TEX II Round 1 - Drink P3

Like so many other hellish errands, this one began with the phrase, "I haven't got a thing to wear."

TK crossed her arms with a huff as they made use of a quiet sidestreet far too quickly again.  The bar to their right proclaimed itself, in twisting letters that eventually rearranged themselves into proper words, to be called The Lux.  Yellow bulbs burned brightly below the sharp metal letters, and if the founder has designed with the idea of 'high-class hole-in-the-wall' they'd succeeded admirably.

She glanced at the imp, small and sitting on her shoulder, and cleared her throat.  "Are you even listening?" she asked, though by the way his feline eyes were fixed to the sign, the answer was obvious.  

He hadn't heard a word.


As Possum stared at the incandescent bulbs he concluded that this world Above was completely incomprehensible to one so darkly born. The very nature of the light was a curious thing, how it was willing to mingle and play with the shadows rather than blasting and blinding. Possum could not pull himself away from observing the play of light.

The frown on his face at the inevitability of leaving surprised the imp, but he hadn't expected his mortal heart to feel any differently.  He'd achieved his impossible dream of escaping Above, but the imp had trapped himself in a different way.  Bonded with the woman of anger, he'd have to go wherever she went whether he desired to or not.  So Possum tried to content himself with indulging in experiencing Above, though he was barely satisfied as he observed to the point of distraction.

And from the way his Host was glaring at him, it was obvious she wasn't pleased.  So he'd set his indulgence aside for now, as TK called upon his powers to serve her – for a change of clothes.  The mortal woman was lucky he'd grown indifferent towards his magic being used for petty wardrobe changes.

"You desire attire more appropriate for this world?" The imp already knew her answer so he continued without waiting. "It is within my power to fetch such things, to change your appearance.  Simply indulge in the illogical once more and think of how'd you want to astound the Spider."

It would take more energy to have the conjuring manifest in the place of his Host's current outfit, so he jumped from her shoulder and shifted into his adult form.  In his full height the imp circled her with completely normal, human footsteps so unlike those instances he'd crawl around on his hands and feet.  Considering how to vanish her clothes safely and shape the dark matter to match the woman's whirlpool imagination.

As he began to etch the summoning circle as he paced, Possum felt how his magic was weakened without the all-consuming crush of sin and despair tempering its blackened strength.  Instead rays of hope pinholed it.  The cushioning waves of care and concern floating out from hearths and homes an odd thing, and worrisome in the way it shook his spell's foundations.  The imp wasn't sure how to prevent his black magic from fluctuating, but it needed to stop and soon. He couldn't risk a bad casting that would lose the game at its very start.  Couldn't risk failure, even if it meant he'd be trapped in this world so wonderfully full of color and light.  

So he called out the darkest shadows that grew long in dirty corners of the city, where humans lost hope and drowned in their despair, where the cruel glutted on the hapless pain of the weak, where the barrier between Above and Below was at its thinnest.  The black magic swelled and the imp confidently cast the conjuration, making certain that the clothes flashes off then on fast enough to feel like one motion as to avoid a tongue lashing.  The garments appeared to settle on her frame correctly, so a few petty tricks to apply rogue to a cheekbone, kohl to line the eyes, paint the lips, and curl the hair, and the transformation was complete.


"Do you like it?" There was a dangerous lilt to the imp's voice; he sounded decidedly pleased with himself.

It was her turn to indulge in a greedy examination of the newest developments.  She gazed down at his handiwork, letting her fingers sweep down the black material.  White buttons shone with mother-of-pearl incandescence at the white-trimmed neckline.  White stockings matched the slim, elbow-length gloves.  She reached a satiny hand up to touch the waves of dark hair hanging around her face and the knot on the back of her neck, and finally, the broad-brimmed white hat on top.  

TK drank in what she could see of herself she could, unabashed by his presence.  "It's not bad, I suppose," she responded, examining the black trim of the hat fondly before placing it back on.  "I think it'll do just fine."

