Last Call Casualty [Iggy/Lucrum]

[Iggy]

2:03AM
FEBRUARY 15TH, 2012
THE LOVE NEST
REGAL NECROPOLIS
INFERIS

BOOM.

"Oh Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum~!"

The howl echoed through the halls of the Love Nest. It was somewhat empty for the moment - well, in the Necropolis, business always seemed to be good for the incubus, at the very least. There were a few subtle punters who turned their heads to the figure in the doorframe, blinked, and grumbled their way back to their drinks - but aside from that, even at this late hour of the morning, the place was deader than usual. The creature standing in the doorway let his hands fall to his side and growled in his own right. Normally his appearance would demand a much greater welcome.

Navy eyes scanned the otherwise-empty bar. There were a few Demons he didn't give a flying fuck about - but the incubus he called for was nowhere to be seen. "Huh." The black-clad, black-gloved, black-haired "human" standing in the doorway rose a covered finger to pick idly at his teeth. That was strange. Where was his favourite bartender? And why wasn't he waiting with a fresh, frothy, ready cold warm one, just for his favourite arsonist?! "Well." The serial killer murmured, shrugged, and stepped in. Perhaps his entrance hadn't gone down all to well. Maybe the incubus wasn't here. He figured he just had to wait. "That's just rude."

Drawing up to the bar and sitting down, he felt the familiar shape of the mask at his hip shuffle somewhat. Instinctively the pyromaniac found himself grinning, removing from the inside pocket of a black trenchcoat over a black turtleneck which further covered a black t-shirt - he liked to be warm - a pack of Fire Up Inferis-exclusive high-nicotine soul energy inhibitor cigarettes. Of course - it didn't really do anything than mimic the effects of a nicotine rush, invigorating one and making them physiologically and psychologically dependent upon the thick, tangy smoke, but all the same, it gave the user a little buzz. Fetching a lighter from within, he propped one between his lips and chortled for the entire time that he fumbled with the wheel, rolling it back and releasing a stifled, fangirl-esque squeal every time so much as a spark jumped up.

It wasn't long before the flame materialised and the trenchcoat-bearing Demon sighed between closed lips and clenched teeth, as if the appearance of the flame granted some form of complete release. The tip of the cigarette was singed with but a moment's notice, and the arsonist artfully twirled the Zippo lighter around his fingers, tossing it from one hand into the other and lackadaisically tucking it back into his pocket, the pack of smokes to only follow a moment or two later. All the while he had noticed, yet ignored the wary glance of a blue-skinned, alien-looking, cowboy hat-bearing Demon a few stools to his right. As he took a long, thick drag of the energy-laden smoke within he noticed the creature shake its head and turn back to its drink. "Fuckin' weirdo..." It murmured in hushed Demonic.

It was only a moment before the sociopath darted forwards in apparently a split-second, appearing with his mouth right next to the creature's ears as he hissed out a smoky half-threat. "I wouldn't be so quick to open ya' mouth round here, buddy..." The black-haired "human" gritted his teeth and brutally exhaled the first jet of smog before finishing what was probably, and yet also probably not a threat. "...unless some fucka' does us all a fava' and burns ya' tongue right out." For a moment the man in the trenchcoat held a deadly serious pallor, perched in that awfully precarious position over bar stool after bar stool, his entire body draped over them. The blue-skinned desperado Demon made a slow move for a gun holstered at its waist, ready to blow this unfortunate piece of shit into nothing but the pathetic shards of soul energy that he was comprised of - until the pyromaniac's face contorted into a disturbing grin, and a shrill giggle began to rise from the hoarse lower pits of his throat.

"HEEEEEEEEEEEHEEHEEEHEEEHEEE!" Slap. His open, gloved palm landed with a sense of unnerving camaraderie on the gunslinger's shoulder. "Ain't I just so fukken' funny!?" With that, he took another drag, and returned to the counter, leaving the blue cowboy Demon to his own drink, now resigning him into the blissfully ignorant quadrant of his mind, having forgotten about him and the potential threat he could pose at a moment's notice, devoting the rest of his attention - short-term as it would probably be - to waiting for his tardy incubus "friend".

