Adelaide’s Saturday night odd encounter(Adelaide)

June 29, 2025

Date: 2025-06-28 02:28

(Adelaide’s Saturday night odd encounter(Adelaide):Adelaide)

[Sat Jun 28 2025]

In empty shop

It is about 60F(15C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Elm and Sidney/span>/span(Your target and their allies encounter the vassal of a demon or god who wants to quit working for their master and go back to a normal life. They need to either find a way to help them do that, or betray them to their master.
)

The mist rises high outside, billowing across the windows of the empty shop and clouding them up inside and out while Adelaide and Diego stand there, fiddling with the vault. “What do you think we shall do with this place?” Adelaide questions of her knight, idle and curious, ignoring the many burns that remain scattered, red and angry, across her skin, patches of her dress having fallen prey to the damned sorcery despite all the fire-proof glyphs and wards stitched into it. She holds herself with stilness regardless, too used to pain, dulled as it may be, to fidget and make it worse.

There’s a glance of her coal-dark eyes towards the sliding doors at the entrance, watching the fog and mist drift past. Somewhere beyond, there’s a shifting within, a moving darkness as though someone might just be out there, though no sounds of guns or knives are heard, the silence pervading, any small noises engulfed by the fog. Adelaide tilts her head just briefly, watching

“I barely know what I’m doing with the Highgate shop,” Diego grunts in reply – a little uncharacteristically, as he’s usually good about keeping things Proper and Formal while he’s masked up. He stashes away the two demons’ hearts, not noticing the movement behind him as he closes up the vault. “I have blood on my gloves. I’m going to need to wash these off. Maybe we could just open up a laundromat, Madame..?”

“A laundromat here?” Adelaide questions, frowning at Diego. “I do not understand the need of washing machines. I have been washing my clothes by hand for two hundred years, and that works just fine,” she’s certainly not been alive for two hundred years, so that might be a tad bit of an exaggeration. Diego’s free to call her out on it if he dares. “They ruin the fabric, make it thin and weak. No, thank you. I hope you haven’t been machine-washing your vest,” she says it like it’s a curse.

At some point in the middle of her ranting, the figure in the mist has moved closer, and the sliding doors part with a hiss of mist flooding the indoors as a man makes his way in, dark-haired and grey-eyed, and wearing a flattering, if a little rumpled, suit.

“Where is she?!” he demands of both Diego and Adelaide, seeming more than a little frazzled.

“We don’t have a clothes-washer,” Diego mumbles to Adelaide. “So I don’t know how I could be machine washing – aha.” As the sliding doors open, he steps smoothly across to place himself at an angle to intercept rumpled-suit man if he decides to approach Adelaide. “I don’t know who you’re looking for,” he says, the placidity of his words at odds with the eerie hare-skull mask he wears. “But please do not raise your voice at Madame Carrow. Try again, more politely – how can we help you?”

“Oh, please, Diego – you youngsters have your ways of hiding things,” Adelaide says, as though Diego would be using his powers of stealth and trickery to hide his washing machine usage from her. The figure that steps through the doors has her head turning that way, a half-singed eyebrow briefly lifting up, though Diego beats her to a reaction as he steps between her and whoever that is.

The man who’s entered exhibits half a second of hesitation when he’s faced with Diego’s half-skull mask, his lip curling and dull, human teeth baring into an aggressive snarl, even if the sound doesn’t make its way out of her chest. He addresses Diego now, since the knight did not say he couldn’t raise his voice at him:

“Where,” comes the question, his fingers curling into fists at his side and his eyes boring into Diego, “is my mistress Velthura? You- you killed her.”

“Oh, that is the one who held me captive an hour ago, is she not?” Adelaide hums in recollection, more for Diego’s sake, lifting a hand to her cheek. “I thought her pyromancy technique was quite effective.” She’s got the burns to prove it too. “We exchanged tips after I regained consciousness. Perhaps her knight was not quite up to the mark as mine was, though. A shame.”

