Office of Demonology

Hey, so. The holidays are over, and this place isn’t very fun. Three reasons:

(1) I’m busy. I’m in school, and it’s the kind of school that will eat all the time I will give it. And I need to give it a lot.

(2) My old friend group on here is mostly deactivated/moved on to other mediums/living in the real world. I’ll be pursuing other routes of contact with them.

(3) I have a bad taste in my mouth regarding some previous interaction on here, and no amount of time I’m letting pass or purging my surroundings on here has fixed things. I wasn’t allowed closure and making my own doesn’t work here.

So, just a heads-up, I won’t be making active RP posts on this blog (or my multitude of others) anymore. Is that ‘archiving’ a blog?

I’ll make a few posts explaining the rest of Adrian’s story I had planned out, I’ll post art, maybe I’ll queue a few things I see around, and that’ll be it. I’ll also probably make a post directly addressing my followers in thanks.

Bill glanced down to the hand that rested on his sleeve, and the glow began to return a bit, albeit not the power of the strange light show when he got out of the cab. He cleared his throat a little as if that might dispel it.

“You’re shaking… I’ll warm you up.” Bill murmured slightly. It was a little alarming given his usual notion of warming anything up…

Thankfully he seemed to drop it when they reached the hostess and the hand not at Adrian’s hip went to dig in his suitjacket.

“Of course Teacup, it’s such a hard place to get into here you know. It’s in very high demand, and you have to know just the right people to get in!” Finding what he sought, Bill fishes out what looks like a black business card and passes it to the hostess. She looks it over before nodding and motioning for them to continue.

“It took a while to get this vessel to find a good deal so I could get us in good… Only the best after all.” He chuckles lowly as they enter the restaurant proper. It is a bit on the more dimly lit side but there is no doubt no expense has been spared, from the paintings on the windowless walls to the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

Other diners were speaking eagerly and all sported similarly expensive suits, jewlery that likely cost a pretty penny was also in evidence. Another suit clad man met them and led the way to a table with a few candles and a single red rose set at the center.

“Bring us the wine menu, we have to find a good… red.” Bill comments curtly as he pulls the seat back for Adrian as their server set down menus down at the table. The demon then turned his attention to Adrian with a chuckle.

“Was this worth the wait…?”

Adrian’s face went bright red as demon’s words of warming him sank in, staying that way until he was drinking in the faces of all the elite and illegal company and he was sinking lightly into the chair offered him. He didn’t know what was going on with this establishment, but he had only been among comparable wealth two or three times before in his life.

“The quality of an evening is best judged by looking at the company with whom I’ve spent it,” he uttered in guileless reply up to Cipher after giving a thanks to their server for their time, his long fingers fidgeting with each other in his lap (eternally restless hands).

He flashed another little smile to their server upon the drink menu’s delivery but didn’t reach for the menu, instead asking the man’s personal favourites and chatting his way to the server’s ultimate suggestion of a single fine blend.

It was a pleasant distraction from pondering the nature of the place where they sat. Adrian couldn’t put his finger on it, but something seemed... off. He couldn’t recognize a single dish at the tables around them, but that was to be expected, correct? It was a stereotypical facet of fine dining to him. But everyone spoke in such a... private way.

Bills glare on the confused couple he attacked was so intense if not for the old addage of ‘if looks could kill’ it might seem like he was trying to actually accomplish such a feat.

Though given it was Bill, it was entirely possible he could accomplish it…

The glare was broken, much to the relief of the couple now seeming to have second thoughts about entering the building at all now, when Adrian tugged him inside and he even gave a small choked sort of noise that was more surprise than anything else. He recovered quickly and cleared his throat.

“No but he was looking at you. Didn’t you notice?” Bill murmured as if a glance was obvious cause for a physical attack. He chanced a glance over his shoulder again and narrowed his eyes, adding under his breath,

“ Blf dlmg nzpv rg slnv glmrtsg rm lmv krvxv…” He then straightened up as if nothing alarm had been muttered.

“I’m being a good date Teacup, what would I be if I just let just any old suffer puppet look at you?” Bill gave his best winning smile, as usual it was borderline terrifying on a human vessel that just seemed like it shouldn’t be able to show that many teeth at once.

“Let’s go and check in shall we? Stay close…” Bill added, as if the hand he moved to loop around Adrian’s waist wasn’t his own assurance that the man would do just that.

