaction in this.” She said, resting her chin on Une’s shoulder as she wrapped her arms around Une’s waist. Une checked her in the ribs with her elbow, “Hush. Let’s just see this through, and go home. This is our last job for today.” Quatte sighed, “Booooring.” Une rested her hand on Quatte’s far cheek, resting her head against the other reapers as she continued to stare into the fire, taking a long, deep breath before sighing. Quatte tightened her grasp around Une’s waist turning her head to peck Une on the cheek before returning to staring into the fire.

With a soft "pop", the first and fourth reaper now gazed into the dark, frankly appalling entrance to the ever-wonderful, ever growing complex they called home. Hell. Quatte shrugged, "No place like home," She remarked, hopping into the portal and landing light on her feet, straightening up as she peered up at Une, who scowled.

"I hate the smell." She said, before taking a step off the lip, falling in after Quatte, who stepped aside to make room. Une landed beside Quatte, landing on the balls of her feet and straightening up as well, glancing up through the portal. She took a deep breath, before waving her hand like she was trying to waft something away, and the portal brushed away like dust on a long forgotten table top. Quatte huffed, "I'll never understand how you do that without breaking those heels." She remarked, reaching up to run a hand through her messy short mop of hair. It was fairly curly, and while that wasn't much of a problem with how short she kept it, it did get tangled and quite often fell over one of her eyes.

"Skill." Une replied, pulling off the rubber band to shake her rather short ponytail out to her shoulders, putting the band around her wrist. "Come, let's check in with Veronica and hole up for the night." She said, pausing long enough to catch Quatte's hand before the two walked off.

"Were the hallways always this… Empty?" Quatte inquired, glancing around. There was a stark lack of the usual hubbub of busy demons passing through, papers spilling onto the floor and people powering by while pounding a cup of coffee. "We must have taken too long. Maybe Marcus made a shit brew again, fuck if I know." Une replied as she powered past shut doors and the solemn plaster walls that watched them pass by with little recognition. After a mess of lefts, rights and the occasional staircase, they eventually arrived in the more inner section of Hell's complex, where the walls became a darker shade and the floor went from cold linoleum to a fairly pleasant carpet. The smell was the same, the offensive stench of ash, burnt flesh and dry heat heavy and thick in the air. Along the pair went through an unnecessary number of hallways and the doors became thicker and more solid wood, the walls became better decorated and the golden plaques on the doors became more and more elaborate, soon stopping in front of perhaps the third grandest door in all of Hell. The Reapers hall.

Out Une reached, gripping one of the thick bars that were mounted into the slabs of wood, pulling the door open to a rather… Ghastly sight. She stepped back, hand on the door to keep it open as both demons felt their hearts stall, watching, looking. The hall was as it normally was, a grandeur room with a high ceiling, beautifully polished wood stretching along the walls and up to the curved peak of the ceiling that pulled your eyes up to the glittering crystals of fire that floated above. Door after door lined the walls, each adorned with a golden plaque to denote which reaper occupied it, ~~ Two demons were in the room, crouched over as they lifted Veronica's corpse up to set it in a body bag. Une blinked hard a couple times, breath catching as she glanced towards Quatte, who's normally fairly humorous exterior had cracked. She looked upon in a tired resignation, her gaze reminiscent of one somebody would have on their deathbed. An unhellish calm had settled over her as she stepped in, tugging lightly at Une's hand. When the other reaper didn't budge, Quatte's hand slipped from hers as she approached the two currently hoisting the body of the head reaper, of the person they’d come to think of as a friend. Quatte sighed quietly, gripping her other wrist behind her back