Between Heaven and Hell

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Between Heaven and Hell

Post by GideonDuthuras » Wed May 17, 2006 5:12 pm

OOC: OOC thread here

Las Vegas is situated in the middle of a desert. Very little surrounds the city except hardpan, brush, and the occasional coyote. The city appears to be a night mirage, if you believe such things are possible. A glowing breathing creature, the unearthly neon glow beckoning wayward travelers into the cities embrace. These lights however are quickly sucked up by the desert night, their glow of safety only extending so far and then the blackness comes for you, a stranger covering your eyes.

So, it makes little since that Jimmy Dawson would be running away from the city. His sneakers kicking up crumbing hardpan and leaving deep gouges in the desert floor. He was leaving an obvious trail, but he didn't worry about it, at seventeen he was hardly a survivalist and had no idea how to give some one the slip. Let alone the gun wielding madman who was chasing him. The man had been following Jimmy for the past two days, and had approached him half an hour ago in the Stardust Hotel. Jimmy had listened to the man spout pure nonsense, saying things that couldn't possibly be true. Jimmy had an imagination and an interest in the unnatural, but he didn't really believe in any of it.

Did anyone?

Well, anyone aside from the madman, who had told Jimmy exactly what he planned to do with Jimmy. It was at this point that Jimmy had started to run for his life, and he hadn't stopped yet. He had thought the desert would be a great place, the last place any one would expect to look. It was a wasteland out there, so Jimmy thought, but he hoped to make it to a road eventually, hitch a ride or something.

Jimmy sneaker struck something and knocked him off balance. He landed hard on his hands and knees, his palms bleeding slightly from the rough earth. The rising dust filled Jimmy's lungs before he could close his mouth and he started to cough. He tried to get his hacking under control long enough to look back, to see if he was still being chased by the man, to see what had tripped him.

The man was gone, no sign of him however whatever sense of relief Jimmy felt at that, it was drained away by the sight of the object he'd tripped over.

A human skull.

Jimmy would have screamed if he could, but the dust in his chest reduced his scream to a series of hacking coughs that started to make his eyes water. He scrambled to his feet, still wheezing and turned to continue his run. But when he turned, the madman was right there. Shoulder length black hair whipping in the wind, cold blue eyes set below eyes brows raised quizzically. The Man wore a tan trench coat, one hand was thrust into a pocket of this coat. The other was holding a silver revolver.

"You should get that cough looked at." The Man said.

Jimmy took a step backwards preparing to run. The Man's arm came out of his coat in a blur, tossing something (a vial?) onto the hardtack at Jimmy's feet, where it shattered, spraying a red liquid all over his legs. Jimmy stood there before he realized the liquid was blood. He moaned softly and turned and ran off.

At least that's what he had planned to do. However, his legs didn't do what he told them to. Instead they remained locked in place. Jimmy tried to make them move, move at all, but they were stuck in that bloody pool.

The Man looked at Jimmy and smiled. He put his gun into a pocket on his coat and walked off a little ways.

"Didn't expect that did you, you bastard?" The Man said.

"Sir please..let me go. I..I won't tell anyone."

"I'm not talking to you." The Man said looking straight at Jimmy, but somehow looking beyond him. "I'm talked to him. C'mon, lose the kid. Let's talk you and me."

"I told you at the hotel, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about. I don't even know what I did--"

"You're goddamn right you don't know what you did." His eyes focusing back on Jimmy. "Otherwise I wouldn't be here cleaning up." The man bent down and picked up a small white stick. He dusted it off and started to pull the tangle of weeds off it.

"Don't worry kid. This will all be over soon." The man said, starting to walk closer. "And then afterwards you might learn not to muck about in this kind of stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Magic." The man said, brandishing the now clean stick, which Jimmy could now see was not a stick.

It was a bone.
The law and justice are two entirely different matters.
I was born with a six-gun in my hand, behind a gun I'll make my final stand.

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Post by GideonDuthuras » Thu May 18, 2006 9:11 am

Granted, the rib was not the ideal instrument, and the desert floor was not the best canvas, but it was all that was available to Vincent and he needed to work fast. God knew how long he could hold it in place without a proper holding spell. The blood kept the host in place, but if it got wind of what was going on, it'd jump.

So Vincent worked fast and dirty, carving a crude but serviceable pentagram into the hardtack, adding the proper symbols and archaic words where needed. The whole time the host muttered and whined, no doubt convinced of his coming end. Vincent ignored the host's pleading and continued his work, lighting incense he pulled from his pocket and placing it at the points of the pentagram. Eventually he started to mutter the ancient mantra, beginning the summoning. He'd done this dozens of times, but still took care not to be sloppy with his phrasing, if he wasn't careful the bastard would find a loop hole and be gone. Or else attack him. Vincent had seen enough weekenders attempt this and pay the price for it.