Adrian blessedly missed out on the coded threat in his concern over the odd phrase ‘looking at you.’ Was it an intent to drug? Target for some sort of mugging? Could the demon read intent that easily?

“No, I, er, I didn’t...”

He moved a hand to Bill’s sleeve in an automatic response of compliance, trying to hide how the apparent danger of the place had his thin form shivering like a winter leaf. The hand at his waist got a testy little sigh, mostly out of nerves than anything, but he said nothing against it for reluctantly agreeing with the safety it seemed to provide. There was strength in numbers...

... Though two was more dangerous than one where Cipher was concerned.

“We ‘check in’?” he repeated under his own breath, certainly not familiar with reservations or that level of class. His hand on the edge of the demon’s stolen sleeve tightened a little, though his light and even steps betrayed none of the fear.

Oh, that snort. Bill hadn’t meant to do that. He had gotten caught up in the moment of Adrian unexpectedly throwing out a meme and it had just happened. What was worse was the man noticed it.

It was small but of course Bill noticed the stare, it made him raise a hand of the vessel to his face to cover his mouth, stolen brow furrowed. There was what might be deemed a blush starting up at first glance if not for the fact it didn’t darken the face of the vessel, but rather brightened it. As if a faint glow was coming from beneath the skin, from the being underneath.

It almost made Bill miss Adrian speaking about the human heart.

“Rh gszg gsv hlig lu rnnligzorgb blf sfnzmh hvvp? Zm rmermxryov svzig rm gsv ovhh orgvizo hvmhv?” It was hard to tell if he was being genuinely curious or not, seeing as how his tone was muffled behind the hand and his eyebrows were drawn down as if he would give away nothing on the vessels face.

He was spared, or maybe damned as it were, when the cab stopped fully.

“Tllw, R gslftsg sv nrtsg szev ulitlggvm sld gl tvg gl gsrh kozxv. Dzhm'g zm vzhb urmw.” Bill muttered and lowered the hand when he deemed to have seemingly gotten himself under control. He was actually the first out of the cab to come around briskly and open the door for Adrian, manners after all.

“Let’s get ourselves all situated then, shall we?” Bill switched to English in the apparent company of larger groups of people that would likely be inside. His grin was back, as if he was in control after the embarrassing snort incident.

At least until he realized this was much better lighting than in front of the flat where he had met Adrian in the first place.

And the man looked a lot more handsome than he first thought.

There was no mistaking it now, aside from the wide eyed staring Bill was doing, he was definitely glowing.

“Yb gsv hxzovmv girzmtov…”

Bill made some sort of strange choking noise and looked around abruptly, as if suddenly concerned they might be under attack by someone. Adrian looked really good, really good. What if he attracted the attention of other diners?

Well aside from breaking their neck to solve the problem, he wouldn’t have it.

Perhaps that was why he squared his shoulders when he noted another couple walking toward the doors of the dubiously unmarked restaurant and a man glanced their way. Maybe it had been harmless.

But what if it wasn’t?

“I’ll lead the way,” Bill stated rather briskly and walked forward.

He made it a point to kick the shins of the man who had been stating sharply so he yelped and leapt aside, dragging his date along since they had their arms linked and all. Bill then maintained a threatening glare on them while holding the door open for Adrian.

Adrian turned his legs to get out once the door was opened for him (which was enough to take him by surprise), but he paused at catching the demon’s stolen eyes on him.

What was it? Was he making a misstep in leaving the cab? Adrian blinked owlishly up at the demon as a hundred different risks and possibilities ran through his head. So many disasters could happen-- but would the demon truly try anything in public? What was that peculiar aura about that face?

He at last stepped out, gingerly-- and only once it seemed Cipher was having some sort of similar panic.

“I--?” Adrian looked between the cab driver and his companion as the latter took off. The cab driver just shook his head quickly and slammed on his gas to swerve off into traffic, door still slightly ajar.

The researcher watched him until he was out of sight, but when he looked back at the demon, Cipher seemed to be in an altercation. Everything was escalating a little too quickly.

“Dvoo, R wl szev z drmv rm nrmw gszg rh rmwvvw ivw. Yfg gszg'h uli ozgvi.” Bill commented cryptically, he made no attempt to crowd Adrian too much. But given the small space it was almost a given he was going to be nearly stealing the other man’s air at times.

