so if you meet me have some courtesy [closed]

[inferus]

WHO: Wrath & Vanessa
WHEN: Some nebulous time before plot rolls
WHERE: Vanessa's place
WHAT: Wrath brings the note and discovers her home is powerfully warded against demons (aka him)
WARNINGS: Likely lots of mentions/references to demons, the devil, hell, possession, etc.

Wrath carries the note, folded and placed within his pocket. Being a detective doesn't really offer him much in terms of accessories. It came with the use of a gun, but he dislikes guns so he has never carried that on him. He doesn't even have a badge really to use - only the paper which indicates his position within Minaras. Funny how they can place all the responsibility for stopping another attack on him, but not give him proper resources to do so. It's why he is willing to chase any potential lead, however. While he may not have sensed anything from the note, he does not have the same abilities as others within the group, and so it isn't much trouble at all to head to the indicated address.

Best to know what every individual within the group is capable of doing, how their skills can be utilized so they can all meet their ultimate goal of getting out of this world and back to their own. He is still convinced the group is the best method for finding the beacons, returning them all even if the group simultaneously, frequently makes reckless decisions.

He steps up toward the door Vanessa indicated in her message, but even as he approaches he... senses it, which brings him pause. Wards. They are not simple wards nor wards against general dangers, but wards against demons and dark magic specifically. He tilts his head to the side in curiosity, sliding his palm over the outside of it though he makes no effort to cross. He has never felt anything like it in all his time in this world. As far as he knows, demons do not exist here, which means these wards must have been placed by Vanessa herself (she did assume Arabella had been a demon or possessed by one). As he steps up toward the side of the house, he feels the ward that prevents him from coming further to it. They are powerful wards that is certain, and while he could attempt to push through to test exactly how powerful they are, that would be rude. And it would also potentially give more of himself away than he would like to at present.

Instead he pulls his device from his pocket and flicks it to audio as he contacts Vanessa directly:

"I am here. You have wards against demons on your house, however, and I am a demon." There's a brief pause. "...so if you would prefer to meet elsewhere, we can."

Comments

[matermali]

She had thought it nothing more than a bad slice of cake, assuming that the mechanical servant still couldn't understand that it must finish baking before it is edible. Her unfavorable morning habit of eating last night's dessert for next morning's breakfast sometimes leave her unsettled, but this is not that. It isn't until the pocket watch chimes and she lifts it to hear a man's voice. 12 o'clock almost exactly. Now her fingertips dig at her bodice, and she looks from her chair to the door beyond with a menace that had not existed only moments before.

Menace, and fright.

A trap? A faulty one, if so. Or exact. Share a bit of truth to hide the grander lie. Her jaw clenches (teeth bared) as if awaiting the door to cast itself in flames to let in the demon beyond. But it waits. So does she. Her response is delayed for at least a minute, waiting for her hand to steady before she speaks.

"Wrath. Of course. Not a pseudonym, then."

When she can find the strength, she stands (perfect posture; chin high) and nods to the droid so that it can go and open the door. She had already known he would appear as human, and a beautiful one. Foolish of her to assume he had been anything so basic. He had handled himself far too well with that possession-that-was-not.

"Here is well and good." Here is where she is safest, even if she allows him in. Better here than out there, where none of her totems are. Where she can be taken and dragged to the darkness. Vanessa wonders now if she should leave him in the hall. Likely he would not hand over the note in that case. Is it worth the risk? Is she meant to tremble and flee? I refuse.

So against her better judgment, she dares to step closer and into the doorway, just beyond his own reach. She, however, can reach across the barrier, and so she does, but not without pulling a blade from the pocket of her skirt. She snaps it open. Not for him. The blade presses to her own thumb, but again she hesitates, staring at him. His eyes are beautiful. His power is beyond so many others that she has met. So much darker. Familiar, yet alien. Same, yet Other.

"If I sense danger, I can banish you as swiftly as I will, no matter how earnest this invitation. Do you swear to do me no harm within these walls, as I so swear the same unto you?"

