Marc Stevens

"I never did like rules, sugar." This time when he stepped closer, Beth did the same so that only the smallest fraction of a gap was between their bodies.  She leaned her head in, her voice was barely a whisper.  

Marc scooped up his phone (which was now functionally useless) and started off toward the end of the street, back fully toward Beth.

Common knowledge told him that he should never turn his back on an enemy--or, more typically, a pissed off Gifted. Turning away ran the risk of serious injury, especially for people, like Marc, who had no gifts. But over the years, Marc had learned how to anticipate attacks, how to discern exhalations of breath or the sounds of rushing footsteps. So if she tried something, he'd be ready.

Of course, maybe she'd be smart enough not to try it, but Marc hadn't noticed a remarkable amount of intelligence in her. Plus so far she'd played along too well, even if there had been a bit of collateral damage. She was bound to snap at some point. Everyone did, after all.

He couldn't help but smirk--if she attacked, he'd have an excuse to wail on her for a bit, and that would certainly be therapeutic though definitely counterproductive.

“1 and 28, not bad choice.” he smiled, seeing the similarities in the humans numbers he just gave a shrug as Marc slid the chips to their places and let his hand come to rest on the other mans shoulder, giving a squeeze as he said he hoped he was lucky.

“I really wouldn’t worry. Your numbers are spread out, you have a good chance, and thats all this game is.” he said with a light laugh, patting Marc “Don’t over think this.” he said with a comforting nod at the other male before he watched the wheel start to spin.

The Prince’s eyes practically bore holes into that wheel, like he was trying to will it to stop, and he was, the moment the ball started to bounce he let his hand slip away from Marc’s shoulder, and as it swept down to his side, his abilities made the ball jump to the number 18 and he smiled as it settled there the moment his hand was at his side.

“18!”

Still, if this was a test, he'd passed, and that's what mattered. "In that case, I could come to like this game." While he wouldn't call Astaroth a good luck charm to his face (that would just sound demeaning), this Prince thing did have its perks. Marc would just have to keep making him happy.

And maybe he'd be a better Prince than Ba'al...

Though in truth he was actually enjoying Astaroth's company. He may have been inconsistent on a good day and terrifying on a bad one, but right now, over drinks and gambling, he was quite pleasant. And attentive.

Marc couldn't help but smile at the thought.

There was a bit more intent behind poker, and Marc wondered if he'd be any good, but when Astaroth asked about his jacket, he looked down at it. He liked it--trustworthy and all that--but it really was a bit ratty. Not befitting Princely company.

There is no more information coming, and that is unacceptable.

Apadiel’s attempts to reach out to Ba’al and to Mason have resulted in nothing but silence since the initial report that came across her desk, and after so much time she can not help but wonder why.

Angel found dead, exsanguinated. Found by Apadiel - Prince, and Kale Redfield - Pet to Asmodeus, Prince.

Harvester fled the scene on foot.

Her eyes skim over the paper again, seeing it but not reading the words, barely legible in the dark of her office. She’s leaned back in her chair, away from her desk where the lamp spills a pool of golden light out onto the wood, the beam too concentrated to reach the shadows in the corners of the room, or under Apadiel’s eyes.

It’s late, but it doesn’t matter. The office that Ba’al has set up is never unmanned, and tonight should be no different. If she’s lucky then she’ll catch the Prince himself. If not, there will be someone there who will understand who she is and help her with the information she is looking for.

"We’re going out."

Kelly stops playing, turns to face her where he’s standing in the middle of the room. He likes to pace when he plays the violin, and when he looks at her he squints, like the light is too much for him after playing with eyes closed.

He nods, moving to put the violin away without an extra word. She’s been done with her work for more than an hour, but when she stays in the office, he stays in the office. The violin case closes with two dull clicks, and by the time Apadiel is at the door he’s already waiting for her, coat in hand.

