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Active [On the Border of the See and Widersia, as Far South of Clockhaven as the River Goes] - Snack Bar

Irihi

Evildoer
Roleplay Availability
I am looking for roleplays.
Roleplay Type(s)
  1. Group
  2. Dice
  3. Quests
He was this close, he could smell it. Rough’s fingers traced the rim of the lowball glass, the ice within shifting with a muted clink. Neat, rocks, it hardly mattered with this swill. None of it mattered; the too-sweet rip of the bottom shelf whiskey, the stale smell that clung to his overcoat--how many packs of cigarettes burned to stumps this week?

What mattered was her; that fluffball in the corner, leaning over the stupid sod in the booth, stooping like a hawk about to eviscerate a rabbit, unawares.

She didn’t look like a raptor; no--all black and white with downy neck muff, lace, and fishnets in furred boots. She looked soft. She looked safe. She looked fun, with everything pushed up where it could shake and jiggle. And the rabbit, beneath her, was mesmerized by those pouting pale plush lips and the twinkle of mischief in those soulless black sclera.

Yeah, they don’t twinkle for you, kid; just what your worth to her. Rough raised a finger, and another pour of warm engine degreaser melted more of the polluted ice in his glass. It wasn’t a good idea--not when he was this close to his target; but the whole thing was a bad idea. Maybe three wrongs would make a right. If not, at least he’d get numb enough not to care.

Rabbit was doing a line. Rabbit was laughing. Rabbit was already dead, and hanging off her arm like a kill dangling from a game rack. Out the door they went, her tittering as her feathery antennae twitched, his deeper chuckles providing a counterpoint as some of the last air he’d ever breath fled his lungs.

Rough downed the still-warm spirit and pushed creakily away from the bar, leaving the smell of stale sweat and a couple of ragged bills behind.



”Hands!” The snub-nosed revolver glinted in the dim red light spilling in through the filthy window. ”Both of you! Where I can see ‘em!” Rough gestured with the revolver. ”Against the wall!

This was it! He almost couldn’t believe it.

Years.
Home.
Career.
Maggie.

All sacrificed on the alter of this case. Sacrificed discovering, tracking, pursuing, and--at last--trapping that thing; the bent and twisted sharp-toothed spider-like monstrosity looming over Mister Rabbit’s prostrate form. I’ve got you now, you bastard!

Moff girl had flattened herself against the wall, all four hands spread flat. She knew bullets. She knew them enough to fear them; the way they tore and took. Her black eyes were wide, her teeth were chattering. Rough would have felt sorry for her, if she wasn’t such a monster; if she wouldn’t have killed him in an instant--just like she had Mister Rabbit.

“Do anything but what I ordered.” Rough snarled at the thing looming over mister rabbit, black blood still dripping from its razor-sharp digits. “Pretty please.” His finger pressed on the trigger, twitching with the urge. They’d believe him; he still had pull at the station. They were both murderers, and if he spattered them against the wall in “self-defense”, maybe this thing--the talons lodged in his brain, the claws that had marionette his own hands while he ripped his life apart--would relinquish his strings at long last.

It wanted them dead; just like it had wanted that kid dead--that evidence planted, those defensive wounds unreported. Three flashes illuminated the room, accompanied by the sharp report of gunfire in an enclosed space.

“Just a little insult before injury.” A voice hissed, and it was not Riley “Rough” Callahan’s own. It was that thing

Inside him.

Now manifest in the world.

The blackness of the demon had bubbled to the surface of Rough’s skin, peeled a second head away, branching from his neck like some sort of grotesque man-hydra. The thing he’d tried to deny with drug and poison--the thing he’d tried to kill with toxic cancerous smoke, it was here. It had pulled the trigger and now it was tugging his aim away from the ichabod skeletal monster Mephisto had become, and toward his fluffy partner-in-crime. “But it will kill her. Let’s enjoy her death, together, Patron, before you accompany me.”

Two pale hands were raised, as if they could stop the inexorable winged leaden death. The other two covered those black murderess eyes. “No… please!” she squeaked.

“Fear not, my dear. I won’t drag you to hell, alone. Your brother is soon to follo--GAAK!!”

Abraxiel was wholly separated from his thrall now, his claws entwined lovingly with Rough’s gun hand’s fingers, in an external manifestation of the embrace with which the hellspawn had driven Sergeant Callahan’s life to wreck and ruin.

He was also looking a little pale.

Ashen, even.

