Circumstances (Zeb)

February 16, 2012


There was something about a lead in Africa that made Lisa travel the whole freaking world and go overseas there.  What exactly it was she was looking for was an uncertainty.  She was to be informed when she got there.  This naturally meant she had to sit through a boring meeting.  This was the bad thing about being a field agent in the CIA.  She didn't get to sit at her desk and crunch files all day. No, now she had to actually go investigate.  This was nerve-racking to know that someone's life could hang in the balance- but no pressure- right?

The plane ride was obnoxious.  The video was sort of fuzzy and the audio came and went, because her ears refused to adjust to the changes in atmosphere- not to mention that was extremely painful.  The one time she didn't have gum in her purse, was the time she could really use it!  A heavy sigh slipped from her mouth and she shook her head.  Next time she knew to pack two packs of gum- to make sure it actually made it to the plane.  

When it finally landed, she woke with a start.  Her brown eyes were wide and darting around.  How long had it been?  A voice ushered them off and away they went to their areas.  She headed to her hotel to unpack herself for the week or two she'd be there.  Hopefully it would only be a week, because she really was out of her comfort zone, here.  As beautiful as it was, she didn't understand a lick of the language and the fact she was all alone was more-so intimidating.  It was barely an hour and she was already homesick.  

Three hours later and the jet-lagged woman was sitting at a meeting.  So there was a killer on the loose.. but how could SHE help and why was it HER?  Her eyes browsed the paper before her, until she recognized the names of people murdered.  Some of them were from the same areas as her.  The names were familiar and vaguely she placed them as people who'd gone to Africa for a seminar on something for three days prior.  This just seemed so- strange, yet of all agents to select- why did they pick Lisa?  She shook off the worrisome topic and sighed heavily.  So that was what they wanted- another lower ranking officer to use as a scape-goat- but that's what she was used to.

Once it was all over, Lisa popped a lollipop into her mouth and headed down to where her group was assigned to look at.  The place was abandoned and towered at least five stories high.  Inside it looked like a simple business building, except that there was no one in it- besides them anyways.  This was eery to her, she didn't like it, but her job was her job.

Johannesburg: the perfect place for a murder. He was--had been an activist for peace, rallying all over the country in pursuit of some godly lesson pertaining to people getting along. People, he was talking about. The very essence of people was not getting along. The man's holy vows and prayers of coming together began to echo down into the bowls of hell, irking many lesser demons into fits of sickness. The fires began to burn less hot. Because of this one man, Beelzebub had to act. Cruelly, he set up his feast, possessing a terrorists to stage a coup on the government at the very moment this man, Racojah Macklezuu, was making a speech about living as one. The coup, hastily enacted, wasn't nearly as far-reaching as Zeb had hoped. Failing, however, was not an option. In person, he ascended into the living world, sitting through the rest of the speech. And then, all he had to do was motivate the man himself to take a little walk with him and explain all the doings of his god in the garden where a terrorist act was about to be mounted.

"What is this 'path' you say we should walk?" The Archdemon asked, red eyes ablaze with mock interest. Racojah seemed to take his mockery as truth, smiling as brightly as if he were a descendant of heaven himself. (Except descendants looked more like Beelzebub).

"Well," he rattled off in Afrikaans, "there is a time and place for everything. If the lord deems it fit-- Hey, what is going on over-- OH GOD?!" An explosion went off in the American embassy, knocking flagpoles over like dominoes (not the pizza place). Civilians began to scream and scatter like flies, the lord presiding over them clad in black.

"Hahaha!" He cackled, hands rising out to his sides and he soaked in the look of horror equally familiar on his slave's faces as they told him of this man's doing. Eye for an eye. In this case, it cost him his life. Another explosion rocked the premises, shooting debris aflame into the vicinity of the park once peaceful. Half of Racojah's body was singed before Zeb could allude further to his fate. "What if...I deem it fit?" He asked politely, emphasizing his power in laces of smoke. In the throws of death and agony, the man's pleading eyes screamed while his voice croaked out his final words.

"Forgive me for I have sinned!!" Forgive his ignorance oh false god! The human-shelled demon let out a final sneer before leaving the body to be found by whatever earthly laws be applied.