A fist landed down on the bar. "HEY LUCRUM YA' SLIMY MOTHAHFUCKAH!" The crackling of a burning smoke. Another two pounding strikes followed by a Brooklyn rage bellow. "GET THA' FUCK OUT HEAH' BEFORE I SET FIYAH' TO YA' PLACE AND BURN YA' INTA' COMIN' OUT!"

[Lucrum]

While the inside of The Love Nest was beginning to get a bit riled up from the appearance of a none too subtle arsonist, on the outside (specifically, in the back) was where things were beginning to get heated. The incubus who was being yelled for inside stifled a chuckle as he began to hear threats of burning the club to the ground. Damn kid in there was going off his handle, but not so much as the demon standing in front of him, being held down by both of his doormen.

"I would tell ya t'tell Vic that there ain't no way in 'ell I'm gettin' pulled down." The demon flicked the cigarette between his fingers and it bounced off of the pig-like demon's forehead, at which it gave a startled squeal. "But seein' as y'wanted t'make a scene, I'ma have t'escort y'back t'the void."

"Hnn... Lucrum, the boss is gonna catch you sooner or later, just give up." Was he now? Ohoho, this was just beautiful. Vic had sent quite a few ritualists and demons after him already. This guy didn't amount to any of the rest of them either.

"If 'e wants me 'e can come after me 'imself." Lucrum took a step forward and tossed his fur-trim jacket to the ground, his skin glistening in the sky's dimmed lights. With a snap, a familiar, orange tattoo began to work its way up the incubus' right arm. The muscles contorted and expanded slowly, and the skin turned a sickly green. Red claws erupted forth from his fingers, and the club owner let out a sickening howl before he ripped the pig from his lackeys' grasps by his neck.

"Nob'dy messes wit' ol' Spit." And with another grin, a sickening crunch could be heard beneath the claw of Behemoth. Lucrum tossed the corpse down as it dispersed into soul energy, and turned back to the door. "Clean up this blood, eh?"

The backdoor slung open with a boom as The Love Nest's much adored owner kicked it open and strutted his way inside. He looked from table to table, hoping that he hadn't caused Iggy to get tired of waiting, before he finally locked his eyes on the fucker. He walked over, slowly shifting into his mortal form as he pulled his coat back on.

"'eyyy! Iggy, what y'need, y'twat?" His voiced had switched from sensual to raspy and gross now, a tint of boredom scattered about his person. He jumped over the bar and turned to face the pyromaniac, a bottle of liquor already in his hand. "Take five, eh Barkeep?" On command the skeleton did just that, but instead of a typical break, he actually broke down into a pile of bones out of view from everyone else.

[Iggy]

"'eyyy! Iggy, what y'need, y'twat?" With a few sickening screams and an undue squelch from behind it, moments later, as Iggy was idly toying with his lighter on the Love Nest's bar counter - looking bored by every and any definition of the word - a door opened and the laconic, sluggish-looking, anarchic and disorganised incubus spilled forth, signature green tint in his black hair as he drew up to the bar and promptly caused the skeleton tending the other customers to collapse with a noisy set of clunks.

When Lucrum stepped into view, the red-eyed Demon beamed and perked up like some sort of sadistic, snappy, pyromaniac dog, curling his face into an immediate grin and widening his eyes. "EYYYYY, IF IT AIN'T ERRYBODY'S FAVOURITE INCUBUS!" He screamed uncontrollably, pounding the bar with a clenched, gloved hand once more, and then looking along the top shelf whilst stroking his nonexistent fantasy beard as he feigned some sort of dilemma in what he would choose for today's beverage. Of course, he already knew. He would have his normal drink, of course. "I'm fuckin' witcha. Gimme' mah normal pinta' kerosene and a bagga' peanuts a' somethin'."

When Lucrum inevitably slid his drink over, Iggy rose it to his nose and took a long, drawn-out sniff of the off-yellow liquid within, emphasised for dramatic effect. Then, in a manner probably vaguely reminiscent of some Vietnam Colonel, he put on a deep Southern drawl not his own and growled: "I LURVE DAH' SMELLA' PETROL IN THE MORNING." With that, he pressed the lip of the glass against his own, and then promptly jerked it upwards, allowing the beautifully bitter oily fuel to start flowing into his mouth, with all its delectable taste and tone as it flowed with aplomb into his mouth and took up residence there; he didn't allow it to go down his gullet all the way just yet.

