THE DREAM
"Everything is going to be fine."
"Right, yeah, because shit always goes smoothly for me."
My friend and I sit on the veranda of the wedding venue, sipping cider, waiting for the ceremony to commence. This should be one of the happiest days of my life; instead, I'm dreading the guest list. And the one name not on it.
Crowley.
"Bec, it'll be fine."
"Uhuh."
"You know what would help?"
"More cider?"
"More cider."
My good friend, my bridesmaid, my fellow artist and writer, a string keeping my sanity tied to this plane and not to hell, walks out to grab more cider. I stare at the wall. My dress is perfect, white with color in the crimped wrinkles. The weather is perfect. Warm and sunny with some clouds and a light breeze. The venue is perfect, an open church and a pretty nearby field with a stone floor and an old house nearby. The food will be amazing.
I'm nervous as fuck. I mean, it's my wedding day, I'd be nervous as fuck if it weren't for Crowley, but still. If he shows up. He hadn't been in my head for at least a year or so now, so he didn't know the wedding was happening, not from me. I'm not worried about him stopping it, no. He approved. Of course, he'd approve if I had a hundred one night stands for the rest of my life. Both could easily be used by him. A hundred one night stands would mean I'm more likely to let slip something about the contract, mess up and talk about something I shouldn't, get myself killed by meeting with the wrong person, damn every other soul I met if Crowley decided to visit. One guy meant he could torture me with threats, manipulate me, come back after the love of my life had helped bring me back from the brink of insanity to tear me down again. One guy meant I could keep him safe, knowing how to lie to him, and not damn him along with me while hopefully keeping myself sane.
Hopefully.
Crowley had yet to possess him, I'm unsure why. I have a feeling because possessing Me and having me do things to upset my soon to be husband would be far more rewarding in the long run. Not that I always needed the help. Forgetful, moving too fast, unthinking, and Crowley Loved to bring up my failings. Unfortunately for him there is literally only one thing I hide from my husband that he has to work with, and that's himself. Talking is the key to a good relationship, so I hide very little. If he ever made good on his threat to make me cheat on my boyfriend, we'd talk it out. However, that would be so extremely out of character it would raise suspicion, not a good thing.
I should have Made him put something in the contract about him not interfering with my loved ones, my family. But I was foolish, or perhaps we just ... knew he wouldn't do it to any damning extreme. An unspoken agreement between us was there. He didn't fuck with my family and friends, I didn't go and spill information that could muck up his plans. Because I would, I will damn myself in an instant if he tries to hurt my family.
I take a sip of cider and sigh. Yup. Perfect wedding day. Woo.
"Hey I have the cider...darling."
I freeze, drink halfway to my lips again. My friend did not use that word. I turn, and her face is a cruel grin that does not fit her demeanor.
"Get the fuck out of her Crowley."
"But I didn't get an invitation, so I'm crashing."
"You didn't get an invitation because you're not possessing a friend or a family member to get in and you can't show up as fucking Mark Sheppard. So get the fuck out of her."
"No."
"Crowley. It's my fucking wedding day, I swear to God, if you-"
"What. What will you do?" I glare.
"Christo." He flinches. "Christo." He flinches again. "There are priests here, there are people here who are devout Christians who WILL know what that flinch means. Nothing here may be able to Kill you, but it will hurt, and it Will reveal you and you Will have to clean up and it Will end up violating something in our contract and I WILL go to the angels and tell them shit as soon that contract is null and void. So get the FUCK out of her. If you MUST stay, go find a caterer and shut the fuck up." My friend's face has been stony, and growing colder while I talk. He stands silent, then nods, a slight smile sending chills up my spine.
"Very well. I'll even wipe her memory for you."
"You fucking better."
"Giving me orders now are we."
"My. Wedding. Day. Crowley. I will fuck you up."
"Please try."