Glancing back at Adelaide, Diego lifts an eyebrow – which no one but she would be able to tell, anyway – and asks, “You mean the demi-demon who grabbed you in that alley, Madame?” He turns back to the newcomer and says bluntly, “If that’s who you’re talking about, you’re too late. I killed her myself. Then I cut out her heart. She won’t be coming back from that.” He lowers his hand to the hilt of his knife, his voice lowering as if in synchronisation. “Is that going to be a problem, Mister…?” He doesn’t know the newcomer’s name, but he doesn’t care all that much, either. “Because I don’t advise trying your luck.”

“The very same one,” Adelaide confirms to Diego, blinking over at the suited man with singed lashes and little sympathy – which turns to surprise when the man falls to his knees, gripping at his hair and rumpling it up further. Shameful for a ‘knight’, really.

“No…” comes the despairing mumble – there’s certainly no intent to fight here, Diego’s hand going to his knife remaining unignored. “No, no, no, she’s going to return,” she says, seeming sure of it, his eyes wide and fixed upon the ground. With his hands clutching at his head, the sleeve of his shirt has slipped up just enough to reveal myriad scars, old burns healed over and newer scabs still healing.

All of a sudden, in the midst of his despair, his eyes snap up to Diego, and he scuttles close to clutch at his legs. “Where is she?” comes the demand. “Where is her body?! If I don’t bring her back- if she- she’ll kill me,” he’s trembling.

Diego’s a gracious enough guy to not outright stab the poor victim of what is undoubtedly long-term abuse from his demonic mistress when he grabs at his ankles, but he does rest the blade on the man’s shoulder, not far from his neck. “Move back,” he warns. “I don’t trust you. What’s left of her is on Constitution Avenue, back in Downtown. You understand? Not here. We didn’t burn the body, but she didn’t regrow from the heart I cut out, either. Go be free – or choose to remain in the service of a dead woman. She attacked someone she should not have, and now she is no longer a threat. If you do not give us our peace, you will end up just the same.”

“No, no- no, you don’t understand,” the man blurts, words tumbling over each other, his hands half-lifted in a panicked, useless gesture, and then going back to Diego’s pants as though they’re a lifeline. “She won’t come back from the body, she- she has friends, allies in places you can’t touch, and if she finds out-” He chokes on the thought, his throat working around the rest. “If she finds out I failed her, if she finds out I let this happen- that I didn’t help-“” His eyes are wide, wild and glassy, and the steel of the blade against his skin barely seems to register. Maybe he’s already imagining worse. His gaze snaps up to Diego, raw with fear. “I don’t want to die. Please. Her heart. I need her heart.” His wild-eyed stare snaps to Adelaide as well, as though he may move from Diego to her next, if the knight remains cold-hearted.

“No, no- no, you don’t understand,” the man blurts, words tumbling over each other, his hands half-lifted in a panicked, useless gesture, and then going back to Diego’s pants as though they’re a lifeline. “She won’t come back from the body, she- she has friends, allies in places you can’t touch, and if she finds out-” He chokes on the thought, his throat working around the rest. “If she finds out I failed her, if she finds out I let this happen- that I didn’t help-” His eyes are wide, wild and glassy, and the steel of the blade against his skin barely seems to register. Maybe he’s already imagining worse. His gaze snaps up to Diego, raw with fear. “I don’t want to die. Please. Her heart. I need her heart.” His wild-eyed stare snaps to Adelaide as well, as though he may move from Diego to her next, if the knight remains cold-hearted.

“The heart has been collected already,” Diego claims, his gloves still slick with blood. “And I would not assist you in bringing back an infernalist, either. I prefer Earth with as little Hellish presence at possible.” With the man’s refusal to budge, he slides the blade of his knife up against the man’s throat directly, firmly enough that a sharp movement would see layers of skin splitting like silk. “Step back,” he says again, his voice hardening. “Or I am going to get violent. And then I will dump your unconscious body in Hell for your mistress’ associates to find.”