Six unseeing eyes wide, six knobbly limbs contorted with lightning shock, six bladed tails likewise stilled, Abraxiel began to crumble. It did not take long, the cascades of desiccated grey ash sloughed quickly to the floor. Released, Rough stumbled aside, his nerveless finger twitching, sending another slug into the ceiling, where a shower of plaster joined the remains of the demon that were now but a small sad pile of ash.

Above it, where the core of the hellspawn had been hollowed out, a miasmic cloud boiled. It was tiny, the size and color of a Babylon candle flame. Yet for its diminutive nature, the dark dancing flame was captivating; it drew the attention of all those still alive in the place. The flame did not so much grow, as the world around it seemed to shrink. Indeed, reality itself felt the press of the titan. More plaster fell, the floorboards rattled and cracked out of place. The filthy windowpanes exploded outward in showers of razored shards.

Thusly, she arrived.



Irihi did not grow into the world; she crushed it down, with the very weight of her ancient arcane presence as she unfolded into reality. “Hmph.” She made a noise, too dismissive to be disgust, as she brushed an imaginary fleck of ash from her pale shoulder. “Disappointing.”

Sergeant Callahan--ex-sergeant, actually--was looking at his hands, his smoking revolver having fallen to the floor. He couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening, but he could feel it--the vanishing of the demon. Light and life and love were flooding back into his world. “I’m… I’m free!” He whispered, awed.

Then, he began to swell--not with pride or happiness, but with agony; his body distending not unlike that of a humanoid puffer fish, his limbs cracking and snapping as they contorted, his mouth opening in a silent scream that did nothing to relieve the torment of exploding from within.

Until Irihi snapped her fingers, and he burst like a bubble gumshoe.

“Not just yet, dearheart.” She said, her words almost lost in the wet smack of the fountain of gore falling upon the wrecked floor. With a come hither gesture, she compelled the tiny blue fairy light of his essence to coalesce from the pile of viscera--that had heretofore continued it--and wend around her finger. Thin pale lips pursed, almost touching the ethereal soul. “When I have what I want; then I will let you go.” She said, and the light winked out as she blew a spell upon it, like a child snuffing a birthday candle.

Violet eyes narrowed as the Elfwitch regarded Mephisto. “Don’t play with your food.” She admonished him. “And stop tormenting the help.”

Shaking a little gore and a little ash from her stiletto heels, she stalked over to the quivering moth girl, still covering her eyes and cringing as she waited for the bullet. “There, there, dearheart.” Thin cold fingers caressed the feathery muffler about the girl’s throat.

“Fear not; we won’t let you die…” Irihi spoke a reassurance that sounded more like a threat. “...you’re much too useful.” She played idly with the girl’s silvery hair and watched her feathery antennae curl with terror at the nearness of death in Irihi’s touch. “Isn’t that right, Murphy?”

Irihi took a step back, knowing that the girl wasn’t going to be able to move her fear-frozen legs while in Irihi’s sphere of influence. When the mothwoman opened her eyes, she gestured to Mister Rabbit’s corpse. “Go ahead, dearheart. You can have the prime cut, this time.” Irihi’s lips twitched upward. “We’re celebrating,” she decided.
 


Mephisto and Irihi in...

"In for a Pound of Flesh!"

Starring...

| Irihi Irihi as herself! |​




There were many nameless dive bars scattered to the four winds in Red Haven. By any estimation, there were hundreds if not thousands. The populace squirmed under the scrutiny of unfeeling Cryptid monstrosities and cruel Patron deities, preyed upon mercilessly by those they offended or purely by circumstance. Merely existing in the wrong place at the wrong time brought with it the paralyzing fear of possibility. Exits had to be taken into consideration. Words had to be measured. There were always the errant drunkards or madmen, spurred by delirium or pain, who sought to end their eternal nights of material bliss and existential suffering by interacting poorly with these volatile beings.

Thus, while celebrating, merriment often turned into psychopathy - drunk not on liqueurs but on the madness of being alive, so dreadfully alive! Feet became stomping percussion, voices were raised in praise of the strange and spiteful things that controlled their lives. Lifted along invisible strings, the puppets danced and sang. The illusion of free will was only ever enforced by temporary indications. Watching the dealer flip the right card, praying the dice land on the right number, seeing the roulette wheel land on the right color... it was all a gamble. It was all a performance.

As Mephisto emerged from the shadows, his long and lithe pale form peeling from the unreality beyond the scope of mortal comprehension, he indulged in the music pulsing within the roots of the city. He thrived for it. He hungered for it. He had many such hungers, hungers for song, for drink, for mirth, but none could compare to his most ravenous hunger of all. Not in a hundred years could he satisfy it, not in a thousand. Some compared him to a starving animal. Some thought he was. Perhaps he couldn't escape that predisposition. Perhaps he never wanted to.

