Encounterlogs
Lanaeiss Odd Encounter Sr Ruprecht 250402
In the desolate and mystical setting of a lighthouse living quarters, Lanaeis and Lorenzo find themselves embroiled in a peculiar and otherworldly encounter. The night, characterized by its chilling temperatures and the ominous presence of storm clouds, serves as the perfect backdrop for the unfolding story. While Lanaeis, an erstwhile squatter of the lighthouse, dwells on haunting memories, they are both unexpectedly visited by a meticulously dressed, though rather outlandish, demon from hell named Machiavelli. Their meeting is sparked by a series of strange occurrences, including a sudden rain of stones through the room that form an eerie pattern. As the demon attempts to tempt them with power and threats veiled in bureaucracy, the dynamic duo reacts with a mixture of sarcasm and indifference, challenging their visitor's authority and motives.
Their interaction with Machiavelli reveals the depth and absurdity of the underworld's bureaucratic machinations, as the demon is revealed to be a sort of infernal auditor, concerned with them breaking cosmic rules which, according to a bizarre checklist, could have apocalyptic implications. Despite Machiavelli's best attempts to intimidate and coerce them into compliance - even resorting to the bizarre offer of getting in a bag that promises oblivion - Lorenzo and Lanaeis remain unphased and cheeky, treating the demonic threats with mocking levity. As Machiavelli grows increasingly desperate, revealing snippets of a larger cosmic conspiracy and forewarnings of doom, it becomes clear that their inadvertent meddling in supernatural affairs has set them on a path intertwined with biblical prophecies and spiritual warfare. Yet, the encounter, rife with banter and dismissive retorts, concludes with the demon's abrupt disappearance, leaving the duo to ponder the cryptic clues left behind about apostles, martyrs, and a looming spiritual crisis. Despite the dire warnings and the heavy cloak of predestination, Lanaeis and Lorenzo part ways mockingly, suggesting their adventure into the world's esoteric secrets is far from over.
(Lanaeis's odd encounter(SRRuprecht):SRRuprecht)
[Fri Mar 28 2025]
In the lighthouse bedroom
This small room is sparse and serves as living quarters for the
lighthouse keeper. Rough stone walls form an insulated barrier from the sea
and begin to curve toward the entrance of the stairwell. A bed rests in the
corner of the room beside a porthole-style window while bookshelves line the
wall with numerous old volumes of marine history.
It is night, about 28F(-2C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waning crescent moon.
(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.
)
Having just arrived 'home' aka, back in the lighthouse he's still squatting in, Lanaeis flops onto the bed with a sigh, images of the events of the night still swirling through his head, along with that name... that accursed name, that niggles there at the back of his mind...
Leaning in with a sly grin, Lorenzo gives Lanaeis a once-over and quips, "You know, with that schoolboy charm, I bet you were real popular in the locker room. How many swirlies did it take before you decided to hit the gym, huh?" Why was he here, don't ask the why, not even the how, just bask in the now.
Sometimes you wake up in the strangest of places, huh? To encounter one another once in a trailer park, is benign coincidentiality. A second coincidence would suggest a more disturbing compulsion of fate or chance, manipulated by forceful external obscurities beyond comprehension. Lanaeis tries to rest, after having just barely awoken, psychically battered from the molestations of the exposure to whatever drained so much of his vitality. Lorenzo is just as bad off. He woke up in a dumpster on Devilwood, knees creaky, blood running thin through his system. Their life force was stolen from them. By the storm, or by the entity at the center of the storm. Lorenzo might've been looking for Lanaeis.
Or maybe he's just as unaware.
Not even lifting his head, Lanaeis grumbles out "Actually, I used to be the one giving the swirlies. I was a real shit after getting in on the wrong shit..."
With a weary but sardonic smile, Lorenzo brushes back his hair, glancing over at Lanaeis as he straightens up from the disheveled state. "You know, waking up in a dumpster really puts a dent in your night, doesn't it? But hey, at least I didn't wake up in a coffin this time. Silver linings, Lanaeis, silver linings."
Lorenzo chuckles lowly, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he peers down at Lanaeis. "Ah, so you were the playground kingpin, huh? Here I was thinking you were the type to get an atomic wedgie rather than give one. Life's full of surprises."
Snorting dryly, Lanaeis sits up, rubbing his face. "I knew you were a vampire. The fuck was with the act before though?" He tilts his head, sparks of gold falling from his fingers.
Lorenzo flashes a grin, smoothing back his hair with a flair of mock vanity. "Ah, my brooding good looks and mysterious aura weren't enough? Had to keep you guessing; it's part of the vampire employee handbook. Rule number one: always keep them thirsty for more."
Lanaeis smirks slightly, leaning back on his elbows. "The only thing I was thirsty for were the drinks you were serving. But the company wasn't bad." He flicks his eyes about the room. "Why are you here, anyway?"
PHOKK! A stone falls out've the wall. Then another, proceeded by a third. Then a fourth, a fifth, a sixth. Six holes in a circle now permeate the wall of the lighthouse in which Lanaeis would slum, unconcerned to the auspicious history and haunting. Funny, when they fall on the floor? It makes another circle. That's not so easy to take as chance encounter, not even with the winds of the bay flying through like a gale. They chatter on and on without a wick've concern - like the night is over. Like the horror was finished with. Like they got their knowledge for cheap, only at the cost of their blood, soul, and spiritual wellbeing.
But nobody thought they'd be followed? Noticed? Do psychic aberrations that tear holes through space time not so often call at greater sleeping evils?
Smoke curls through the cracks... black smoke. It looks like what was making the reality fabric real earlier. But it's not at all the same thing. Thicker, yet more dispersed -- more tangible. Twin cones culminate between the two circles dramatically...
In a spooky way. Whatever's behind this can't possibly be worse than meeting god, and feeling yourself shredded down to bare inconsequential semantics, can it?
Lanaeis promptly grabs a pillow and chucks it at the smoke. "Fuck off unless you have something productive for me asshole, I just got shit on by god, I'm tired and there's a vampire in my room. And whats worse, its a dude, not some hot chick."
Lorenzo chuckles, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he leans back, looking Lanaeis up and down with an appreciative nod. "Oh, you know, just following the trail of your winning personality."
Lorenzo, unphased by the bizarre stone rain, smirks as he watches the twin cones form, his eyes reflecting a mischievous spark against the darkening chaos. He turns to Lanaeis, raising an eyebrow playfully, "Well, looks like someones throwing us a surprise party. Lets just hope theyre not planning to serve us as the main course, huh?"
Lanaeis is not going to make the smoke happy, but dang did it feel good to throw that pillow.
Lanaeis glances at Lorenzo. "I feel more like dessert. I don't know about you, but I've heard Angelborn are sweeter than most people."