The man’s breath hitches, then comes shallow and fast, his fingers curling tighter into Diego’s trousers. “No- no, I need it, you don’t understand!” comes the cry, his eyes moving from the blade to Diego’s face and then to Adelaide, as though calculating something. “She needs me, she promised- I just have to-”

And then he lunges. It’s not a graceful nor strategic motion by any means, just a desperate attempt of a desperate man, a blade suddenly in his hand as he goes not for Diego but for Adelaide, deciding she makes the better target, a yell erupting from his throat as he strikes with all the fury of a man who’s decided dying is better than surviving his mistress’s wrath.

Fortunately for him and for Adelaide both, Diego’s specifically trained to handle that sort of side-step, and he moves in turn, placing himself before Adelaide as his knife comes up and forwards. “I do not blame you,” he announces. “For breaking under a demon’s attentions. I will put an end to your suffering.” He shifts his weight, then springs forward into the fight.

Adelaide lifts a hand to her cheek as the fighting begins and Diego throws himself between her and the rumpled man. “Would it be too cruel to set him on fire, I wonder?” comes the musing thought, though she does light up Diego’s blades with a flick of the finger.

The man goes down with a strangled scream and the smell of burning flesh in the air, twitching until he’s not anymore, blood pooling beneath his body and staining the floor of Adelaide’s new, nice and clean shop. “A shame…” Adelaide murmurs again, eyes lifting from the corpse to assess Diego. “Do clean that up, will you? And then, perhaps, we should head home lest some of her… friends come searching.”

“Not at all,” Diego says, skipping back on his feet to stand before Adelaide once again before he puts a bullet right between the man’s eyes. “Might be best to burn him now, make it harder for whoever’s waiting for him in Hell to bring him back – ah.” He’s being told to handle clean up. “Alright, alright… Sheila won’t mind a little extra weight.”

“Very well. We can turn him to ashes in the back- ah.” Adelaide pauses when Diego decides to pick up the corpse and haul it over his shoulder. He’s the corpse-disposer, after all. “After you,” she tells him, whenever he’s ready to head out.

“Perhaps we ought to start up a cremation service here…” Adelaide murmurs thoughtfully.

(A demon from hell has become interested in your target, they decide to see if they can tempt them into becoming one of their instruments on earth.
)

The gloomy, half-open shop in Killgrove lets no light escape through the murky windows – Adelaide works inside in the darkness, the scrape of furniture sounding across the floor, barely heard above the storm that rages outside, pattering upon windows and roof.

From a dark hallway, a face peeks from the darkness. It is a man of shoulder-length hair and red, incandescent eyes, a dim candlestand held in one hand, its weak flame only enough to illuminate the lower portion of his torso.

“Welcome, dear guests.” He says, regarding each of his three visitors with a genuine, if a little too enthusiastic, smile. His eyes settle on Adelaide in particular, canines glinting in her direction. “Please, make yourselves at home.”

Though not there before, now it is – a luxuriant couch of red velvet, sitting rather close to the carpet of the cozy interior. It dawns upon you that this place is not a shop, nor the alley you turned a corner into while walking towards your past destination. It is somewhere in between worlds, and you are here by invitation.

Wynne bows briefly – though still reverently – towards the mysterious figure, moving slowly over towards the suddenly-appearing couch, “Wouldn’t want to be a bad guest.” They say quietly, and with a glance towards Adelaide.

holds her head in a dizzy, her pupils shrinking to adapt to the darkness of the abode. She seems about as confused to be here as the others. Adelaide, she recognized, though Wynne was a face all too unfamiliar. This couldn’t be an orchestration of the vampire, she thought. “God… Next time, could you send a letter first?” She groans in the direction of the raven-haired host, half a living room away, before taking a seat herself, if only to gather her bearings.

Adelaide doesn’t bow, as much as she takes pause from the appearance of this figure, as well as Wynne and Gwyndolyn, her head tilting to the side in consideration. “My,” comes the murmur, soft and light. “I would have dressed better, had I known there was an appointment.”