She paused in the once-over and slipped off her ruby ring.  "One more thing.  In the teak box on the desk of my hotel room back in the real world, there's a ring.  It's ruby, like this one, and I'm picturing it now.  I'm going to need that."

She held out her hand for him to settle down in and watched him work with naked fascination.  He may have been a royal pain in the ass, but the imp certainly had his uses: particularly, conjuring her favorite trick ring onto her finger in seconds flat.

"Will that be all you need?" he asked smugly, still clearly proud of his handiwork.

"For now.  Now get in here," she ordered, holding open the delicate purse that had been magicked into her hands only moments prior.  Tiny beads shone in alternating black and white strips that shone like rays out from where the black top clasped.  "Keep quiet, don't play with my things, or the key, and don't --" she paused in slipping her revolver in the purse for emphasis -- "say or do anything until absolutely necessary.  Does that sound fair?"

"As my lady wishes." The imp didn't roll his eyes as he crawled into the purse, but he didn't need to.

She checked the purse's clasp for ease in accessibility of the weapons (and Hellspawn) within, tucked her favorite silver knife safely into her garter, and sauntered through the bar's door.



TK had played this game dozens of times over before.  When she stepped through that doorway with a click of her heels, every man -- and woman -- took notice.  She swept into a seat at the polished bar and crossed her satin-stockinged legs.  Half a bar away her target sent her a sideways glance.  She turned up the corners of her bright red lips in response and he reciprocated with half-lidded eyes and what might have been vague amusement.

She turned her shoulder to him and stared straight at the dusty bottles stacked behind the bar.  From the way his hands had found their way onto his broad-brimmed hat resting on the counter in front of him, she was willing to venture a guess that she'd been noticed.  TK tilted her head so that the loose locks of curls draped over her bare neck and placed the beaded purse safely on the bar.  Surely a woman with ulterior motives, surely a woman that was a threat wouldn't deprive herself of her satchel of weapons.  Neither, of course, would she fail to take notice of a handful more of black-suited bodyguards sprinkled throughout dim bar, despite how empty it was and how poorly they positioned themselves.

A tiny man with a bad twitch in his hand and suspicion in his eyes slid into a seat a few feet away, and she paid him no mind.  She'd tangled with enough murderous mob cronies to determine with reasonable confidence that this one wouldn't be a threat.  She had no interest in him, but significantly more in the man who seated himself to her right.

"You here alone?"

Her stomach twisted as she wondered for a moment if she ought to have had a chaperone, but history wasn't her forte and the already-wordy file could've stood to include a few more details on that very subject, but she was already fluttering kohl-darkened eyes and smiling back.

"Not anymore," TK replied.

He chuckled at the line and she flashed a smile that was more sweetness than seduction.

"Did you have that line ready?"

"Why, did it work?" she responded without missing a beat.

He spoke with the crisp edges and easiness of either education or confidence.  "I haven't decided yet," Spider said, dark eyes crinkling behind his spectacles.  

The tips of her fingers skimmed over the top of the glass as she looked up at him through deliciously thick lashes.  She draped herself over the bar closer to him, displaying her interest, displaying his irresistibility, displaying her breasts.  "Did it work enough for you to buy me a drink?" she smiled.

He considered her with amusement before leaning back to flag down the bartender, who quickly set down a glass of something too sweet with not nearly enough brandy.

"You haven't done this in a while, have you?"

"Am I that obvious?"  she sighed and rested against the bar, leaning in in closer, so that the black-trimmed hat brushed his forehead.  "You might say that.  But I am effectively unshackled."

"All the luckier for me," he replied with a tip of his head and a tone that toed the line between sardonic and pleased.  He indicated her drink with a jerk of his chin.  "So did I order correctly?"

"To be honest, I'd rather have yours."

Spider chuckled.  "By all means."  He offered the glass  and she accepted with a silent bubble of triumph.  She'd played this part of the game dozens of times as well.  Take a sip, press her middle finger against the mechanism in the ring, bump the jewel against her lip to snap it closed, and return the glass with its new addition of already-dissolved powder.  