"You really think I haven't put hidden precautions throughout the entire venue?" He blinks, then the smile grows. I continue before he has a chance to make some sort of comment. "Get. The Fuck. OUT!" Red smoke billows out of my friend as my eye twitches ever so slightly. It rushes across the ground and I feel another chill rush up my spine. What if he possesses me right now? On my fucking wedding day? The smoke rushes out the door and I breathe a sigh of relief. Now I just have to hope he listens and doesn't possess a friend or family member.
In the meantime I rush over to my friend and put my hand on her shoulder, she blinks dazedly and stares at me.
"Honey, you look like you saw a ghost. Don't tell me this place is haunted."
"Not that I know of. I hope." Other things... Like the King of Hell...mmmm. She was a fan of the show too. Crowley was gonna have to be careful. I sigh. I was gonna have to break out the party favors early.
...
"No, I can't put one on. I want all my bridesmaids to wear one though."
"These are cute, what are they from?"
"They are super weird."
"Becca is super weird, what did you expect?"
"True."
I roll my eyes at my bridesmaids. It feels good to have my friends here. I look at all the little temporary tattoos, tiny anti-possession symbols. I can't wear one, it'd violate the contract.
"C'mon, put one on."
"Yeah, we need to match."
"Unless you wanna get possessed." Hell no, but I don't get a choice. However... It could fucking scare Crowley. I grin.
"Fine." I take one of the tattoos and place it on my shoulder, wetting it and holding it there for a moment. My friends cheer and I chuckle.
"Everyone got their water guns?" They all grin and cock them. "Everyone got their bouquets to hide them in?" They all nod and set about hiding the water guns in the bouquets. I wasn't kidding when I said there were traps for Crowley. While they set about that I peel off the wet paper of the temp tattoo and scratch it a bit, rendering the symbol completely worthless. I sigh. That something as simple as this could work for me, but the moment I use it, I'm damned, and everything I hold power with over him, goes away.
"Hey, it's time."
"Let's get this over with so I can get out of these shoes."
"Hey, not my fault, I had a lenient dress code. I suggested sneakers underneath those dresses."
"I'm wearing a suit."
"And you're wearing comfortable shoes. Let's go.
I stand back behind the others, watching them go, and take a big breath. Today was a great day, today IS a great day. Crowley or not, it's a great day.
"Ready?" I look at my Dad as I step out of the room. Suit and tie, I can almost see what he looked like when I was a kid, dark black short hair, slightly less wrinkled face, but still a smile. We fight, we fight a lot, but family does that. And he has a smile for me today, when I need it, he has a smile.
"No."
"Having second thoughts? Are you ok?"
"I'm anxious, walking in front of people. Talking in front of people. This is a performance, I'm not the actor in this family." My Dad smiles, and takes my arm.
"Action-"
"Alleviates anxiety. Yeah. Let's do this. "
I stand at the back of the line, watching the pairs dance forward and can't help but grin. Smiling faces, a warm day, my friends, and the music. As the last pair parts at the top the music switches to "Eve of the War." I see my husband to be at the top, smiling a huge grin, and I know it's time. It's ridiculous, silly, and wonderful as my father and I walk up the aisle.
'The chances of anything coming from mars, are a million to one, but still they co-ome.' My foot hits the dais as the note fades and people giggle. But my husband helps me up, and I hold his hands and we grin stupidly at each other. He's hot, I'm hot, it's warm and the sun shines off the sweat on his brow. His beard is trimmed and slightly red, his long infuriatingly perfect curly hair lays on his back in beautiful rings. We stand and smile and time stops for a half second while I'm no longer nervous. While we stand in front of a crowd and proclaim ourselves for who we are, together.
"You make a darling couple, shall we begin?" And I twitch. He wouldn't. I look at the pastor and he smiles, grins, and I fume. Of course he would. Fucker. You know what, whatever, this is gonna be hilarious, he has No idea what's in store. So I smile and nod, and return my gaze to my fiance. The man I now need to keep by my side not just because he keeps me sane, but because the moment he's not family, he's fair game to Crowley. Crowley doesn't Want attention drawn to me, so as long as this man is close, his death will bring unwanted attention. So I'm keeping this man close. Hopefully it won't put him in too much danger.