The capacity of the Demon's cheeks was shown to be as fearsome as his other attributes as they swelled and swelled in an almost comical manner, the liquid flowing freely from the glass and into his mouth. To his right, the blue-skinned desperado looked on at him with wide eyes, wondering just what the fuck kind of neurotic creature - Demon or not - could sit there and imbibe petroleum with such vigour and ravenous hunger. When barely the remnants of kerosene fumes were left in the glass, Iggy slammed it back down upon the table and let it ring out as a good portion of the bar's patrons were now watching these scene, wondering just whether he'd swallow the gasoline or use it for some other sort of trick. Not a single droplet of it trickled out from his lips, shut so tight that they were wrinkling, whitening around the fringes.

Then, of course, he turned to the cowboy who had almost drawn on him earlier, and, of course, with all his muscular force, and an echoing PUH, expelled the entire contents of his mouth, spitting a mixture of what was mainly comprised of kerosene - some of his saliva had more than likely swirled into the mixture, in an unorthodox assault he reckoned the anarchic Master of Sputum would probably appreciate - and completely doused the Demon, taken aback as he was, in the entire pint of liquid he'd managed to contain in his mouth. Iggy waited no longer, producing a match from somewhere in his jacket sleeve, and striking it against the side of the bar, before flicking it idly against the gasoline-coated desperado. And, of course, that was all she wrote. A satisfying FOOM echoed through the bar, mixed in with the beautiful rhapsody of a catalysed inferno's crackling and the utterly symphonic agonising screams of the cowboy. Who, conveniently enough, with his upper body set aflame, his eyes having presumably been already seared straight from the sockets, managed to teeter aimlessly from one direction to another, and with the help of a bouncer, was kicked mercilessly from the door of the establishment.

"Ah, nothin' like a 'lil immolation to livahn up yah' Wednesday mornin', am I right?" Iggy, having been bathing for a moment in the harrowing screams of the Demon who had been burning alive, had all-too-quickly and nonchalantly returned to his seat, and sat down and grinned up at Lucrum. "Hope ya' customahs 'ppreciate the entertainment. Guy was a prick, anyway," The pyromaniac shrugged as if it couldn't be helped. With him, it probably couldn't. "So, how yah' been? Figured I'd check in on mah' favourite incubus bartendah' for a 'lil fun, see if yah' got anythin' I can help with, y'know." He shrugged, tapping the bar, indicating he wanted another of the same. Perhaps he'd drink it this time, deciding to stub out his cigarette whilst he returned to indulging himself with drinking flammable liquids which released explosive fumes. Couldn't be helped really. "Provided it involves settin' fiyah' tah' people, yah' know tha' drill."

[Lucrum]

Lucrum leaned on his elbows in amusement as he watched what appeared at first to be Iggy having trouble keeping his drink down. He, of all demons, knew this wasn't the case, however. The pyro regularly drank petrol here, and was the only reason The Love Nest kept it in supply really. Still, wasn't no skin off Lucrum's back. Nah, the skin was coming off someone else's, namely the blue-skinned cowboy who'd been bothering his friend.

"Uh oh, looks like y've been marked, mate." The incubus giggled to himself as he turned around and put the jug of kerosene back up on the shelf. He could only really hear it, but that was enough. Iggy had flicked a match and blown the fucker up, as he tended to do to folks who pissed him off somehow. Lucrum turned back around, a smirk written across his face as his men tossed the flaming cadaver out the door, and began to wipe his friend's glass clean.

"Hope ya' customahs 'ppreciate the entertainment. Guy was a prick, anyway." Lucrum snickered and grabbed another glass, quickly filling it with scotch. He took a short sip and swirled the alcohol a bit in his glass.