It was a few days afterward and Zeb was still among the living, gallivanting in human clothes. He was cleaning up the mess, killing the necessary, and making sure this was a mystery that was never solved. Be it as a lesson. Preaching needlessly ended in being smote by god! The Ritualist terrorists fell away, bombs untraceable as bombs, for they were something else entirely. Scrawny humans and their scrawny brains would never be able to piece together the mystery.

She was at a loss.  There was no explanation- everything seemed cleaned up by the time she got there.  -Really?  Had this trip to Africa been for nothing?  Her colleagues couldn't turn up anything either, but by the looks of it, this required someone of a much more experienced nature and they were all on 'More important' cases around the world.  This meant that only the lower and younger executives were to try and figure out anything else that was a bit 'lesser'.  Lisa shook her head and sighed.

Apparently there was a memorial service in an hour that she had to turn up at.  It wasn't that she didn't want to go, but it just felt so foreign to her; like this was some sort of strange dream.  She hadn't seen any bodies.  The people she'd known from the office had just Spirited Away, but they weren't coming back?  Her heart sank for some reason.  Some of them were only a few years older than her.  Really, life was so short and unexpected.

Her hour of intermission was spent calling her father to make sure things were okay, but he didn't answer.  Her clothes were changed into something more appropriate.  Of course Lisa wasn't expecting to go to a memorial, so the closest thing she had to go for mourning was her long-sleeved turtle neck and a pair of nice blue jeans.  Her feet were slid into a pair of her black flats over a pair of black socks.  Yes, she'd probably be sweltering, but that was okay, she supposed.  

After she'd dragged her brush through her short dark brown hair, she had just enough time to get to the service.  Big brown eyes stared back at her for a moment, until she grabbed her keys for the room and shut the door behind her.  

As she approached, she realized she was the one least flashy which was both good and bad.  She didn't look like she was going to a memorial, so in that aspect she stood out.  Her cheeks flushed as she walked by and grabbed her candle while avoiding eye contact.  For some reason as she walked down, she was handed a second candle.  Upon looking at the crowd, it seemed that one was for holding and the other was for the vigil.  

She shifted and tried her best to blend into the crowd, but she found herself skirting out to the back of the group.  The whole thing was in a different language, which of course didn't help Lisa.  At.  All.  She was as lost as a child in the forest, which was a semi-appropriate comparison.  "Good Lord.  I don't understand a word this man is saying," she muttered (to herself more than anyone else).  

Since she couldn't interpret anything he was saying, she did her best to look like she was completely into it- by making similar faces as the other people- at a delayed response.  This meant, that really she was just sort of zoning and silently looking at people to not really judge, but to just gauge what people in Africa dressed like.  Man, she felt kind of racist now.

EITHER WAY, she somehow managed to notice that the man next to her didn't have a candle and holding two was kind of tedious.  So, she turned to the man and offered a candle to him.  "Here.  You can have one of mine." Her dutch accent was only hinted. Oh wait- he might not understand English.  Well that put a damper on things.  She probably should have learned sign language in school, just like her father had pressured her to.  At the time it seemed so frivolous, but now she could see she was the fool.  So instead she made weird gestures to herself, then to the candle, then to him, but honestly it kind of looked like she was flailing.

Obviously she looked ridiculous, because one of her neighbors was giving her a look like she was possessed or something- except possession wasn't real.  Immediately Lisa blushed and cleared her throat.  Well this was going to just be a wonderful week.

Dead lands in February, Africa was. Just the way he liked it. The mornings were hot, not that he had slept. Morning, noon, and night were all the same to a demon from hell. His red eyes gleamed all sorts of callus intent despite the promise of a memorial service the following afternoon. With the sun high and blistering, he pranced about in his black suit as if asking for it. Nothing like a little bake to get the blood pumping. He jogged a bit, stretched his dusty human legs, and went about gathering with the rest of the mourners in front of a large array of pictures depicting the deceased. If they really wanted to see them, they were probably dining in hell right about now. He grimaced at the display, too holy. Alas, the perpetrator always returned to the scene of the crime. His feline eyes slit into feral lines, not bothering to hide a flash of satisfaction. This was accomplishment. No more preaching in his above country. No more echoes of majesty lurking just above the pillars of fire. Him and his crowd has passed!