A truce. The most warmth she dares offer in the wake of the all-encompassing chill that follows him like a shadow. She is here to solve a mystery and find her purpose, and that will not happen if she runs at the first sight of a demon from Hell.

[inferus]

Witches.

The minute has gone on too long, and his annoyance pricks at him as he rolls his shoulders back and considers leaving altogether. The device has been turned off and placed back in his pocket. When the door opens, he turns to face one Vanessa Ives - takes in a deep breath as he senses the ancient primordial soul. The dark, vast power rattling at the cage within her, and says simply: "Ah."

She has more reason than most to worry about demons and possession. Wrath can sense her fear despite her attempts to hide it. Fear, like most strong emotions, only bolsters his magic. He can smell the blood she has used to make her tokens - mortals in his world believe demons thirst for blood. In truth, it is power demons are intoxicated by. Spilling someone's blood, making them spill their own blood, that gives a demon a certain amount of power over a person whether they realize it or not.

He dislikes the demand for his word as if a demon's word- a Prince of Hell's word is so easily given. He has no intention to harm her, but they both know if he wished to, he could. Instead, his tone is both casual and polite when he speaks.

"You will sense danger. My very presence elicits it."

It slithers out of him, power, bending shadows to him. Her own power screams; Wrath wonders how clearly she hears it. He eyes the blade in her hand, tilts his head to the side with some curiosity. What does she intend to cast next with all that rich and dark magic coursing through her veins?

"Thankfully, I have had enough excitement for the day."

[matermali]

Her eyes narrow at his promise of danger never leaving his presence, and she knows he isn't wrong. "No malice, then." Though perhaps to a demon, there is no difference. And who is she one to judge on the matter? Whatever he's able to sense of her, she worries that her fear is palpable. Louder than her anger (her own malice). She tastes it; it's bitter in the back of her throat, trickling down over her heart enough to nearly suffocate it. Is her pulse racing too fast for her to hear, or has it completely stopped?

The fright doesn't show easily in her expression, but she can't shield it completely in how she stares. Such is how she's poised, as ready to attack as she is to defend. Were this London, she would not even consider such that she is, but this is not London. Here, in their strange company, all manner of magics and creatures exist. She had to have known that demons would, and in fact has already had her suspicions of others. This is the first to seem to truly fit the bill. She does not trust his handsome features, imagining all of the ways that he can twist himself about once the sun sets, just like the other night creatures.

Vanessa isn't willing to undo her totems, but she knows it would be just as foolish (no, more-so) to reach out and touch him. To let her blood touch him may only empower him, she isn't certain. For now, she will secede only temporarily, though her eyes do not leave the sight of him when the knife slices at her thumb. By now, she is so used to it, she barely flinches, and she turns just enough to etch bloody X's onto each side of the doorframe. As she does, with her eyes forever darting in his direction, the crystal blue gaze seems to cloud as ancient words are spoken. They are spoken deep and guttural, hissing and hacking, as though evil itself struggles to claw itself from her throat. And evil the words are, the power in them seizing upon the darkness within and weighing down the space about her. Not Latin, though its influence is there, along with so many other old languages, now butchered and twisted. They once wrapped around the wings of an angel, until they were torn away and flung into the pits of Hell. She assumes, perhaps wrongly, that he understands what she says, but even without a verbal understanding, the meaning should be felt.

"Ullag nehosellu, ye non hun wesrat horri. Etsoo Sataan yerkhomi. Etsoon yerkhomi lakwe em tene'aku zahomblar." Unholy demon, you have no power over me. Let Satan come. Let those who walk in darkness come within.

The air thins, but Vanessa is more tense than ever, and when she tucks her thumb into a fist, she hopes it isn't an error. She will clean the blood as soon as he leaves, but for now that will provide them both with a modicum of decency. He is acting in an official capacity, after all. He is too public to risk murdering her in her own home, with a droid puttering away in the kitchen to assemble snacks.

Slowly, she backs into the foyer, then waves her free hand inside. She doesn't smile, but she isn't trying to be rude. She has just never welcomed a demon into her home before. That's a lie, that's a lie. You invited him into your bed every night, you liar. But not here. Not ever again. Here, his minions will come up short.