“Please, let us not bind ourselves to formalities yet! That comes later.” There is a playful ring to his voice. Stepping out of the shadowed pathway and into the dimly lit living room, the figure is now more clearly visible. Mid-thirties, black hair swept back, a fitted, buttoned shirt of Victorian accents, tracing the line between formality and casual. His eyes glow, of course, though apart from that, you could imagine him in a renaissance fair.

“I called you here because you interest me. Well, one of you, that is. The others…” He runs a disappointing look through the room, though it is unclear as to whom he is referring to. He sets the candle stand by a curved table on one end of the room. Three candles lay on it, three fires still stoked. “Say, in mind of these two unexpected attendances, how about we play a game? I cannot kick any of you out without your consent, after all, though I would rather rid myself of intrusions before we can discuss business.”

Wynne’s eyes slowly scan over the other ‘guests’ in the room, before settling back on the host, “What kind of game?” There’s an uncertainty to their voice, slightly wavering. “And what are we playing for?”

“You’re a demon. I can smell it from here.” Gwyndolyn almost snarls as she spits those words out. It didn’t take a sleuth to realize it, of course. Planar excursions of this type were possible to few, and demonic sorcerers were often culprits, when not the fae. She glances to the candles on the coffee table, and for a moment, as she ruminates the situation in her mind, one of the flames flare in anger. “I’ll play, so long as your invitee has an equal chance of being ‘evicted’ from here, as well.”

Adelaide is littered with burns upon her skin, an angry red spot high upon her cheekbone and another inflamed crimson burn slowly-healing where it disappears beneath the hem of her dress. “Far be it from me to question the host,” she murmurs lightly, a glance at the floor to look for something before she simply steps aside towards a nearby seat, settling down upon it as though she meant to be here all along, “but one does wonder why invite guests you do not wish to entertain? Or are we to believe Hell has grown sloppy with its summoning circles?” A thin-lipped smile crosses her features, and she looks over to Gwyndolyn, and then to Wynne, nodding to her question.

A scrutinizing look is cast Adelaide’s way, though the demon allows himself a smile in turn. A finger raises as he leans in, “It is not Hell that has grown sloppy, my dear, but this damned city that intertwines the fates of many. You can hardly pull on one string, without tugging two others elsewhere.” His voice grows to a hiss by the end, but he breathes in, puffs his chest, recomposes himself. And clasps his hands.

“Very well.” He smiles, charmingly. “I propose, then, a game of riddles.” A gaze runs through the room. For whatever reason, he seems rather sure of himself. “To each one asked, and only they may answer. Answer correctly, and you may stay. Answer incorrectly, and I send you back the fast way.” For whatever reason, the manner in which he phrases it makes the trip back sound not too pleasant, at least not by the means he is proposing.

Gwyndolyn immediately lowers her face onto a closed fist at the mention of riddles. “Answer some riddles, and potentially foil the plan of a hellspawn? Sounds good to me.” She snorts, though her eyes wander to a corner of the room, and her face looks queasy. Truthfully, she had a weak stomach when it came to being pulled across planes, and whatever the fast way was would probably make her hurl, at this point.

Wynne leans back against the couch, though hardly in a manner that would suggest they were intending on relaxing, especially once their digits sink into the cushions of the sofa, and they mutter quietly, “…I fucking suck at riddles.” After a long sigh, they speak loud enough to actually be clearly heard; “Considering the implied alternative is never leaving, this sounds like a fun game, comparatively…” Their grip relaxes, then, and they sit up in their seat to look at the host of the party.

There’s a secretive little smile that flits across Adelaide’s lips as the demon loses composure, if only for brief moments, but she doesn’t press any further. “A charming proposal,” she tells the demon, though however much sincerity might lie in her British voice is hard to tell. “Though if I may, might we inquire what precisely is being offered, should we win?” comes the question, her eyes flickering over to Wynne with amusement before she addresses the demon again. “I ask only to know whether I’m playing for favor, or simply the privilege of enduring your company a while longer.” A beat. “No offense intended, of course.”