“Ls rg rh tllw uli gsv svzig, gszg rh hlnvgsrmt blf sfnzmh ziv lm gsv irtsg gizxp lu. Rnkligzmg litzm, gsv sfnzm svzig.

"Zmw bvg rg'h hl uiztrov ylgs urtfizgrevob zmw orgvizoob, rhm'g rg? Sld wl blf sfnzmh wl rg? Orev hl olmt drgs hfxs uizro yrgh zmw krvxvh? Rg'h znzarmt.

"Wlm'g gzpv rg gsv dilmt dzb lu xlfihv, rg'h z xlnkornvmg.” Bill grinned, as if he had said something truly charming. There were worse things he had uttered sure, but that wasn’t perhaps in the realm of what people usually considered… flattery.

The demon blinked however when Adrian went on and for a rare moment he seemed to be at a loss for words. Maybe briefly flickering through his knowledge as to context, or simply already knowing it and just trying to make sure he had heard Adrian right.

Then he snorted.

“R… Hsllgrmt Hgzi'h yvvm yfhb szhm'g hsv?” Bill managed after a hearty guffaw. Of all things he never expected Adrian to say something like that.

“R dlfowm'g dliib zylfg gszg Gvzxfk,” Bill paused to indicate a large building they were approaching as their somewhat relieved looking driver turned into the parking lot.

“R dlfowm'g ivxlnnvmw gibrmt gszg drgs olyhgvi zmbdzb.”

Adrian glanced over at his companion at the vague reply but decided to let that simply run its own course. He’s know in due time, and it was only wine in some sense of the word, so nothing dangerous aside from perhaps a poisoning.

Though the mention of his daughter made his brow furrow at first (she would not have wanted this entire incident), he couldn’t help but... stare openly as the demon laughed and snorted and carried on. It was... oddly genuine. Free of malice. He felt like he just saw some rare animal behaviour for an ethogram, and it made his eyes widen.

At talk of life and hearts, he counted streetlamps for a few seconds before admitting, perhaps a bit too softly, “Gsvb wlm'g zodzbh ozhg gszg olmt. R szw z svzig zggzxp zg...” He cleared his throat. “ Nlwvim nvwrxrmv szh dlipvw nzmb nrizxovh lm sfnzm olmtvergb.

“Sldvevi, R nfhg lm lmv klrmg wrhztivv. Urtfizgrevob, R dlfow mld gifhg nb ldm svzig gl gsv vmwh lu gsv Vzigs. R urmw rg z mzgfizo xlmhvjfvmxv lu szermt tlmv gsilfts oruv'h hgifttovh. Ru blf wlm'g kfhs blfi nfhxovh, gsvb wl mlg tild, zmw gsv svzig rh nzwv lu evib hkvxrzo nfhxovh. Dsvm gsv sfnzm svzig urtfizgrevob yivzph, gszg rhm'g gsv vmw lu rg: rg ivxlevih, nvmwh rghvou. Rg xzm ivulin zugvi wvxzwvh lu wlinzmxb, zmw rg xzm hkivzw hgivmtgs gl xlfmgovhh lgsvi svzigh. Gsviv rh mlgsrmt uizro zylfg gszg.”

alien: why are you doing that?

alien: wait you forgot to make that one vibrate!

Other human: *is eating a slice of the same pizza, but cold*

Alien: this liquid has negligible nutritional value and, furthermore, contains some molecules that I believe are poisonous to your species.

It’s because after spending serious £££ on materials, and then HUNDREDS OF HOURS OF LABOR on the creation of the item, with every stitch a prayer of totally focused intent, creating a large display of technical skill - it is then gifted to a non-knitter who does NOT APPRECIATE the work/effort/skill/cost/TIME it took to make it, and in fact thinks you’re a bit weird and making a big deal out of a piece of clothing, and after they go “oh thanks” and shove your creation in the cupboard next to a sweater they got for £15 at an M&S sale, then they never wear your sweater because it’s too tight because when you asked them how their favorite sweaters usually fit they said “I ‘unno” and when you measured them for the fifth time and asked, rather tersely, if they had enough room in the chest, they said “I guess,” and then if pressed they say they don’t really like the sweater design, but then you point out that they were supposed to participate in helping you design it and they say they don’t really care about how things look, and when you say that you tried to match it to their other clothes so how can they hate it, then they say that honestly their mother still buys all their clothes because they hate going shopping, and that they hate all their other clothes too, well. That’s when a sensible knitter goes “Fuck this shit. And you know what? Fuck this man.”