"You may enter. The little metal man should be busy making us refreshments, which ought to keep him occupied for a time. I hope you enjoy bitter tea."

[inferus]

The translation is not exact, but he can feel the intent - the kind of magic and power that would indeed have sway over many demons.

More than anything, he recognizes the name. Satan. Prince of Darkness. King of the Wicked. Mortals have called him many things over the centuries, inexact as their lore remains. The First Witch that cursed him made a further mockery of such lore, and he is reminded of it, of her, standing before Vanessa.

Familiar, but not.

Presumably, she believes him to be pure evil, which is why she has gone to such lengths, yet she spits its essence from her mouth to protect herself. No amount of wards around her home can exorcise it from her body. No amount of wards can end him. Evil and good: he is both and he is neither.

He exists.

If he has reservations of his own, they are buried under layers of impenetrable ice. He waits until she says he may enter before he steps over the threshold. She may not smile, but he does - cool and polite with a sharpness in the unnatural gold of his gaze.

"I see your wards are decorative, as well. I have become familiar with tea through my stay in this world." Wrath stops in front of her and raises an eyebrow. Her fear and anger call out to him and weave around his own dark magic more now that he is so close. He is fuel for them both - it's a vicious cycle when he interacts with someone as they are feeling those emotions, especially when they're aimed toward him. "Where would you have us sit? Unless you wish to examine the note here in your foyer."

[matermali]

The android is already in the kitchen preparing tea and snacks, but it had still been worth inquiring. Some preferred coffee, and who is to know what a demon favors? It's rare for Vanessa to utterly abandon her manners, but that is hardly for the sake of others. Almost always, they are a ruse─an attempt to keep control in an ever chaotic world. So death permeates every shadow and the sun may blind, but at least she can control the words that come out of her mouth. When those are lost to the voices of ghosts, when the demons take hold, then she can worry. It's happened before, but it isn't happening again, and she won't let him try. Into her 'home' he treads, but not her soul. Distance is kept, both physically and through the ether, while she only cedes to his acknowledgment of her 'decorations' with the scarcest of nods. He isn't threatened, no doubt, but perhaps it's better if she's underestimated. She must take a care not to underestimate him, either. Too much is unknown about the demons that wander this realm (too much is unknown about her own).

"I may as well have barred the door if that were the case. Please worry not for my comfort; you are my guest. There is a drawing room where we may sit." It's also the room that carries her books (though not enough to be called a 'collection' just yet), and it carries the scarce tools that she has either constructed or sought out in the markets. Such belongings, few as they are, stay on the far side of the room where she moves to. The wall closest to the door only holds sparce décor: a painting of a man that may or may not exist, a clock, and a small statue of a robotic horse.

Compared to other homes owned by those in her social class, Vanessa doesn't decorate very much. Few things catch her interest, and she is often too deep in her own head to wonder at décor that doesn't have a personal meaning to her. Her bedroom, which he will never see, only has a cross on the wall. Such hints at religion are barren in the rest of the home, save the plain cross pendant hanging from her neck.

She motions to the small ornamental glass table in the center of the room, which sits between a velvet sofa and two leather chairs. Her self-made tarot cards (inked with her blood) are stacked at the edge of the table, but otherwise it is barren and waiting for attention.

"Set the note there, if you wouldn't mind."

[inferus]

Wrath steps into her room, following her further inside, taking note of the decorations further in. There are not many of them altogether. It makes sense since she's within the group, and she is new. They are not going to stay in this city ultimately - decorating the home would be useless ultimately.

He does clock what exists there, moving to the table at the center of the room even as his gaze narrows to take in the rest. He can smell the blood on the cards at the table.

He pulls the note from his jacket pocket and then sets it down on top of the table.

Then he will sink into one of those leather chairs. His hands rest against the arm of it as he lifts his gaze toward her.

"I see your magic requires your blood."

He has never seen cards like the one on her table. He has heard of tarot before, but tarot cards made with one's blood. What does she intend to view using those cards? What spell has been placed upon them?

