I don't own South Park.
This'll probably be Dristophe, for anybody who cares. I'm planning on continuing anyway, but reviews would be nice.
The quiet is unnatural. Of this he is certain of, because until literally seconds ago, his ears were ringing with noise; with screams, with threats, with battle cries. Now all he can hear is his own overly fast breathing. Fighting makes his head rush, most of the time in a good way.
Warily clutching his shovel as he hefts it over his shoulder incase of an attack, he turns in a circle, slowly. Making sure to take in every detail he can, he wonders if anyone else is aware. Or are they all frozen?
Too still bodys meet his eyes, it's like he has paused a movie, stopping it to look at a humorous scene. He's pretty sure that that's exactly what happened here.
Finding everyone but himself unresponsive only adds to the paranoid thoughts of someone watching him. He's fairly sure he's right, he's been feeling eyes on him for ages, they're probably invisible. Fucking supernaturals. Fucking unnaturals. He shivers, unnerved.
The smell of sulphur is overpowering. This, at least, tells him that it's definitely supernatural. It's demonic, as a matter of fact. He suspicious though, demons are too weak for anything of this magnitude.
A patch of black in the corner of his eye has him spinning to face his maybe-watcher, maybe-attacker.
"Greetings, mortal."
The voice is low, almost theatrically so. Almost a growl, actually. It would be funny if the owner of it hadn't just stopped time, or something that imitates it.
The rest of his looks define his first thoughts, though: theatrical.
Relatively long deep black hair, reaching shoulders covered in a correspondingly coloured shirt. It looks too big and the arms cover dead-pale fingers, one of which is is wearing a ring with a skull on it. The same dead-pale skin forms a face, which surrounds maleavent crimson eyes, leading down to dark lips pulled up in a smirk, followed by a vulnerable neck clasped in a dark collar. Tight black jeans, held up by a blood red belt with another skull on the buckle and matching red boots complete him.
Over the top, in his opinion. Especially for a kid who looks to be around his age.
He snorts, "Bonjour, freak."
He tightens his grip, ready to swing his shovel when the need arises. He knows how little you can judge a book by it's cover and the boy in front of him is surely a demon.
"Now, now, Christophe," He's been watched longer than he'd thought, if his name is already known. "No need to be mean."
"So you know my name?" Still watching, he makes sure not to take his eyes off him. "I'm afraid you 'ave me at a disadvantage."
He's grinning expectantly. Bracing himself for what will probably be bad news, he waits the pause out.
"Damian, Son of Satan. Anti-Christ." He says the last almost proudly, the T coming out sharp, while mockingly bowing.
Well. That was a little higher up than he'd been hoping for. He should have expected it though, not just any demon can stop time.
He can handle it, and if not? He's had a good life, he supposes.
The strangled sigh he lets out is unexpectedly loud in the stillness.
Looking like he's being entertained immensely, Damian walks forward.
"You're probably wondering why I want to talk to you, right?" Not really, he was more thinking about how to get out of this alive and unhurt.
"Not really." He's never been a liar when it doesn't suit him.
Continuing to grin, seeming more amused than before, if possible, Damian claps his hands. He holds back a flinch at such a loud sound, but keeps his eyes stuck to the incoming antichrist moving towards him. The weight of his shovel is a comfort, at least he'll go down fighting.
"I'm here to make you an offer, Christophe." Finally stopping, there are only a few inches of space between them. He's not going to back away first. He tilts his chin, Damian shows more teeth in response.
"Oh?" Sounding faintly interested, he regards the boy calculatingly. He's close enough to hurt with the shovel but he's unsure if that will actually do anything besides anger him. Deciding to see where this is going, he relaxes slightly.
"Yup!" Again, the end of the word is sharp. "See, there are a few people I'd like to disappear..."
The sentence trails off suggestively. He isn't an idiot.
"And you want me to do it?" He purses his lips, wishing for a cigarette.
"I heard you were the go to person with these kind of requests." He sounds positively wicked and the way he eyes you screams challenge and mockery.
"It depends if I find it interesting enough." Becoming bored with this, he wonders who would have told the antichrist about him. He has killed plenty of people, most of them corrupt enough for hell. So maybe that?
Red eyes narrowed dangerously at the tone, and the teeth seem sharper.
"Me being what I am doesn't make it interesting?" The voice is still too dramatic, but it sounds threatening, now.
He scoffs, "Please, I've been employed by demons before, you're nothing new."
Strangely enough, this is what brings back the amusement. Violent mood swings, he's probably unstable. He sneers at the obvious weakness.
"Ah, but I'm not just any demon. Am I, Christophe?" Damian leans forward, almost touching chests and he tenses, ready to swing.
"I suppose not." The concession come out annoyed, which causes the antichrist to laugh.
"So, you'll do it." Damian straightens up, sounding far too certain for his liking.
"I'll listen to your offer and then we may discuss payment." He harshly responds.
The antichrist pauses. "You really shouldn't try my patience."
"Alright. Will it be enough if I give you names and probably places that they'll be?"
Slightly unnerved at the sudden change in demeanor, he shakes the odd feeling off.
Deciding to treat him like any other client, Christophe answers, "Oui, that and descriptions, of course. Including any probable powers, even if they are only speculation." It's best to overestimate than underestimate, he knows.
Damian nods, "Alright, I can have files made up of that. Will we talk payment?"
"First, I'll need a number of how many you think I will have to kill."
"Around 23? Maybe 25. I'll know for sure tonight." The eyes brighten, the red intensifying. Even the grin widens to almost monstrous proportions. Looks like someone's going to be in a lot of pain, you're slightly amused by the obvious bloodlust.
"Hn. If you want it done soon, you will 'ave to let me know. I won't go in blind." He warns, almost relaxing at familiar conversation.
"I wouldn't expect you to, Christophe."
He shakes his head shortly, the tone reminding him who he's talking to. None of his previous clients have tried to be so familiar, not after he killed the woman who aimed to seduce him.
"Payment." He says decidedly.
He shouldn't let himself be distracted, his conversationist isn't human. It wouldn't do to forget something like that.