It was quite fitting to requite fire with fire! The candles were certainly a fine touch. Perhaps he would actually partake rather than simply observe. Among the crowd, he stoically stood, watching a man relate how wonderful these people were. Yet despite how positively touching the words were, a female caught his attention. Also in black, she was baking just as well done as he. While it didn't effect him, however, it definitely had to have been her. Yet she was still trying so hard to fit in, making the same faces as those around her as if she were a mirror reflecting the human condition. A monkey. 8D That's what she was.

Just as he was thinking about her, she turned and held up a candle at him. Surprised, he only stared mindlessly at her endeavors. If only she knew. "Here. You can have one of mine." Kindhearted. Caring. And...English? He raised an eyebrow. So his guess was correct: she wasn't from Africa. But he was thinking more along the lines of Greenland by the clothes selection she had chosen. Not the best, it seemed. He took the candle, practically drooling as the whispers of flames tingling in oxygen he barely needed to breathe. His own flame inside him twisted in glee in response. But was not thanking a sin in Inferis? More reason to do so!

"Thank you. You have my gratitude," he replied politely, looking on at the ceremony in jest. All her waving about and flailing was for naught. She probably felt like a fool. Maybe that's because she was. Like all Humans.

"Thank you. You have my gratitude."

....Shoot.  Well since she had SUCCESSFULLY looked like a complete idiot, she had nothing else to lose.  On the bright side, it felt good to talk to someone who understood and spoke English- as short lived as the candle was, really.  It didn't stop her from feeling stupid.

"Well, now I feel just silly." She sighed to herself, out loud.  What with how her nerves were now making her uncomfortable, she fished in her pocket and pulled out one of her many hidden pieces of candy.  Yes, Lisa was addicted, but no, she would never admit it.  

Honestly, it was a bit difficult to unwrap the sugar with one hand occupied by candy.  IT DID NOT stop her from trying, though.  After a full twenty seconds, it was bare and popped into her mouth.  Lisa immediately felt better.  Sure it was a placebo effect, but it didn't stop it from working.  The sermon was going to drive her insane...  She glanced at the man and shifted.  "I'd offer you some, but I think taking candy from strangers is taught as a bad idea, ya?" With that said, she gave him a sheepish smile and simply indulged on the sweet goodness.   Oh her sugar tooth was very pleased.

"Well, now I feel just silly." Zeb turned and beheld her with frosty, red eyes beneath a shade of black bangs, slithering like leeches down to squiggle against his chin. As mortal as his form was, he hardly looked human let alone a speaker of English. He did not hold the foolery against her. He thought nothing less and nothing more of her. In his eyes, humans were the grey--always the grey. They were morally there to support Heaven and its rule over them all. Righteous and overbearing they cast shadows over everything, only the more darker rested on his own shoulders. Shouldering the burden of the fall all this time, it was a waste of effort to try and see the Humans as any different than what they were. And though they avidly claim they are all themselves--they are all different individually, it is also stated that all Humans are created equal. To Beelzebub, whether they are all equal or different in rank, personality, status, intelligence, whatnot, he still views them as just that: Human. Regardless of if she felt silly or not, it did not effect Zeb in the slightest. They were surrounded by people who cared and people who wanted to appear morally correct in the eyes of society. What did it matter? Was she saying that just to make herself feel better or was there another angle she was getting at? His stare intensified with curiosity.

She was... She was unwrapping a piece of candy. He watched her suffering with mild amusement, barely containing his glee while she tampered one-handedly with the wrapper. It made a horrible scrunching noise, music to his ears! She fitted it to her mouth and proceeded to do what humans do best: consume. His smile increased, eyes looking more like camera lenses than anything remotely human. "I'd offer you some, but I think taking candy from strangers is taught as a bad idea, ya?"

"Anything can be considered a bad idea; that is precisely why we do it." He continued to grin like a madman, tempted to reach into that same pocket and thieve his own circlet of luscious candy goodness, but he wasn't in the mood for something sweet. Not when he was in the presence of a different kind of sweet at this very moment. He left his words at that, making no indication of anything more. The African preacher drew his summons to a close, and people proceeded to leave their candles on the monument. One after one, they were lines of zoo animals, wailing crying, making noises just like those beasts with pea-sized brains. He enviously looked on, complications, equations, variables, and analytic garble seeping gluttonously into his brain like goo slugs leave behind. That was just the side noise, everything else happening was something he could not explain using the worldly words people were used to. A swift and spacey conglomeration of knowledge and age, brought together by tainted hands, forged at the stake and brought forth yet more blood, splintered, carnage, the fabric of all considered evil flashing in every crevice of possibility. Oh, the plans.