[matermali]

Vanessa can't resist the slight narrowing of her eyes as he seems to investigate just what makes her powers function. Her temper flares, barely restrained. She could argue, but she holds her tongue. Always better to be underestimated, indeed. The tarot doesn't require her blood, nor does the Verbis Diablo, but she has learned of the power in it. Without Joan Clayton's tarot cards to guide her through, it's a small, if twisted comfort to personalize her own, newer cards in a way that can't be borrowed. She knows that it leads her down a darker path, but these are dark times. If there's anything she can do to ease her spellcasting, then she will.

"A creature like you cannot deny the power in blood, can you? Do not think too much on it, if you please."

She knows well enough how it can lure demons, so she will reach for the tarot to set the deck on the bookshelf behind her before turning her attention back to the note. She's tentative when she picks it up, as if it may turn to dust and float away. Though reluctant to sit in the presence of a demon, she'll force herself to perch on the sofa's edge while glancing the note over back to front, memorizing the scrawl over it.

Such a curious phrase. How could it not be a spell? Could its power be shielded even from a demon of Wrath's caliber? That would be surprising, but not impossible. Though the strength he emanates is so palpable she can almost taste it (like frozen copper), that doesn't mean he is unmatched. They know too little about their surroundings to assume so much.

A tray rattles down the hall, the droid soon to carry in a carafe of coffee, with some delicate cups and a plate of small lemon cakes in tow. She ignores it, having only arranged such a delivery out of base courtesy. She also finds comfort in the droid's presence. Should she go into a trance, then at least the metal man ought to awaken her before the demon can attack. She can't sense anything from the note at the moment, but she hasn't yet tried, either.

"Such a little phrase causing so much trouble. The power in words cannot be denied, either. Even here, they carry such a weight."

[inferus]

"Blood is often used in spells within my own world, but I was curious to see them used in... cards as you have done so here."

Wrath's gaze narrows as he takes in the sight of the tarot cards before him - her blood upon them, the future meant to be told between each card. He surveys them before his gold-black gaze lifts to meet her own. The droid brings in the coffee, the plates, the lemon cake as well.

He does not look toward the droid.

"So they do." Carry weight. He grabs a cup, takes a sip from it, watches her throughout it all. "Words frequently do carry power, carry meaning. In my world, words carry meaning too. Deals can only be made through the power of words."

And so he does not give his word lightly, knowing the power and meaning behind it.

[matermali]

By 'his world', she can only suspect he means Hell. Otherwise, she has little reason to doubt that they're from the same world, though she still isn't used to asking about timelines. The year may be different, but...Hell is Hell. Isn't it? Who cares what continent he happened to be meandering about, harassing the innocent. Everything he says could have been uttered by Satan himself.

She wonders after the state of Emilia, even more-so the way he talks. It isn't her problem, but it's impossible not to feel defensive over a soul that may have been taken advantage of. When he meets her gaze, she doesn't blink, but she does look back down to the note after a stretch of discomfort on her part. Vanessa hopes that inviting him in isn't a mistake she will one day regret. Her confidence in being able to reverse the spell wavers momentarily.

"Is that your connection to her?" She doesn't feel the need to explain who she means. Who else would Vanessa be talking about, but the young woman who had been 'protecting' him during Arabella's assault? "You struck a deal with her?"

As upsetting as that would be, it also isn't something that she would judge Emilia for. How often has Vanessa been tempted, and how often has she nearly given in? Too often. It's the only reason that she can imagine that a seemingly nice young woman would choose to be connected to such a dangerous monster.

[inferus]

Wrath raises an eyebrow at this particular line of inquiry. He can feel her worry - naturally, witches always worry about what demons might do to them. Emilia was given endless stories about how terrible the Wicked are, and these same stories are rampant in the mortal world. He can only imagine what Vanessa has heard, what she has experienced in her own world especially with the darkness inside of her and her connection to- to a different devil.

"No."

He did not strike a deal with her. Emilia made her deal with Pride to save the world from what she believed would be the end of it, to find the truth about her sister's murder. It is a truth she will find, but he knows she- the answers will be devastating when she does. All he has done has been to protect Emilia's soul and choices, to keep both her own. Not that Vanessa knows that, not that he will tell her. Emilia is to be his equal, his wife. But he is not particularly in a sharing mood at them moment - information has value, has a cost.