A pillow, likely one soggy with air moisture and salt, goes flying across the atmosphere... and caught between twin vortexes, like a basketball between two wind tunnels. It spins, and spins, and spins, accelerating rapidly until it finally flies back not unlike a richocheting cannonball, right for Lorenzo's exposed head. Just a few feet off target, of course being Lanaeis. Someone else has some personality to share. The smoke explodes like the ash of a vampiric demise, revealing a bald, squat lardo. A penguin-esque individual with a long beak, a monocle, and a cheap suit. He's got a clipboard in his hand, and he stands like he's been there the whole time. One eye is a flaming red, and the other a striking indigo -- close to purple, actually. "So, just what the hhhhhhEELL!" Comes a parroting squawk. "DO! WE! HAVE! HERE!"
"You know what I think we have?!"
"A violation of section sixty six thirteen C! CEE! That's the most IMPORTANT ONE! The ONLY RULE!"
The demon only receives a blank stare from Lanaeis. "...What?" He asks, blinking. "What rule are you talking about exactly?" He studies the bird thing. "And what are you?"
Lorenzo gives Lanaeis a sardonic look, tossing his hair back with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. "Sweet or not, you're not exactly my type, buddy. I prefer my desserts with a little less... divine intervention."
Lorenzo groans, pulling the pillow from his face with an annoyed flick of his wrist. "Oh, come on! Can't a guy get a moment of peace without getting smacked by flying decor?" His voice drips with sarcastic displeasure as he glares at the new, bizarre arrival. "Really, a clipboard? What's next, a slap on the wrist with a feather?"
Lanaeis shakes his head grimly at Lorenzo. "Nah, its the ruler. All of those teacher official types use the ruler."
"You might as well call me Machiavelli, because I'm here to orchestrate your fuckin' fast-lane to the low-bend dead-end if you don't explain just exactly how you did what you did," Yowls the fat little guy with a sadistic intent inherent to his disposition, clearly punctuated by the way that the pillow snaps Lorenzo's neck back, shredding itself and laminating to his face with a particular viciousness. "Paradise Park, we know all about it." And it was only TWENTY minutes ago, to boot. "I am, yes, spare the fanfare and the gasps -- a manifestation of Hell. Contrarily, you're interacting with forces above hell itself, and that just won't do. So, please," From a hole in reality, or somewhere even worse, behind his back, he produces a big black santa sack. "GET IN THE FUCKING BAG!" Two boxes check off the clipboard, which floats ethereally in front of him for a moment, without even being held to hand.
And he opens the bag. Like they'll do it, too.
Lanaeis just stares at the bag. Then he looks at Lorenzo. "So. Let me just do a rundown here. We made a sort of deal with an ancient god horror thing, and now... a demon wants us to climb in his sack?" He shrugs. "Eh, fuck it. I'm game if you are."
Lorenzo's neck snaps back from the force of the pillow, but his recovery is swift, a sly grin spreading across his face as he brushes off the remnants of the pillow. He straightens up, eyeing the rotund figure with a mix of amusement and disdain. "You know, buddy, I've danced with the devil more times than I can count, but I think I'll skip this prom dance," he quips, casually dusting off his jacket as if the threat before him were nothing more than an irksome gnat. "And as for your bag, it's really not my style. I prefer a little more legroom and a lot less existential dread." His tone is mocking, the hint of a laugh coloring his words as he prepares for whatever bizarre scenario is about to unfold.
Lanaeis nods solemnly. "You heard the man. Come back when you have a proper ride and we'll talk."
One moment after the eldritch scream breaches the ears with the sonic blast that proceeded it would pass, and no more, before he takes an imposing step forward. Odd that he would impose, at a manlet size of five foot two. The bag is of a blackness hard to quantify, but too familiar now. Lanaeis doesn't want to get in that bag, and Lorenzo made the correct decision. "Oh, what, you'll do it once, but not again?" A scoff. He discards the sack, like a used condom... and it disappears. "Here I thought everyone on earth was predictable down to the last." Two more boxes checked on the floating board. "So let's get down to it. Who saw what, and why aren't we going to dig deeper? Come on, before I break out the memory-eraser-pen," He clicks twice at the ball-point pen. It should be no shock that they have Will Smith movies in Hell.
Lanaeis lies back in his bed, shrugging. "I saw an angel, that was a god, that was an eldritch horror, then I saw more shit and said yes when it offered me a way out." He eyes the pen. "Do you sell those in the Hell gift shop?" He asks curiously. "Because if you do, I need to get some."
Lorenzo chuckles alongside #Lanaeis, rolling his eyes at the absurdity before them. "Yeah, and make sure it's a DeLorean," he quips, his smirk widening. "If we're going to ride to hell, we might as well do it with some style and a flux capacitor." His gaze flicks from the bizarre figure to Lanaeis, sharing a moment of sardonic camaraderie in the face of their otherworldly encounter.
Lorenzo smirks, a devilish glint in his bright blue eyes as he watches the diminutive demon's theatrics. "Dig deeper?" he retorts with a lazy shrug, casually leaning against whatever stable surface is nearest. "You know, I've always found the best secrets are kept right on the surface; you just have to know where to look. And as for that pen," he pauses, tilting his head slightly, his tone dripping with disdainful amusement, "I'd suggest you save it for someone who doesn't enjoy the memory of chaos as much as I do. It's the spice of life, after all." His words are laced with a provocative challenge, daring the otherworldly entity to make its next move in their bizarre and tense standoff.
Lorenzo chuckles alongside Lanaeis, rolling his eyes at the absurdity before them. "Yeah, and make sure it's a DeLorean," he quips, his smirk widening. "If we're going to ride to hell, we might as well do it with some style and a flux capacitor." His gaze flicks from the bizarre figure to Lanaeis, sharing a moment of sardonic camaraderie in the face of their otherworldly encounter.
Lorenzo smirks, a devilish glint in his bright blue eyes as he watches the diminutive demon's theatrics. "Dig deeper?" he retorts with a lazy shrug, casually leaning against whatever stable surface is nearest. "You know, I've always found the best secrets are kept right on the surface; you just have to know where to look. And as for that pen," he pauses, tilting his head slightly, his tone dripping with disdainful amusement, "I'd suggest you save it for someone who doesn't enjoy the memory of chaos as much as I do. It's the spice of life, after all." His words are laced with a provocative challenge, daring the otherworldly entity to make its next move in their bizarre and tense standoff. (fixed)
"Angel, god, ... yes I suppose Eldritch horror would fit under 'gibbering incomprehensible'..." Three more boxes that get checked off, and his brow furrows with certain concern, rare of demons. He flits left and right on the page, frivolously chittering away inside his own mind like a panicking bureaucrat on announcement of war, or a stock broker during a bad crash. "You said, chaos?" He marks another box down. "We're getting frighteningly close to the breaking point, here. That shouldn't have happened. Never, ever, ever, ever. It hasn't been this bad since the war started! THE! War. Like, the BIG ONE." Pitch increases repeatedly as he finishes each point with purpose. "Too much! They know too much!" Up, down, left, right. It's like his facial expressions telegraph a konami code. He's wondering, clearly: what can I do about this, in Haven Massachusetts?