This is what happens when someone posts in a knitting forum “Attack of the sweater curse!” - this is the usual story. It has a rigid plot. It is as old as myth.

That’s when you look at the time you spent and realize, “I could LITERALLY have written the first draft of a novel instead of doing this.” That’s when you go “I could have taken that £200 and bought myself a new wardrobe.” That’s when you go “I could have taken all that intent, all that willpower, all that creative force, and laid down some fucking witchcraft, all right?” That’s when you go “I basically spent 100 hours straight thinking about this bastard while making something amazing for him, and I have no evidence that he ever spent 10 hours of his life thinking about me.”

And “I could spend this time and energy and money in making myself an enormous, intricate heirloom silk shawl with just a touch of cashmere, in elvish twists and leafy lace in all the colors of the night, shot through with subtly glittering stars, warm in winter and cool and summer and light as a lover’s kiss on the shoulders, suitable for draping over my arms at weddings or wrapping myself in to watch the sea, a lace-knotted promise to myself that I will keep for my entire life and gift to my favorite granddaughter when I die, and she will wear it to keep alive my memory - but instead I have this sweater, and this fuckboy.”

The sweater curse is a lesson that the universe gives to a knitter at an important point in their life. It is a gift.

Knitting a sweater for a husband or wife generally doesn’t call down the curse, because the relationship is meant to be stronger than 4-ply.

Whereas Adrian’s movement into the cab was quick, Bill’s own was slow, almost as if he was trying to drag it out by the seconds before he closed the door with a small snap. His grin seemed to glow faintly by either the too-white teeth of his vessel, perhaps he had bleached them beforehand.

“Oh that clever mind that’s got me so attracted to you always knows the clever questions to ask.” He purrs and hardly seems to move when the cab begins to move with a little jolt.

“Rg'h ml nzggvi ru sv orhgvmh, R'ev ulfmw nzmb lu gsvn wlm'g hvvn gl zhp jfvhgrlmh ru blf kzb gsvn dvoo vmlfts.

Gslfts R wl hl olev svzirmt xlwvh xlnv uiln blfi orkh drgs hfxs vzhv.” Ironic, considering some of their more intense and darker coded exchanges had been far from anything that might glean such a comment from the shape.

Bill chuckled a bit as he caught a glimpse of the driver looking in the rearview mirror with no small amount of confusion.

“Rg dlfow yv ufm gl pvvk fk gslfts, R gsrmp dv'iv xlmxvimrmt srn. Rg'h orpv z wrmmvi kiv-hsld.”

He took a deep breath and ran his fingers lightly through the carefully styled hair of his vessel, as if making an attempt to arrange it in a manner Adrian might find most pleasing visually.

“Ls nb wvzi Gvzxfk, blf pmld sld xolhvob R pvvk nb vbvh lm blf. Zmw bvg blf hgroo nzmztv gl hfikirhv nv!

Dszg'h gl hzb dszg R nzb zmw nzb mlg szev nrhhvw, drgslfg gzprmt gszg hslg rm gsv wzip zugvi zoo?

Sviv'h zm vzhb glkrx, sld wl blf uvvo zylfg drmv?”

Adrian stared out the window nearest him in the hopes of memorising where they were going. He may well need to know for escaping, he joked to himself.

His face heated up again as his companion joked about attraction to him. Always on about that, he thought. Honestly...

His eyes caught the reflection of so many streetlamps and headlights when he looked to the motion he felt and heard beside him, visually tracing the part of the demon’s (victim’s) hair.

“... R'ev kiverlfhob zyhgzrmvw uiln gsv olg lu rg, yfg drgs gsv ivxvmg bvzih' mvgdliprmt lkkligfmrgrvh rmeloermt drmv, R'ev zwnrggvwob yvtfm gl vmqlb gsv ivw ezirvgb... R xlfowm'g mznv gdl yizmwh, yfg gszg'h nb mzgfiv.”

His tone grew easier as his words progressed; the rustiness of the code fell to the wayside in even this short practice’s wake. “R ivzw gszg rg'h tllw uli lmv'h svzig.”