Most people didn't see the seriousness in summoning a demon.

Actually he wasn't even summoning it yet, he was making it tell him it's name. To summon a demon and not know it's name, it would be the pinnacle of stupidity.

After finishing his ground work Vincent straightened up and looked directly at the host.

"I am Vincent Barrett, on behave of the innocents you've slain on this mortal plane I demand your name."

The host looked at Vincent in confusion, then his body was wracked by convulsions, his eyes rolling to white. As he tossed and turned, a single word escaped his lips, though it was not in his voice.

"No." the demon said.

Vincent sighed heavily, he hated uppity demons.

"You have no choice--"

"You were not harmed Shaman, you have no right to demand my name."

"Shaman? Cute, I see you're from the old school." Vincent muttered. "Then you'll know that I do have right."

The demon snapped his hosts body upright, staring at Vincent with dead eyes, it laughed, a sick grating sound. "How?"

"You know just well as me pal," Vincent grinned. "All men and all women are the Sons and Daughters of Adam and're all related."

The Demon was silent for a moment, when it spoke the rage bubbled up straight from Hell.

"That doesn't count Shaman! You can't invoke!"

"Bullshit I can't. I am Vincent Barrett, brother and son of the men and women you've murdered and whose souls you've taken before their time. They were treated unfairly and I demand your name."

The demon was silent for another moment, eventually though by laws older than the Earth, it was forced to speak.

"I am Phalloide."

Vincent grinned, he'd narrowed down the possibilities to a few demons, Phalloide had been one of them and so he was prepared. "Alright. Phalloide demon of vice, I order you to leave the body you inhabit and come to me--"

"I'm already here fool."

"-- and show your true form so that we make talk. I have your marker." Vincent pulled from his pants pocket a small stone with a dizzying design on it. "You must come."

The host body screamed in rage before it collapsed in a heap on the desert floor. After that there was a stillness in the air that was almost deafening. No crickets made a sound, no owls hooted, even the city sounds had seemed to stop.

"Show yourself, and remember do me no harm." Vincent said looking right at the magic circle he'd drawn around the host.

Eventually the smoke from the burning incense gathered together forming something vaguely human like.

"Speak Shaman and release me." It said, the haze becoming denser and denser, eventually solidifying.

"What is your business on Earth?"

Phalloide laughed at that. "You are concerned a Demon of Vice is in Las Vegas? It is a city made for my kind."

"Not when you start killing priests in it, not then." Vincent said. "What's the deal? Or do I have to start calling a few of your buddies and let them know you're messing up the playground for them?"

The demon, by now mostly solid and looking more humanlike, shook it's head. "No Barrett, I do not think so."

"Then tell me what the hell is going on."

"I was summoned, you know this. The boy was....incorrect in the procedure. I took the opportunity to take him, and have some fun."

"Liar." Vincent said, and pulled his revolver from his coat pocket. "I know you know what this is and what it can do to you. Tell me the damn truth."

Phalloide backed up to the edge of the magic circle. "You are unfair Barrett, the trick with the virgin's blood was a nice one, I hadn't expected it. But, to pull that abomination on me, that is unfair. I shall think I'll take it from you."

"Remember the rules buddy, you can't hurt me."

"I wasn't going to damage you."

Vincent felt the gun in his hands getting warm. He looked down at it, the barrel and chamber were glowing red hot. He dropped it out of reflex, though he felt little heat from it himself. The silver of the gun, blessed by one pope or another, started to run off, vanishing into the desert sand. All the while, Phalloide laughed. Vincent looked back up angrily.

"Ok fine, I'll just send you back to Hell." This was not going to get anywhere.

Phalloide stopped laughing at that point. "Back to the pit? Barrett, simply release me, you have my oath I'll not harm another of your kind."

"Like hell I'd trust your oath," Vincent said, then realized something. "Why don't you want to go back to Hell?"

Phalloide said nothing.

"Oh..I see. Daddy doesn't know about your little trip here. I can imagine he'd be pissed. And, when the Devil gets pissed..well. I guess you'll just see that for yourself."

"Wait Barrett!" the demon shouted as Vincent raised up the marker again. "I was summoned as I told you. Then I intended to do nothing more but make some trouble."

"You did a shit ton of that." Vincent said.

"But I was contacted by another, who made me an offer, kill the mortals and I'd have my own kingdom."


"I cannot speak his name."

"Like hell you can't." Vincent said raising the marker again.

"I cannot speak his name! It is forbidden!"

Vincent stopped at that. Looking at the demon, trying to comprehend what it was implying.

"You stupid bastard. You made a deal with one of them didn't you?"

Phalloide said nothing.

"What the hell is going on? How can they promise you anything?"

"I do not know, he didn't explain."