"Gotta clean this up -- they'll have me by the balls! By the BALLS! Auditing was supposed to be easy, clean-cut work. Damn Venice- damn Lexandris, and damn this job to ... to..." Yeah, damn this job to where?
"Did you LEARN anything? What about the visions actually made SENSE? What DISCOVERIES did you INTERNALIZE?"
"Azrael." Lanaeis supplies helpfully. "So, are you like... a corporate lackey in Hell or something?" He looks the demon over. "I thought powerful demons would be alluring to trick the human mind. So clearly you are some grunt..." He tries to take a peek at the floating board. "Whatcha writing?" He finally leans back and then shoots up to a sitting position, snapping his fingers. "Oh! And before I forget, about those pens? My little sister would love one of those."
Lorenzo raises an eyebrow, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp as he watches the frazzled demon pace and panic. "Oh, I'm seeing a lot of beak flapping but making little sense, like trying to decipher Morse code from a toddler's tantrum," he quips smoothly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He folds his arms across his chest, the amusement clear in his tone as he continues, "And you, my twitchy little friend, seem more lost than a bloodhound in a perfume shop. So, how about you slow down, take a breath, if you even do that, and start making sense. Or is that too much to ask from hell's middle management?" Lorenzo's challenge hangs in the air, a playful yet piercing taunt aimed at unravelling the demon's composure further.
Lorenzo lets out a groan, rubbing his temple as if trying to soothe a sudden headache brought on by Lanaeis's bluntness. "You've got the subtlety of a chainsaw at a ballet, buddy," he mutters, shooting Lanaeis a look that mixes exasperation with a faint smirk. Turning his attention back to the demon, he leans in slightly, his tone dripping with sarcastic charm. "And as for you, our supposedly infernal bureaucrat, are we doing this dance all night, or are you actually going to spill something useful? Because, honestly, Ive seen scarier tax auditors. Lorenzo's gaze flicks to the clipboard, his interest piqued despite his casual demeanor."
Lorenzo raises an eyebrow, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp as he watches the frazzled demon pace and panic. "Oh, I'm seeing a lot of beak flapping but making little sense, like trying to decipher Morse code from a toddler's tantrum," he quips smoothly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He folds his arms across his chest, the amusement clear in his tone as he continues, "And you, my twitchy little friend, seem more lost than a bloodhound in a perfume shop. So, how about you slow down, take a breath, if you even do that, and start making sense. Or is that too much to ask from hell's middle management?" Lorenzo's challenge hangs in the air, a playful yet piercing taunt aimed at unravelling the demon's composure further.
Lorenzo lets out a groan, rubbing his temple as if trying to soothe a sudden headache brought on by Lanaeis's bluntness. "You've got the subtlety of a chainsaw at a ballet, buddy," he mutters, shooting Lanaeis a look that mixes exasperation with a faint smirk. Turning his attention back to the demon, he leans in slightly, his tone dripping with sarcastic charm. "And as for you, our supposedly infernal bureaucrat, are we doing this dance all night, or are you actually going to spill something useful? Because, honestly, Ive seen scarier tax auditors." Lorenzo's gaze flicks to the clipboard, his interest piqued despite his casual demeanor. (fixed)
"I thought my ex wife was chatty! Don't make me remind you of that dead heart, Mangione," He knows Lorenzo's name. "I see no reason to pick at a man's impotence. I'm just here -- to sil- to... to clean-... no, not even -- this is too open to sanitize. McKaye is probably already paying a therapy bill, and Gallagher isn't even here. He's insane, though, they'll never believe him."
"Which leaves me with YOU two. That name Lanaeis offers brings no pleasure or joy. "It was phrased that way? Azrael, nothing similar or derivative?" It's a common biblical concept, after all. What Lanaeis learned of was more specific and niche. His Arabic name. Finally. A last box gets checked. He flips the board over, sharing with the class. An in-depth psychoanalysis of each individual that Saw God tonight, written more eloquently than they'd even know themselves. Lorenzo's and Seamus' are particularly long, in fine print. Beneath that, a number of catgories, cited, 'RED NOTICE LIST'.
Chaos, madness, theology, blood ritual, spirits, corruption, compulsion, and 'uncontextualized knowledge' each have their spot. There are fifteen more. All individually unrelated, simple, common, every day concepts to most supernatural life. One box is unfilled. It says, simply, 'tornado'.
"If every box on this list correlates,"
"Then we have, through the predictional analysis of the butterfly effect, proven, for a fact, that you *must* disappear."
Nobody's gonna tell him that they did, in fact, experience a bullshit tornado decompress into a subreality, right? Even Lanaeis, in his generous honesty?
"For top secret reasons!" Comes a concerned little jest. "I wish you would've just gotten back in the bag. You'd see God again, or not, and never come back. Out've my hair forever." Hair. He only has three little hairs, all whispy."
"Thought my ex wife was chatty! Don't make me remind you of that dead heart, Mangione," He knows Lorenzo's name. "I see no reason to pick at a man's impotence. I'm just here -- to sil- to... to clean-... no, not even -- this is too open to sanitize. McKaye is probably already paying a therapy bill, and Gallagher isn't even here. He's insane, though, they'll never believe him."
"Which leaves me with YOU two." That name Lanaeis offers brings no pleasure or joy. "It was phrased that way? Azrael, nothing similar or derivative?" It's a common biblical concept, after all. What Lanaeis learned of was more specific and niche. His Arabic name. Finally. A last box gets checked. He flips the board over, sharing with the class. An in-depth psychoanalysis of each individual that Saw God tonight, written more eloquently than they'd even know themselves. Lorenzo's and Seamus' are particularly long, in fine print. Beneath that, a number of catgories, cited, 'RED NOTICE LIST'.
Chaos, madness, theology, blood ritual, spirits, corruption, compulsion, and 'uncontextualized knowledge' each have their spot. There are fifteen more. All individually unrelated, simple, common, every day concepts to most supernatural life. One box is unfilled. It says, simply, 'tornado'.
"If every box on this list correlates,"
"Then we have, through the predictional analysis of the butterfly effect, proven, for a fact, that you *must* disappear."
Nobody's gonna tell him that they did, in fact, experience a bullshit tornado decompress into a subreality, right? Even Lanaeis, in his generous honesty?