Yet for all his thoughts, for all his emotions, for all his swirling inner monologues and tidal crests of understanding, he only ever wanted one thing. He placed his hand on Irihi's shoulder, tracing the slender elf's skin with his sharp talons. He did not break the skin, he dared not to. He did not want to spoil what he so desperately wanted to bring into the stark nihilism of Red Haven. He craved for her to be here. He wanted to show her many things and to watch her make them so much worse.

His claws followed the shape of her throat, rubbing the space between her jawbone tenderly. He could feel her tongue moving as she breathed into hollow lungs. Her blood was cold, yet moved independently of her black heart. He smiled at having a kindred spirit nearby, within his grasp. He smiled at... having a friend.

He pinched her cheek at her nickname for him.

He did not care for it. She knew it. He snarled a snide little snicker.

"Oh you~!" he cooed musically, striding away.

He pivoted on his heel, inspecting the catastrophe that brought Irihi to this plane of existence. She had been chained by something that exceeded even Mephisto's power, for a time at least. Yet with the inexorable machinations of such a vile and wrathful god, there were bound to be gaps in the armor. The plots and schemes Abraxiel wove were, themselves, not entirely impenetrable. Therefore, Mephisto and Irihi plotted and schemed together in silence.

"Just remember who helped smuggle you inside of that demon, darling. Poor bastard didn't have a clue,"

He engaged in a fit of insane cackling at the thought of Abraxiel possessing anything of his.

"Honestly, that might be a new favorite trick of mine,"

He gave the moth woman a little boop on her frightened nose and swirled his hand through the open air. A black cat stepped out from the red smoke he conjured and crawled onto his shoulder before meowing happily and rubbing against his face.

"So - welcome to Red Haven! It's been a long time, darling. We ought to catch up~"

A bead of drool slipped from his pristine fangs, falling to the floor and coagulating within the pooling blood. The smell of it was clouding his mind. Yet he had reason yet left within it, and his heart beat along with the rhythm of his theatrics.

"And what better way than to have some fun on this dull evening we find ourselves under?"

His Long Shadow ripped a nondescript lump of flesh from the popped aberration Mister Callahan had been reduced to. Mephisto eagerly snatched it from the grasp of his other half, placing it between his teeth and chewing relentlessly. It was as if he had received little more than an appetizer. The hunger burning in his stomach did not thank him for the meager appeasement. It punished him with more pain, more twisting agony gripping every bone in his body. His inhuman gaze narrowed.

"Let's expand the menu~"


 
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All across the city, powerful forces hungered to see Mephisto and Irihis dead, foeswho dreamed of mounting their heads like trophies on castle walls. It was no surprise that they would spare no expense, hiring bounty hunters and mercenaries to chase this dark fantasy of death. Arc was just another name on that long list, an ordinary knight who stumbled upon their wanted posters by sheer luck. The crimes listed beneath their names were horrifying-unspeakable acts that sent chills down his spine and stirred something deep within him. Hate for the wicked.

Without much thought, he took up the challenge, accepting not one, but both bounties. And now, as reality settled in, doubt crept through his mind like a slow poison. What had he been thinking? Tracking down even one of them would be an impossible feat, let alone capturing both in such a short span of time. He felt foolish, reckless even, but the idea had already taken root. He had to serve it. They deserved it.

As Arc wandered through the bustling city streets, weaving his way through the maze of towering buildings and narrow alleyways, he found himself surrounded by an endless sea of taverns and dimly lit bars and buildings. The air was thick with the mingling scents of stale ale, roasted meat, and the faint trace of something far less pleasant "desperation". He had no idea where to even begin his search, no leads, no clues just the faint hope that fate, or perhaps sheer dumb luck, would nudge him in the right direction.

With a resigned sigh, he pushed open the heavy wooden door of the first building he saw, stepping inside to be greeted by the low murmur of conversations and the clinking of tankards. His eyes darted around the room, scanning the faces of drunken patrons slumped over tables and shadowy figures huddled in corners. And so the routine began—pushing open doors, peering inside, and stepping right back out again. It felt absurd, aimless even, but what else could he do? With every place he entered, his resolve wavered just a little more, the weight of his impulsive decision settling deeper into his armour. He REALLY hated this part of the job...