"You are the dumbest demon I've ever seen," Vincent remarked. "Why'd you do it? Why'd you even meet him? Wanted to see one of them up close? Wanted to see if they're as beautiful as can be? Were you planning to fantasize about them later as you rubbed one out or what?"

Then the true weight of what was happening hit Vincent.

"They're planning something aren't they? Something they don't want Him to know about. Something big. Those bastards, those holier-than-thou hypocritical bastards. They can go to Hell." He looked at the demon.

"So can you."

Phalloide's face had enough definition to take on an expression of horror as Vincent raised the marker.

"Return to whence you came demon, I release you back to Hell." Vincent commanded.

The demon struggled and screamed but a red light consumed him, the wind picked up and almost knocked Vincent off blance. Eventually the wind died down and Vincent saw no sign of the demon. He walked over to the magic circle and use his shoe to stamp out the incense and erase a few lines. Almost immediately the host started to come around. Vincent ignored him and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket, he lit one with the lighter he'd used on the incense. It was only after taking a long drag that he looked back down at the host.

"Next time you want to mess around with black magic. Don't. Because next time, I'll just shoot you and save us both the trouble." He turned on his heel then and walked away.

Into the desert.
The law and justice are two entirely different matters.
I was born with a six-gun in my hand, behind a gun I'll make my final stand.

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Post by GideonDuthuras » Sat May 20, 2006 8:33 pm

"That can't be right Vince."

"Listen Donnie," Vincent was saying into the cell phone. "I know what the bastard told me alright? I was there. He said it plain as day."

"How do you know he wasn't lying? They tend to do that."

"Why the hell would he lie about that? It's totally unbelievable, no one would believe it."

"Except you."

Vincent sighed and rolled his eyes. He was sitting in the center of some town, God knows what it was called. He'd come in last night riding shotgun in a platinum Mustang driven by a platinum blonde who had enough plastic in her Vincent idly thought about trying to dump her into a recycling bin when he was done with her. As it was though he let her go, a few hundred short of her Vegas winnings, but he felt he earned it. He spent the night sleeping in a pit of a hotel where the walls were mostly spit and newspaper. He'd left the place at first light and spent the rest of the day wandering around the town, checking out the bar, the church, and now the city square. He's stopped here because something told him to, he'd been mulling over the encounter last night and finally decided his next course of action. It wasn't the bright one, that would be to let it go, but Vincent was curious as to what was going on with the Powers That Be. Most importantly he was curious as to how he would be screwed over by it. So he stopped in the town square and dialed up a few people. The square was really just a piece of lawn with a rather nice looking marble fountain in the center. Vincent was sitting on the edge of the fountain as he spoke.

"Yeah I do Don."

"You're sure now?" Donald Roget said several time zones and several thousand miles away.

"Yes I am."

"Then say it Vince."


"Say it out loud."

"Donnie this is--"

"I want to hear you say it out loud Vince."

"Goddamn you!"

"Too late. Say it."

Vincent swore again and turned towards the rushing water of the fountain. He'd done some minor deflection charms to make anyone looking for him miss him, but you could never be too careful.

"I think that demons and angels are talking to one another."

"I didn't hear you, say it again."

"Donnie, you're a son of a bitch," Vincent growled. "I think demons and angels are talking."

Donnie was silent for a moment, and then. "I do too."


"I know," Donnie said merrily. "Listen Vince, this....this hasn't ever happened before. But, I've been getting a few calls, people have been noticing things."

"Like what?"

"Angels going to places they normally wouldn't. Demons are getting more and more involved with terrorizing churches. It's like the Dark Ages again."


"Haven't heard anything about him yet. But we might before it's all over. This is big."

"Do you think it's....."

"Revelations?" Donnie barked a short laugh. "Vince I wish I could say it one way or the other, but I have no idea. When angels and demons are rubbing elbows? You know something's up."

"Do we have any idea who's mucking about?"

"Not really, all lower caste. No Fallen, no Seraphim. And now we know that he's not behind it, if your pal last night was telling the truth."

Vincent was silent, his mind as sly and cunning as it was had already made the next move, several of them in fact. Now he was trying to decide which move would get him out with most of his skin intact. Messing about with demons or even normal people who've gone a bit nuts and think the Devil has given them power are one thing, they are easily dealt with if you know how to play the game. They have rules and guidelines they must adhere to and any human can enforce on them. These rules were Gods last little "Fuck You" to the rebels of Heaven. To still have power and control over man, but have to submit to anyone who can figure you out, it's quite crushing on their egos. So demons are simple. Angels are hard. They too must serve man, but in a very general sense. They could easily crush you and your entire family if they thought it was what the Creator wanted. They are the tricky ones.

"I'm going to need a new gun," Vince said.

"What? Why?

"That little shit torched my last one, one you said they couldn't touch."

"I told you, I'm sorry about that. I guess papal blessings can be negated."