"You speak as if you have an understanding about making deals with demons. Have you made any of your own, or would you prefer to shift focus back to the intended objective for this meeting?"

[matermali]

She doesn't believe him, but then what had she been expecting? If he was honest, she would worry. If he lied, she would still worry. So she's left dissatisfied in general, because even if he is telling the truth (she can normally sense such things, why can't she sense it now?), she can't take it at face-value. Perhaps he doesn't have a deal with Emilia yet, but that doesn't mean he isn't still trying to seduce her into a future contract. The powerful demons seem to be the most patient, after all.

The paper wrinkles under her tightening grip, and again she resists the urge to snap at him in anger. What is wrong with her today? She ought to have been expecting trouble, because trouble is nothing new to her. Is she really about to let her fear get the better of her? In this thing's presence? She would hate to be so predictable. He had come here with a purpose, so it makes sense that he's deflecting.

Despite her own inquiries, she doesn't answer his, understanding it for the statement that it is. Whether or not she's made a deal isn't pertinent to this meeting, and to be honest, she wouldn't know how to answer. She has turned down the Devil time and time again, to be certain, but isn't accepting the Verbis Diablo into her life a deal with darkness itself? In using it, she's shed blood that wasn't her own. Welcome to the night, Ethan had said. So she stays silent on the matter, lips pressed tightly as she forces her grip to relax.

It's quick, how she's able to abandon the ferocity that earlier whitened her knuckles, now smoothing the note over her lap with a deceptive softness. Heightened emotions may strengthen her powers, but not if she's thinking about something else completely. At least, she doesn't think. Vanessa is loathe to admit how little she can actually control such powers, though she had been clear enough when speaking to Emilia that she couldn't promise anything.

Despite the threat sitting directly across from her, Vanessa closes her eyes. Should it work, she may lose herself in a trance, but his power isn't the sort of thing that can sneak up on her. She should hear it crackling in her ears before he can reach her, and there's nothing for him to gain from an assault. For the moment, she'll have to trust in her senses, and in the android standing nearby to sacrifice itself in the face of danger.

There are no special words, no blood spilt, only silence and stillness as her unmarred hand rests over the note. She thinks over what she witnessed of Arabella's attack, of what could have caused it and those who may strive for chaos. She lets the barriers fall away, leaving her thoughts bare and ever straining for something just out of reach.

There's...nothing. Only more disappointment, leaving her tenser than ever, her brow furrowed and her jaw clenched. When her eyes open again, Vanessa doesn't know how much time has passed, but however much it was has been wasted. She risked a demon's entry for nothing.

"I could not garner anything from it. Apologies. It seems I wasted your time."

[inferus]

Wrath's calculating gaze remains on her through her silence. Through his periphery, he notices how her hand clenches over the note. If she has had the experience with demons he imagines she has, he is well aware she must know how to navigate conversations like this one. There is a subtlety to them. Wrath has always had a preference for actions over words, but he cannot deny the importance of knowing strategically how to say very much without using many words at all to do so.

Words have power. Knowledge has power.

He knew he would need to say no more to make his point. His relationship with Emilia is not for her to scrutinize nor for him to answer about. There are aspects of it he cannot say due to his curse, but Emilia has never been in need of protection from him - not even at the height of the curse when she summoned him to her, forced her into a marriage bond, and all he had were twisted, incorrect memories of who she really was flooding his mind.

No curse could take away that fire of love he has for her even when he could not remember her at all.

Vanessa wrestles with her anger, and she curbs it then, replacing it with softness instead. Control of emotions is also especially important when dealing with demons, when dealing with the Underworld. It is impressive the way she shifts to softness from the clear anger which had risen inside of her moments before.

He remains seated as she reaches out, as he senses a shift in her. It's familiar but it isn't like the magic of the mirror - past, present, future.

"The pursuit of further knowledge is always worth the attempt." He takes another sip from his cup of tea. "What is it exactly you can ordinarily garner from items?"