"Is that what the lady prefers?"

"I'd say so."

"In that case..." He flagged down the bartender once more, a different man this time, whose uniform didn't fit as well as the firsts and whose eyes were lined with sleepless nights.  He left the bottle with a smile and two fresh glasses.

Spider turned to face her once more.  "You don't sound like you're from around here."

"Overseas," she offered vaguely.  He hadn't even offered his own name, not that it really mattered, so he was in no position to question her own details.  "It's a long story."

"I doubt if I've ever met anyone who hasn't said the same.  The real stories are usually a disappointment."

"Are you doubting mine?"

"I never said that."  He motioned to her glass and proceeded to top them both off.

"I think you were," she responded with exaggerated of indignation.

"Simply stating the facts.  You might still prove me wrong yet."

"Well, as I said, it's a long story.  Do you want to hear it?"

He indicated the bottle.  "We've got a while."

"What, you want to stay here?"

She raised an eyebrow and he quickly took her meaning.  "I don't see why we have to."

For the first time in quite a long time, chatting up a target hadn't been nearly as insufferable an experience as she'd anticipated.  He wasn't a terrible conversationalist, this Spider, and a bit of attention from a man who actually had a decent head on his shoulders was always a nice fringe benefit.

Spider reached into his overcoat pocket and TK tensed, as did Twitchy a few seats away.  The two simultaneously relaxed as he pulled out not a gun, but a handsome silver cigarette case.  "Would you care for a cigarette?" he asked, proffering the case so that she could admire both his generosity and the ornate scrawl of runes carved into the silver.

"Absolutely."  She really did, too, and wouldn't her fucking hypocrite of a partner have given her such a look for accepting. Not that the dead got to judge.

Spider frowned as he opened the case and she paused.

"Are you alright, darling?"

He stared down at the bar, lighter tucked against his palm-down hand, before flipping his hat up with a flourish only intentional enough to be an all-clear signal that the cigarette ought to have distracted her from.

"Absolutely," he replied.  "Everything's fine."

She smiled at him, he smiled back, and then proceeded to fall face-down onto his hat, dead as a doornail.

The bar went quite silent.

TK froze, entirely aware that the amount of sedative she'd slipped him should have barely knocked the man out.

Darren, in his clothes lifted from the unconscious bartender, wondered what had gone wrong with the heavy dose of halcion lacing the bottom of the man's cup.  

Darren dropped the glass he'd been wiping, TK muttered, "Oh, shit," and the whole thing went to hell.

Spider began to slide down and something grey and gaseous spilled out from his nostrils.  The question of what a soul actually looked like was quickly answered in TK's mind.

She'd be needing that.

TK reached out to clumsily fumble for the little cloud of grey and was met with a dense, sticky hash like dew-covered cobwebs.  She pulled back and grabbed for the glass, fully intending to treat the situation as she would an invading insect, and a burly hand grabbed her shoulder.  She shot to her feet and wasted no time in smashing the glass straight into her attacker's face.  He went down with a yell and his hands on his face, and the yell became a scream with the judicious application of Spider's flicked-on lighter to the splash of alcohol.  

From the way Darren dove for the corpse, he also seemed to hold the soul in top priority.  She vaulted over the bar, paying no heed to the loud rip of stitches in the lovely dress.  Darren's photo might have been spoiled by ghosts, but TK's certainly wasn't, and he recognized her immediately.  The way his eyes fixed upon TK cemented her suspicion, and she swept up to the man who'd taken such an interest in her soul and shoved a shoulder into his gut.

"Possum!" she screamed, and the imp burst out of the beaded purse in a flash of fire.  "That's our opponent, isn't it?  Take care of him."


A blink was all it took for Possum to recognise the man he had bespelled and chatted up the night before.  A smile curled his lips as the clear advantage he held over the pathetic mortal drunkened his thoughts.  With the barest nod, "Darren," he struck.  