The words from Crowley sound like the buzzing of bees, and they mean nothing to me except the mild threat of a future sting. I hold my fiancé's hands and smile, knowing we will keep each other safe and sane, or die trying. The ceremony ends with the traditional 'I Do,' and kiss… and I smile widely as cold water hits me.
It feels wonderful in the heat and the laughter from my friends feels just as good. I turn with my husband and we hold our hands up, the cold water changing the color of the temperature sensitive dye in our outfits. Custom made of cheap cloth, they were fairly simple, except for the hidden clear designs on them I had painted. The cold water reveals them, painting us with color, we become a sky, a patchwork of color and clouds as we walk, our groomsmen and bridesmaids having more and more trouble hitting us with water as we get farther away. I turn and my grin grows even wider as I see the priest flinch, some of the water having landed on his hand, and burning slightly. His church had blessed it not a day earlier after all. I wave back and they cheer and the priest plasters a smile on his own face as well, hand behind his back as he steps a bit farther away. I grin at him and wink and I can see him barely contain his displeasure.
I walk away with my husband, soaked with holy water, and squeeze his hand. This would be a fun evening.
The ring of glass echoes around the room through the amps. Heads turn as my husband's brother stands up. The speech from the best man.
I smile at my husband's brother and he grins at me, and then winks before looking out over the audience. Chills run down my spine, this was not a man who winked. Crowley didn't really either, but… it was too out of character to not mean something. I swallow, then swallow some more of my drink and grab my husband's hand and squeeze. Thankfully I had given my bridal party tattoos… and the one who would have given the speech was a fan of the show, she wouldn't mess up the tattoo just for the fun of pretending it was important. I had given her daughter one too… just in case.
I watch as friends and family turn to my husband's brother, and swallow. My heart fills with dread.
"For those who don't know me, I'm the groom's brother. Now before we get much further I'd like to show you all something." I swallow as his head begins to turn to the right to look at me, and then my husband, and then the screen behind us, and then further...and further.
The snap resounds in my ears as the body falls and hits the ground and I scream. I sit up as the scream leaves my mouth, falling off the couch onto squishy red stained carpet. I breathe for a second, calming down. I had had dinner at some unnamed mortal's place and laid down on their couch, deciding I deserved a break from running. And then This fucking thing.
So this is why demon's don't sleep…. Maybe. Maybe it was just a nightmare. After all, the wedding went fine. Crowley gave the full speech, changing little except some private jabs only I would understand. That was the point. I spent the entire speech waiting for something horrible, by the end my stomach was in knots. I could barely eat for an hour. I snarl and push myself off the floor. My wedding, a lifetime, no, more than a lifetime ago. Like … five lifetimes ago. I hope my husband is ok. He better fucking be away in heaven and not near any of this shit. He's MINE, if only because of that fact I will fuck up all of Crowley's plans if I find he went near my family. Love is immaterial, as are their past relations to me. Just the fact that Crowley would mess with them to get to me pisses me off to no end. Especially since I am a demon now, and couldn't get to heaven. Not for at least 100 years depending on how many people I killed. Too much too quickly would bring attention to me. That wouldn't do. Not with the tech humans had today. I sigh. I should have put that in our contract, him leaving my family alone, even if that meant squat now. I didn't want to go back to him and have to sit by Any family member and watch them get destroyed. I'm not gonna do it myself, I don't want their memories and opinions of me floating around in my head. I don't need any epiphanies about them or myself right now. If he did destroy them Now… well, I don't think any of them know anything about me I don't already know, I know most of their opinions about me too. I don't like surrounding myself with people who lie about how they feel about me, it inhibits personal growth.
