Deal Against The Devil - Party Crashers! (IC)

[Quinn]

January 31, 2011

Time: 4:00 PM

Weather: Sunny, some clouds.

Location: Lazarus Auto and Industrial Repair, Midtown.

Quinn pushed himself out from under the old Ford, wiping his hands off with a rag, and mopped his brow. Idiot driver had damn near wrecked the undercarriage; if Gabe'd care to make a guess, he'd say probably using it for offroading when the thing was built for street travel. He sighed and hauled himself to his feet, giving the vehicle itself a dirty look, then walked into the office and flopped into a chair. His favorite part of the day. Paperwork time.

"Why are villains so inconsiderate to never do their villainy when I'm working on this stuff?"

[trollthumper]

Nick Cimitiere pulled the Pale Horse into the garage, after making sure to stay on the side streets. It kind of thwarted the mystique to take the occult-configured car cruising down the busy streets in the middle of the day -- especially this close to rush hour. He parked the car, then strode forward into the back office, noticing the man handling the paperwork.

"Mr. Stone," Nick said. "Nice to see you again. How're things going?"

[Quinn]

Quinn looked up, blinking for a moment at the figure who had just walked into the office with a seemingly puzzled face.

Stone? Stone...oh, right! Forgot I'd put the word out for this guy...ah frak.

Push shrugged and folded up what was left of the paperwork, stuffing into a rather already overstuffed drawer. Standing, he stretched briefly and nodded at the newcomer, grinning.

"Fine, just fine. Glad to see you got the message, did you have any trouble finding the place?"

[trollthumper]

"Nah, it was pretty easy," Nick said. "I've driven by here a few times. Just didn't know it was yours. If I need work done on the Pale Horse, this'd be a hell of a place to take it." He looked to "Stone." "So, what is it you need help with? Don't tell me someone brought in a Christine..."

[Quinn]

Stone (damnit, Push!) shook his head, pushing open the office door and motioning for Nick to follow, before walking over and yanking the trapdoor to the mechanic's pit open.

"Nah. Tussled with a couple before, vengeful SUV's can be an absolute pain to deal with, but this is more of a consultation deal. Busted up a ritual a few months back down on the Waterfront, some band of miscreants worshipping this Germanic beastie called "The Horned One" (he used fingerquotes). Before the cops showed up, I took a photo of this ritual page describing how to summon the thing...at least, I think it was. The sheer age and the fact that the head cultist had it in a death grip, not literally, was a bit of a giveaway. Right now, I'm thinking it was given to them by that third party I was tracking, but I need an expert to tell me where it'd have come from. And congratulations, yours was the first name that popped up."

He grinned, leaning back on the wall beside the now-open trapdoor, and motioned downstairs.

"Page's in the basement, and I've got coffee and hot chocolate on the boil."

[trollthumper]

"Sweet," Nick said. He headed down the trapdoor and right to the boiler. He poured the coffee, then poured the hot chocolate into a separate mug. With the right application of heat, the hot chocolate started to steam and bubble. He poured it into the coffee, making what he'd called "the grad student's mocha" back in college. He took a sip of a drink, then perused the page.

"Gotta warn you ahead of time," he said, "despite what went on in Stratford, infernalism's really not my strong suit. There are... forces in Hell and realms like it you just don't find in your standard Underworld. Forces that I generally don't like to get involved with. Mind you, I've picked up the occasional factoid along the way, so..."

[Quinn]

Push raised his hands, leaning back on a chair and nodding at the page.

"Meh, even if you can't tell me precisely what book it's from, knowing where that kind of thing could be acquired around here would help. Or any leads you can give me at all."

He took a mug of just hot chocolate, making a face at Nick's idea of the "grad school mocha".

"Coffee, ych. Only keep it on hand for guests, honestly; I just can't stand the stuff. Anyway, take your time, make yourself comfortable, I don't often have guests here."

[trollthumper]

"Heresy. Coffee is life." Nick took a look at the page. "Mind you, given what we're dealing with here, it's probably the least of heresies..."