"For top secret reasons!" Comes a concerned little jest. "I wish you would've just gotten back in the bag. You'd see God again, or not, and never come back. Out've my hair forever." Hair. He only has three little hairs, all whispy. -fix, sorry guys
Holding up a finger, Lanaeis stops the demon. "So... that tornado box." Because its been a long night, and clearly someone has lost all giveable fucks. "We did see this freaky blood tornado." And there it goes. "But..." Salvaging this mess? "It was some kind of weird version... Malut-al-abok or something."
Lorenzo makes a lazy sign of the cross in the air with a smirk. "You have no power here, satin," he quips, rolling his eyes theatrically. He props his hands on his hips and leans forward slightly, his demeanor shifting from playful to slightly more intense. "Alright, enough with the sophistry, buddy. Get to the goddamn point already. What's with the 'disappear' act? You throwing a magic show or just really bad at party tricks?" His gaze flicks to the clipboard, curiosity piqued but clearly not intimidated by the theatrics of bureaucratic damnation.
Lanaeis grabs another pillow, also soggy, and rests his chin on a fist as he watches Lorenzo square off with the demon.
"You know what, that's it," He throws the clipboard at Lanaeis like a frisbee, and it disappears about ten inches from his neck. "Fuck you, Lorenzo Mangione! And, and, and, and..." He can't quite say it. Most in hell are bound by spiritual service, after all. But they can take from context what he means. "Fuck this job!" Says his whole face. Then there's a resolute sigh, and a shrug. "From the Quran," He notes to Lanaeis. The way he acts makes it seem like Lorenzo is right. He really does, have, no, power, here. Not over them. They're not in some cult of his own design. They're not even vulnerable to his presence, on a good day, but tonight, they let the devil in when they met him down in Georgia. He turns a shade of pink, flush with blood that probably isn't even tangibly real. "What did you learn? What was your epiphany?" Comes more politely asked of Lorenzo with much more restraint.
"You witnessed a figment of what's to come. We're supposed to stop you from getting there before it's too late. But heraldry, it's pervasive. They're destroying everything we worked so hard for. Trying to bring us back to sixty centuries before zero, here. To literally end all time. You're HELPING them! You could be a part of saving the WORLD if you just get in the bag,"
Lanaeis grins, stretching out on the bed like a cat that got the cream. "So. This... thing. Why did it show me that name? And how, pray tell, can I use that information? If you can make it worth my while, then I might be willing to hop in your bag, because quite frankly? I don't expect to be alive when the world ends."
Lorenzo cocks an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he listens to the demon's frustrated tirade, his expression a mix of amusement and incredulity. As the clipboard fizzles out of existence, he chuckles dryly, shaking his head. "Look, buddy, I didn't sign up for the apocalypse club. I'm more the margaritas and vacations to Tahiti type. You know, sand between my toes, not the sands of time running out." He flashes a devil-may-care grin, leaning back as if he's picturing the scene rather than standing at the precipice of doom. "So, how about you save the heavy lifting for the gym and let me handle the existential dread with a little more style, huh?"
"Look, I'm going to make myself small, still, and stupid, back at the cubicle farm. I'm going to burn this report, kill every intern that made me aware of the radar blip, and quite possibly smoke inhale so many souls of the wretched that I explode all over the wall. I can't do this," Incomprehensible madness that he didn't even have to experience has driven, literally demons, now, to suicidal ideation and madness. It speaks great lengths about the mental fortitude of our heros. "You, Mandalis," Everyone, to him, is just a last name. A spiritual social security card number. "You saw what you did because Malut-al-Abok, as he was seen by his peoples, left an icon of his abominations to Peter. Peter the Apostle. It's waiting for you. I can't stop this. I can't stop any of it. It's meant to be. You're all, going, to die. If I can help it, I'm going to end myself first. Return myself back to the well of the great conscience, recycle my power, and wrap up. Dissolve myself into the lifestream, you get? If you have any fear left, after your visions, you'd do it too."
Lorenzo rolls his eyes, his smirk barely containing his impatience as the demon continues to rant. He languidly waves a hand, as if dismissing a pesky fly. "Listen, I'm all for a good apocalypse theory on a Sunday afternoon, but this? This is just melodramatic." He chuckles, a sound devoid of true humor, his blue eyes twinkling with devilish light. "Lanaeis might be into your whole doom and gloom Ted Talk, but me? Im so over cryptic riddles and armchair theatrics. Call me when youve got something with a little more... substance." He adjusts his shit, a clear signal of his dwindling interest. "And maybe ease up on the caffeine, huh? Sounds like it's making the end times jittery."
Lanaeis nods sagely. Then he gives Lorenzo a serious look. "Do you think he'll send us postcards from the well of whatever it is?" He then motions to the demon. "Parrotface, it was nice meeting you, really. But see, I just met, wait. Peter the... Huh. Ok, so how do I find whatever it wants me to go find?" Clearly the demon has his attention, as he sits up, setting aside his pillowy projectile in the process.
Lorenzo shrugs nonchalantly at Lanaeis, a smirk playing on his lips. His expression reads clear disbelief mixed with amused tolerance for the unfolding scene.
"Simon Peter. Cephas. Find the rock of Christ." The rock, huh? They used to block off all kinds've caves with rocks, didn't they? His focus is off Lorenzo. Maybe his own personal revelations of self were less concerning than Lanaeis' literal biblical visions. "He would deny Christ thrice before the crow cocked..." Comes an airy voice into the room. The demon? Machiavelli, or so he proposed? He's gone. Without so much as a poof. "He, knowing he wouldn't survive the coming of Nero, gave the relic to his wife. It holds within, an artifact of what Azrael had become, rather than what he was constructed to be. Pure, natural, chaos."
"You would do well to remember what culture has forgotten. Both of you, you fear fire. I can smell it. The dread of being away from control."
"Rome burned, once. Rome blamed Christians. Rome, then, would face Peter to hell. To invert his cross, to say that he didn't deserve to die as a supposed Christ did. I have given you enough."
"And Mangione?"
"If you want clear, concise, simple answers? Read Revelations over, give it a shot. Patmos has your answers." Right, sure. The Isle of Patmos. Where Yakub supposedly came from, no less.
Is it over? It seems like it's over.
No, it's not. One more vicious whisper prevails. "Only one apostle survived, only one of twelve. John did. John was the only one, to escape martyrdom. John of Patmos."
Humming to himself, Lanaeis shrugs. "Well, this just goes to show I need a new crash spot." He smirks, leaning back on the heels of his hands.
Lorenzo flashes a devil-may-care grin, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he replies, "So, we're doing Bible study now? Next you'll tell me there's a treasure map on the back of the Declaration of Independence." He rolls his eyes theatrically, adding, "Seriously, if I wanted a lecture on ancient rocks, I'd have hit up a museum, not a ghost hunt."
Lorenzo turns to Lanaeis, his tone half-mocking, half-serious as he flicks an imaginary speck of dust from his shirt. "Hey, I'm heading home. This party's officially over, and I need a drink that doesn't taste like dusty scriptures. Catch you on the flip side?"
