The Scapegoat

theescapegoat​:

“Da-” Finn began but the icy glare Glasya Labolas gave him made him rethink his words. Clearly the two knew each other and that wasn’t always the best situation to be in. Finn had found out that being the child of a powerful demon wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

“He is.” Glaysa nodded at Stan. The specifics of his relation to Finn didn’t need to be spread throughout the monster world. The less others knew about his life, the safe his family would be. “So I’m a little concerned how he ended up here, with you in such a state.”

“My car broke down.” Finn interjected, earning him another glare from his father. “He was helping me.”

“Is this how you help, Stan? Teeth bared? When last I saw you, you weren’t much in the business of helping anyone.” The demon smirked.

Violet eyes glance from one and then to the other. But he nods in understanding, not feeling any need to press further. He learned a long time ago not to pester Glasya with too many questions, and not to contradict him. 

   “Well I can’t take any credit for that. He showed up and I was looking to set him up here in this motel, keep him out of trouble, instead of making a racket on the highway and attracting attention to himself. Which turned out to be a good idea because he’s apparently a glowing beacon.” Eyes glance to the pendant. Didn’t seem to be doing that anymore at least. “And you know I’m not fond of surprises.” 

His thumb runs over his fingertips. 

     “It has been quite some time since we last saw each other. And you know what they say about time. There’s been plenty of room for change.” 

“I didn’t know it did that!” Finn said in defense. “You didn’t tell it did that!” He spoke to Glasya with more indignance in his voice than most would ever attempt with the demon.

“It’s a protection charm.” He told them both. “I truly has been some time, Stan, since you can no longer recognize my sigil.” The earl likely didn’t need to tell his old acquaintance that he knew where they were. “You seem to be doing well for yourself. You’ve found a new career, I see. And here I thought you had just dropped off the face of the earth.”

Well. That wasn’t too helpful, but it’ll do. Tal would leave the experimentation to Simush’s people. He could supply anything they needed for Hermon, but the fussing and figuring would be up to them.

Dantalion watched Marco watch the boy, and smiled softly. “I’m glad I have you to advise me. Is there anything you especially think I should know? About Hermon in particular, I mean. It seems you know him fairly well.”

No reason not to play things up a bit. Marco seemed – well, something Tal couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he very much wanted Marco to see him in a positive light. Or at least as positive a light as possible, considering.

Marco nodded at what he assumed was a compliment. He didn’t have much interaction with royals aside from Glasya and the two seemed very different in some aspects. 

“Not too well.” He acknowledged. “I suppose it was nice having a child in the house again, even one so unique as Hermon.” He was, of course, limited by his obligation to carry out Glasya’s will. “To be completely honest, Hermon is the first Nephil I’ve encountered. I had heard stories of them and the destruction they’ve caused so I was somewhat shocked by how human the boy is. He seems opposed to violence and would much rather spend his time drawing or playing.” That was probably one of the reasons for this deal. Maybe this Nephil was defective. 

Hermon tapped Dantalion on the shoulder and handed him a thing he had crafted with the blocks, a sort of peace offering. 

theescapegoat​:

“Lunch?” Azazel scratched his head. “They feed you guys?” He watched as the kid(s?) ran off, sticking his tongue out at the lion head. Although he didn’t chase, he did follow out of curiosity, glancing behind him as he left in case Tal suddenly showed up.

“What do they even feed you? The souls of the damned? Or, like, pizza bagels or something?”

The child kept running, ignoring the questions but keeping two eyes glued to his new nemesis until he cleared a corner. The path to the mess hall was short, however, and easily followed by anyone who cared to; some forty youngsters and perhaps half as many older kids were enough to make quite a racket. In fact, the line to eat stretched out into the corridor, making an easy target for any guest who wished to dine (or, perhaps, harass the children).

Little Mr. Three-Heads took his place at the end of the line, pouting at his luck behind the fabric of his tunic. His lion head still face backward, just in case the idiot grown-up followed him from the vestibule.

———

In another room, a very important demon was having a very bad day.