When his turn came, he placed his candle tentatively, ignoring everyone and everything else. He forgot to look sad.

There was something about the man before her that made her feel incredibly uncomfortable. Those eyes of his didn't seem real; as if he were looking at her through some sort of glass. He couldn't be blind, because they were obviously focused straight on her. He knew what she looked like and she could tell, but there was something that just irked her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

"Anything can be considered a bad idea; that is precisely why we do it." She felt chills and not in a good way. So- had he wanted the candy? The way she was being stared at almost made her feel as if SHE were the candy. Her eyes avoided his after that and for good reason. That brief exchange had made her stomach lurch in an unpleasant manner.

He went with everyone else; smiling as he put a candle down. This man- didn't even see human. The weight of her own words gave her twinge of discomfort. There was no way he was anything else, though. Maybe she just ate something bad and now her stomach was getting her back. Either was, the feeling of disarray was soon dismissed and she felt better.

She was right behind him as they moved through the line. Not thinking on it really made her feel better, but for some reason her sugary candy didn't taste as well. Oh well, it didn't mean she wouldn't eat it anyways. Besides, it was ruder to spit it out while at the funeral than to chew on it in the first place. Her own candle was placed with others and soon she was standing in a sort of thoughtful awe. While in her thoughtless one, she began to peel wax off her hands. What a way to start a week..

Their encounter was about to cease. He paid no mind to it besides that minuscule thought (if it even was a thought), and turned away from the glamour of candle light to face the evening. By this time, the sun was setting, showering the forsaken twists of gnarly trees with golden light. God's light they were all thinking. He saw it in their eyes, but what he also saw were the tiny refracting flames of so many candles, one for each human, and one for each potential sinner. In their bodies, beyond their skin, thrashing just under the surface was something vile, evil, and constitutely there. They lived and breathed the disease, feasting without a doubt on each intake of breath, walking, lingering, suffering, alive. What were they? Each consecutive moment Beelzebub spent with these creatures was another moment of mystery. They leaked and spit, cursed and prayed, shed and let go--it was all the same to them anyhow. It baffled him beyond a doubt.

That God created these. Half of them or so didn't even know it--blind, ignorant, laughing at the holy spirit that burned down everything Zeb had ever been. His bitterness ate him dead, the candle light inside of him burned only to see heaven aflame, and he went on. As he tore away from the scene, glancing up at the ruined buildings, he reached a pale hand into his pocket and withdrew the terrorist's watch, placing it stopped also upon the erected monument. The terrorist wasn't a terrorist before Zeb possessed him, no. The man had been among these people, earthly, caring, as grey and stupid as the others. One small touch of smoke was all it took to make a man someone completely different. Imperfect. All of them. Creations of failure. Hah, they were more alike than he'd like to believe.

The watch was gold, stuck on 4:13 pm, a crumble of blood on the side from when he killed himself after the act of setting bombs. As instructed, he would probably just end up in the stream. He began walking away, pocketing his hand once more, and preparing to depart home.

The sun was shining.  How could the sun shine so brightly on a day so dark?  All these souls were lost to Earth anymore.  Their slates were wiped completely away.  Not much scared Lisa- but DEATH.  Death did.  There was nothing after that.  What would she do, but slumber in a silent blackness, never to think or speak again.  There was that uncomfortable clench in her stomach again as her own feelings crawled in her skin. Was it ironic to be the daughter of a preacher and not really believe in an afterlife.  

Sure she believed in God, but she didn't see him as sending them up to Heaven- wouldn't it too crowded?  Surely if there was a heaven, there was a Hell and then- then there was purgatory.  Earth: a mortal prison for years to correct any sins you had committed to be sent to Purgatory?  It was all just a little lie they told one another in hopes there was something more to living than to die.  