"Don't know, you boys like the show?" The incubus asked to the crowd of demons seated at the tables. In near immediate response, the lot of them roared in agreement. Lucrum gave a large, sharp-toothed grin at this and slapped Iggy's shoulder. "Fair bit o' fans y've rounded up, eh?

"So, how yah' been? Figured I'd check in on mah' favourite incubus bartendah' for a 'lil fun, see if yah' got anythin' I can help with, y'know." He tapped on the bar, and the Lucrum sighed as he reached back for the petrol and filled his glass back up. "Provided it involves settin' fiyah' tah' people, yah' know tha' drill."

"Not sure if I've got anythin' for ya that'd go well wit' your kind of play," He turned up his glass and downed his drink, slamming it back onto the bar in the same fashion as Iggy. "Y'boss Cockatoo not keepin' up wit' hits or somet'in'? I got one on my 'ead if y'aven't heard. Domino's brother didn't like 'avin' 'im laid out on the street like that."

[Iggy]

"Fair bit o' fans y've rounded up, eh?" The anarchic once-Briton was indeed correct. Wherever he went, his performances were praised for numerous reasons. Of course; the foremost was simply that Demons, by and large, loved a good display of violence: and the vulgar display of a strange-looking desperado somewhat out of his depth being burnt alive, the skin, flesh, and sinew roasting and being seared straight from his skull, stripped away with a wet crackling... it was entertainment most of Hell's permanent and brutal residents found to be more than adequate.

"I guess ya' could say..." Oh God, here it came. Lucrum would have to prepare himself for this one. "Mah' performances, they just, talkin' 'bout inspiration, light a fiyah' in the soulsah' those who witness it." Another pint of kerosene fell down upon the bar and he took a greedy swig - swallowing the liquid down in full now that there was no-one to set fire to, much to Iggy's chagrin - feeling a need to instantaneously don a pair of sunglasses he unfortunately did not possess on his being. Irrespective of that, it was easy to see with every passing moment that he was trying his absolute best to contain laughter from the fresh wrinkles and contours in his face, before: "BAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAA!"

The East Coast Sizzler apparently had a penchant for both bad puns and laughing at his own cringeworthy jokes. The hysterics lasted a lot longer than usual, and swung from one side of the snigger spectrum to another, encompassing a chortle, a chuckle, a giggle, and just plain, convulsive, bellowing laughter. "GYEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEH!" There was one. And it was only present in that vein for a moment before it altered... "KYUKYUKYUKYUKYUKYU." It was almost as if he was sampling each variety, dwelling on them - bawling them irrespective - for only a fragment of a moment before moving on. "NYACKNYACKNYACKNYACKNYACK." Wow, that one almost sounded like "New York" slowed down on loop.

The pyromaniac wiped away a false tear in something that not even the incubus would be able to decipher as being either mockery or plain-and-simple contentment in his own hilarity, and exhaled sharply, shaking his head and taking another swig, clearly proud in some vein of his own ability. "Not sure if I've got anythin' for ya that'd go well wit' your kind of play," Lucrum responded to his query when it came to any particular extra-occupation contracts the bartender-stroke-bounty-board might have had. Iggy responded with a simple shrug. It wasn't often that he did.

"Well, yah' know, tha' problem's with all 'dese "non-lethal" contracts," Iggy spat to his side, shaking his head fervently. "Whatcha' need someone alive for? Dumb bastahds." He shrugged, clearly unable to see any issues with slaughtering targets where a certain degree of finesse might have been required. "Someone provin' problematic? Settem' on fiyah'. Always works fah' me. Proven, tried-and-tested, Iggy special." With his little note of preaching to the individual Demons - few and far between as they were - who may have had some problem with flat-out genocide, be it moral in origin - psh - or otherwise, complete, he waited for Lucrum's next point.

Another sip. "Y'boss Cockatoo not keepin' up wit' hits or somet'in'? I got one on my 'ead if y'aven't heard. Domino's brother didn't like 'avin' 'im laid out on the street like that." Iggy gave a look, half of exaggerated surprise, and half of exaggerated scrutiny, to Lucrum, following it up moments later with a somewhat less-than-satisfied facial expression, shrugging again as he finished off the second pint, drawing the back of his gloved hand against his kerosene-laden lips with a glorious sigh, and moving the empty glass back over to the incubus for his serve, for he was keeper of the beverages, oil-based or otherwise.