 Azazel was surprised to see such well-thought out facilities, even from the likes of Dantalion. It wasn’t that he thought Dantalion lacked compassion but this was Hell and he’d seen much less from people in much greater places. It almost changed how he perceived his friend.

What the hell does Na’amah have to do with anything?

Dantalion waved them back through the door, beckoning them to follow him. They could walk and talk.

“Not here per se, but there are many children where he will eventually be staying. My short term plan is to put him in a home with others his own age, though he will of course be receiving special attention from myself.”

They made their way down a broad hallway that soon turned into a more narrow tunnel of stone. “Not the sort that would make him a target of other children, I hope, but if it does, I would make sure he’s well-equipped to take care of himself. I want him well-educated, and that means much more than book learning.”

Eventually, Dantalion stopped them outside a heavy, wooden door with his seal shining from it in lines of copper. He placed a hand on the sigil, which glowed for a moment, and the door clicked open. “After you,” he indicated, gesturing inward.

The room was plain, but serviceable. A wide, heavy bed sat directly on the ground, covered in luxurious bedclothes. Against one wall was a sturdy desk and an equally sturdy chair, the latter cushioned with thick padding from top to bottom. (It looked like, and in fact was, a top-of-the-line gaming chair meant for those with larger bodies.) There was another door leading off to one side.

Hermon’s eyes grew huge as the door sparkled in a funny symbol. He was glad to have gotten to their destination, even if it was another room. This room looked a little nicer than his previous one but it was nothing like his room when he lived with his father. Tamiel could be awfully materialistic, but he was a pushover when it came to his child. Hermon’s old bedroom had a custom built Thomas the Tank Engine bed and a small area for him to do arts and crafts, complete with sturdy yet age-appropriate furniture.

Marco let the boy’s head go so he could explore around. 

“I think Hermon will fit in well here. He’ll be an excellent addition to your legion.” Glasya wasn’t great at raising children, even monstrous children like Hermon. “Maybe playing with children a little more like himself will get him to open up.”

The kid with three heads bit the dust, as well as one of his tongues, and with the third mouth he cast a surprised swear. The other children kept running, parting around him like water, though a couple paused, looking back to check that he wasn’t terribly injured. He waved them off, and that was all the encouragement they needed to leave him behind.

The attendants were rather occupied with their babies, who decidedly had not liked the loud noise of the bell, and paid no mind to something as minor as a tripping child.

He picked himself up off the flagstone, wiped a bit of silvery-red blood from his rightmost mouth (the one which resembled that of a lion cub), and looked up at Azazel.

“What the fuck, sir?” spoke his calf mouth (this one, on the left). One hand dabbed at the nose of his humanoid face, which he noticed was bleeding heavily. He pulled up the collar of his tunic and pinched his nose closed with it.    

Tal stepped back, startled.

“Of course. I shouldn’t have touched you without asking. But Marco is right; I’m not going to hurt you.” He bent slightly, to be closer to the child’s level. “And I tell you what: If you don’t want to wear that tie anymore, you don’t have to. Little boys don’t need neckties. Those are for old grownups who need help keeping their heads.” He smiled brightly.

Standing tall again, he looked to Marco. What interesting thoughts this one has. He would file away the bit about Finn for later. “I have prepared a room for Hermon for the time being; shall I take us there so he can get settled in while we talk?”

The baby Nephil’s eyes were wide as could be as the Duke drew closer. He instinctively moved closer to Marco but just enough to grip the man’s coat. This demon did seem nicer than he did the last time they had met, Hermon supposed. But how could he trust him. The little boy was lacking in trust as of late. Still, he did hate the necktie.

With a pudge hand, he tried to pull the necktie off which only made Marco chuckle. 

“Let me help.” Marco genly undid the tie and slipped it in his pocket. He looked at Dantalion, kindly. “That would be lovely. He doesn’t have much so I’m sure he’ll settle in quickly.” Grabbing the boy’s hand with one hand and slinging the backpack over his shoulder with the other, Marco followed the duke, thinking to himself as he looked around. I wonder if he knows of Na’amah. Could she know we’re here? The thought wasn’t one he wasn’t one he wanted to dwell on. He shook it away.