Everything was going downhill. Until a group of villagers from Red Haven were whispering about a missing man named Rough, rumors swirled that he had likely fallen victim to the same cruelty Arc was chasing. It was the first real lead he'd come across that allowed him to follow and make his search become a smaller section of the city, and just as the weight of it settled in his mind, the sharp sound of shattering glass echoed through the streets.

'Finally, I have something to work with!'

Arc thought to himself, a surge of confidence rising in his chest. He convinced himself that he was more than capable of handling the two infamous figures, he was utterly oblivious to just how wrong he was. With that he came to the building, slowly ringing the doorbell. Waiting to see if there was a response.
 
Moff Girl
The six-limbed woman who had drawn the now-deceased Mister Rabbit--as well as the just-as-dead private eye--remained flattened against the wall as Irihi and Mephisto engaged in the feral banter of circling wolves. She knew better--despite Irihi’s invitation--than to come between the two toothy monsters and their meat. It was only when the pair were wholly distracted in figuratively mouthing each other’s throats that she dared dart to the pile of congealing viscera.

“I’m sorry. The girl closed her black eyes and whispered--despite the danger and the haste she needed to make--the quiet prayer in the language of her people, thanking this man, that she had a hand in culling, for his sacrifice.

It was wrong. It was always so wrong; these people, this city, and this world. Her forest home was now a decade faded, yet it was a decade with her heart in stasis; it had been ripped from her when fearful men had burned her father--had dismembered her mother in front of her. Still, she remembered those days of feeding on sick and dying animals. She remembered the joy of culling the herd of tumorous members. Feeding on the infirm; gently ending their suffering and glorifying their sacrifice had been burned into her soul, and these monsters could not expunge those indelible marks, no matter how they reveled in the horror of killing those not yet meant for death.

So she cried quietly even as she ate. Mister Rabbit, at least, had not suffered. He’d died with the pleasure of her powder in his lungs, softening his world to quietude before Mephisto had ripped him open. But he’d been young and healthy. She had meant every flirtatious word she’d said to him. Why must men fear her so; why could she only find succor with demons they feared more than her people? She gritted her teeth around her proboscis as she drank of Mister Rabbit, and then moved on to the remains of the ex-cop.

Rough tasted worse, and better. The ruff of downy feathers around her neck shook as she choked down sobs with a long pull of Rough’s corrupted blood. He had been dying. The cancer had metastasized all through his body--dividing wildly under the demonic influence; she could taste it along with the alcohol and drugs with which he had anesthetized himself. Rough had been dying, and his death would have tasted right--if only he’d let her ease his passing, instead of holding her at gunpoint--instead of firing futile bullets at her master. Be he had, and Mephisto had made him pay for it in a balance of pain before Irihi had erased him from this world. “I would have helped you, if only…”

Staggering to her feet, the moth girl regarded the pair of monsters. Trying to keep her blood-painted lips from trembling, she whispered a “thank you” that she did not feel.





Equipped Titles: Dead, Fae
Mentions: Arc Arc Mephisto Mephisto

Irihi lifted her Tonden chin as bladed fingers stroked her neck, daring Mephisto to pierce that milky skin and release the horrors that seethed beneath. She smiled at him as he spoke of his part in returning her to the plane of the living.

“Well, Mephy, I quite enjoyed my last sojourn from hell. But I doubt you would have found it quite as…” Her thin lips disappeared as she made the next syllable pop, ...pleasureable as did I.” [/color]. She let out a little chuff of unneeded breath at the idea she required the Patron’s assistance to shred her captors and transform them into portals to the mortal realms.

Well, it was faster this way, she admitted to herself. Usually it took centuries of torment for Irihi to exploit the cracks of boredom that inevitably fractured her captor’s fell armor. Mephisto’s distraction had provided a quicker way obliterate her jailer. Irihi stifled a giggle at the thought of how displeased the master of gehenna would be when they tallied how rapidly the necromancer was burning through their minions.

Irihi fell into Mephisto’s orbit as he summoned his own captive within their furry prison. She reached to scritch kitty behind the ears and feel the echos of the screams of the soul within. “Aw… who’s a good kitty?” she asked, knowing that the answer was certainly not present in this particular room.

“Indeed, dearheart.” Irihi replied to Mephisto’s introduction to the city of which he had spoken. “It certainly… feels like the wicked land of inequity you promised,” she observed of the undercurrents of Red Haven. “Won’t you show me around? I’d love more of a taste and…” Her violet gaze drifted to the tremulous moth girl feel of this town and its denizens.”