The night is damp, but the threat of rain is, for the moment, passed rather than approaching. Apadiel’s gait is purposeful as she makes her way to the trackers’ headquarters in Purgatory. She keeps her eyes forward, daring anyone who sees them to hinder or interrupt. She is determined. The power and authority of a Prince will allow her access to any and all information that Ba’al has gathered, but now, tonight, she only wants answers about one case.

The one she was involved in. Was that why she wasn’t being told? Could it be that they suspected her somehow, even though the idea is preposterous? Or did they simply have nothing to report, and so did not want to disappoint her.

Kelly reaches past her to pull the door open when they arrive, glancing behind them both before following her into the building.

As soon as they’re inside, Apadiel’s demeanor changes. She sees Marc and smiles immediately, poise and charm always her first weapon of choice. She doesn’t expect to be denied information, but the easier it is to get it, the better.

It gave him time alone with his thoughts, and though he'd rather not deal with them, they kept him company. The bitterness was not something he could stew in around others--especially not when in the company of his Prince--so it was in these moments that he raged about his still imperfect situation.

This was all in his own head, of course--very few people knew of his extreme displeasure with life--and he intended to keep it that way. Around others, he'd force professionalism and channel his hatred and depression into his work.

So far, it had gone well, except for the tiny detail of Ba'al giving zero fucks about him.

He was close to punching the wall when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Wall punching would have to wait, and as he waited he hoped this person was someone he could punch instead.

But no. It was Apadiel and her pet, and punching either of them wouldn't have ended well. Marc stood as soon as she started speaking, and he inclined his head in greeting, putting on his gameface. "Of course you're not intruding. I've just been waiting for Ba'al, so I'd be more than happy to assist."

     When she heard the knock at the door, the blonde looked up and raised an eyebrow. It was very rare that people bothered her here, as anyone who knew her knew that this was her private place, a place of quiet. She was not to be disturbed, except when someone really, really needed something. And even then, it wasn’t guaranteed she’d say yes at all. But at least Marc had knocked and asked politely, so she nodded at him.

He found it irritating that she was splitting her focus, but of course she didn't yet know why he was here. Assuming she cared as much as he thought she did, surely her priorities would shift.

"I'm tracking an illegal, one who I've heard has been taking his share of rations." He paused and smirked slightly. "Catching him would be mutually beneficial, of course, and working together would get results faster. That is, if you're interested?"

The small detail of this illegal being slippery, difficult, and otherwise problematic wasn't important. Not yet, at least. No, Sitri only needed to know why she should get involved; the finer details could be shared later. Maybe.

 Her punch was strong, but what she excelled in was using her legs. The woman was flexible and could quite easily tilt her upper body backwards and deliver a blow to his mid-section that would have him thrown backwards. She knew how her anger could blind her too and have her repeatedly kicking and throwing punches like she was on autopilot.

"Fuck up my face then and just be done with it!"

Beth didn’t think for a minute that would suffice, but she could handle a beating better than what he was threatening.

She knew Lilith well enough to know unless she gave the order to kill her, then she wouldn’t stand for anyone else doing it. Though the idea of her even finding out that Beth had helped some illegal, the bartender didn’t want to think about her reaction.

"Fuck off." She stood there defiantly and waited to see his next move, but when he took a phone from his pocket, the brunette swallowed thickly as he called someone and asked for Ba’al. Externally she was as calm as anything, but inside, her mind was reeling and panic set in.

"No-one would dare do anything without Liliths say so" She wasn’t quite sure how true that statement was—some might if they thought the Prince would never find out.  Beth was trying to stall and think of some plan and the only idea right now, just wasn’t feasible.  This guy didn’t know her other gift so she thought if she could direct him where to find the illegal—then get there first—transform into her—then deal with him while looking like someone else. Only there was one major problem, Beths ability was gift absorption, which meant she would need to absorb the gift which let the user alter their physical appearance to that of another—and there was only one person she knew who possessed that—-Kale. He might have been the closest thing she had to family, but after nearly attempting it once—she knew he would most surely hand her ass to her if she tried again.

Her teeth clenched so that her cheekbones flexed and she swiftly kicked his wrist to knock the phone from his hand—not wanting him to continue any conversation.