“Do you have many children here?” Glasya only had the one but some demons had children enough to build nations. Then again, Hermon wasn’t here to be a child. Not to Dantalion at least. Glasya had explained what Hermon was to him but it was hard for him to not feel pity for the creature he currently lead by the hand.

Tal shooed him out the door with a look of concern, and closed it quickly.

In the atrium, the two attendants from before rocked their assigned infants behind a pair of simple plywood desks. The one with two looked especially beleaguered, frowning at the mess of papers in front of him. When one baby began the huffling noise that tended to precede crying, he rocked with more fervor.

From the top of the atrium there came an enormous noise as a thick, brass bell hanging from the ceiling was struck. Suddenly, the doors burst open, and the children from the courtyard came barreling in, whooping and whirling about (one, flying). They all seemed to be making their way down a wide hall toward the back.  

Azazel felt like Simba in that scene where the stampede kill Mufasa. Seeing a hoard of demons running towards you is always a little nerve-racking. Even if half of these demons were still teething. 

Dantalion inclined his head in response. “Hello, Hermon,” he said with a smile. “It’s nice to see you again! And hello… Marco, is it?” It was a strange feeling, to be able to hear a mind in his own Great Room, but there it was. Faint. Scratchy. Present.

What are you, then?

He rose and approached the pair, taking the envoy’s measure as he did so. “I’m most grateful to Glasya Labolas for sending you over; he said you can provide me what’s needed to smooth the transition for Hermon, here. And I do want him to be healthy and happy here.” He laid a gentle hand on Hermon’s arm.

Hermon pulled his arm back with a small shriek. He was still a little sensitive about it after his run in with Andras.

“It’s okay, dear.” Marco tried to reassure the boy. “He’s not going to hurt you.” I hope. Marco thought to himself

“Forgive him. He is just a little...”He tried to think of the right word. “Overstimulated. Hermon isn’t used to so much in a day. He’s just a little tired.” It had been so long since Finn was a child, he forgot how often then needed rest. 

“I am here to assist you in any way needed. I must say, Hermon is hardly different from other children his developmental age. He shouldn’t give you any unexpected trouble while getting acclimated.” His eyes peered around the room very briefly. Though he may want to invest in sturdier furniture.

Throughout this monologue, Dantalion felt a series of emotions, beginning with discomfort, moving to affront, then to horror, and eventually giving up and settling in on repressed laughter. After all, the look on Mushy’s face was priceless.

They stared at Azazel as he spoke, jaw slowly dropping open and eyes squinting into something between confusion and disgust. When he finally finished, they looked at Dantalion, then back at Azazel, then back at Dantalion, all without moving their head in the least.

“You’re fucking joking,” they leveled at Tal finally. “I’m being filmed for one of your stupid fucking YouTube videos.” The confusion was beginning to give way to anger, and Tal knew he needed to step in quickly to diffuse the situation.

“No, Simush, I am not joking. I don’t even make YouTube videos anymore; everyone knows it’s all about TikTok these days. But that’s not the point. The point is–”

“Azazel, darling,” Simush cut in with a creepily sunny smile. “Will you excuse us for a few minutes, please? The grownups need to have a talk in private.”

“Now, hang on–”

They turned their smile on Dantalion, and he faltered. “Erm. Yeah. That’s a good idea, Zaz. Won’t be but a minute.”

Azazel momentarily wondered what Tiktok videos they could make now that he was living with Tal. How to tie an ascot while drunk of Lethe Wine (part 72)? Biblically-accurate angels in order from least to most likely to enjoy pegging? And of course, both demons dancing to various new dances made by gen z.

At the opposite end of the Great Room, in a throne far too ostentatious for his own standards, sat the Great Duke Dantalion. For that is who he had decided to appear as, today: the gerent, not the businessman. It was in his interest to send a message to Glasya Labolas (and his envoy, or who ever the hell else this person was) that his rank mattered. That it was important to keep him happy.

Very unhappy, it seemed, was the creature who accompanied the envoy, and who was the purpose of this meeting. The Duke suppressed a cringe. He hated crying children. Best to get this over with.