If there was a God- why did these people lay in caskets before her?  God was fickle- God was jealous- She'd heard the scriptures, which truly made her question how if they were created to be like him- that he could get mad at them for being as they were created.  It was all just a one-way trip to a headache.  She sighed and set her candle, but noticed something out of the corner of her eye.  Movement from the man.

He left not only a candle- but something more.  Her detective work was in full blast. Her hand rummaged to her pocket for a glove.  Once on her fingers, she picked it up carefully and placed it in a plastic bag she had on hand-  ALWAYS take work with you.  She marked it and eyed the man as he proceeded to walk away.  Her body moved swifter than she had imagined.  Soon she caught up and gathered up the gull to speak to him.  

"Sir."  She flashed her badge with a flick of her wrist (in a way he could only see).  "I am Lisa Smith.  Now.  I need you to come with me for some questions."  It's not like she could really do much out of country other than talk to him and get 'hopefully' answers.  They weren't in America, so she didn't have really any power.

The sound of a plastic bag rumpled his steps into halting. Carefully, meticulously, he turned, red eyes beaming through a curtain of glowering black worms. Shifting easily in the slanting light, his bangs drew away from those garish eyes, and he saw just what he had heard. Without hesitation the candy girl has effortlessly taken up his present and deposited it in a bag. Airless, tight, sealed away from the world, it was as if the heaven's themselves were denying the irony of such an offering. A callus smile curled onto his lips, and he pondered ignoring it. The watch was only a joke--an amusement that hardly meant anything to him whatsoever; however, upon seeing that female's calculating gaze, he was far more intrigued than he should be on Earth. A human had garnered his interest. How pitiful.

"Sir." His skin crawled--what could be considered skin. His eyes lit up as if it were his first kill. No, it was far more diverse than simple murder; this was a prelude--an opening act to something much more vindictive. He couldn't hide the smile--didn't want to in the least. She flashed a meaningless badge at him that could have made him laugh in pleasure, but only silence followed for but a moment. "I am Lisa Smith. Now. I need you to come with me for some questions." No wonder she smelled so good. A preacher's daughter. But whose? Smith was as common a human surname as any; it hardly shed any...light on the matter. He cackled darkly to himself, looking all the while as innocent as can be.

"Questions sound...wonderful. I was just wondering what I would do with the rest of my day." He moved closer--alongside her--within touching distance of her soft skin. His eyes slithered into slits, mouth forming the words that fell upon her sullenly like velvet. "But if you would answer one of mine first, that would be much appreciated." He smiled sweetly. "Tell me, do you believe in Hell?"

Lisa felt- uncomfortable.  In fact, she felt as uncomfortable now as she probably ever had.  The man didn't seem right.  How could anyone smile after walking out of a funeral.  Maybe he just had a positive outlook upon the world.  After all, life was worth cherishing?  Somehow that didn't seem right.  This man was bad news, or at least that's what her gut said. Don't trust him, he's possibly a murderer.  She knew this though, so she had no reason to worry, until he spoke.

"Questions sound...wonderful. I was just wondering what I would do with the rest of my day."  His body was closer to her.  Her face flushed.  This wasn't right.  Every alarm in her head screamed to run and her body showed that, but she stood her ground.  She was a deer in the headlights.  That was the best way to describe Lisa.  She knew she should run, but her own stubbornness wasn't about to permit that.  "But if you would answer one of mine first, that would be much appreciated."

For some reason his mood almost shifted. "Tell me, do you believe in Hell?"  Did she- what?  Her brow furrowed and she would have laughed if she weren't so astounded.  Since when did someone ask a question like that when they were about to be questioned.  The man must have been an escapee from an asylum.  It was the only believable reasoning behind it.

"Kind of odd to ask my religious views." Her eyes were guarded and the fear slipped away and was replaced with caution.  She couldn't help but show she thought he was crazy; her eyes told it all.  "No.  I don't believe in Heaven or Hell, to be honest.  Now-"  Her hand reached into her pocket in search for paper.  "Who are you?  Why are you in Africa?"  She wasn't looking at him, anymore.  Her eyes were downcast to look for her pen and paper to write down responses.