"Fukken' Vic," Iggy murmured, the surprise having faded somewhat. "Nevah' liked so much as talkin' 'bout 'dat asshole." Shaking his head, he folded his arms and set them down on the table. "We dun' like him much. Different territories an' all, y'know," Clutching his lighter and raising it up in a jerking, symbolic motion, the pyromaniac snarled. "I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TA' JUS' BURN THA' FUKKAH M'SELF, BUT T' DUN' WANT TA'." With an abhorrent shrug, he sat back down and idly gestured to the glass. "Keep tha' empty. I've had mah' fill fah' today." Of imbibing fuels, at least. As for dousing unruly and unsuspecting targets with them - well, he could go for a little more in that department.

[Lucrum]

"Fukken' Vic," There it was. "Nevah' liked so much as talkin' 'bout 'dat asshole." A sly grin crept its way across Lucrum's face, and he took a sip from his drink. Gauge their reaction, then you'll know when someone can do something for you. Iggy may have been his buddy, but the incubus definitely needed to know who could be trusted around here regardless. With the way Iggy was reacting, yeah, all of his crew could be brought around with enough cards plaid.

He took the demon's glass and washed it clean, whistling a little tune as he did so. "So, you don't like 'im, either. Good to know." He kept his voice down, eyes peering across the club before he slid back over in front of Iggy, elbows on the table, hands folded under his chin. "Maybe I do have somet'in' for ya, but this info's gonna cost ya, mate." A wink and he pointed over to the back door he came in from.

"Just now I killed one of Vic's little pigs that were tryin' t'shake me down and all. You t'ink y'could 'andle some ritualists?" A hand went into his pocket, pulling out a diamond as big as Lucrum's fist. It wasn't the sort that you'd see on Earth though. No, this was crafted in Inferis, and it was rather valuable depending on how you wanted to use it. "You do this for me, you get this rock. I'm pretty sure y'know 'ow 'ard these be t'come by. Blightmoles don't like their eggs stolen, 'specially to be made into somet'in' more valuable."

[Iggy]

"So, you don't like 'im, either. Good to know."

It was less of a burgeoning dislike... and, well, more of a territorial qualm. "T' nevah liked him since we kicked 'dis thing off," The black-haired pyromaniac began, leaning back. "'Den again, he dun' really like anybody 'dat goes stompin' round in 'dah Necropohlis," He explained with a shrug. Rival crime gangs never really had a strong relationship with Nevermore. It was one of Takatori's more violent qualities. One Iggy appreciated nonetheless. He caught the incubus with a simple glance and a grin. "'Cept you and 'dat Roman, ah' coahse." EDEN weren't crime. They were mercs. No problems there.

"Just now I killed one of Vic's little pigs that were tryin' t'shake me down and all. You t'ink y'could 'andle some ritualists?" Iggy's face burst into a widening grin as Lucrum correspondingly produced a chuckle. His pallor quickly switched to that akin to a child in a candy shop; Iggy loved any excuse to murder. And Ritualists were especially good. A lot of Demons had hardier skin, tougher, more resilient; they didn't quite burn as well. But humans crackled like nothing else. Oh they fizzled and they fried and they sizzled til they popped... and a glorious sight t'was to be had for the gleeful pyromaniac. He was a man of simple - yet sadistic - pleasures indeed. Not only that, it seemed to help bring him closer to whatever had happened before. That he couldn't remember, at least.

He hunched forwards as Lucrum did in response and pressed his elbows against the table, leaning close to respond. "Oh boy do I," Iggy growled near-subsonically in that malicious, vindictive, and yet somehow completely decadent voice of his, with a snarl and a lick of his lips. "Murder for hire" was just one of the few tasks that the broad, broad occupation board of Nevermore encompassed. The pyromaniac specifically took to those. For some reason. Usually ended up with an entire area reduced to nothing more than scorched earth. Beelzebub would be happy. "Tell me more," The black-haired psychopath grinned as the scarlet flames danced in his crimson eyes and he waited for more details, chiming in his sing-song voice.