Nodding, Lanaeis waves nonchalantly. "I'll call you if I find some good alcohol in those bibles."
Lorenzo points towards the avian demon, and accusatory digit present like the line of blade, before he wiggles it, "Sim sim sala bim!" He looks away with a dejected sigh as nothing happens before pocketing each hand, slowly sauntering off, and away from the clown shoe this night has turned into.
Their interaction with Machiavelli reveals the depth and absurdity of the underworld's bureaucratic machinations, as the demon is revealed to be a sort of infernal auditor, concerned with them breaking cosmic rules which, according to a bizarre checklist, could have apocalyptic implications. Despite Machiavelli's best attempts to intimidate and coerce them into compliance - even resorting to the bizarre offer of getting in a bag that promises oblivion - Lorenzo and Lanaeis remain unphased and cheeky, treating the demonic threats with mocking levity. As Machiavelli grows increasingly desperate, revealing snippets of a larger cosmic conspiracy and forewarnings of doom, it becomes clear that their inadvertent meddling in supernatural affairs has set them on a path intertwined with biblical prophecies and spiritual warfare. Yet, the encounter, rife with banter and dismissive retorts, concludes with the demon's abrupt disappearance, leaving the duo to ponder the cryptic clues left behind about apostles, martyrs, and a looming spiritual crisis. Despite the dire warnings and the heavy cloak of predestination, Lanaeis and Lorenzo part ways mockingly, suggesting their adventure into the world's esoteric secrets is far from over.
(Lanaeis's odd encounter(SRRuprecht):SRRuprecht)
[Fri Mar 28 2025]
In the lighthouse bedroom
This small room is sparse and serves as living quarters for the
lighthouse keeper. Rough stone walls form an insulated barrier from the sea
and begin to curve toward the entrance of the stairwell. A bed rests in the
corner of the room beside a porthole-style window while bookshelves line the
wall with numerous old volumes of marine history.
It is night, about 28F(-2C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waning crescent moon.
(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.
)
Having just arrived 'home' aka, back in the lighthouse he's still squatting in, Lanaeis flops onto the bed with a sigh, images of the events of the night still swirling through his head, along with that name... that accursed name, that niggles there at the back of his mind...
Leaning in with a sly grin, Lorenzo gives Lanaeis a once-over and quips, "You know, with that schoolboy charm, I bet you were real popular in the locker room. How many swirlies did it take before you decided to hit the gym, huh?" Why was he here, don't ask the why, not even the how, just bask in the now.
Sometimes you wake up in the strangest of places, huh? To encounter one another once in a trailer park, is benign coincidentiality. A second coincidence would suggest a more disturbing compulsion of fate or chance, manipulated by forceful external obscurities beyond comprehension. Lanaeis tries to rest, after having just barely awoken, psychically battered from the molestations of the exposure to whatever drained so much of his vitality. Lorenzo is just as bad off. He woke up in a dumpster on Devilwood, knees creaky, blood running thin through his system. Their life force was stolen from them. By the storm, or by the entity at the center of the storm. Lorenzo might've been looking for Lanaeis.
Or maybe he's just as unaware.
Not even lifting his head, Lanaeis grumbles out "Actually, I used to be the one giving the swirlies. I was a real shit after getting in on the wrong shit..."
With a weary but sardonic smile, Lorenzo brushes back his hair, glancing over at Lanaeis as he straightens up from the disheveled state. "You know, waking up in a dumpster really puts a dent in your night, doesn't it? But hey, at least I didn't wake up in a coffin this time. Silver linings, Lanaeis, silver linings."
Lorenzo chuckles lowly, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he peers down at Lanaeis. "Ah, so you were the playground kingpin, huh? Here I was thinking you were the type to get an atomic wedgie rather than give one. Life's full of surprises."
Snorting dryly, Lanaeis sits up, rubbing his face. "I knew you were a vampire. The fuck was with the act before though?" He tilts his head, sparks of gold falling from his fingers.
Lorenzo flashes a grin, smoothing back his hair with a flair of mock vanity. "Ah, my brooding good looks and mysterious aura weren't enough? Had to keep you guessing; it's part of the vampire employee handbook. Rule number one: always keep them thirsty for more."
Lanaeis smirks slightly, leaning back on his elbows. "The only thing I was thirsty for were the drinks you were serving. But the company wasn't bad." He flicks his eyes about the room. "Why are you here, anyway?"
PHOKK! A stone falls out've the wall. Then another, proceeded by a third. Then a fourth, a fifth, a sixth. Six holes in a circle now permeate the wall of the lighthouse in which Lanaeis would slum, unconcerned to the auspicious history and haunting. Funny, when they fall on the floor? It makes another circle. That's not so easy to take as chance encounter, not even with the winds of the bay flying through like a gale. They chatter on and on without a wick've concern - like the night is over. Like the horror was finished with. Like they got their knowledge for cheap, only at the cost of their blood, soul, and spiritual wellbeing.
But nobody thought they'd be followed? Noticed? Do psychic aberrations that tear holes through space time not so often call at greater sleeping evils?
Smoke curls through the cracks... black smoke. It looks like what was making the reality fabric real earlier. But it's not at all the same thing. Thicker, yet more dispersed -- more tangible. Twin cones culminate between the two circles dramatically...
In a spooky way. Whatever's behind this can't possibly be worse than meeting god, and feeling yourself shredded down to bare inconsequential semantics, can it?
Lanaeis promptly grabs a pillow and chucks it at the smoke. "Fuck off unless you have something productive for me asshole, I just got shit on by god, I'm tired and there's a vampire in my room. And whats worse, its a dude, not some hot chick."
Lorenzo chuckles, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he leans back, looking Lanaeis up and down with an appreciative nod. "Oh, you know, just following the trail of your winning personality."
Lorenzo, unphased by the bizarre stone rain, smirks as he watches the twin cones form, his eyes reflecting a mischievous spark against the darkening chaos. He turns to Lanaeis, raising an eyebrow playfully, "Well, looks like someones throwing us a surprise party. Lets just hope theyre not planning to serve us as the main course, huh?"
Lanaeis is not going to make the smoke happy, but dang did it feel good to throw that pillow.
Lanaeis glances at Lorenzo. "I feel more like dessert. I don't know about you, but I've heard Angelborn are sweeter than most people."
A pillow, likely one soggy with air moisture and salt, goes flying across the atmosphere... and caught between twin vortexes, like a basketball between two wind tunnels. It spins, and spins, and spins, accelerating rapidly until it finally flies back not unlike a richocheting cannonball, right for Lorenzo's exposed head. Just a few feet off target, of course being Lanaeis. Someone else has some personality to share. The smoke explodes like the ash of a vampiric demise, revealing a bald, squat lardo. A penguin-esque individual with a long beak, a monocle, and a cheap suit. He's got a clipboard in his hand, and he stands like he's been there the whole time. One eye is a flaming red, and the other a striking indigo -- close to purple, actually. "So, just what the hhhhhhEELL!" Comes a parroting squawk. "DO! WE! HAVE! HERE!"
