An entrance

[burning-evil.livejournal.com]

The front door does not open. There is no fanfare or exclamations.

Simply a man, where there was not one before.

He's about six feet tall, dark, dressed in a suit and topcoat. He has a scarf. And shades.

And a lighter in his hand. It's black. And he plays with it a lot.

So. Just a man.

In a bar.




He may hurt you.

Comments

[http://users.livejournal.com/_to_the_bone/]

And similarly there is one jacks ball heading towards him.

It doesn't toss or bounce, as it's owner had intended. As though fearing it's fate it rolls across the floor like a prisoner walking death row, an inevitable trajectory towards the tall, quiet man's shoe.

[burning-evil.livejournal.com]

It's progress is noted. Even encouraged maybe, with power that can move things as it will.

And then there is a crunch, as it is crushed under the heel of a shiny black shoe.

The man smiles at its remains.

[http://users.livejournal.com/_to_the_bone/]

He now has a furious young man, perched on his table, resting on his knees and glaring, eyes

It was just a game and you have broken it."

[burning-evil.livejournal.com]

This is not a mind he knows. The head is tilted. He does not seem to care about the proximity.

'And what are you then?'

The voice sounds Irish.

[http://users.livejournal.com/_to_the_bone/]

"Jack-of-the-Frost."

He's still glaring, ignoring the lighter with the ease of one who doesn't consider even the simplest of consequences. It's closed. It will not open. Why should it?

And his voice becomes a perfect, if exagerated, mimicry.

"'And what are you then?'"

[timsbooks.livejournal.com]

Tim glances up at the smell. Devils all smell basically alike. Brimstone and unholiness.

"Good day."

[burning-evil.livejournal.com]

...and charcoal, if you get close enough and try really hard. Maybe.

'Evening.'

He sounds vaguely amused.

[timsbooks.livejournal.com]

It's the magic, really. Thats what Tim senses, anyways.

"Which one are you then? I don't see any flies, so you're not Belesebub, and Belial isn't anywhere near as subtle... You're far too dark haired to be Lucifer. Asmodeus, maybe?"

[burning-evil.livejournal.com]

'Does it matter?'

It does. He likes being recognised for what he is. But not being mocked. He doesn't like that.

He tilts his head and flicks his lighter, just once.

[timsbooks.livejournal.com]

Tim, mock Satan? Oh yeh.

"Names are important. Shaitan, then?"

[forced-pilgrim.livejournal.com]

There is (apparently) a young Chinese Buddhist monk aimiably shuffling around the bar.

A young Chinese Buddhist monk with absolutely zero danger sense, apparently.

(It's a very good Tripitaka impression.)

"Alms?" He smiles trustingly and holds out a wooden bowl at this new arrival.

[burning-evil.livejournal.com]

The lighter is flipped open, lit, flipped closed again. And again. And again.

'Why?'

[forced-pilgrim.livejournal.com]

"Giving to the monks and priests accrues good karma," the monk says serenely.

He rattles the bowl suggestively. "Food is also acceptable."

[burning-evil.livejournal.com]

He smirks.

'No.'

And he wonders what this man is, because he's not a man. The mind isn't right.

[forced-pilgrim.livejournal.com]

The mind is, in fact, not vulnerable to any sort of psychic touch, and may not seem to exist on that spectrum.

"Yes," Monkey says firmly. "It does." Rattle rattle.

[transgenic-max.livejournal.com]

Max is watching him. Perhaps the lighter drew her attention. Or perhaps it was the fact that he was there, and had not been before. One notices such things, sometimes. Or perhaps it was nothing at all, and she's just watching.

[burning-evil.livejournal.com]

He likes women.

He watches back, with a small smile.

[transgenic-max.livejournal.com]

This particular woman appears to be surrounded by books on the occult - cults, demons, gods, and so on. This is probably not the best of things, at least for her.

After a moment, she inclines her head slightly in greeting. There's no visible hint of embarassment at being caught watching.

[burning-evil.livejournal.com]

He would laugh if there were.

Instead he walks over and sits down. It's a graceful walk, arrogant, and when he sits it's one smooth movement. Legs are crossed and he casts an eye over the books, seemingly amused.

'Good evening.'

[transgenic-max.livejournal.com]

She watches his approach, gaze tracking his movements, calmly assessing.

"Is it?" There's a faint smile, polite. "Hello."

[supersymmetry]

Fred is the worst pup in the world to send to Satan. She has absolutely no evil-radar.

But since her death is already pretty much preordained and her soul rather already spoken for by a blue goddess, it's not like she can get in much more trouble, right?

(Wrong, but here she is, anyway.)

She glances over from a nearby table, where she's enjoying some cocoa. She offers a small, slightly nervous smile.

[burning-evil.livejournal.com]

It depends entirely on what sort of trouble she would like. He does it all.

He walks over, self-confident and arrogant to the core. Nervousness makes him smile.

Cocoa rather more so.

'Good evening.'

[supersymmetry]

"It is, for once." she says, finally having a break from the constant woe.

"Are you new here?"

She hasn't seen him around, but that doesn't mean much, since she's usually got her nose in a book.

[burning-evil.livejournal.com]

He'd be disappointed in that. He likes woe. And he laughs, because as far as he's concerned, he's not new anywhere.

'End of time here, right?' He looks out of the window and admires the apocalypse outside. 'No. Not new.'

He sits down. He likes humans. 'But I've never been here myself. What are you doing?'

[supersymmetry]

"End of the universe, anyway." she says, eying the window. "Though time works oddly here, to be sure."

She shrugs, forcing herself not to consider the end of anything at present.

"Me? Just taking a cocoa break. I find that it goes well with exploding universes."