He took a look at the page. "Of course, it's all in a mix of Germanic and Latin. Geez, I knew I should've taken those correspondence courses. Hold on a second..." He ran his fingers over the page, drawing on the ages that surrounded it. He didn't want to talk to its essence -- that way lay madness -- and even touching it, he could feel that something foul had coated it. It went beyond death and into pure rot, pure corruption. But after handling it -- and feeling like he needed a shower -- he realized that he could read the words.

"So... what are you about?"

[Quinn]

Push sipped from his mug and walked up, looking quizzically at Nick and the sheet, then heard a beeping from his laptop. He walked over, and saw that the motion detectors in the exterior alleyway had gone off, by the back door...but the camera showed nothing. He raised an eyebrow, then turned back to face his visitor.

"Thoughts?"

[trollthumper]

"Hmm..." Nick said. "It looks like it's part of a greater work; probably an excerpt rescued from one of the books the Inquisition destroyed. It's about someone called 'The Horned One', a fear demon that passed itself off as a pagan god -- and I don't mean Cernunnos or Bielebolg here, but one of the those dark, backwoods cults. As you can guess, its specialty is fear, causing brave men to quiver and armies to break ranks."

[Quinn]

Push nodded from his position near the laptop, tossing back another quaff of the hot chocolate and talking as he went to refill.

"Not surprising. The cult leader managed to call that thing here when we busted up his party, and it scared the hell out of a couple of us. Dead Head and I managed to lock it down briefly before Dragonfly took it's head off with a blast, then the thing just...vanished. Since there hasn't been any reports of a huge goat-man with horns out to here walking around, I'd say it was banished back to the abyss from whence it came."

He refilled his mug, looking at Nick quizzically as he motioned at the sheet.

"My guess is that Scratch gave it to the cult, it's just his style. And I've seen similar works in different towns before I came here."

[trollthumper]

"Scratch?" Nick said, examining the text. "Gotta admit, I've never heard that name. Unless you mean Old Scratch, of course, but somehow, I don't think Lucifer gets his hands dirty that much. Mind telling me more about this guy?"

[Quinn]

The silence in the room was almost deafening, and Push looked pensively into his mug of hot chocolate before looking with a tilted head at his visitor.

He's asking a fair question. Haven't said anything about Scratch except to that AEGIS agent, and this guy'n Dead Head might be my best choices for tracking him down around here...rrgh, too much thinking.

Push sipped at his mug thoughtfully, before speaking in a monotone.

"Hmm. Might've said too much there...meh, not like I can take it back, right? Eric, I owe you one from Stratford, but I gotta ask you a favor here. What I tell you now...well, let's just say I'd rather keep it quiet for a while longer, at least until I can pick a few more people who I can trust with it. Can I trust to your discretion?"

[trollthumper]

Nick looked to Push. "Look, if you're uncomfortable talking about it, I guess I don't need to hear it," he said. "Scratch. Big name demon. I can surmise that much. But if you think there's something I'm missing... well, you have my trust."

[Quinn]

Quinn looked at Nick, thought for a moment, then nodded. He put down his mug and walked over to one of the doors, throwing it open and stepping inside. For a moment, Nick could glimpse bookshelves and a couple of rather squashy armchairs before Push came walking out again, holding a single DVD.

"Right. Only a handful of people have seen this, and I'm the only one who was there firsthand. First off, my name's not Stone. It's an alias, one of quite a few I've collected. Ever seen the Devil and Daniel Webster? Anyway, the handle you've probably more likely heard is Push. About two years back, I was active in Gear City as a vigilante, small-time street level stuff. A buddy of mine kept poking me to go to Freedom City, but GC was my home, y'know? We ran a good operation out of the original Lazarus Auto Repair, and I even thwarted a villain with a world domination plot once. Although that was mostly by accident, but I'm rambling. Unfortunately...something happened."

Push walked over and slotted the DVD into a player beneath the TV, pushing the on button and snatching up a remote.

"Second, I'm not that great at telling stories, so...well, I'll let you see for yourself."