Fellow demons always tended to think Beelzebub was rather...unique--eccentric, odd. Right now, he was admiring a human girl, made in God's image. The more he spoke, the more he knew her instincts were telling her to run. And yet? She didn't. Right there, she continued to stand as if nothing within her had any sense. Sure, there were many humans out there that wouldn't even begin to take him seriously because of their ignorance and self-righteous attitudes, but this one, he could see didn't have all that. She was pure, but still chose to betray her gut. She wasn't a ritualist believer of the darkside or a goth-loving hypocrite, no. This Lisa Smith was not what her last name suggested. She was one of many, but certainly not akin to any of them. Yes, it was almost as if he had been searching centuries for proof that not all humans were perfect. There was at least one standing in between the conglomerate of grey. There was no hesitation. Perhaps she was thought herself righteous in rebelling against her nature, but alas, she was!

His question threw her further off her game, as he intended; however, after his little discovery he was not so sure he wanted to break her. Be it her spirit, her soul, her beliefs, her headstrong impulses to stand her ground even whilst facing the predator of the predators, he wasn't feeling any inklings to dispose of it. Most demons would leap at the chance to devour every touch of flavor in her being, yet Zeb only felt inclined to stand back and nod in favor of her existence. They were so rare. Probably because of that. Little did those demons know, however, they were helping heaven root out the imperfections in his creations. Not so reflective were they now?! Like his Archdemons. He scorned upward for a moment, retracing his vicious, red eyes back onto Lisa's astounded gaze.

"Kind of odd to ask my religious views." Considering the plausible situation he was in, yes; she was right. Zeb was an odd demon--an odd person--an odd everything. He went against what was expected and certainly jumped through hoops to make it so. Hoops were no obstacle in the long scheme of things. He wished he could take back his question. He had been playing with her; that was before he came upon the realization that they were so much alike. Her strength simmered away and so the caution came back. Anything more and she would be lost to him. "No. I don't believe in Heaven or Hell, to be honest. Now-" She thought he was insane. This brought a perked frown to his face. He looked much like a beaten stray dog who wandered in and was rejected. Again. She didn't believe in the fiasco! She had no idea. "Who are you? Why are you in Africa?" He answered them out of order if only to keep his word.

"Harlow Rynde, age twenty-seven. I live here. Would you like to see my place?"

She stood there staring at him. It wasn't really intentional to look as if she were trying to stare into his soul, because honestly she didn't want to, but it sort of happened. She had to watch for signs of lying; any sort of twitch or movements that spoke of reasons to further suspect this man. Her pen was braced to write now and her game face was back on. It didn't stop her body from screaming run. Sheer willpower kept her in place.

"Harlow Rynde, age twenty-seven. I live here. Would you like to see my place?"

She wasn't exactly sure what to say at first. Most people didn't want their places checked, but at the same time... Worry struck her. There was a possibility that it was how he planned to kill her! She knew too much and now she was going to die! No. She was just Lisa. That sort of thing didn't happen to normal people. Besides, even if he did try anything with her, she had training enough to knock a man twice his size off their ass, if needed (And as practiced before).

She finished writing his name and plausible excuse, before she tucked the pen in her jacket and eyed him. She was looking for something- any reason to believe this man would kill her. It was unlikely, but crazier had happened. "You're giving permission for me to search your house?" The disbelief in her voice was obvious but she shook her head. "I don't have my paperwork for a thorough inspection, but yes. If you can prove your alibi, that would be good for you."

What soul? She was staring at him, trying to discern him--pick him apart--understand him when there was nothing there with which to understand. She was not even grasping at straws when she looked at him, the only thing staring back was the cold, hard truth and the deep eyes of a killer. Not a killer in the sense that he murdered innocent lives (which he did), but in the sense that he, Beelzebub, killed all that could potentially make any sense to her at all. In the air and space between them, there was nothing. Growing, gathering, coming together, was a big, fat, glorious pile of the inexplicable. He gave it away as if it had no worth and no meaning despite the everything that leaked from his fingertips--the power of the sinful--of what she did not believe.