The man sidestepped just in time, allowing the imp's claws to instead slice into wood.  A large chunk of the bar exploded in a shower of splinters and shrapnel, clouding the air and building the blaze.  Darren hopped back, nearly missing his purple assailant stalking from the side.  With that damn kid and his ghost lurked in the corners of his eyes, it was a struggle focusing on real threats.  The way the monster lazily swiped, it was like he was herding Darren rather than trying to kill him.

Especially after seeing the way he caved in a goon's ribcage with a fist when the guy fired at his back, shouting,  "Demon!"

Darren saw his opponent scrabbling near the target, but the imp blocked any paths to them.  He reached for his gun and his hands shook, from something worse than tiredness and nerves.  When Darren brought it to bare, hating himself but aiming for the woman, desperate not to lose-- the imp slapped it out of his hands.  Just like he had slapped the dead water last night at the bar.

Those clawed hands shoved his shoulders and Darren allowed himself to fall.


The fire was spreading rapidly throughout the room, which was becoming a haze of smoke and screams, much like that very afternoon.  Their upended bottle rolled to the ground with a clatter, and TK found a new receptacle.  In seconds flat she shoved the incorporeal mass into the empty glass bottle , plugged it with her thumb, and made a break for the door.

"Catch up! And grab my pur --"

Something slammed into her hard and fast, propelling both bodies out the door and right back into the alleyway she'd previously used to change.  

Fucking.

Twitchy.

She rolled to her feet, snatched the little flicknife from below the hem of her dress, and turned to find an eight-inch , serrated, rusted monster of a blade staring her right in the face.

The small, dark man holding the knife smiled, and it immediately became clear he was one of those types.  She'd encountered his type before, all shaky hands and bloody smiles, and she knew exactly how to handle the situation.  

TK snatched up the bottle rolling at her feet, turned on her heel, and ran like hell.

Getting back was simple.  She needed a door, she needed the key, and she needed the Imp.  TK shoved her way through the stream of fleeing patrons and snatched off the hat to throw back at her pursuer.  Her revolver was stuck back in her purse and it would be near suicide to face the man with nothing but her tiny blade.  Thankfully the heels were low, which meant it'd be that much easier to make it down the uneven street to the closest closed door in sight, and then just handle the matter of unlocking it with the key --

The key that remained in her fucking purse in the flaming bar.  

"Possum!" she screamed, and broke into an all-out sprint.


Darren didn't stir from the pile of broken tables while the ghost child hovered over him.  

There was a shout more feminine than the rest.  Moving forward, Possum snatched up the beaded prison.  Turing he started to pick up the pace, to reach his Host and assure she'd survive whatever caused alarm to surge from the Bond.  The imp sprinted away from the burning Lux, propelled faster by pressing hands and feet to the ground.

TK glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Possum slam her pursuer to the ground before he leapt onto her shoulder in a puff of smoke and fire.

"We'll be needing this, won't we?"

She snatched the key he held out, jammed it into the lock, and they were gone.





TK burst through the door and cringed away from the bright fluorescent lights that burned after the darkness of the nighttime chase.

"Any problems?"

Death stood only feet away from the door, hands in his pockets and back against the polished mirrors lining the walls.

"Sorry?" she asked breathlessly, busy locking the door behind her.

"Any problems out there?" he repeated, and held out a hand.  

"Oh."  Her hand tightened around the bottle it clenched, and once the door was securely locked behind her, she held it out.  "No.  Not at all."

"Didn't think so."  He accepted the bottle, gave it a shake, and flicked back the brim of his hat.  "Very tidy."

She took a deep breath and pushed her hair back, locating her lost composure.  "That'll be it?"

He nodded with the ghost of a smile.

She nodded back and, lacking in anything else to do, turned on her heel.

"Always a pleasure doing business with you, TK."

He laughed, a low sound that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.  With an imp on her shoulder and the smell of fire around her, TK fled.