#hellegate

starter for @hellegate // Alu

– Bampton, 1808.

Sir Frederick Abinger is twenty years her senior, and her answer is due in a week. They have met a total of two and a half times. In none of the instances did Valerie feel like they'd shared any particularly interesting morsel of conversation at the functions they had attended, and she had remained amiable but impartial, offering him the same attention she would to a dusty wall fixture, or a mushroom vol-au-vent. Naturally, when he calls at her aunt's estate in the heart of the Oxfordshire countryside, announcing that he is in search of a wife after having been widowed for only a month, Valerie is horrified.

Armandine tries to get her to see reason. This is the fifth suitor Valerie is attempting to dodge, though she had only just turned nineteen. "You have been out for three years." Her aunt presses, hand anxiously put to her bosom, following her storming niece around the house. Her voice pinches and cracks when she speaks, incensed with emotion. "Mr Abinger is a good man, he can take care of you."

"His late wife's not been cold for long."

"Valerie!"

She takes off in the early hours of the following morning cloaked in black velvet, forager's basket and knife hanging from her elbow, after a night of too much worry and too little sleep. Despair continued to churn at the pit of her belly, the breadth of her lungs. It had boiled into anger when she rose, sweltering in Spring. She is angry that her last known family member is dying (we don't speak of her mother...), and how that makes her feel utterly untethered, left in a world where she can only be property.

Not yet. God, let it not be just yet. Please, God, not this one, maybe a better one will come along, maybe there will be someone perfectly reasonable and tolerable, maybe Armandine would hang on for a year or two still. Ivory fingers clutch a small, gold cross necklace at her throat as prayers occupy her every thought, begging to be seen. Intervention. Time. Anything.

➢ CONTINUED | @hellegate .

He was right, in a way. It wasn't fair—and Jashera didn't want to be here at all. At least, not under these circumstances.

Given her background, and the fact that the Argent was as much a part of her as any, there was a natural curiosity about it and its origin world. What was Hell like beyond the reports? What was Argent like in its most natural form? What was it that made it so… powerful? Sought after? Worth the sacrifice of millions?

The information was far above her pay grade, and her intellect. Her knowledge in the hard sciences was limited to radio mechanics and data wave maintenance. And even so, most of those teachings had long since outlived their professional usage once she was shoehorned into the position of Empress.

None of it mattered now, though.

She was sent here with a mission and—despite the lacking confidence it seemed everyone held toward her—she would prove them wrong. Even if it meant, quite literally, crawling her way out of Hell. Her nose turned up at the proposition to leave and she mirrored Alu's straightened posture. Her grip on the flowers steadied.

There it was… pride. Stubbornness that seemed almost unique to humanity. And with it, a quaint smile.

"Then it's a good thing I want it to continue. Even if you're right about Dr. Hayden's intentions, that won't stop me from doing the right thing."

Her footfalls were light, almost subdued, as she moved to approach the throne. She only stopped when she'd gotten close enough to lay the bouquet at the arch demon's feet. Throughout the entire gesture, her eyes did not leave his. And, when she stood again, her smile grew.

"What I choose to do is not for others to interfere with."

@hellegate sent:

"If you're looking for a reason not to kill me, I don't really have one. Other than, we share a common goal, and that we stand to benefit a lot more from working together than fighting each other.”

Hitman Sentences

There's a rather long, uncomfortable moment where the Slayer just stares at Alu. A common goal, huh? He doesn't think so, the Slayer's only goal was to kill every demon out there, and maybe break Satan's neck with his bare hands, and he's willing to fight anyone who gets in his way. Was that the common goal? Something in him tells him that's not quite the case.

The Hellwalker's eyes narrow briefly as if he's finally considering what was said with a bit more critical thought, hands tightening on the gun he carried at the moment, the suppression of his first instinct becoming a little more apparent. "I don't really work with demons." He states. Hell, he barely worked with others, being more of a lone wolf type.

Send 📐 + your character's height to compare with one or more of mine!

You would send some of your tallest muses to dwarf her LMAO.

A movie like Jaws, but it's about a black catamount. A group of strays and former house cats, disgusted with the humans who have mistreated them do a summoning ritual to call forth a "great ancestor" -- the black catamount arrives in NYC but it is beyond their control.

The creature is systematically hunting each of the humans who have wronged the kitties in the stray cat coven. This is more than the domestic cats bargained for. A biologist notices a pattern in the attacks, which have NYC gripped in a panic beyond that time with the coyote.

(A coyote walked over the GWB and was running around in NYC a few years back and it literally shut the whole city down. It was hilarious. I can only assume a big cat would lead to greater pandemonium. ) But the black catamount keeps taking victims.

& rough prompts – accepting !

@hellegate // Alu

North of Spain, late 1950s.

They took Mina. That’s all she can think of.

If not this lot of vermin, then one of their cult relatives, some lowlife self-entitled ‘monster hunter’, no better than a wildlife poacher, with their fancy traps and silver loaded guns. How much would her own head fetch? Her teeth turned to souvenirs and necklaces, blood drained into some rich asshole's veins. Whatever happens here, they took Mina. They broke into their home and executed her, and Valerie was too late to stop them, to save her. She caught one of them fleeing, nearly getting herself killed in the process, with that wretched knife slicing across her mouth, silencing her for nearly half a decade. 

@hellegate sent:

“Is this your boy?” The demon hums, admiring the torn picture of his family on the desk with something like fondness gracing his gesture. It’s bittersweet though, at least if the slight droop of his ears is any indication. “He’s adorable. Reminds me of my own.” - from Alu to the Slayer :3c

Unprompted-

The question really shouldn't have been much of a surprise as it was, if the way the Slayer tenses is anything to go off of, it's clear it's a very...very touchy subject that the goat has stumbled across. The photo, along with a few other bits and pieces here in this room, are what's left of his old life, from before he'd even stepped foot onto the path that'd lead him to becoming the Slayer.

It takes quite a bit of effort for him not to immediately snap for him to get away from it, but if the slight audible crunch of metal in his hands was anything to go off of, it's clear the Slayer isn't too happy. So much for repairing the preator suit. He sighs a little and he looked over at Alu then, taking in his demeanour, it's really only then that the Slayer seems to relax, even if it's only slightly, still a little wary about letting the demon know about all of this. It's very private.

A bitch. A bastard. A cocksucking motherfucking pain in the ass.

He could take his pick and it wouldn't come close to what she thought about him. As what he was capable of, she couldn't even begin to fathom the power that he had at his fingertips, let alone the rest of him. And despite knowing the danger she was currently flirting with, she stood her ground. Her spade tipped tail flicked in time with her flexing fists. She couldn't recall the last time someone had managed to get under her skin as easily as he could. They'd barely even known each other an hour.