"You know what I think we have?!"
"A violation of section sixty six thirteen C! CEE! That's the most IMPORTANT ONE! The ONLY RULE!"
The demon only receives a blank stare from Lanaeis. "...What?" He asks, blinking. "What rule are you talking about exactly?" He studies the bird thing. "And what are you?"
Lorenzo gives Lanaeis a sardonic look, tossing his hair back with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. "Sweet or not, you're not exactly my type, buddy. I prefer my desserts with a little less... divine intervention."
Lorenzo groans, pulling the pillow from his face with an annoyed flick of his wrist. "Oh, come on! Can't a guy get a moment of peace without getting smacked by flying decor?" His voice drips with sarcastic displeasure as he glares at the new, bizarre arrival. "Really, a clipboard? What's next, a slap on the wrist with a feather?"
Lanaeis shakes his head grimly at Lorenzo. "Nah, its the ruler. All of those teacher official types use the ruler."
"You might as well call me Machiavelli, because I'm here to orchestrate your fuckin' fast-lane to the low-bend dead-end if you don't explain just exactly how you did what you did," Yowls the fat little guy with a sadistic intent inherent to his disposition, clearly punctuated by the way that the pillow snaps Lorenzo's neck back, shredding itself and laminating to his face with a particular viciousness. "Paradise Park, we know all about it." And it was only TWENTY minutes ago, to boot. "I am, yes, spare the fanfare and the gasps -- a manifestation of Hell. Contrarily, you're interacting with forces above hell itself, and that just won't do. So, please," From a hole in reality, or somewhere even worse, behind his back, he produces a big black santa sack. "GET IN THE FUCKING BAG!" Two boxes check off the clipboard, which floats ethereally in front of him for a moment, without even being held to hand.
And he opens the bag. Like they'll do it, too.
Lanaeis just stares at the bag. Then he looks at Lorenzo. "So. Let me just do a rundown here. We made a sort of deal with an ancient god horror thing, and now... a demon wants us to climb in his sack?" He shrugs. "Eh, fuck it. I'm game if you are."
Lorenzo's neck snaps back from the force of the pillow, but his recovery is swift, a sly grin spreading across his face as he brushes off the remnants of the pillow. He straightens up, eyeing the rotund figure with a mix of amusement and disdain. "You know, buddy, I've danced with the devil more times than I can count, but I think I'll skip this prom dance," he quips, casually dusting off his jacket as if the threat before him were nothing more than an irksome gnat. "And as for your bag, it's really not my style. I prefer a little more legroom and a lot less existential dread." His tone is mocking, the hint of a laugh coloring his words as he prepares for whatever bizarre scenario is about to unfold.
Lanaeis nods solemnly. "You heard the man. Come back when you have a proper ride and we'll talk."
One moment after the eldritch scream breaches the ears with the sonic blast that proceeded it would pass, and no more, before he takes an imposing step forward. Odd that he would impose, at a manlet size of five foot two. The bag is of a blackness hard to quantify, but too familiar now. Lanaeis doesn't want to get in that bag, and Lorenzo made the correct decision. "Oh, what, you'll do it once, but not again?" A scoff. He discards the sack, like a used condom... and it disappears. "Here I thought everyone on earth was predictable down to the last." Two more boxes checked on the floating board. "So let's get down to it. Who saw what, and why aren't we going to dig deeper? Come on, before I break out the memory-eraser-pen," He clicks twice at the ball-point pen. It should be no shock that they have Will Smith movies in Hell.
Lanaeis lies back in his bed, shrugging. "I saw an angel, that was a god, that was an eldritch horror, then I saw more shit and said yes when it offered me a way out." He eyes the pen. "Do you sell those in the Hell gift shop?" He asks curiously. "Because if you do, I need to get some."
Lorenzo chuckles alongside #Lanaeis, rolling his eyes at the absurdity before them. "Yeah, and make sure it's a DeLorean," he quips, his smirk widening. "If we're going to ride to hell, we might as well do it with some style and a flux capacitor." His gaze flicks from the bizarre figure to Lanaeis, sharing a moment of sardonic camaraderie in the face of their otherworldly encounter.
Lorenzo smirks, a devilish glint in his bright blue eyes as he watches the diminutive demon's theatrics. "Dig deeper?" he retorts with a lazy shrug, casually leaning against whatever stable surface is nearest. "You know, I've always found the best secrets are kept right on the surface; you just have to know where to look. And as for that pen," he pauses, tilting his head slightly, his tone dripping with disdainful amusement, "I'd suggest you save it for someone who doesn't enjoy the memory of chaos as much as I do. It's the spice of life, after all." His words are laced with a provocative challenge, daring the otherworldly entity to make its next move in their bizarre and tense standoff.
Lorenzo chuckles alongside Lanaeis, rolling his eyes at the absurdity before them. "Yeah, and make sure it's a DeLorean," he quips, his smirk widening. "If we're going to ride to hell, we might as well do it with some style and a flux capacitor." His gaze flicks from the bizarre figure to Lanaeis, sharing a moment of sardonic camaraderie in the face of their otherworldly encounter.
Lorenzo smirks, a devilish glint in his bright blue eyes as he watches the diminutive demon's theatrics. "Dig deeper?" he retorts with a lazy shrug, casually leaning against whatever stable surface is nearest. "You know, I've always found the best secrets are kept right on the surface; you just have to know where to look. And as for that pen," he pauses, tilting his head slightly, his tone dripping with disdainful amusement, "I'd suggest you save it for someone who doesn't enjoy the memory of chaos as much as I do. It's the spice of life, after all." His words are laced with a provocative challenge, daring the otherworldly entity to make its next move in their bizarre and tense standoff. (fixed)
"Angel, god, ... yes I suppose Eldritch horror would fit under 'gibbering incomprehensible'..." Three more boxes that get checked off, and his brow furrows with certain concern, rare of demons. He flits left and right on the page, frivolously chittering away inside his own mind like a panicking bureaucrat on announcement of war, or a stock broker during a bad crash. "You said, chaos?" He marks another box down. "We're getting frighteningly close to the breaking point, here. That shouldn't have happened. Never, ever, ever, ever. It hasn't been this bad since the war started! THE! War. Like, the BIG ONE." Pitch increases repeatedly as he finishes each point with purpose. "Too much! They know too much!" Up, down, left, right. It's like his facial expressions telegraph a konami code. He's wondering, clearly: what can I do about this, in Haven Massachusetts?