Marc knew he had a temper, but years of tracking had helped him keep it in check. It wouldn't do, after all, to fly off the handle and put a job in jeopardy. As much as he wanted to smash Beth's face in, there was no guarantee she'd actually give him the information he came for if he did. So he'd wait.

There would be face smashing. And she owed him a new phone.

"Well that wasn't very nice," he said, cocking his head to one side. "We were getting on so well."

“Now, here’s a tip, people will say, beginners should go for red or black, that is just pathetic, it’s a fifty fifty chance and therefore, more likely to lose.” he sat down on one of the stools by the wheel and glanced to the little blonde calling the shots before he looked back to Marc. He wasn’t sure if the human looked out of place there or not, maybe he just wasn’t enjoying his drink, but there seemed to be something off as Astaroth quickly sipped at his own scotch, enjoying the burn it gave him.

“It’s far more interesting to pick a few numbers, spread your chips out, and hope you really are lucky.” he grinned, before gesturing for the human to take a seat and slapping a note on the table which the cute little blonde girl in the black shirt quickly swapped for chips. “Now, Marc, Pick 3 numbers, place some chips on each of those. This is all you, I want to see if YOU are lucky.” he smiled.

Still, the idea of losing made Marc nervous, but he'd had enough practice keeping his face straight. In this world, there was no option to show weakness.

"Three numbers," Marc muttered to himself as he studied the wheel. "Okay, well... 18, for my birthday," he said, placing half of the chips on 18. Of course it probably wasn't his real birthday--he had no idea when the hell that would actually have been--but given how bleak every day way, it was nice to have a single day he could call his own, even if he never bothered to get a cake or have a party.

That made the whole prospect bleaker, so he shoved the thought aside.

"1," he said, placing roughly half of the remaining chips on 1, "and...28."

This game is impossible, he thought, looking at his choices. This really was a game of luck, and luck was not something Marc let himself rely on. It was too unpredictable, too inconsistent.

And now it was going to lose him some of Astaroth's money.

Fuck...

The skimpy gold bikini was a must, of course, but the sheer gold fabric that covered her body, and the delicate, silver coated jewellery certainly made her feel all kinds of special. She didn’t wear any shoes and her toes and fingers were painted a gold colour to keep with the whole scheme.

She entered her room and let her eyes slowly roam over her newest client. He was handsome enough — and she certainly liked them when they were handsome — and she hoped he had enough money for them to have some proper fun.

She stalked towards him, all slow steps and swaying hips and sultry looks. When she reached the bed she crawled towards him, and smiled up at him until she’d slunk up to his side and was idly picking at the buttons on his shirt.

He could sleep with her, pay out some money, and try to get information out of her with pillowtalk. That was an option, sure, but it required, well, sleeping with her.

The far preferable option was to stop her, talk to her, and maybe throw money at her if she needed convincing. It meant he could keep his pants on, but more importantly it meant that she could too.

As she slinked toward him, he considered the former. How bad could it be, really? he wondered. Maybe he could kill the lights? And she was pretty. Maybe it wouldn't be that different from a guy? Except there were weird holes and boobs and--

Though his words pissed her off immediately and she stepped forwards into his personal space, pushing him in the chest. “I am not against Lilith..get your fuckin’ facts right!…cause…oh you would like that to be the case wouldn’t you…yeah…a few around here would.” She glared at him, a small sneer made the left side of her top lip turned up. “You make me sick…sick to my fuckin’ stomach.  I have seen illegals handed to Lilith before ..even been a part of it!…but the girl..that night, she was different.” Her words came out angrily but her tone of voice was low and whispered.

She wasn’t about to explain the illegally gifted females story, but after a pretty horrific sexual encounter with two thugs, Beth thought she had been through enough—that was the only reason she helped her.

"Do you think I am some helpless female who will run on you, given the chance?—no fuckin’ way. I would sooner smash you in the nose with my fist so hard and hope your nasal cavity crashes against the back of your damn skull."