I suppose he can't really use them against me except for the fact that I don't want Him to have them. The idea of them with him in any capacity irks me, especially when I worked so hard when I was alive to keep them out of it. All my hard work, manipulation, sacrifice, down the drain. Of course, he has No idea I feel this way. Demons don't usually give a shit about their past life. The only reason I do is because I was already entangled with Hell Long before my death. The dance we did, Crowley and I, was a work of Fucking Art, and him diving into my past right now would ruin our current steps and rhythm.
Is there anything I can really do to fuck up his plans? Steer him so he doesn't think to try and use anything from my past to steer me?
Crowley, I'm pretty sure even without the contracts, is immortal with that many souls. Although the contract prevents him going to the Empty… I could tell people how it worked, the exact phrases that allow it and how to separate a soul… but perhaps that was something only Crowley could do… I couldn't test it. I'd need a contract. Not my thing, not a crossroad's demon… and not interested anyway. If I die and go to the empty, Crowley will get me back, even if I wanted to stay. After all, he didn't want the ruler of the Empty knowing how the contract worked either. He'd kill anyone who found out how the contract worked… and interfered. Greater entities, God, didn't care, or did but was watching the play he wrote unfold and he didn't want to interfere. As long as too many people didn't know…
Didn't know… I grin. Let's give Crowley some recognition.
…..
The next artist I commandeer is much more to my liking. Digital painting, that I understood. It took me hours of combing the internet to find someone who still used it, and had an art gallery or show coming up, and was well known. I sigh. Seriously. Everyone used 3D painting now. Sure, 2d was still valid, but after websites went 3D with a VR or holo system in every home, 2d became super less common. Of course, billboards and books never went away, or paintings hanging on a wall, so…
I laugh to myself as I walk through the streets of Hawaii. I remember when VR first went small, common place. It took all of a week for it to be banned. Fifty people of the 150 people test group walked into fucking traffic. I mean, Duh. Even Crowley didn't put his hand in that pie, it was so obviously a bad idea. Idiots.
I shake my head as I look at the small studio in front of me. Lena Caroti, her studio was digital. 2d works in a 3D online space. Perfect for me. She didn't like physical company, preferred to stay away from people. Well, she was about to get real close.
"What are you going to do to her?" I roll my eyes at Christo's question. The poor little boy was silent most of the time. Traumatized by the blood, and destruction of souls, he had seen in the regular. I am constantly hungry, I had learned to ignore it, mostly. He could tell however, that it was a near random thing that kept him alive, and that he'd eventually be eaten away, slowly.
"Are you going to kill her?"
"I don't fucking know. It'll depend on her and how easy I can block out her memory, or push her down, or knock her out. I don't want to leave bodies, but I don't want to leave too much information. Hmmm." I can't take her soul out into another persons body, not while they are inhabiting it… maybe even if it's empty. I don't have a contract saying I can. I can bring her with me to trap her in my smoke, my prison… but if I left her she'd probably flee back to her own body.
Now a jar however….
Two hours later I'm at her computer, in her body, drawing. Christo holds a jar that glows brightly with a soul bouncing around inside. He sits very still on the couch nearby. He had been told that if that soul escapes and enters her body, she gets eaten.
"But why spare her?" I pause with the stylus inches from the touch screen.
"So there isn't a pattern for him to follow and it gets confusing. If I leave a pattern he'll figure it out. He'll also know how many souls I'm destroying, and I want him to underestimate me, however unlikely that is."
My friend's next comment is interrupted by thunder. A storm was moving in when we came and now it had arrived. Walking through the warm streets being bustled by wind so strong I could hear it in my ears had been exquisite. Feeling it against skin directly, not through someone, a full sensation. I had missed that, the warmth cut by cold wind, the ability to look at clouds as I wanted, not follow someone else's gaze.
Thunder cracks again outside, sporadic bits of sun undermining the heavy fear such sounds should cause. I sigh, enjoying the atmosphere as I paint and draw with a stylus far beyond what I used for my art when I was alive. My dream had given me inspiration. Memories. Let's bring some memories to life.