He pressed play.

[Quinn]

A grainy video appeared on screen, and Push whacked it once to clear the reception. Once the static cleared, a detailed video viewed as if through a security camera began to play. The scene was pitch-black, only a few outlines on the floor actually visible. There was a shattering sound, and a beam of light came in from up above as a figure in a long coat and a very identifiable red scarf fell from the top of the screen and landed on the floor in a crouch. As he stood, another light appeared near a glass case...and a man was standing there. The video's quality was too poor to make out the face of the man near the glass case, but his outfit was quite unique. A well-cut suit, a top hat, and a walking stick that for a moment shined at the tip; diamond. Black spats were on his feet, and immaculate white gloves. In short, a very dapper gentleman, quite out of place in that kind of situation.

Some dialogue, very hard to make out, but still audible, crackled through the lousy TV's speakers.

"You got thirty seconds to put your hands on your head and surrender, or I swear by the almighty I'll kick your ass up between your ears."

That voice was easily identifiable as Push's, and his hands visibly started to glow before the camera. The gentleman stepped away from the case, and the odd light seemed to follow him as he paced around Push, speaking in a dry and laconic voice.

"How graphic. Still, your timing is impeccable, I'll give you that. But your manners leave much to be desired...no introduction? No witty banter? I confess myself disappointed."

"Twenty seconds. You've racked up a body count. Consider yourself lucky I didn't fire first."

"You wouldn't have. You're too new at the game, Mr. (the static overrode the name here in rather odd timing). Always wanting to make sure you see the villain's face when you bring him down. For I am the villain of this piece, no?"

The on-screen Push rocked back as if struck, but he recovered quickly.

"You said my name. You said you were disappointed...who the hell are you?"

"A man of great consequence. Call me...Scratch. It flatters my ego thus."

"Well, Mister Scratch, you're a long way from New England."

"Ah! So there is some literary knowledge in that mind of yours. Perhaps you are not quite as hopeless as I initially envisioned. A shame our conversation must be cut short so."

TV!Push's head tilts, and he keeps his stance wary.

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Why...your thirty seconds are up. And I must attend to buisness elsewhere. Though I have little doubt we'll meet again, Push...very little doubt at all."

The camera catches a glimpse of a wide, sharklike smile, and the man in grey disappears into the black. Push moves forward as if to intercept...and the bodies on the ground start stirring. Then they stand. Lights begin to sporadically switch on here and there, as more corpses around the room begin to get up, and move towards Push, shambling and moaning. He turns to look every which-way as they bear down on him...and the lights go out. Flashes of warped air begin to appear in the black, explosions and thuds, along with grunts of pain and the dulcet tones of battle...before one warp connects with the camera, and static erupts on the screen.

[trollthumper]

Nick looked over the video, considering his contents. "Yeah, I understand now," he said. "You've got a vendetta against Scratch -- which means, given their twisted sense of honor, one of the lords of Hell has reason to be angry with you as well. Gotta say, this puts the Stratford incident in perspective." He took a second look at the page. "So, how're we planning to use this proprietary information to short Scratch's sheets?"

[Quinn]

Push shrugged, switching off the TV and looking with a somewhat predatory smile at his visitor.

"In order? Find out where that page came from and who supplied it to Scratch, marshal our allies, collect any evidence we can, crack some heads, and hopefully find Scratch."

He pounded one fist into his other hand with a smack, chuckling.

"And when I get my hands on him, I do exactly what I said I'd do. Two years worth of kicking his ass up between his ears."

And as Push finished, a loud alarm erupted from various speakers around the room, along with an almighty crash from the upstairs!

[trollthumper]

Nick sprung up from his seat. "Yeah," he said, "there's no way in Hell that's a good idea." He turned to Push. "How strong are those defenses? I can go and tell you how many guys are up there, but I've gotta know that trap door's going to hold while I do it."

[Quinn]

Quinn swore and vaulted over the couch, hurrying over to his laptop and began to type rapidly. His eyes scanned three camera feeds that popped up, one on the outside of the building, showing a calm and peaceful day, and the other two filled with static. Biting back a torrent of invectives, he hit a button, and steel shutters closed the two mechanic's pit lanes in the ceiling.