“Come forth with your matter of interest,” he called, just loudly enough for the space, which was, by no coincidence, just loudly enough to sound official. Every aspect of the environment had been perfectly designed to maximise the impact of His Grace’s presence while maintaining a sensation of immanence. He wanted to be present for his people… and still be seen as utterly above them.

Assisting the latter was a thick, blue carpet running from the back of the room to the edge of the dais upon which his throne sat, specifically placed to muffle the footsteps of anyone who approached. If the space magnified him, it diminished everyone else, and this was directly by design.

Any tears Hermon had dried up  at the sound of the demon’s voice. Naively he moved behind Marco as if to hide from the site of the Duke. He remembered him from the visit. He remembered the way the demon looked at him, as if he were looking at nothing. 

Marco put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, almost in pity.

“Great Duke Dantalion.” Marco bowed elegantly. “ I have brought you the Nephil, safe and unharmed, as were your wished.” Moving to the side, he let Dantalion get a better look at Hermon. “Say hello, dear.”

theescapegoat​:

Azazel nodded in agreement as Dantalion explained his faults. All fair and valid but the list was deceptively short, in his opinion. 

“Oh, hello there,” Azazel shifted as Simush sniffed him. He was both uncomfortable and, surprising even himself, turned on. He didn’t know this about himself and noted it for a more appropriate time in the future. “Is it a little warm in here, Tal?” The Watcher asked, as he stood in the fiery, infernal abyss where souls were consumed by ever-burning flames. 

“I’m excited?” He sounded unsure of himself but he straightened up for the sake of his friend’s reputation. “I mean, yeah I here to help. If I can get a room full of Nephilim to take a nap, I’m sure I can do this!”

Simush looked decidedly unimpressed, but graced him with what might pass as a small smile on their features. “Come inside,” they said, turning back toward the main house with a grace that belied their size. “We’re too understaffed to be picky, and you can thank His Grace for that.” By now, the squadron of toddlers and young children had scattered to the four winds, bored of adult talk and much more interested in playing in the courtyard. Only a pair of especially meek ones clung to Simush’s skirts as they made their way back up the path.

The courtyard was large, and an abrupt departure from the dry, grey streets outside. Ivy of unusual variety and color graced every wall, and here and there, waist-high flower beds held plants (and even a few very pretty fungi) of all kinds. One might think it a miracle in Hell that such things survived the presence of nearly two dozen rambunctious children, but infernal plants did not make their way in life by being easy to kill.

“Simush–” Dantalion tried to cut in, but he was interrupted.

“No, I’ve sent a representative to every single petitioner’s hearing for the past five years; I don’t want to hear it.” And Dantalion didn’t argue back.

The heavy, wooden, double doors of the center opened into an airy atrium, through which Simush led the pair (and their tagalongs) into an office just off the side. On the way through, they snapped the fingers of their free hand a few quick times in succession, and a pair of attendants came to relieve them of their burden.

“Now,” they said, settling into a large chair that had clearly been made to accommodate them. They gestured to the pair of seats on the opposite side of the desk, inviting their guests to sit. The children, unable now to cling, gave one last, wistful look at Simush before wandering back out the door. 

“I mean it, this time– Azazel, did His Grace say your name was? Tell me about yourself. And I’ll know if you lie; I spend my life with liars.” All children were liars, in their opinion. It took learning and growth before one could tell the truth. “You smell like taco sauce, by the way.” At this, they did smile.

“Thanks! It’s Taco Bell Mild sauce. But trust me baby, I’m anything but mild.” He winked charmingly at Simush before pulling up a chair. This person seemed way too ‘no-nonsense’ for someone as interesting-looking as them. But Azazel wasn’t one to back down under pressure. He twirled the chair around and sat on it backwards.

Marco carried a rather large napsack on his back while holding Hermon’s hand. The pair were lead into a beautiful throne room, small but dazzling to both the young Nephil and the aged revenant. 

Placing the bag on the floor, Marco kneeled so he was eye level with the large boy, doing his best to adjust a small bow tie that hung around the boy’s neck. It was a ridiculous choice attire. The boy barely had a neck and this tie just made him look larger. Nevermind the fact that the poor thing hated it.