His form emerges from the digital paper slowly, arduously. Like painful labor I give birth to this creation, of course any art directly involving him would be painful. It had been too long, l am out of practice. No matter the body or knowledge of the person I am inhabiting. Still, the memory eventually comes into existence.
"Hey Chris, would you look up info on Pantarko and his newest art piece? See if there are any photos of the scene or the buyer." I can feel his nervousness at the way I am asking. 'Would you.' Not very evil, well, I have a way of speaking, and I'm not going to change it just because it makes him nervous. In fact, I think I'll keep speaking that way.
"How do you know there will be a buyer?"
"Just do it."
We sit in silence amidst the storm outside. The faint sound of movement behind me barely a whisper against the thunder. As he searches, I draw, the pale red demonic form menacing even though it is unfinished.
"Uhm. It sold for $7,000."
"Of course it did. It was a shitty piece of work but was completely unlike anything he had done before. What of Wang?"
"Uh, he's in jail. Destroyed his implant and went down and started trashing his art."
"Heh, of course. Fucking poser. Any info on the buyer?"
"A woman from a museum." So not Crowley… probably.
"Any pics of Wang being arrested?"
"Tons."
"Search for an image of a man named Mark Sheppard and see if any one who looks like him is in the crowd please."
"Uhm." I pause my drawing and turn to look at him. His frail frame shaking, his dark skin pale, his eyes scared, and smile. Pitiful, to show fear in front of your enemy like that. Admit your fear, don't show it.
"Do. It. To do it myself I'd have to stop drawing. I don't want to stop drawing. I'll get angry." I hear shifting behind me at that and smile. Smart lad. Any time I'm not concentrating on something else, the fucking curse rears its head. I am however, used to it. I was often hungry when I did art, not because of any lack of food, but because if I stopped drawing I'd lose my flow, so I would just not eat. So, I can ignore it.
I'm working on the background now. The scarlet sky mimicking bits of fire in the front, I play with the clouds and am happy to find appropriate brushes for making them. I squish the background I made, angle it so there is more room for the menacing sky. The piece is coming together, but it is missing something. I think back on the experience and chuckle. Right, that happened. I set digital brush to electric screen and begin to draw hands.
"Uh, nothing there. Who was the guy-" Christo's voice cuts through my thoughts and I stiffen, but breathe and turn. Calm. Don't kill the messenger, or the secretary.
"Someone whom if you ever meet, will do far worse to you than I ever would think of. So, watch out for him, and if you see him, tell me. Like right fucking away. Got it?"
"Uh. Yeah."
"Thank you for your enthusiasm. Go raid the fridge. Oh, and if you try to call for help, or tell anyone about me-"
"You'll kill me. I know." Interrupts Christo as he walks to the kitchen. I smile. He was already accepting the situation. Humans, adapting. Like I did. I'll be sure to kill him before Crowley gets him, a small favor. Like I would share anyway. I had to share everything for 100's of years, it was high time to be a bit selfish.
"Pfft. No. Killing ends your pain, no. I'll pay a visit to your home town though. So be smart, get something to eat, and look at memes quietly."
Silence is broken by thunder and rain. Christo gets my point. I wouldn't actually go back to his town though, no. I'm not going to return to any place I had been just in case I had left a trace. Utensils clink behind me and the smell of yogurt fills the air. I continue to draw.
Near fourteen hours later I'm done. Satisfied. Time to debut the piece. I log in to her digital gallery and upload the piece. Hang it on a wall next to some abstract work in the virtual museum. I tap my chin. What to call it? Just… Crowley is far too obvious. Hmmmm. I type in the name and it appears on the little plaque to the right of the newly hanging piece of art. "A Little Bit of Hell." I smile, this would catch his attention. I press the open button and the gallery reopens with the new piece setup for the virtual viewers to walk around and gaze at.
I quickly log off the computer and clean up the work station. A few candy wrappers, a bit of burger, and whatever alcohol she had needs to be cleaned up.
"C'mon Chris-"
"My name's Christo." I flinch, and shake my head.