Her feet were dug into the ground, people blurring past the pair with grim faces, and hope uplifted. Ah, there was some good in the world if people could come in confluence and gather around tiny fires, clasping their hands together to pray for the lost lives staked by an unthinkable sin. Whatever made them feel better--whatever allowed them to sleep at night. Zeb didn't need to sleep. He could stay awake through it all, watch it all, be responsibly for it all. This was his task--this was his reason for existing: the dark to the leitmotif, crafted by the ephemeral hands of God. If not for the mistakes of the one true creator, there would be no beneath, no down, no dark; there would only be perfection, happiness, and heaven on Earth. The grey walked hand in hand, killing each other, hugging each other, defiling all plausible consistency. That was why they were so fun--that was why Lisa Smith stood her ground despite everything telling her to run. A predator was amok.

"You're giving permission for me to search your house?" Ah, how careless of him to slip up like that. He should have buried his question further under believable context, but this conversation was beginning to bore him in the face of what was to come. He shrugged, putting on a false bravado that was as innocent as can be. His slanted red eyes weren't a give-away at all. "I don't have my paperwork for a thorough inspection..." She began to shake her head while his slowly dropped without much of a thought. He had failed to illicit the right kind of response. He was denied. A fit of horror struck him momentarily, offsetting the course only briefly. He hid his face well, carefully dancing around his failure with her continued dialogue. "...but yes. If you can prove your alibi, that would be good for you."

Poof. With permission granted, he slowly took up her hand with a kind smile, and stole her away to prove he had no alibi. Sinking below the surface of all that she knew and all that she thought she knew, Lisa was exposed to danger in all forms. Standing beside her now was all that stood between her and untimely demise. Flames glowered at her from all around them, temperature so high they could melt the skin right off her bones simmering just out of reach. The aura around Zeb protruded off of him and around her as well, preventing any sort of harm. Immediately, his electric green eyes returned, blond curled into the singed black, and the Archdemon appeared just as he was: "But my friends call me Beelzebub."

It wasn't even a second later that a hand had taken her.  What was this?  She had answered his question and now he was dragging her off and somehow they weren't even moving.  Something in her stomach clutched and the need to run flooded through her veins.  It was too late now, she somehow knew.

Fire erupted everywhere.  Heat stung her skin and rippled on her wave after wave.  She couldn't handle it- she was going to burn alive.  The man too- changed before her eyes and it was by then that she realized- this was not home.  This wasn't even Africa, anymore.

IT was astounding to her.  Somehow, somewhere; someone must have slipped her something.  This wasn't real- couldn't be real. "But my friends call me Beelzebub."  Like the demon?  What was this even?  Her eyes were wide with confusion and her body was ripe with a mixture of panic and worry.  She had to be sleeping.  

As she rubbed her eyes, she had to try and force an excuse in her head.  This was real.  The heat was real and the man was obviously real.  Still of all the chances, she would meet a demon named Beelzebub in Africa... there was no sense to the chaos.  "What is this?"  The shaking in her voice betrayed her courage and left her looking stunned.  "What am I on?" She muttered it after, more to herself than anyone else.

If was a gift. Her horror, shock, and disbelief was a present bestowed upon her by this one. The tall, lanky beast bent over her with fervent eyes, licking voraciously at the bewilderment wafting off her. All at once, they were there, surrounded and alone. At first, he was sure that she would be in denial--as most non-believers were--but how long could one deny what was happening all around them? Drugs, alcohol, hallucinogens would eventually wear off, and the reality of it would come crashing down, smothering all doubt with truth.

She was silent in her surprise, enveloped by her own world and everything she had known. Yet, she had not fathomed that this could be his home. She had, in fact, given him permission, you see. He was a polite demon; this was not against her will. While to scare the living shit out of people would be rather amusing, it was not complacent with his morals. Yes, he had those. Therefore, he had ensured that she would answer positively to his offer. And here she was before him, rubbing her eyes as if the picture would come dripping out--as if the fun little play world the humans enjoyed would come crawling back out of the door. He could have laughed, but there was no sound coming from him except that dark, cold, bitter silence.

"What is this?" Ah, she had found her tongue! Good, because his patience had been wearing thin. His foot tapped, and he moved around her, lightly--barely touching her shoulders with his clawed hands. "What am I on?"

"This is Hell, and you are on the Forlorn Ashlands." His velvet tones drew over her like a veil to smooth out the wrinkles in her voice. His hands drew away so as to not scare her into a coma. Not all could handle such a sight--not all could even dream so vividly. "I welcome you."