"Garage cams are out, and all the actual anti-intruder defenses are down here in the living space. Stun guns, net launchers and the like."

He stepped over and flung the last door open, revealing a single manhole in the floor and a bunch of crates and car parts. Taking the lid off of one particularly large crate, Push yanked out the hammer and messenger bag from the inside, before marching over to the stairs and hitting another button. Two steel bands criss-crossed over the trapdoor, which by now was rattling somewhat dangerously as the sounds of heavy blows connected on it. The next whack caused several runes on the bands to flare up, and a loud howl came from above. The rattling stopped.

"There are wards on the doorways and the exterior though. Buddy of mine set 'em up. The door'll hold as long as you need it."

[trollthumper]

"All right," Nick said. He lay down on the basement floor, looking upwards to the trap door. "If anything weird starts happening -- well, weirder than usual -- give me a good shake. I'm going scouting."

With that, Nick closed his eyes and felt himself lift from his body. The silver cord stretched out behind him, as usual, tying the spiritual to the material as he rose to the trap door. The ceiling passed before him like it was nothing, blinding him for a second before his eyes were past the solid stone, giving him a view of all that was going on in the main garage.

[Quinn]

As Nick's head poked up through the floor, it became apparent that these party crashers were not your conventional break-and-enter experts. A large shimmering portal was open near the (now way more than slightly trashed) Ford Quinn had been working on, and three great beasts came walking out to join a small mob of twelve. They strode proudly, on back-jointed legs, with red leathery skin, muscled arms, and tattered bat-like wings. In their claws, they held black-metal swords, jagged and cracked. One of them, larger than the others, hefted a great mace and chain, and he spoke in a guttural growl as he pointed at the dented trapdoor. One monster lay at the side, clutching it's withered and burnt claw, whimpering. The leader raised his mace and smashed the end down upon the whimpering daemon, and it dissipated, the dust flowing back into the portal. The twelve other daemons, smaller, with less infernal grandeur and no weapons save their claws, huddled back in the corners of the room while the two sword-wielding daemons approached the trapdoor. They struck at it once, twice, thrice, to no effect.

The leader snarled, and brought a fist down upon the Ford, making a very large dent, almost bending the thing in half. He then proceeded to sit in the dent as if it were a throne, and stare thoughtfully at the door, while waving an arm. The two sword-wielders took up flanking positions beside him, and the smaller ones scattered throughout the room. And then they waited. Several of the smaller demons looked quizzically at Nick's car, clambering here and there on it and looking about. Some began hopping up and down on it, laughing in their chittering way as the suspension bounced them up and down.

[trollthumper]

Great, Nick said. Just what I need. Then again, I suppose there are worse places to get your car banged up than in a garage...

He pulled on the silver cord, and instantly went rocketing back into his body. He sat up. "Demons," he said. "Fifteen in total. Three big infernal barbarians, one of 'em bigger than the others -- probably the leader -- and twelve imps. Go for the big guy, I'm guessing -- from what I understand, Hell often works on a system of 'who can keep the other guys down.' Then again, that could either break the ranks or lead to absolute chaos, so we may want to think about working our way up -- last thing we want is twelve imps fleeing into Freedom and hiding away."

[Quinn]

Quinn nodded, before pointing at the door where he'd recovered his hammer from.

"The manhole there leads to a stretch of the sewers that's connected to another manhole in the alley across the street. Got cameras and defenses down there too, and they don't seem to have invaded down there either...one of us goes through and hits them from the rear while the other raises some havoc on this end?"

As he spoke, he visibly blanched, though not at the prospect of demons.

"Oh, bugger. Tell me they didn't wreck any of the cars up top..."

[trollthumper]

"I'd like to, but... but we have more important things on our hands." Nick looked to Quinn. "So, you want to do rear flank or frontal assault? I could do either, but it might be best if I go forward and hold 'em down."