"And I'm calling you Chris. Get the jar and your shit. We're going."
"She's coming too?"
"No. Just, just shut up and stand in the kitchen." I sigh and lay down on Lena's couch. She often fell asleep there after a long session of drawing. I take a deep breath and with her exhale rush out to meet my 'secretary'. I push him to the side, into that other space human souls go when they're possessed, and don't have a contract. Then I pause and shrug, and move him to the more violent part of my smoke. So I won't actively try to destroy him, I could still enjoy a taste.
"I-Wha-"
Before he can finish the thought I hear movement from the other room and remember my plan, one I had no idea if it'd work. I snap, focusing my will on the empty husk and how tired it should be from my stay there. The movement stops, I stand still and listen more. Faint snores fill the room. Good, it worked. I snap my art supplies once again into my arms and then snap myself outside. I know Crowley can flit around without snapping, but, hey, I was new at this.
Outside the storm rages on, a beautiful show of force very few beings could hope to match. Crowley was still no match for nature. Nothing is. Sure, he could withstand it, survive it, maybe even nudge it in a direction. Without a contract, he couldn't do shit to stop a hurricane. Perhaps when he hit a million he'd have a fighting chance against nature, but for now he might as well wave a fan at it. Perhaps he'd never be able to change things with a thought, being a demon and all. Rules laid down by Dragoness. "Immense power, but only if."
I sigh and open the opaque jar containing Lena and she zooms away into her house. Perhaps she saw me, if she was looking, but perhaps not. Either way, it may be hard to get info out of her with all the media attention she'd be getting soon. The art piece I'd just uploaded was so outside her norm it'd be sure to draw attention. I grin. Exactly what Crowley didn't want. Now…. who to next? Or perhaps a lunch break… I know just the place.
…
'You can't come in here." I stand in the wide door of an apparel store. The inside is lined with cream walls and wooden daises of red mahogany. All the clothes on mannequins, nothing is on racks. There is a counter near the front and the man behind it takes a look at Christo's dirty clothes, and his face scrunches up in disgust.
"Look, I know I'm not dressed well, I'm hoping to change that. My friend suggested a specific tailor, Mr. Reynolds. He-"
"He's not here." I narrow my eyes at the plump little man behind the counter of the very expensive clothing store. I straighten my jaw and take a deep breath and begin to walk away.
"Fine, I'll tell … the king I had to take my business else-"
"K-king… As in... As in Mr. Cr-" I turn back in a flash and put my hand over the man's mouth.
"You idiot, don't say his name!" I freeze and quickly remove my hand before backing away. "Look, I'm sure Mr. Reynolds is-"
"No, no. He's… He's free in an hour." I pause and turn around with a smile.
"Then, you wouldn't mind if I waited in the back for him, perhaps, out of sight of other customers?" The man looks at me, my clothes, then at the door, and nods. Normally I'd stay here, make him uncomfortable, but I need privacy and a chance to draw. I look at the shorter man and wonder, as he leads me to the back.
"So, when do you get off?"
"Excuse me?" He looks at me with disgust and I roll my eyes.
"Break, do you get a lunch break?" He sniffs in dismissal.
"Only when Mr. Reynolds returns." Pity, but probably for the best.
"Why?" I almost chuckle at Christo's question.
"Don't know the place well enough to hide the body. Also, I don't want Reynolds to notice anything amiss."
"Do you always… think like this?"
"Like what?"
"You may sit here sir." The short man points to a chair across a door to a large fitting room. To the left of that slightly ajar door is another, that I do not know where it goes, but I believe another door at the end of this hall leads outside, at least from the sound. I nod, and sit, waiting for him to leave. He does so, with one last look through the door to the main lobby before closing it. As soon as he does I flick a finger and push the door to the fitting room open a bit.