When the long-disused bell to the gutted tenement’s exterior door rang its mournful note, her gaze broke from that of the moth. “Speak of the deviled.” Irihi waved a hand toward the portal. “Be a peach and see who that is, won’t you, dearheart?

Moff Girl
With silent obedience, the moth flitted to the doorway. She half-scampered, half-fluttered there, landing in a skirl of her own poison powder. Please go away! She wanted to shout, or whisper a warning. Run! Fly, stranger, for I cannot. Shouted or whispered, she dared not warn the fool who had come to call on this den of monsters. They would know and they would punish her for it, or worse--they would leave her punishment to the just and good denizens of this merciless city.

So she opened the door before her paralytic powder could settle.
 


The Man with the Long Shadow could feel the anxiety welling inside of the poor moth-woman's stomach like a knot about to snap. He could hear her soul tensing and writhing under either his or Irihi's gaze. Both seemed to illicit the tried and true fight or flight response within her chest. It wasn't a fear that she couldn't fathom, no. She understood it perfectly, the reasons for it and the callous disdain for life the two shared. She understood it because it was her culture once upon a time, only twisted beyond recognition. She could find fragments of familiarity within it. Perhaps that was what frightened her the most.

If push came to shove, she'd find herself in exactly the same mindset as either of the two monstrous things before her. They were dark mirrors into her already uneasy soul. They were the core of the shapeless horrors that occupied the night.

Mephisto tightened his gaze. The cat on his shoulder meowed proudly as Irihi complimented him. Somewhere, deep within those pale moon-yellow eyes, something screamed in agony. Yet the cat itself lived and breathed as any normal loved creature, purring and sauntering in place as his shoulders rolled with an indeterminate happiness. Mephisto scratched under his chin, making his whiskers curl and flicker.

"He's a good kitty, yes he is. Just a consolation prize from losing a recent wager. His name is Crowley," he booped the creature on the nose and Crowley shivered with a slight noise trapped in his tiny chest.

"Oh, I would be glad to darling," Mephisto's face gave an uncanny twitch at the promise of a "tour".

"But surely you're not the only two I can show about the City Under the Red Moon! My talents are, once more, squandered it seems~"

He knew exactly what he was doing. The doorbell rang where there hadn't even been a padlock before, the portal itself shaking with anticipation.

"Whoever could that be at this time of night~?"

Mephisto's neck surrendered to a sickening crack as the moth-girl answered his question with an unintentional gust of paralytic poison dusting the open air.


 
As the door creaked open, a cold, metallic hand shot out and gripped the edge, flinging it wide with unsettling speed before the Moth girl could even react. Standing in the doorway, Arc - a towering knight whose broad shoulders seemed to almost block the entire frame - loomed as a menacing figure. Despite his imposing figure, his gaze didn’t settle on the girl, but instead drifted over to the two figures inside. With a deliberate slowness, he reached into his pockets, pulling out a set of weathered posters, his eyes scanning each one. A cold voice from beneath the armour spoke with a slow tone

"Am I standing infront of the wicked known as Mephisto and Irihi?"

At that moment, Arc stood there, visibly perplexed. His gaze flicked between the wanted posters, each one bearing the same faces, each one labeling them as troublemakers, yet the details on the posters didn't quite add up. Moth Girl had a clear criminal title beside her, but the others? Nothing. Yet she was not even the one that was wanted. It was a confusing contradiction, one that sent a wave of doubt through his mind. Arc's brows furrowed, and for a moment, he looked less like a knight and more like a confused brute lost in a strange land. It wouldn't take much for Mephisto and Irihi to notice. His lack of understanding, the way his furrowed brow deepened in frustration... it was clear to them that Arc wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.

"Well this is pretty confusing, but it does not matter. Make your defenses! Why are you two accused of such crimes yet lack titles, explain yourselves! Are these posters made by the wicked to hurt the innocent, to TRICK ME?"

He stared at the Moth Girl, his confusion deepening. How could someone as seemingly defenseless as her be labeled with a criminal title? Meanwhile, the other two who look disgusting in their own right had no such charges, no records to explain why they were wanted. The whole situation felt wrong, like a puzzle with too many missing pieces. Arc’s mind raced as he tried to piece it together, but the more he thought, the less it made sense. He didn’t want to make a move, not yet. He was no stranger to the weight of his responsibility, and the thought of threatening someone without cause left a bitter taste in his mouth. The idea that these posters could be lies, that they could be targeting the innocent—those were the things that truly terrified him. More than failure. More than any mistake. Hurting the wrong person was the one thing he feared most.