“Now, Hermon. I know you’re scared and I wish I could tell you not to be.” The  Nephil reached up to wipe tears from his eyes but his caretaker stopped him. “No, don’t use you sleeve.” He chastised while pulling a handkerchief from his own pocket and dabbing the tears away. “Until I leave, you and I are both representatives of Glasya Labolas and that carries responsibilities. So please, dear, be on your best behavior.”

Tal frowned at that thought, but shook it off. The last thing he needed was to worry about having little Azazels running around.

“You don’t need to make them think you care. Not part of the job description. Just don’t make enemies if you don’t need to, and act as guard rails for some of their stupider ideas. You’d be surprised – or maybe not – but kids can be real fucking idiots, sometimes. Your job is to keep them alive and able to keep learning from their decisions. No more, no less.”

Coming down from the main house in a great gaggle of children three times the size of the first group was a tall, stately demon with gilded horns like a bull. Their body, naked to the waist, was rounded with fat and muscle and dusted with a light scattering of hair over their pale skin. Their face seemed to be a mixture of humanoid and bovine features, ending in a blunted snout. Three of their four arms held an infant each.

When they reached the pair by the gate, they swept into a low bow, somehow managing to hold onto all three children throughout. “Your Grace,” they acknowledged in a smooth, resonant voice.

“Be at peace, Simush,” Dantalion directed. “I’m here with good news… I hope.” He looked askance at his companion. “This is Azazel, and he would like to help care for the children.” He glanced back at him again. “I can’t vouch for his credentials, and he’s actually a total jackass. But you would be doing me a personal favor if you could at least give him a try. Fucker’s enthusiastic, if nothing else.”

Simush stepped towards Azazel, gave him a once-over, and then leaned in to give him a solid sniff with their thick nostrils. Stepping back again, they eyed him haughtily. “Well, then? What do you have to say for yourself?” They gave a gentle bounce to one of the children, who was beginning to get restless.

Azazel nodded in agreement as Dantalion explained his faults. All fair and valid but the list was deceptively short, in his opinion. 

“Oh, hello there,” Azazel shifted as Simmush sniffed him. He was both uncomfortable and, surprising even himself, turned on. He didn’t know this about himself and noted it for a more appropriate time in the future. “Is it a little warm in here, Tal?” The Watcher asked, as he stood in the fiery, infernal abyss where souls were consumed by ever-burning flames. 

Tal slid a sly look at Azazel, then knelt among the small throng, arms wrapped lightly around the nearest ones to him. “What do we say about your mothers, you lot?”

The youngest of the crowd, only toddlers, held back with shy, questioning eyes. (One, a mostly humanoid one with thin, blue fur and a spaded tail had most of his hand in his mouth, sucking on it.) The older children, however, knew the answer, which arose in a disjointed chorus of little voices squealing, “Fuck ‘em!”

“Hell yeah! Now who wants to fetch Mushy for me? I need to talk to them. Y’all run off and grab ‘em.”

His eyes found Azazel again, this time begging understanding for the situation. Perhaps it would have been better to explain beforehand, but they were in the thick of it now.

“Just about every kid in here was either surrendered or openly abandoned,” he explained softly as he stood, the kids racing off to see who could be the first one to deliver the message of His Grace’s arrival. “If a child is rendered parentless by death, they almost always end up with relatives of some stripe; it’s too useful to have the extra worker on hand to give them up to us. So it’s just easier to teach the kids that family is who you choose, and anyone who didn’t want them was wrong. Saves a lot of tears.” 

He gave Azazel a gentle shove in the arm, to make the implication stick: He would need to keep hush on how many children he had abandoned, if he meant to keep a good working relationship with these people.

Well Tal was just full of surprises, wasn’t he. Sure, Azazel could smell a demon’s lies from a mile away but Tal was shockingly good at lying to children. He felt an odd sensation. It felt like gas, but instead of belching, it swelled inside his chest and made him tear up a bit. 

“Oh man,” Azazel wiped a tear from his eye, “Those damn kids must have some kind of onion powers or something.” He shook off the feeling and met Tal’s eyes.