The inside is as posh as the main room, with a raised platform for fitting and measuring. A tape measure hangs on a chair where a pin cushion sits. Suits like this were even more expensive now, when things of equal quality could be done by machine. Still, there was no substitute for something made by hand for you. I start sketching a suit on a mannequin in there, one that is all black, with a peacoat. I doubt I could get a drawing of the tailor before I kill him, but I could get this, before I destroy it too.
"Why?"
"Clear questions please."
"Why are you doing this."
"Amusement, petty revenge, fun. Now SHHHHHHH. Drawing."
I spend a good fifteen minutes sketching the suit. It's relaxing, not too difficult. I'm just starting to add shading when the door from the outside creaks open. I pause and look up; a tall pale man in a suit as immaculate as Crowley's steps in. He has a beard, one that despite having a bushy appearance, looks well kept, but not overly groomed. I hadn't seen him in ages, Crowley didn't really change size after all, meat suit speaking. He didn't need new measurements to be taken. He came in once, and that was it. Mr. Reynolds pauses as well when he sees me, but closes the door and straightens his suit before approaching.
"How can I help you?"
"You were suggested by a friend of mine, the one who ordered that suit back there I believe." The man raises a brow at that, and gives me a once over. "The King suggested I come here, said you were the best." Mr. Reynold straightens a bit at this but nods, gesturing toward the fitting room. I grab my art supplies and follow him inside. I wait as he closes the door, giving the pretense of looking around, but wait till he walks past me and then lock the door quietly.
"Why?"
"Hungry. Would you prefer I eat you? …. Thought not. Now. Stay." I don't feel like wasting any time with this. I wouldn't mind a suit, but dear lord that would take forever. I rush out of Chris towards the tailor and as I do I cringe at the sound behind me.
"Watch out!" Christo's voice rings through the air and Mr. Reynolds turns towards him, mouth open to ask what's going on. No sound escapes, I enter. I don't preamble, I don't look around, or pry for secrets. I rip the soul into bits completely indelicately, ignoring the wonderful shower of sparks in favor of turning and glaring at the young man behind me. He turns to run but I snap and time stands still for him. I hold him in my grasp as I walk up, glaring.
"You idiot. Was that instinct, or were you actually being that stupid? Did you think you could help him? The fool was damned anyway! He's working for the …. He was hell bound before I came along… probably. Well, if not hell bound then- Besides the point!" I stalk around Christo to his front and stare him in the eyes. "Well."
"It…. it kinda, just happened." I snarl at his panicked face, the pathetic… ugh. Humans.
"We'll see." I twist Reynold's head around until I feel the snap, very relaxing sound, and exit back to my current host. Before he can take a step as my control fades in smoke form, before Reynold's body hits the floor, I am back in control. There is a thud and I look at the body, husk, briefly, before taking a closer look at my prisoner.
I parse his soul, look for his reasons, his wants. It's difficult, I'm still not as adept as Crowley, but I manage, albeit clunkily. I sigh, it was automatic, the instinct to help others. Still, whether it was intentional or not was… well not beside the point but near at least.
"Don't slip up like that again."
"I wo-"
"I know, because you'll have this reminder." I rake red ethereal claws into the soul I have come to know fairly well, and am rewarded with a scream. I pull, and rip a small bit off, whisking it away in my own small storm. More a single thundercloud at this point, but still, I make short work of the tiny morsel. I study it, the new memory, before it vanishes into my own thoughts as if it were mine always, slowly fading away as I decide it's unimportant. "You had a dog when you were five."
"No I-"
"You did, I just took that memory, that bit of you, forever. Fuck up like that again and I'll take more than a fucking bite, got it? I don't have time, nor the interest, for long periods of torture or games with you. I will be blunt, and to the point. You, obey me and I'll make sure that when you go, you go quickly. If you're REAL well behaved I won't go after your family either. Get it? Got it? Good. Now, quiet, I have a scene to set." I feel his soul cower away into quiet observance and nod. Good. I look around the room and ponder. The suit of course, but any special way? I go over to inspect it and on the way have a thought. I suppose I did get a new obsession as a demon, my game with Crowley. The obsession was a long time coming I suppose, even before I started to turn red, black, …. Demony. I have a curse, but my vice is this game and the artful thought that goes into playing it.