"Gotta clean this up -- they'll have me by the balls! By the BALLS! Auditing was supposed to be easy, clean-cut work. Damn Venice- damn Lexandris, and damn this job to ... to..." Yeah, damn this job to where?
"Did you LEARN anything? What about the visions actually made SENSE? What DISCOVERIES did you INTERNALIZE?"
"Azrael." Lanaeis supplies helpfully. "So, are you like... a corporate lackey in Hell or something?" He looks the demon over. "I thought powerful demons would be alluring to trick the human mind. So clearly you are some grunt..." He tries to take a peek at the floating board. "Whatcha writing?" He finally leans back and then shoots up to a sitting position, snapping his fingers. "Oh! And before I forget, about those pens? My little sister would love one of those."
Lorenzo raises an eyebrow, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp as he watches the frazzled demon pace and panic. "Oh, I'm seeing a lot of beak flapping but making little sense, like trying to decipher Morse code from a toddler's tantrum," he quips smoothly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He folds his arms across his chest, the amusement clear in his tone as he continues, "And you, my twitchy little friend, seem more lost than a bloodhound in a perfume shop. So, how about you slow down, take a breath, if you even do that, and start making sense. Or is that too much to ask from hell's middle management?" Lorenzo's challenge hangs in the air, a playful yet piercing taunt aimed at unravelling the demon's composure further.
Lorenzo lets out a groan, rubbing his temple as if trying to soothe a sudden headache brought on by Lanaeis's bluntness. "You've got the subtlety of a chainsaw at a ballet, buddy," he mutters, shooting Lanaeis a look that mixes exasperation with a faint smirk. Turning his attention back to the demon, he leans in slightly, his tone dripping with sarcastic charm. "And as for you, our supposedly infernal bureaucrat, are we doing this dance all night, or are you actually going to spill something useful? Because, honestly, Ive seen scarier tax auditors. Lorenzo's gaze flicks to the clipboard, his interest piqued despite his casual demeanor."
Lorenzo raises an eyebrow, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp as he watches the frazzled demon pace and panic. "Oh, I'm seeing a lot of beak flapping but making little sense, like trying to decipher Morse code from a toddler's tantrum," he quips smoothly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He folds his arms across his chest, the amusement clear in his tone as he continues, "And you, my twitchy little friend, seem more lost than a bloodhound in a perfume shop. So, how about you slow down, take a breath, if you even do that, and start making sense. Or is that too much to ask from hell's middle management?" Lorenzo's challenge hangs in the air, a playful yet piercing taunt aimed at unravelling the demon's composure further.
Lorenzo lets out a groan, rubbing his temple as if trying to soothe a sudden headache brought on by Lanaeis's bluntness. "You've got the subtlety of a chainsaw at a ballet, buddy," he mutters, shooting Lanaeis a look that mixes exasperation with a faint smirk. Turning his attention back to the demon, he leans in slightly, his tone dripping with sarcastic charm. "And as for you, our supposedly infernal bureaucrat, are we doing this dance all night, or are you actually going to spill something useful? Because, honestly, Ive seen scarier tax auditors." Lorenzo's gaze flicks to the clipboard, his interest piqued despite his casual demeanor. (fixed)
"I thought my ex wife was chatty! Don't make me remind you of that dead heart, Mangione," He knows Lorenzo's name. "I see no reason to pick at a man's impotence. I'm just here -- to sil- to... to clean-... no, not even -- this is too open to sanitize. McKaye is probably already paying a therapy bill, and Gallagher isn't even here. He's insane, though, they'll never believe him."
"Which leaves me with YOU two. That name Lanaeis offers brings no pleasure or joy. "It was phrased that way? Azrael, nothing similar or derivative?" It's a common biblical concept, after all. What Lanaeis learned of was more specific and niche. His Arabic name. Finally. A last box gets checked. He flips the board over, sharing with the class. An in-depth psychoanalysis of each individual that Saw God tonight, written more eloquently than they'd even know themselves. Lorenzo's and Seamus' are particularly long, in fine print. Beneath that, a number of catgories, cited, 'RED NOTICE LIST'.
Chaos, madness, theology, blood ritual, spirits, corruption, compulsion, and 'uncontextualized knowledge' each have their spot. There are fifteen more. All individually unrelated, simple, common, every day concepts to most supernatural life. One box is unfilled. It says, simply, 'tornado'.
"If every box on this list correlates,"
"Then we have, through the predictional analysis of the butterfly effect, proven, for a fact, that you *must* disappear."
Nobody's gonna tell him that they did, in fact, experience a bullshit tornado decompress into a subreality, right? Even Lanaeis, in his generous honesty?
"For top secret reasons!" Comes a concerned little jest. "I wish you would've just gotten back in the bag. You'd see God again, or not, and never come back. Out've my hair forever." Hair. He only has three little hairs, all whispy."
"Thought my ex wife was chatty! Don't make me remind you of that dead heart, Mangione," He knows Lorenzo's name. "I see no reason to pick at a man's impotence. I'm just here -- to sil- to... to clean-... no, not even -- this is too open to sanitize. McKaye is probably already paying a therapy bill, and Gallagher isn't even here. He's insane, though, they'll never believe him."
"Which leaves me with YOU two." That name Lanaeis offers brings no pleasure or joy. "It was phrased that way? Azrael, nothing similar or derivative?" It's a common biblical concept, after all. What Lanaeis learned of was more specific and niche. His Arabic name. Finally. A last box gets checked. He flips the board over, sharing with the class. An in-depth psychoanalysis of each individual that Saw God tonight, written more eloquently than they'd even know themselves. Lorenzo's and Seamus' are particularly long, in fine print. Beneath that, a number of catgories, cited, 'RED NOTICE LIST'.
Chaos, madness, theology, blood ritual, spirits, corruption, compulsion, and 'uncontextualized knowledge' each have their spot. There are fifteen more. All individually unrelated, simple, common, every day concepts to most supernatural life. One box is unfilled. It says, simply, 'tornado'.
"If every box on this list correlates,"
"Then we have, through the predictional analysis of the butterfly effect, proven, for a fact, that you *must* disappear."
Nobody's gonna tell him that they did, in fact, experience a bullshit tornado decompress into a subreality, right? Even Lanaeis, in his generous honesty?
"For top secret reasons!" Comes a concerned little jest. "I wish you would've just gotten back in the bag. You'd see God again, or not, and never come back. Out've my hair forever." Hair. He only has three little hairs, all whispy. -fix, sorry guys
Holding up a finger, Lanaeis stops the demon. "So... that tornado box." Because its been a long night, and clearly someone has lost all giveable fucks. "We did see this freaky blood tornado." And there it goes. "But..." Salvaging this mess? "It was some kind of weird version... Malut-al-abok or something."