[matermali]

The note is carefully set back on the table, just next to the tray, which she continues to ignore. Perhaps him taking advantage of the food and drink is a way to establish his dominance, and she ought not to shy away from returning in kind, but she is not quite ready to dine with a demon just yet. Even under the guise of formality, there's still an implied intimacy in sharing food and drink. She doesn't stand, though, ever in control of her courtesies. She invited him in as a guest, so he may stay.

His questions bring her discomfort, though, and she rolls her shoulders back while considering. Here she is the curious one, but there is give-and-take if she wants to know more, isn't there? Perhaps Emilia is off-limits, but she may yet learn more of his powers. ...No more than what he would want her to know, but is that not better than nothing?

If the demon is disappointed at her lack of success, he doesn't show it, and Vanessa feels an unusual resentment churn within. Does he think her weak? He sits there like a lord in your space. Trap him. Suffocate him. Choke him until all he can utter is─

A twitch tips her chin downward quite suddenly, and she waits just a moment too long to answer him; the pause is noticeable. The bottle within is corked; the darkness is forced to suffocate in its silence. The breaths that had been momentarily shaky seem to steady, and she smooths out her skirt with an absent motion. Quiet.

"I do not know how to explain it," she admits. Hearing her own voice soothes her. She is Vanessa. She is always just Vanessa Ives. "It is something I have the least experience with, I suppose. When I do see things, it is often uninvited. People reveal far more than the objects they carry, but...a piece of their identity always lingers with the things they touch. As if the object itself carries on with their memory. To pen a letter requires intent, after all. A passion of a sort."

[inferus]

Wrath says nothing at all as she gives that noticeable pause. He continues to take casual drinks from his cup. His expression remains impassive though he is aware acutely of the shift within her. Her own darkness wishes to lash out at him in turn.

There's almost a hint of something predatory in the gold of his gaze, which wishes to dare that darkness to try.

Then she regains her breathing, regains herself, and answers. He is certain, given her experience with demons and darkness, that she is curious about what he is like and what he can do. It's a bargain of sorts in its own way.

Give a little information, take a little information back. In Hell, everything has a cost.

"...an imprint from their mind or from their experience. You can see flashes of that." There's a pause as he glances at the note as it clearly is not reliable: "Occasionally."

It is interesting to imagine. Wrath has put in many protections within his own mind, but could he protect an object he interacted with in the same way from her catching a glimpse? Unlikely. Unless he went through the trouble of warding it.

[matermali]

Occasionally. If it's a jab, she makes no reaction known, but inside she seethes. Not even at him, but at herself. At God for ignoring her pleas; at the Devil for having encouraged her to use something that never actually helps. Only teases at what could be. It seems that when it's most needed is when these powers desert her.

Her thumb taps the plush skirt covering her knees─once, twice, thrice─before folding her hands together and leaning back. It will do her no good to appear distraught over her own weaknesses. He needn't know how much she struggles with control, whether it be over herself or her powers. Her voice is cool, no matter what simmers beneath the surface.

"To take such a form, to appear so human, you must rank quite high under the Dark Prince's command. I should think that means you are familiar with higher magics and how to pervert them. Can you not also see memories? Thoughts? Desires? Or have the wards of the citadel found a way to castrate you?"

[inferus]

"You seem quite familiar with the Dark Prince and his command in your own world." It is a mere statement without expectation of filling in exactly why she is so familiar with it. In some ways, she does not have to. He can feel the claim on her soul by another like him but not. She is far more familiar than any mortal ought to be but they both know there is far more to her than that. "What makes you so certain what you know is the same as what occurs within mine?"

It's a dangerous assumption to make in this world within worlds. As strange as it may be to realize, he is not the only devil in existence. Other worlds have other versions, and all mortals have their stories.

"There are Seven Princes of Hell. Each with his own House."

And there is the devil who rules them all. It is easier when people assume that is Pride. It is not as if Pride ever minds the extra attention, and Wrath has no need for accolades nor does he care about the title like his brother does. It's a duty, a responsibility to keep the balance and keep the Underworld from falling apart.