Wynne can’t help but snicker quietly towards Adelaide.

A low laugh rumbles through the room, and the fireplace – was there always a fireplace? Creaks to life. The warm light of the fire illuminates an elaborate carving of a serpent that runs from the mouth of the fireplace, where lay its fangs, slithering upwards to the ceiling. “You stand before Geryon, infernal patron of forbidden knowledge and lord of snakes! And you, dear…” He pauses. “Are asking the right questions already.” He smiles, and reels his head back. “The winner, no, the chosen of this game will have the privilege of seeking my favor – and acting as my eyes in the city nowadays known as New Haven.” His head lowers into a malevolent grin. “With that said, shall we begin?” He turns that same look towards Wynne first, smiling wickedly.

Gwyndolyn‘ eyes glaze over at the hellish theatrics. It was like watching your uncle embarrass himself at Thanksgiving. She tilts her head to Adelaide, who sat across from Wynne. “Sounds right up your alley, and nowhere near mine. I guess we know now who he meant to call here.”

Wynne shrinks under the gaze, just slightly – their head tucking a bit further between their shoulders; “I suppose so,” their eyes look around the changing surroundings, “it’s not like there’s an alternative. What’s the riddle?” Their fingers tap away anxiously against their knee, and for a brief moment, they look towards the others in the room, first Adelaide, and then Gwyndolyn, each look shot out with a pleading expression, though none lingered.

Well. Far be it for Adelaide to argue with a demon who seems incredibly sure of himself. Her eyebrows arch up only briefly, and she lets her eyes shift to Wynne, waiting to see what they will get as their riddle. Gwyndolyn gets a thin-lipped smile as she makes conversation, ignoring the pleading look shot her way entirely. “I do not make a habit of dealing with demons, miss…” A pause. She doesn’t remember the last name, if she’s ever heard it. “Though I will admit, forbidden knowledge does interest me.”

The archdevil steps forward, looming over the low, red velvet couch. Off in the corner of the room, the right-most flame of the candlestick flickers and dances, as if close to going out. He fixes his eyes upon Wynne’s, and from out of a forked tongue slithers the riddle.

“I am the beginning of some and the end of various. There’s no story without me, nor is there salvation. I am always in risk, yet never in danger. You will find me in the sun, but I am never out of darkness.” He tilts his head to the side, lurching closer.

“What am I?”

The grandfather clock ticks and tocks, back and forth. With each passing second without an answer, the smile on Geryon’s face seems to grow wider, his fingers inching closer to one another as if readying a snap.

“Oh, that is quite simple,” Adelaide muses, maybe just to be an asshole to the one who’s stated they’re bad at riddles. Still, the rules of the game are to be obeyed, and she doesn’t speak up with the answer when it’s not her turn, simply watching.

Wynne thinks, hard, their brow furrows and they stroke at their chin, trying to reflect, externally, the amount of thought they give this; though their answer comes out incredibly uncertain, despite how long they paused; “The… letter S?”

The devil recoils, face scowling and hands readying away from the imminent snap of the finger, and towards a claw. He groans, “Very well! You have answered correctly…” And his red eyes, filled with wounded pride, settle on Adelaide with renewed aggression. “Your turn, then! And I am altering the terms of the game, in the interest of not keeping our undesired guests here any longer!” He pauses, then breathes in. “Should you answer correctly, you may choose one other to send back home. In the comfortable way, that is.”

Wynne visibly swells with pride, and a smugly satisfied look settles on their face…

Gwyndolyn opens a smirk at the end of a lip, looking at Wynne. “Wow. Good job. Now we know not to expect any more wordplay, at the very least…”

Wynne keeps quiet so as to not speak over the demon, but they shoot Gwyndolyn a warm smile and a quick couple of nods!