A few moments later and a hulking diamond the size of a fist moved onto the table with a thud. "You do this for me, you get this rock. I'm pretty sure y'know 'ow 'ard these be t'come by." Blightmole egg diamond, it looked like. Eggs hatched and gave birth to a shitton of coal. Coal was carbon - and also good fuel - and carbon compressed turned into the most brilliant of raw diamonds. For a moment, the pyromaniac stared on at the gem with his eyes wide and almost entranced by its rough, uncut facets, and the way it sparkled in the dim light of the Love Nest, before meeting Lucrum's glare as he finished. "Blightmoles don't like their eggs stolen, 'specially to be made into somet'in' more valuable."

For a moment he nodded, before raising his hand to slide the diamond back over the table. "Tiahm' an' tiahm again, Lucrum, y'manwhoah, yah' undahestimate me." The Brooklyn drawl rang loud and clear as he backed up, allowing the entire establishment to now become a fitting audience for his "grandiose" speech. "Diamonds dun' mean shit tah' me, yah' know my currency," Some would say Iggy was a simple mind: but he definitely had an appreciation for simple things. When it came down to him and him alone, he dealt in little more than fuels. Much to his boss' chagrin. "Yah' gemme' as much gasoline as yah' can find, any diesahl, anything dat'll make a nice 'lil fiyah," Iggy extended his hand with a smile. "'Den we got us a deahl, Lucrum."

Knowing that the incubus would take the deal - made ever-sweeter by the fact that he'd get to keep his fancy little rock - he leaned back and allow himself to take up a more comfortable and more subtle posture after his little announcement aimed at the entirety of the venue. With a grin, he cocked his head. The taste of gasoline was starting to fade. He produced another cigarette from the packet he'd stowed away and lit it up with another match he produced from seemingly nowhere, and in a matter of moments, the pyromaniac had another source of flame at his fingertips. This one wasn't going to ridding the world of any of those blue-skin desperado fucks. By the Spire, they got irritating. "So 'dese rits," Iggy colloquialised the term on the spot and met Lucrum's eyes once more. His brow furrowed almost into something of a look of determination; one could almost say that, for the first time since he entered the bar, the archcriminal was starting to take things seriously.

Then his slender, pale lips curved into a fragile, twitching, and highly unsettling grin; angular and toothy, broad and thin all at the same time, and speaking volumes against the creasing of his brow. His eyes were alive with flame as they always were; his mouth showed happiness and his face showed only a desire to get the job done. All at once, Iggy was a walking contradiction and an unstable emotional orchestra, outwardly. It didn't make sense but did all at the same time. He took back a long draw of the smoke and hissed a torque of it out moments later casually. "Gimme' dah' details, bro."

[Lucrum]

Lucrum rolled his eyes at the act being played out before him. Iggy had simple needs, but he had to be an idiot to pass up extra payment. Who wouldn't want something more in return for putting their life a bit more on the line? Not a damn soul who worked for Lucrum was that hardheaded, but, eh, nothing he could really do about it. He pocketed the diamond and that was that.

"Alright, alright settle down, y'know you'll get y'damned fuel." A sigh passed, and the incubus shook his head. "Maybe I'll give't t'Gaius, that guy has a good 'ead on 'is top." He slapped at his own head with two fingers and immediately busted into laughter. He soon settled himself down as well and looked around nervously before getting on with the details.

"Yeah, these blokes like t'ang 'round the south docks. It's where Vic makes his trades between the 'Croft and Black Sea, as far as I can tell." Lucrum slid a photo of one of them. Pretty big guy, from what could be seen in the picture. "This one's been payin' extra attention t'm'own routes. Caught the fucker followin' me."

His eyes widened and his stuck his tongue slightly between his teeth as he slid the picture back into his back pocket. While he did so, he looked over to the band and nodded. The group of them stopped playing, and the girls danced off into their rooms. Closing time, Lucrum had shit to do.

"Y't'ink y'can take 'im and 'oever 'e 'as wit' 'im out? I'll throw in an extra gallon if it's done by tonight."

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