"Yet you have a criminal title, did they use you as a way to escape charges little moth woman?" He turned around to the two of them "Or did they lie about you two? I greatly dislike even the idea of accidently delivering wrong justice... that would be worse then even none."
 


Mephisto watched without saying a word as the knight poked and prodded his way around the crime scene like a flittering sparrow. He asked questions, demanded answers, and spoke loudly enough to warrant the illusion of righteousness and certainty. Yet his words were hollow, save for the emphasis on justice. He was confused. He was ignorant enough to place his head amongst lions and leave it unattended. The nape of his neck seemed to appetizing. The steel did nothing to stop Mephisto's imagination from crawling along the tender skin, his teeth already sinking into the flesh...

He shook his head. The shadows grew long. The door snapped shut and locked, any attempt to break it down or escape being met with a force of equal but opposite value. Arc was indeed trapped. His mercenary work had led him here, a sacrifice to the pit of starving carnivores. Yet Mephisto laughed. His chest rose and fell with a delightful chuckle, his diaphragm wheezing with the undeniable, vile noise. He collected himself and wiped a stray tear from his face.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, my dear friend," he lied through his teeth.

"We are merely merchants of a similar kind of undertaking such as yourself,"

He flicked a hand through the air, snatching the posters Arc produced along invisible strings. He caught the parchments and inspected them, finding fault in their structure and choosing to blame this whole situation on a broad misunderstanding.

"My oh my, would you look at that? These horrible things they've told you... you poor thing," he shredded the posters without a care, moving towards Arc and placing an arm around his shoulders.

He held him tightly, familiarly, and patted his chest with the head of his cane.

"You know what you need? You need a hot, steaming cup of the truth! My name is indeed Mephisto - that's M-E-P-H-I-S-T-O. Over there is - say it with me now - Irihi! Such a lovely face, isn't she~?"

His Long Shadow emerged and framed the elf sorceress by the shape of her skull and jawline, giving her a dry soundless giggle before vanishing into thin air once more.

"No one has committed any crime here, of that you can be sure. It was self-defense! Look, we merely reduced our assailant into substantially less than he was,"

He hooked the revolver Mister Callahan carried by the opposite end of his cane, lifting it for Arc to see. It dripped with blood and stagnant gore, coagulated clumps of the stuff sloughing onto the floor in greasy disharmony. He even gestured towards the other corpse in the room - that of Mister Rabbit.

"And you wouldn't know it by what he looks like now, but that used to be quite the fiend along these quiet streets. We have been hunting him down and had to resort to using this poor little damsel fly as bait... but we caught him~!"

He lifted the moth by her dainty hands and spun her around musically, almost like a clockwork ballerina dancing to his charm and endless, sadistic song.

"But we now stand on a precipice you see... we are now unemployed. We are now waiting a new assignment. And now you come to us with prices on our heads! That seems a tad unfair, doesn't it? Who in their right mind would conceive the notion of wanting to kill two upstanding citizens such as ourselves?"

He moved towards Irihi and held her hand in his long fingers, clasping them around it. His voice was hypnotic, swaying like lazy waves along a calm beach. The flowery words cascading from his lips were intoxicating, inviting Arc towards the precipice. The view from the cliffs was unmatched, the honey in his speech promised. Come, dance along the edge.

Closer to the rocks, dance with me.

But don't look down.

Look at me.

Dance with me.

"Won't you help us, sir knight? Surely you can aid us in dispending justice on a cold, dark night such as this~"


 

Equipped Titles: Dead, Fae
Mentions: @AE Mephisto Mephisto


Irihi laughed as Mephisto’s Long Shadow framed her in darkness. Her eyes narrowed as the newcomer used [appraisal F] to divine what he could about the patron, the sorceress, and their minion. As the man divined, Irihi carried no criminal title--those bizarre inventions of some so-called “Goddess of Justice”. When she’d first come to this world and been inducted into the armed forces of the See of Chaeron, those corrupted-blood Elves had prattled on about such for quite some time.

Irihi was not particularly bothered by criminality--she’d never much cared whether the scum thought worse of her for draining them of their pointless lives--but she did find it amusing that she could murder a person for some petty crime, and none would bat an eyelash.

Mephisto seemed to put more stock into keeping himself free from such labels, but he was a sneaky devil; powerful in some ways, but vulnerable in others. It had been his idea to use Moth Girl as a buffer between themselves and criminality, and Irihi hadn’t cared enough to say boo.