“It’s terribly difficult to play with stakes that shift beneath one’s feet,” Adelaide muses when the rules of the game shift, expression carefully controlled to neutrality beneath the stare that comes to be fixed upon her. “I suppose that may be the point. What lies in wait for me, our dearest host?” The fact that she keeps a healthy amount of sarcasm out of her voice at the last part is commendable, probably.

The devil paces about the room for a moment, chin cupped in one hand, and the other at his back. You notice, there, that for whatever god-forsaken reason, he wears boots fashioned out of snake skin – clashing entirely with the rest of his outfit. In a decisive motion, he turns back to face Adelaide.

“I ever run, and never walk.” He raises an eyebrow, as if he had just come up with something all too clever. “I have a bed, but never sleep. I have a mouth, but never eat.”

He lowers his head with a knowing smile, “What am I, dear?” This one seemed easy, by comparison, and the devil himself seemed to know it.

Gwyndolyn furrows her brow in turn, staring daggers through him. Her mouth opens in an objection, though she holds her tongue, remembering the rules of the game, and ultimately settles for a disgruntled sound, leaning back onto the couch.

Wynne still seems to be trying to figure out the riddle on their own, tapping at their chin and muttering under their breath… they can’t quite seem to crack it, and they look quite frustrated at that fact…

“Why, that could be just about anything,” Adelaide says quite demurely and entirely unconvincingly in her ignorance, head tilting to the side and hands folding neatly in her lap. Her eyes do move to the demon’s boots, just briefly, before moving back up to his face. She doesn’t look directly into his eyes. “A river, a train… A candle, perhaps, yes. It runs as it melts. It has a bed of wax, and its flame devours like any mouth worth the name.” Her tone is pleasant, even faintly admiring, as she offers the wrong answer on purpose.

The devil’s chest rises, and his face goes red with anger. For a moment he is unsure of what to do, and then his voice drops to a whisper, “You… You fool, what are you doing?” A quick side glance goes to Gwyndolyn and Wynne. “You could be rid of one of these fools, and the next riddle I would make impossible!” He bellows, the fireplace behind him and infront of the trio erupting in angry flames. “Do you know who I am?!” His hand is almost shaking, now, fingers involuntarily moving to expel Adelaide, much as he promised he would, by the rules of the game.

“Why. Tell me, why you would forsake such an opportunity?” A pained look flashes across the archdevil Geryon’s face. If he truly was an archdevil, anyway.

Gwyndolyn has, for her part, an amused glint to her eyes, though already once-cursed, she refrains from rubbing salt into the demon’s wound. What would be of the game, without its intended participant?

Wynne tucks their lips in, and their face reddens just slightly as they try to hold back a laugh, very clearly amused by the minor tantrum the demon is throwing, from Adelaide’s loss. They show the fact clearly, but are quiet enough that it’s only just that – seen.

“I know what power looks like when it must ask why,” Adelaide murmurs, as though regretful – though the curve of her mouth suggests otherwise. Her gaze lingers somewhere below his chin, respectful in form if not in tone, avoiding direct eye contact still. “So I must be expelled now, mustn’t I?” she continues, fingers smoothing a non-existent crease from her skirt dress where she remains seated, as though awaiting to be dropped off somewhere – the rude way, as promised. There’s even a dip of her head at Wynne and Gwyndolyn, as though bidding them farewell.

“I’m sure you shall find a worthy servant, lord of snakes.” A pause, and then: “Good luck.” Her smile widens by a hair, all saccharine sweetness. “Truly.”

There is a twitch to the eye of the devil, and finally, without remorse, his fingers snap, undoing whatever strand of planar magick kept Adelaide tethered to this room in between realms, spiriting her back to the last place she had stepped foot on, before the ritual of summoning was complete. With a margin of error spanning a few blocks thanks to entropy, naturally. In this game, at least, the devil had to concede defeat.

Once his guest of honor is gone, his gaze turns to Wynne and Gwyndolyn, wholly unconflicted. To his intruders, he spares only a glance, and two quick snaps of the finger, lending them the same fate. The flames on the candlestick each flicker out, one after the other.