Lorenzo makes a lazy sign of the cross in the air with a smirk. "You have no power here, satin," he quips, rolling his eyes theatrically. He props his hands on his hips and leans forward slightly, his demeanor shifting from playful to slightly more intense. "Alright, enough with the sophistry, buddy. Get to the goddamn point already. What's with the 'disappear' act? You throwing a magic show or just really bad at party tricks?" His gaze flicks to the clipboard, curiosity piqued but clearly not intimidated by the theatrics of bureaucratic damnation.
Lanaeis grabs another pillow, also soggy, and rests his chin on a fist as he watches Lorenzo square off with the demon.
"You know what, that's it," He throws the clipboard at Lanaeis like a frisbee, and it disappears about ten inches from his neck. "Fuck you, Lorenzo Mangione! And, and, and, and..." He can't quite say it. Most in hell are bound by spiritual service, after all. But they can take from context what he means. "Fuck this job!" Says his whole face. Then there's a resolute sigh, and a shrug. "From the Quran," He notes to Lanaeis. The way he acts makes it seem like Lorenzo is right. He really does, have, no, power, here. Not over them. They're not in some cult of his own design. They're not even vulnerable to his presence, on a good day, but tonight, they let the devil in when they met him down in Georgia. He turns a shade of pink, flush with blood that probably isn't even tangibly real. "What did you learn? What was your epiphany?" Comes more politely asked of Lorenzo with much more restraint.
"You witnessed a figment of what's to come. We're supposed to stop you from getting there before it's too late. But heraldry, it's pervasive. They're destroying everything we worked so hard for. Trying to bring us back to sixty centuries before zero, here. To literally end all time. You're HELPING them! You could be a part of saving the WORLD if you just get in the bag,"
Lanaeis grins, stretching out on the bed like a cat that got the cream. "So. This... thing. Why did it show me that name? And how, pray tell, can I use that information? If you can make it worth my while, then I might be willing to hop in your bag, because quite frankly? I don't expect to be alive when the world ends."
Lorenzo cocks an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he listens to the demon's frustrated tirade, his expression a mix of amusement and incredulity. As the clipboard fizzles out of existence, he chuckles dryly, shaking his head. "Look, buddy, I didn't sign up for the apocalypse club. I'm more the margaritas and vacations to Tahiti type. You know, sand between my toes, not the sands of time running out." He flashes a devil-may-care grin, leaning back as if he's picturing the scene rather than standing at the precipice of doom. "So, how about you save the heavy lifting for the gym and let me handle the existential dread with a little more style, huh?"
"Look, I'm going to make myself small, still, and stupid, back at the cubicle farm. I'm going to burn this report, kill every intern that made me aware of the radar blip, and quite possibly smoke inhale so many souls of the wretched that I explode all over the wall. I can't do this," Incomprehensible madness that he didn't even have to experience has driven, literally demons, now, to suicidal ideation and madness. It speaks great lengths about the mental fortitude of our heros. "You, Mandalis," Everyone, to him, is just a last name. A spiritual social security card number. "You saw what you did because Malut-al-Abok, as he was seen by his peoples, left an icon of his abominations to Peter. Peter the Apostle. It's waiting for you. I can't stop this. I can't stop any of it. It's meant to be. You're all, going, to die. If I can help it, I'm going to end myself first. Return myself back to the well of the great conscience, recycle my power, and wrap up. Dissolve myself into the lifestream, you get? If you have any fear left, after your visions, you'd do it too."
Lorenzo rolls his eyes, his smirk barely containing his impatience as the demon continues to rant. He languidly waves a hand, as if dismissing a pesky fly. "Listen, I'm all for a good apocalypse theory on a Sunday afternoon, but this? This is just melodramatic." He chuckles, a sound devoid of true humor, his blue eyes twinkling with devilish light. "Lanaeis might be into your whole doom and gloom Ted Talk, but me? Im so over cryptic riddles and armchair theatrics. Call me when youve got something with a little more... substance." He adjusts his shit, a clear signal of his dwindling interest. "And maybe ease up on the caffeine, huh? Sounds like it's making the end times jittery."
Lanaeis nods sagely. Then he gives Lorenzo a serious look. "Do you think he'll send us postcards from the well of whatever it is?" He then motions to the demon. "Parrotface, it was nice meeting you, really. But see, I just met, wait. Peter the... Huh. Ok, so how do I find whatever it wants me to go find?" Clearly the demon has his attention, as he sits up, setting aside his pillowy projectile in the process.
Lorenzo shrugs nonchalantly at Lanaeis, a smirk playing on his lips. His expression reads clear disbelief mixed with amused tolerance for the unfolding scene.
"Simon Peter. Cephas. Find the rock of Christ." The rock, huh? They used to block off all kinds've caves with rocks, didn't they? His focus is off Lorenzo. Maybe his own personal revelations of self were less concerning than Lanaeis' literal biblical visions. "He would deny Christ thrice before the crow cocked..." Comes an airy voice into the room. The demon? Machiavelli, or so he proposed? He's gone. Without so much as a poof. "He, knowing he wouldn't survive the coming of Nero, gave the relic to his wife. It holds within, an artifact of what Azrael had become, rather than what he was constructed to be. Pure, natural, chaos."
"You would do well to remember what culture has forgotten. Both of you, you fear fire. I can smell it. The dread of being away from control."
"Rome burned, once. Rome blamed Christians. Rome, then, would face Peter to hell. To invert his cross, to say that he didn't deserve to die as a supposed Christ did. I have given you enough."
"And Mangione?"
"If you want clear, concise, simple answers? Read Revelations over, give it a shot. Patmos has your answers." Right, sure. The Isle of Patmos. Where Yakub supposedly came from, no less.
Is it over? It seems like it's over.
No, it's not. One more vicious whisper prevails. "Only one apostle survived, only one of twelve. John did. John was the only one, to escape martyrdom. John of Patmos."
Humming to himself, Lanaeis shrugs. "Well, this just goes to show I need a new crash spot." He smirks, leaning back on the heels of his hands.
Lorenzo flashes a devil-may-care grin, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he replies, "So, we're doing Bible study now? Next you'll tell me there's a treasure map on the back of the Declaration of Independence." He rolls his eyes theatrically, adding, "Seriously, if I wanted a lecture on ancient rocks, I'd have hit up a museum, not a ghost hunt."
Lorenzo turns to Lanaeis, his tone half-mocking, half-serious as he flicks an imaginary speck of dust from his shirt. "Hey, I'm heading home. This party's officially over, and I need a drink that doesn't taste like dusty scriptures. Catch you on the flip side?"
Nodding, Lanaeis waves nonchalantly. "I'll call you if I find some good alcohol in those bibles."
Lorenzo points towards the avian demon, and accusatory digit present like the line of blade, before he wiggles it, "Sim sim sala bim!" He looks away with a dejected sigh as nothing happens before pocketing each hand, slowly sauntering off, and away from the clown shoe this night has turned into.