“Mephisto, darling, perhaps this metal-clad hairless baboon has yet to be introduced to the ways of the world.” Irihi opined, gliding over to the trio. Wending her way around them, she trailed one pale finger along the armor which protected Arc’s neck. Beneath the steel, the mercenary would feel a chill, as if the armor were no barrier to the life-draining magic of the necromancer. “Should we disabuse this poor, benighted soul of his ignorance?

Taking a step away from Arc, Irihi stomped one heeled foot on the floorboards, cocking a hip and looking over her shoulder at the armored man. “Or maybe just his life? As she had neared, she felt Mephisto’s Long Shadow wrap itself around her legs, twist around her waist, and slide down her arms. She recognized the shadow’s embrace.

It was time for a song.

What fun.

As Irihi struck her pose, the same illusion that hid the exit and twisted reality--Mephisto’s signature magic--struck a chord that seemed ripped from some ghoulish invisible brass band. Irihi stomped again, and the devilish electroswing music started up in earnest.

That’s How it Works Here
“A criminal’s just one wrong step in this game,
You steal a dime, you take a life,
And no one bats an eye at the strife.
A slip of the tongue, a step too far—
You’re marked as the villain, beneath the stars.
So, don’t look surprised when the law’s not fair,
'Cause honey, that's just how it works here.

Irhi danced as she sang, sometimes alone, sometimes twirling with the almost-visible long shadow, and ever weaving around Arc, perhaps part of some spell, perhaps just performance. With her last few stanzas, she caught Moth Girl’s middle set of arms. Though the black eyed insectoid woman seemed clearly terrified of Irihi, the sorceress promenaded her seemingly without a care. Then, spinning her out, let go such that the fur-ruffed girl fetched up against Arc’s chest plate.


Quieter than Irihi, but in time and in tune, Moff continued the song. Her pale-irised eyes were open wide in fear and her voice shook, but she sang as her mistress demanded.

“That's how it works here, don't you see?
In this twisted world, it's kill or be killed, set your spirit free.
Everyone’s a judge, a jury, a cop,
And justice? Oh, it just won't stop.
Take a their lesson—let me make it clear,
You’ve gotta learn real quick—that’s how it works here.”


One set of her six beclawed hands fell on Arc’s armored gauntlets. It looked like she wanted to say more--perhaps speak a warning or beg for help--but Irihi’s low alto laughter silenced anything she was about to say as the sorceress cut in between Moth and man.



“Got cash in your pocket? Well, you’ve got the key,
To twist the law and set your soul free.
Take a little bribe, slide through the door,
Justice is just a dirty little war.
They’ll keep your secret, make you shine bright,
While the poor stay hidden in the dead of night.
So don’t waste your time thinking it’s fair—
You know, that’s just how it works here.”
[/COLOR]
 
With a loud thud, the door suddenly slammed shut behind Arc. Arc wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but it made him uneasy. Before he could think too much about it, his attention was pulled away by Mephisto, who stepped closer and began to explain himself. Arc listened, but something felt off. He watched carefully as Mephisto picked up the posters and spoke, his words smooth and convincing. However, the look on Mephisto’s face and the way he acted didn’t sit right with Arc.

When Mephisto finished speaking, Arc narrowed his eyes slightly, studying the red-haired man. “No idea, huh? You are really suspicious red man” Arc said slowly, his voice tinged with doubt.

As Arc stood there, his mind began to piece things together. He had just seen the dead man lying on the ground, and now Mephisto’s explanation was starting to make a little more sense. They did kill the person he was suspecting of them killing, but the lack of titles implied that they did it in either self defense or similar to him serving justice. Yet their charisma got a hold of Arc

"Hmm, Justice you say? Well I'd be into that quite a lot! I still am not sure if you are not with the wicked, but she seems like she is with them."

When the woman called him a baboon, Arc’s temper flared. He rolled his eyes under his mask, glaring at her with barely hidden irritation. Unlike Mephisto, who Arc found odd, this woman felt dangerous, like a threat. When Irihi touched him, Arc felt an unnatural pull, as if his very soul was being dragged out of his body. It was a horrifying, painful sensation, and his body instinctively fought back, trying to resist. But it was no use, her power was too strong. Most humans would have screamed or collapsed from the agony, but Arc wasn’t most humans. He endured, hiding the pain behind his mask and armor, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing him break. Only a simple shiver could be seen from the outside, he was now quite sure that these two were his targets yet he knew he couldn't act in any way since they lacked any criminal titles.

