trans_9 | He's being manly broody, not emo. Honest.

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He's being manly broody, not emo. Honest.

Due in part to his cooperation, Daimon was released from the brig after several days. The experience had certainly given him further incentive to control his darksoul ~~he hoped~~.

There were several people he wished to talk to but he was tired in his soul if not his body.

He wandered the city. He wanted to return to the Vatican but he was afraid of what he would see. He was even more afraid of what he might do.

If Leon Kennedy had not stopped him, what would he have done to Sawyer?

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Now that was interesting.

"Sympathetic links?"

"In case I have to do any magic with it," she says matter-of-factly.

She takes a few steps out into the empty street, glancing up and down it as she tries to decide which way to head next.

"What type of magic? What do you spell do you wish to perform? Are you a witch?"

"My type, if I knew yet I wouldn't be preparing so thoroughly, and that depends on how you define 'witch'," Roxie says, crouching to trace a little compass across the road surface with her fingertip. She stands up again and spits lightly on that spot, then closes her eyes and starts slowly rotating.

Infuriating girl.

"Tell me specifically what you are doing."

Kill the witch.

Saripha was a witch as well. She was hardly evil.

Saripha left you for a demon so lowly he had no name of his own.

There were valid reasons for her actions.

If you will not kill her then why not join her in some ritual sacrifice, eh Daimon?

"Trying to decide which way to go," Roxie says. "Sometimes I can get a good intuition for this kind of thing." There's no actual magic in the act. Maybe she's just using it as a justification for wild guessing.

"Damn you, child! How do you know so much about the occult?!"

"There's a lot of things you can find in libraries nowadays," Roxie says innocently, finally deciding on a direction. She opens her eyes to find herself facing down one of the side streets.

She starts walking that way, the carpenter's hammer resting up on her shoulder.

Daimon was not going to let her off with that, oh no. Brandishing his trident, he followed.

"That may be so, as unlikely as I am to believe it, but why are you practicing it?"

"Because it's useful," Roxie says bluntly, pausing as she comes across another intersection, then turning left. She's moving at a normal walking pace—not seriously trying to get away from Daimon. "Why else?"

"Stop walking and face me when I speak to you! And do not deliberately ignore my questions, you know full well their meaning. You are treading in dangerous waters and are either not aware of the risks or, worse yet, are aware and do not care."

"You're assuming," Roxie says, wagging a finger in the air (still walking), "and you know what happens when you assume. And you're the one who decided to follow me."

Okay, now she's needling intentionally. Probably.

Daimon shot a blast of soulfire from his trident right in front of Roxie's path. "ANSWER ME."

Roxie stops and turns, sliding a weird circlet from the inside of her jacket, interleaving bands of bone white and shining silver... She sets it onto her head lightly, and as part of the motion the brass ring now on her left index finger shines a little in the light.

"It's funny for somebody throwing around fire with a trident to be talking about how witchcraft is bad," she comments.

"I did not say it is bad, I said it is dangerous." Certainly the magic Stephen Strange practiced was not bad. "Now that I have your attention I trust you will explain yourself."

"Why don't you explain yourself first," Roxie says coldly. "You're the one being dangerous with things."

Her fingers run across a little silver bell on a chain around her neck, pulled out from the collar of the plantsuit.

"I know what I am doing. I am Daimon Hellstrom, Son of Satan." And more than a little ironic.

"That's ridiculous. 'Satan' wasn't even a singular figure until the Christian canonists decided to write him in as—you're the one that woman was looking up information about," she interrupts herself with smoothly.

Daimon blinked, not so much at the denial of who he was but at the last words she spoke. "Woman?" ...Patsy?

It's all about you, isn't it, Daimon?

"In the library," Roxie says, absently still fingering the bell at her neck. "You do know that Christian theology properly shouldn't even allow the presence of a child of the Devil, right?"

Daimon tilted his head back and laughed. The cold, dark sound would be enough to raise the hairs on the back of a man's neck- at least a normal man. And Roxie was neither normal nor a man.

Finally Daimon stopped laughing and smiled. "And yet here I am."

"So you're an imposter, or your father is," Roxie says matter-of-factly. Her head is tilted at just the angle to make her glasses glint cruelly.

The hairs are, in fact, standing up at the back of her neck, but her face stays remarkably set.

"Believe what you want." He struck three fingers into the air and his entire body was bathed in soulfire. "I know who I am."

"So it's your father—or you, and you're delusional," Roxie says, expression setting a little more. She doesn't seem particularly afraid of the fire. "Or the thing in you has convinced you you're something that you're not."

Yes, she can see the darksoul in there. Well—more like sense. Whatever.

The soulfire dissipated. "Believe what you want." Daimon repeated. "What are you?"

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