[matermali]

Vanessa would be loathe to confess that despite her lifelong entanglement with Lucifer, what she knows of him and his command is frighteningly little. He's haunted her and named it enticement, only to keep her small when resolve ever did waver. If anything, she knows so little that she'd had no expectations for what form higher demons may take. There's no reason for her to even assume they are of different worlds. At least, not until he talks of seven. Seven Princes.

The very concept of different underworlds through mythology has never been beyond her. Yet, she has never really considered differing forms of Hell, not beyond the poems. But life isn't a poem. She doesn't feel elegant or delicate. She feels weary and ugly, and his gaze only deepens her glare, hardly softened by her smile. Her teeth grit like gravel, like her voice, all while her pose remains still. Her eyes are sharp, rarely blinking.

"Seven gates to Hell. A belief held in the burning sands of Egypt, long ago. Why not as true today?" Her head tilts. She keeps expecting him to shift form any moment; for him to attack. To appear like the beast that must exist underneath all of this poise and charm. Vanessa knows she can't be the only ugly creature in this room. No matter the Hell, no matter the realm, she will trust no demon to bear good will.

"Which house do you serve, then?"

[inferus]

"The gates are different, but there are seven circles within the Underworld." Well, eight, but few know about the eighth, and it is hardly relevant to the current conversation. Strange how she talks about it in the abstract. It's a belief held in Egypt so she has not been to Hell herself to confirm or deny the beliefs held within her world (at least not yet - the claim on her soul is clear).

His own ugliness, his own beast remains trapped within the cage inside of him where he keeps it with careful restraint. Hell itself is scarred and frozen from when it had been unleashed previously, and no one remains unscathed from the torment he wrought to this day nor untouched by the curse, which he has yet to find a way to break.

He has introduced himself with his title to several people including on the network. This is no secret (he keeps the devil title hidden for all the implications that come along with it, which would complicate things more than necessary). He simply rarely bothers introducing himself in full because titles have had little meaning to most individuals within the group. Vanessa clearly has more awareness than most - touched by some demon within her own world, claimed by a darker soul still. And he is still uncertain of what awareness she has of what has claimed her.

"I am Prince Wrath, General of War, and you? What dark, ancient power rattles around inside of you?"

He doesn't expect an answer to the question - certainly not with her reactions to him so far. The statement was more one of acknowledgement that he is aware of it.

[matermali]

Seven circles, like the Hell of Dante's travels. No. Dante only set his eyes upon one fallen Prince. What does that mean, then? She struggles with the concept that seven could unanimously rule. That would suggest peace over singular power. There is no fear without power. Vanessa cannot imagine a Hell ruled by anything other than an all-consuming fear, marked by one and one alone.

A problem to work through in time.

The name Wrath makes far more sense, at least, when she considers that the cardinal sins also number seven. If she could represent any of the virtues in kind, she may be fearless in the face of such a being, but Vanessa is no avatar of virtue. He could overcome her if she does not remain vigilant. So she knows fear, but anger joins it, as it ever has. Should she tremble, who is to say which is the cause? Who is to say what she fears more: his power, or her own?

Any remnants of a smile are gone. He can already see something in her that she hates. How she wishes at times that she could see it as clearly as the demons that hunt for their mistress, but that is exactly when she would cease being Vanessa. That cannot happen unless she takes another down with her.

"If you do not know the name of it, then perhaps that is for the better."

Before being drawn into Serthica, Vanessa had been wholly ready to go to battle with Satan and his minions, and she remains ready to carry out her task at the right opportunity. Even if it leaves her soul forfeit, she is of a mind that Lucifer himself would not survive to relish in it.

But there would be no satisfaction in trying here. Not if she can't save Sir Malcolm in the act.

"I suppose the limitations of this realm leave us at an impasse. A truce will be our best way forward." Of course, a truce has been assumed for as long as they've been talking, but it's best to be clear on the matter. Her death wish is on hold.

[inferus]

"I know the name of many such dark individuals, but we are from different worlds so I make no assumptions. Strange that this darkness would choose its home to be within you instead of wreaking havoc on its own."