I circle the suit. I can't just… rip it, or burn it. He could repair that easily. No, I have to do something to it that would make him not Want to wear it. But what?... I suppose I could just burn it to ash except for one small piece, but how boring. Wait. Of course. I grab a piece of paper from by sketch pad and scribble a few words on it. A simple query.
'Really? 'Are you sure you want to wear this?'
"What are you going to do to it?" I grin as I slip the paper into the pocket.
"Nothing, his imagination will do far worse things than I can, or perhaps simply not knowing will make it unbearable."
"And if he calls your bluff?"
"Then he will have a reminder that this is the last suit ever to be made by his current favorite tailor, because of me. That might come to bite me later, but for now I'll just enjoy the possibilities." I turn back toward the body on the floor, there has to be more I can do to set this scene… I look through the fleeting thoughts I've gained, the suit isn't due to be picked up for a few days, and not even by Crowley… I want him to come here personally. What to do? How to lure him here? ...I'm still parsing through memories when I get the idea. Memories, a reference to the past.
I take out Mr. Reynolds phone and look up something. It takes a few, but I manage to find a full recording of the episode I want, after looking up the episode number of course. I find the correct time, and scribble something down on the bottom of the drawing.
"Season 5, episode 20, 6:03." As soon as I do I have a thought, and smile. I erase it, or start to, then decide I might as well leave it, for clarity. I take Mr. Reynolds phone and dial a number I have only ever dialed once before. It takes a few moments, and during that time I ponder switching phones, using mine and taking Reynolds' so he has to look it up. I decide that's a wonderful idea, and hang up before the call connects. However, I don't want to take Reynolds' phone, he probably could track it…
I leave the fitting room and close the door behind me, quickly peeking out the door to the main area. The short man is still there, or perhaps back from his break. Someone else is there too, not ideal, but I'll make do. Perhaps this will be better.
"Why are you going through all this trouble? What the hell is Supernatural?"
"Old TV show, shut the fuck up."
"Why are you even-"
"Keeping you? So you can control this body when I'm not in it. Soulless people are unpredictable." I wave to the clerk at the front until he notices me, a quick unhappy look graces his face before vanishing as he excuses himself from helping the other gentleman. He walks over quickly, pushing his face into the doorway so I am out of sight.
"What?"
"Can we borrow your phone? Mr. Reynold's kinda crapped out, and mine is-"
"Fine, very well." He grabs the projector off his wrist and pushes a button on it to allow me access. He shoves it into my hand and is pushing me further through the door when I think of another question.
"Do… do you have the King's number on your phone." He looks at me as if I'm insane and shakes his head as he closes the door in my face.
"Of course not, only the tailor has client's private numbers." Excellent. Kind of.
"Why?"
I'm apparently getting better at hiding my thoughts if Christo doesn't know.
"Because, now I don't have to kill the clerk and the man in the store."
"Isn't that a good thi- oh." I chuckle as I open the phone and dial the number once again. It rings, and rings, and rings. I'm getting nervous, if he's tracing it…
"Hello, how can I be of service, and how did You Get This Number?!" I grin.
"Hello, I have a message for the king."
"How wonderful, I never would have guessed. What is it, and who is this? Quickly, before I get impatient."
"Season 5, episode 20, about 6 minutes in." Silence on the other end, I go to hang up but stop as I hear a response.
"Chew Toy…. what did you do?"
"You'll find out. See-"
"Don't you d-" I hang up and drop the phone on the seat outside the room, then think better of it and take it with me. Inside, I break it, and Reynold's and drop them in a pile. It may take a bit longer to trace, enough time for him to have to look up that little clue. I dust my hands, lock the door again, and with one last look at my newest art installation, snap myself away.
(So, it's been busy. Busy busy. Garden, work, health, world coming down. More is to come, I promise.)