"Sorry, Ifirihi," Arc said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he glared at her. "Death won't claim me yet! I still have to serve jus-" But before he could finish his sentence, he was completely caught off guard by the sudden music and dance theme of the situation. Arc froze, standing completely motionless, his mind struggling to process what was happening. He stared in disbelief, trying to make sense of the chaos around him. What kind of hell did I just walk into? he thought, his irritation growing by the second. He HATED songs, he HATED dancing, and he especially HATED when people talked down on Justice.

Arc watched as the moth girl was pulled into the ridiculous song and dance, his disgust growing by the second. His initial suspicion that she might have been a victim vanished instantly. Now, it was clear to him...she was one of them! Why else would she go along with such absurd, over-the-top nonsense? She had to be part of their gang, willingly joining in on their foolish antics! Completely missing the fact that she was being forced into the situation and the obvious discomfort on her face, Arc shook his head in disapproval. What Arc didn’t realize, of course, was that he was completely misreading the room. Moth girl wasn’t there by choice; she was clearly being pressured into the situation. But Arc was terrible at reading the room... or reading in general.

Arc’s frustration boiled over as he watched the moth girl seemingly go along with the ridiculous song and dance. “What is this nonsense?” he snapped, his voice sharp and angry. “I thought you were a victim when I stepped into this room, but now I see you’re actually with these two! You disgust me, little bug girl!” His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, and he pulled it slightly from its sheath, the glint of steel flashing as a clear threat. He turned his glare toward the woman who had touched him earlier, struggling to remember her name. “Ifiri! Ihirih… no, uh, Irifihi… evil weird woman!” he shouted, his tone dripping with disdain.

“Stop this nonsense and actually explain to me how you avoided criminal titles! It’s obvious you’re one of the wicked!”. Somehow, Arc had completely missed the explanation that had been woven into the song. It wasn’t that he wasn’t listening...he just didn’t realize it was there.
 
Moff Girl
Vespera, her part in the song complete, was released by the Long Shadow. She immediately fled to the farthest corner of the room and cowered there, trying to disappear after Arc’s threats.


Irihi Spokelse
Equipped Titles: Dead, Fae
Mentions: Arc Arc

Irihi wrapped up her song and dance, parting ways with Mephisto’s Long Shadow--which, like Vespera, retreated into the darkness lurking in the periphery of vision. The corners of her lips twitched downward at Arc’s insulting moniker, but her sour expression was soon replaced with a laugh. “Yes, dearheart, indeed I am,” she replied when he called her one of the wicked.

“How does one so insightful remain such a dullard? she wondered to herself as she rolled her eyes. “At my oh-so-picky colleague’s insistence; we only murder those with existing criminal titles, dearheart. Why, every life we snuff is simply in service of the public.” Irihi laughed at the absurdity of the idea. “Missed that extra item in your grocery bag? Had a drunken brawl with a friend? Or…” She nodded to Vespera “...were so entranced with our dear Moff there that you skipped out on your bar tab, like tonight’s first perfectly-legal execution of justice over there,” she pointed to the remains of Mister Rabbit.

Irihi winked at Arc. “Well, let’s just say: ‘He wasn’t the first’, dearheart.” Her footfalls were sharp upon the scored old boards of the building’s floor as she stalked over to the moth girl. “Come now, pet,” she exhorted, reaching down and bringing Vespera to her feet with a gentle hand that had clear threat of violence in the grasp of her cold fingers. ”Show him the face of a girl who eased an old man’s suffering. Too bad he had lost the ability to speak, or perhaps she’d not have the title of murderess. Oh, but why don’t you tell him, yourself, dearheart?”

Moff girl tried to speak, but nothing made it past her trembling lips, save a frightened Eep!”

Irihi laughed and elucidated as she drew the moth over to the flame of justice. “It’s in her nature to cull the herd and ease the pain of the dying, isn’t it, dearheart?” Normally Irihi would not deride Vespera for her “crime.” The necromancer was murderous, but she was no torturer. It was Mephisto who had the distasteful habit of tormenting his victims, beforehand--saying that their agony lent them flavor. “The old man you killed was drowning in the fluid filling his lungs, wasn’t he, dearheart?” She reached up and pinched the moth girl’s cheek. “And you were just so, so hungry; starving actually; weren’t you?” Irihi laughed again, and this time there was something other than mirth in her tone as she gave Vespera a shove toward Arc.

“Well, that’s what mercy will get you,” she said. ”Take a lesson from our dear moff’s mistakes, boy wonder, and show her none.” she said.

Vespera tripped as she was pushed, landing on her hands and knees before Arc. “No! Please!” She cried, her black eyes squeezed tightly closed, two of her four arms upraised to ward off the deadly blow she was certain was coming.
 

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