Why does she need Vanessa? A question that remains unanswered.

Wrath has guesses as to the name of it, but given those differences, he would not put any faith in those guesses of his. This dark ancient soul, this terrible power inside of her is part of her, but it is not all of her. His initial reaction is still the First Witch. She placed her curse upon Hell, upon him all because he refused to intervene with two consenting beings.

"I would hope my actions thus far have shown I have accepted this truce for the time being."

He gave her the choice to welcome her into her home or not. He made no attempt to break past the wards she had without first warning her of what he is.

And he has been (relatively) open about what he is. He takes another long drink from the cup before he has finished his tea. He sets the empty cup on top of the tray.

"I imagine you would prefer I left now."

[matermali]

Vanessa doubts very much that choice had anything to do with it. She was born to this, that much has been made clear to her. How could her curse have known where it would be cast? Nobody is more confused on the why of it more than she. It leaves Vanessa disappointed that he doesn't immediately utter a name. Some confirmation. She has only suspicions from past whispers overheard from enemies and friends alike. Sometimes it comes to her, in the croons of a mother that might stroke her hair and hold her tight, before the fog takes it. Not away, not completely, but further down. The call is simply too obscured.

As she said, it is likely safer that it remain that way. For her as much as anyone. If only safety didn't bore her so. A truce need not be boring. It's hardly safe, not when the wording is so precarious.

"You may be surprised, then, at what I do and do not prefer." Despite feeling ready to bear her claws at a moment's notice, he is fascinating. She can only wonder at what else he has to say on his Hell. She wouldn't mind him sharing more. Which is exactly the problem, so she stands to escort him out. She cannot become so familiar with any Hell, should she wish to retain any hope for her future. "Which is exactly why leaving may be a good decision."

Not out of any desire to please him, but she still wishes she could have been more help with the note. Her glance in its direction is apologetic, if nothing else. The most he may ever receive from her.

[inferus]

"Not entirely," Wrath answers with ease in response to what she does or does not prefer. Choice does factor in at least slightly to all of this. She wants to know more. She wants to know the demon who has its claws in her at least a little more despite the potential consequences. Demons - Princes of Hell know how to be tempting in turn.

The interactions she has had with demons before him - He is curious about it.

He stands when she does and moves from the tea cups left behind. The gold of his gaze meets her own.

"Because you wish to know more of Hell and its demons, but do not wish to admit how you wish it? The darkness within you demands whether you acknowledge it or not."

This is spoken as they reach the exit to her home, and Wrath steps outside of it. There's no escaping the thing inside of her - it certainly will not happen by ignoring him, ignoring those from Hell itself. Not with this imprint upon her.

He walks down the front steps as he heads away.

[matermali]

Indignation keeps Vanessa rooted in the doorway as he leaves, the terse civility of her posture dissolving once their gazes break and he's down the steps. No, truces didn't have to be safe at all. The impudence. His very gall at making such a claim to what's demanded of her, ensures that truce is not friendship, and at his retreating back, her teeth are bared. Fingers curl like claws against the door, through the door, prickling through the ether. There, where only shadows can hear, something old hisses its displeasure.

Vanessa shuts the door with care, not so taken by ire that she will be loud about it. She lets it burn quietly, her glare for the useless droid hovering by the door coupled with a sharp command for it to fetch supplies for cleaning the doorframe. She will be the one to wash it, of course. Vanessa had underestimated the risk of his influence and committed an error in letting him through, and he cannot be welcome back. No matter what form they may take, any Prince of Hell is to be considered no more than a traitorous, evil beast.

Her gaze passes over the shape of the scorpion painted in her blood upon the back of the bronze door, finding a bittersweet comfort in it. Her mentor would have knocked her in the side of the head for having let a demon through for any reason, then cursed her as a child. The thought settles her nerves, and her glare softens to something far more fond, her fingertips resting against the blood totem while she waits for the droid to retrieve her supplies.

Let him relish that arrogance. It will be found wanting. She knows what is demanded of her, and that claim is God's alone. She can still hope for that much, no matter how the demons lurk. Let them starve.