"Damn right they can, if the damn thing was blessed by a pope and not some jerk off pastor."


"Get me in touch with your old Templar buddy."

"Vince, I doubt Guy would want to talk to you. He's getting old and--"

"He has a damn big collection of holy artifacts. Ones I might need. Call him."

"Ok, fine. He reach you at this number?"

"God no. I'll stop by there sometime soon."


Vincent stood up at this point. "You're also going to need to contact a few more people, anyone who you think can handle this."

"Like who?"

"Hell if I know. Most everyone I know in the business is dead. You're the one with information. Find people who've seen this stuff, pass the message. We're keeping our eyes peeled and our fingers on the triggers. Both sides of the fence are messing with things they shouldn't be."

"Ok, I'll see what I can do," Donnie said, Vincent heard the frantic tapping of keys, most likely he was pulling a list up right now.

"But Vince," Donnie said, the tapping stopping. "What if this is big? Like big big . What if we're all getting in over our heads here. I mean, Jesus we're glorified magicians."

"No we deal in real magic."

"You know what I mean."

"Well, then we'll pull our best sleight of hand. And if that doesn't work, looks like we'll finally see who goes to Heaven and who goes to Hell won't we?"

"That's not comforting."

"I know." Vincent said as he hung up. He breathed a sigh of relief, it felt good to actually be doing something again. He'd been dragging his heels for the past few years, but now he was running.

Vincent snapped the cell phone closed and tossed it to the man who'd been standing there.

"Thanks for the phone," Vincent said, taking his Zippo from his coat pocket and holding it between two fingers. "Those international rates'll bite you in the ass though."

"It's not a problem." the man said, monotone. "Money is no problem."

"Money is no problem huh?" Vincent said, the Zippo now dancing between his fingers, flashing in a steady pattern in the hot sun. "How about you let me borrow some of it then?"

"Sure, how much?"

"We'll see," Vincent said, putting his arm around the man and leading him away from the fountain. "You got a car?"


"You ever been to L.A?"


"You want to?"
The law and justice are two entirely different matters.
I was born with a six-gun in my hand, behind a gun I'll make my final stand.

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Post by GideonDuthuras » Tue Jul 04, 2006 6:09 pm

Vincent hated flying. To him it was the most unnatural thing man had yet done. Killing each other, destroying the natural world as we created our own digital one, well these things were in our very nature as far as Vincent was concerned. We're animals, we kill for survival, or simple comfort. That's really what every war in human history could be attributed to isn't it, survival and comfort? Our love of technology isn't too surprising either. Before computers it was Jesus and the Holy Ghost, before that, Zeus or Thor, before them countless deities whose names were forgotten by all but those select few who still knew of them. ( and still asked them for favors every now and then) After all, man always needed to trust in something otehr than himself to run his life. The prospect of him being responsible for something was down right terrifying. To think that he was always right, that there was no unknown, nothing out of his hands. Vincent didn't see much difference in the Internet and Church to tell you the truth. They were both places that really didn't exist. Places that gave the illusion of something better, something grander, than your own little life. And the world would keep spinning after both of them were long gone.

Jesus he hated flying. Who the hell invented it anyway? This was suicidal.

Vincent also hated England (bad weather, bad food, bad memories and bad people after him) so the fact that he was currently enroute to England irritated him two fold. He'd drunk well past the allowed limit for drinks on an airliner, the stewards simply kept forgetting they'd served him before, and was feeling particularly ornery. He'd kept himself from going insane so far by playing card games with the rather plump fellow next to him. Vincent had always taken an obcene amount from the fat man (which he realized he'd have to convert into pounds or Eros or whatever currency they were using this month) but now the guy had simply refused to play any longer. Vincent could have made the guy keep playing, but there was no fun in that. So instead he introduced Chubs to the rather attractive girl sitting near the window, the two hit it off wonderfully, thanks to Vincent. He could only pray that come tomorrow when the woke up next to that tub of lard she'd be ill. He supposed there was some thing fundementally wrong with his character when he wished that, but the fact of the matter was it was just too damn funny.

He glanced across the aisle, there was a small boy, booger eating age, looking at Vincent. Or rather, the pile of money on Vincent's tray. Vincent grinned and picked up a quarter and held it up. He made sure the boy was watching and closed his fist around the quarter, he blew on his hand and opened it. The coin was gone. He looked at the kid and smiled. The little brat looked at him skeptically. Vincent frowned slightly and made a guesture for the kid to check his pockets. The kid dug a hand into his front pocket, and his jaw fell open a moment before he brought a quarter out. He turned to stare at Vincent, but Vincent was already ordering another rum and coke from a stew with rather nice legs.

One had to keep busy on these long flights.
The law and justice are two entirely different matters.
I was born with a six-gun in my hand, behind a gun I'll make my final stand.

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