She let her intense glare linger for a moment before taking one small step backwards. Beth didn’t know the guy well enough to be able to determine how far he would follow his threats through. She knew even if he mentioned  it to another Prince—she would be in the shit too and they would more than likely use it for their own means.

Bluffing.

No harm in trying it.

She inhaled and took a deep breath before plastering a big ass smile on her face as she brought up a new facade.

He staggered backwards slightly--she really was strong--but he just laughed. "Oh honey, you don't get to where I am by assuming people are going to run." He held up his right hand which was wrapped tightly enough to keep his fist from breaking. "Gifted or not, I can still fuck up your face."

Another bluff. He wasn't entirely sure he could take her, but there was no reason to let her doubt he could. Even with her strength advantage, he still had the upper hand.

He could deliver her head to Lilith.

Marc pulled his phone from his pocket, found a contact, and pressed send. "Get me Ba'al," he said to the boy who answered. A single "Yes, sir" was followed by silence as the boy left his desk.

While he had called the office, the boy knew not to fetch the Prince. This, like the rest of Marc's life, was one big bluff, orchestrated to get people to do what he wanted them to do. But Beth didn't need to know that. She just needed to start shitting herself and spilling her secrets.

"Hey, Warren—grab me a bottle of beer while I just get my jacket." She slipped some money onto the bartop and went through a door on the left, pulling her Jacket from a hook and returning. She got on with Warren reasonably well, but did she trust him?—no way. Beth knew the guy was capable of dropping her in the shit, just to get in Liliths good graces. He was sneaky even though quite pleasant and they had been through one or two confrontations between them in the past.

"Cheers, sugar.." She gave him her usual flirty grin and grabbed the bottle of beer before heading for the door. Even though the air wasn’t exactly what you would call ‘fresh’ outside, at least there was a cool breeze which she welcomed with a relieved sigh.

Hearing some guy talking to her, Beth turned around to see who it was but immediately felt him grab her arm. Instinctively she pulled against the grip to free herself and cocked a brow, unimpressed. “I have a sec if you refrain from fuckin’ touching me, yeah.”

Her reaction was quite placid considering what she could be like. It was only when she let her line of vision fall on his face properly, Beths eyes narrowed when she realised she knew the guy.

She was already annoyed. That was good. Marc knew people made mistakes when they were aggravated, and the fact that she was already reacting was promising. It meant that she wasn't really a thinker.

Letting go of her arm and holding his arms up, he took a couple steps back, but made sure to stay close enough in case she was stupid enough to run. "Information," he said simply, dropping his hands, "about that illegal you helped get away."

He took a step forward and cocked his head to the side. "And before you say anything, I know you haven't told Lilith anything. Don't think she'll be too pleased to hear that her pet is working against her..."

In truth, he had no proof that Lilith was ignorant to the whole thing, but if she were, rumors would certainly have spread. With Ba'al's reach as far as it was, there was very little that could slip under his radar.

Astaroth’s brows lifted as he felt the arm go around him, he looked to it before looking back to Marc with a slightly wary expression. He was being touched without permission, and he hated that, but then, he had initiated contact first, and as he was still holding the human, he decided to let it go for now, this human seemed respectful upon first glance and he just kept that in mind, hoping he would still prove to be what he seemed later on.

"Always considered myself lucky, though. Good intuition with the illegals. Here’s hoping that works with poker."

The Prince grinned, patting Marc on the shoulder “Then let us find out.” he lead the way to Mammon’s place of business, listening to Marc and his flattery, or at least, that’s what it seemed like to Astaroth, flattery by obedience. “Where do I want you? We should start with roulette, such a simple game, and all luck.” he glanced up to the lights when they got to the lounge and didn’t even have to open the door, the doormen were falling over themselves to get it for him and yet he barely even noticed their presence.

Like he cared. They were tasty, and he'd fuck up anyone who gave him shit. Why, after all, should inebriation be an unpleasant experience? Wasn't a life that required inebriation unpleasant enough?

He took the glass, steeled himself, and took a drink, forcing his face to remain even as it went down. As far as scotch went, it was definitely smooth, which mercifully kept the burning to a minimum. Still, it tasted like piss.

"So," he said, setting his glass down, "roulette. How's your luck?"

Astaroth’s eyes wandered over the male and took in his appearance, it wasn’t as ragged as a lot of humans, and it showed that he was in the employment of a Prince. He even gave the smallest of bows, and yes, that tiny little gesture, gave the Prince butterflies. He smiled as the male agreed, and gave a nod back, out of respect and acknowledgement. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.

The blonde obviously knew how to treat a Prince, though it made Astaroth wonder if his brother was strict with his employee’s or if this human was just one in a million.

"What did you have in mind? My time is yours."

Smirking a little, his eyes went to the man before he slid his arm around his shoulders and pulled him in tight, enjoying the closeness, relaxing into the touch a little. “Well, first thing is first.. I presume you know who I am, but, I have no idea of your name. Would you like to give it to me to should I make one up for you?” he asked with a small laugh as he started to walk away from Ba’al’s office.

Astaroth often got bored at home alone, and went out to find something entertaining, but mostly, he just craved the company. “I suggest a bar, or the lounge. Do you gamble?” A smirk swept his lips before he bit at the bottom one “I shall give you some chips, and we can see if you are lucky.” he grinned.

Still, insanity aside, there was something far more comforting about Astaroth than Ba'al. Ba'al was harsh and direct; Astaroth was, apparently, a hugger. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen, but he'd been noticed and that made him feel like maybe he actually mattered.

"Marc Stevens," he said, "though I'd gladly answer to whatever you come up with for me." (That was a blatant lie, but that was, apparently, part of the game.)

"I've never been much of a gambler, but I guess we're gonna see!" He smirked and risked throwing his own arm over the Prince's shoulders. "Always considered myself lucky, though. Good intuition with the illegals. Here's hoping that works with poker."

He let himself be dragged toward the Lounge and found himself not working to anticipate Astaroth's intentions. It was rare for Marc to drop his guard, but the Prince's mood seemed to be rubbing off. That, or Marc was just a bit too hopefully that maybe something good would come from this.

Astaroth left Ba’al’s building in some what of a hurry. He’d barged in as usual, to find the office empty and locked. He was having a bad day, and when Astaroth had a bad day, people knew about it. He’d already killed once today and his fingers were itching for something else, he’d hoped to swap the urge to skin something for some company and contact with his brother, but it was to no avail.

His fingers were fidgeting at his sides, he could practically feel the blood there, despite washing them vigorously for an hour before seeking out his brother. It was under his nails, the scent of blood was in his nose and he was feeling a little dizzy, sick from it.

Now even Astaroth knew he should stay away from humans till he’d found another Prince to help calm him down, but there was still this itch, under his skin, he needed to scratch it now, right now. So the moment he found a potential release for all this tension he clung to it, and it just so happened to be in the shape of a young blonde, he recognised from Ba’al’s office. The prince had never really paid much attention to the humans in Ba’al’s charge, he wasn’t a fan of the species, and it was easier to pretend they weren’t there most of the time, but he found himself walking to the blonde as he pushed open the main door to the building and straightening his jacket collar.

"You are looking for Ba’al, are you not?" he asked, arching up a single brow as he took in the sight and scent of this human. He wasn’t particularly dirty, but then, he worked for a Prince, he was probably ordered to look his best. "I’m afraid he’s away from the office, I was hoping for some company. Care to join me?"

It was no secret that this Prince was a bit more...unstable than the rest, that he'd be a cute, awkward puppy dog if it weren't for his penchant for ripping apart humans. Of course as Marc had no contact with Astaroth, this was all conjecture, but in a world as small as Purgatory, conjecture often proved true.

And now Marc was on his radar.

Having the attention of a Prince opened doors, but so far his gig with Ba'al had only gotten him off the streets. Not a bad deal--not considering how bad things could get for an unspectacularly ungifted human--but there were far bigger opportunities out there.

Ones that maybe Astaroth could provide.

Marc inclined his head slightly and smiled. "How could I say no?"