Listen to the Fuckhead {Iggy/Invite}

[Takatori]

NEVERMORE HQ
SOMEWHERE IN THE REGAL NECROPOLIS
FEBRUARY 27TH, 2012
10:00PM

A pair of powerful hands pushed against the double doors as they swung open into the ritzy and snazzy looking floor that was Nevermore's HQ. The opening floor was this grand hall of fabulous 1920's decor with a beautiful elevator at the end of the hall. His black shoes clacked against the marble floor that reflected his imposing form, the mask melting away as shadows that clung to his chest formed back into his jacket, his toned flesh peeking through. His features came into view as the eyepatch flowed back over his eye, hair growing shorter and spiking up towards the ceiling as the letters reformed above his eyebrow and the eyepatch. The color swirled in his eyes as those chiseled features finally formulated, the subtle transformation from demon to human completing itself within the span of him walking through the doors to getting to the welcoming desk.

The demons there were instantly standing stiff as boards, bowing their head to their leader as he walked up with slightly hunched shoulders and hands in his pocket. "Oi oi, anything happen while I was out?" He asked, staring from one demon to the other with a single raised eyebrow and slightly bored expression. He had just come back from discussions in…. where had he been again? Whatever. It was far. His back was sore, and he was low on explosives which always made him slightly irritable. "No sir. Nothing--"

BOOOOOOOOM!!!

…… fuck.

He could SMELL the smoke from here. His lips twisted into a frown, twitching ever so slightly as he stared with a relatively nonplussed expression towards the elevator. Fifteen seconds later, the sprinklers suddenly came on, pouring water on everyone while he heard some section of the building collapse….. again. "I swear to fucking god, if I have to fucking tell that fucking idiot one more FUCKING time to NOT SET SHIT ON FIRE…" He muttered quickly and angrily under his breath, taking long strides to the elevator which shot up to the third floor where the ballroom was. Sure enough, fire was everywhere, licking at the curtains and table clothes though it was much more contained as the sprinkles DRENCHED them all to the fucking bone. "GOD DAMMIT IGGY THIS MAKES THE FIFTH FUCKING TIME THIS FUCKING MONTH AND I'M FUCKING SICK OF HAVING TO REBUILD HALF THE FUCKING HQ BACK UP AGAIN YOU FUCKING MOTHER FUCKING IDIOT." He barked, voice resounding across the hall as some women let out a couple of screams of surprise. Thankfully none of them were Weepers. Otherwise that would just be fucking peachy (not to mention he'd wonder how the HELL that happened).

His iris seemed to grow small as he started to walk through the water towards the other end where he could see Iggy, teeth bared in utter annoyance. "WE AIN'T GOT TIME FOR THESE FUCKING ANTICS DIPSHIT. WE NEED MONEY FOR OUR UPCOMING JOB. Not your god damn flammables and this bull." He spoke normally, waaaay too calmly for it to be at all settling for anyone except maybe Iggy. He stared down at the man, his hands still residing in his pocket as he towered over him.

[Iggy]

9:58PM
FEBRUARY 27TH, 2012
NEVERMORE HEADQUARTERS
REGAL NECROPOLIS
INFERIS

Okay, so, gasoline was the base ingredient. Everyone loved gasoline.

There was some gunpowder dropped in and dispersed well to give it a little crackle with the entire affair. Catalytic soul energy extract - from dead marks or insubordinate underlings usually - always helped the more volatile of reactions become... even more volatile, and with that in the mix it would always help. A few grams of fulminated silver and mercury later, and the melting plot was shining a glorious, incandescent, twinkling... brown, with some form of gritty, soot-like residue at the bottom. If Iggy could, he would have stirred it and cackled madly like he always imagined Weepers did if they had cauldrons. Man, why wasn't he making this shit in a cauldron? Cauldrons were cool.

It was then, however, that Iggy decided to take a break. Pulling the flap of his welding mask up - only the Devil knew why he was wearing a welding mask playing with chemistry - he turned around, walked a little further away from the chemistry set - and the imposing jug filled with the result of his particular "hobby", the aforementioned sludge-coloured liquid, albeit with the viscosity of, well, gasoline. What would he put in next, he wondered, as he removed a cigarette from his Fire Up pack and produced a match out of nowhere, striking it on the frame of the door and moving it towards the little stick between his lips, singing the tobacco at the end and then idly flicking the match, glowing globular ember and all, over his shoulder, without so much as a thought for the streams of explosive vapour that his little pet flammable mixture was giving off.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

The noise was the only thing he heard before everything faded to black. His body was thrown backwards like a ragdoll and out of the room with an almost comical effect; it would have stopped at the first wall, but that was, alas, unfortunately, only made of plywood, so, he continued to fly through it without any real damage to the sheer velocity his unconscious figure possessed at this point in time, leaving a hilarious, Iggy-shaped hole and a cloud of sawdust as the room he'd been standing in not moments ago was engulfed with wreaths of catalysed incendiary flame.

*****

MEANWHILE, IN IGGY'S UNCONSCIOUS MIND

The man in the black coat opened his eyes, and found himself... somewhere. Before him were rolling, lush green hills; one after another, lined and flanked with glorious emerald-leaved trees. From their branches fell no fruit, glistening in the summer sunshine he bathed in, but instead... rings of fluorescent candy. A voice behind him called out: "HELLO, IGGY." In a hollow, disembodied, telepathic whine through the annals of his mind as he pulled himself upright and turned around, to see a blue-furred unicorn, with its head turned away, batting a long eyelid at him over the vibrant pink iris beneath.

It then turned its head towards him and curled its "jaw" up into a snarl, baring teeth that were not equine by any definition of the word. Fangs; long and wicked, drawn into the curvature of an old Damascus blade, serrated and ready to carve through flesh. "I LIKE TO PLAY WITH FIRE TOO." And with that, the unicorn spontaneously combusted; Iggy leapt upon it with a gleeful squeal, and the pair of them rode over and through the lush green hills til the end of time. And all was right with the world once more.

*****

10:03PM
FEBRUARY 27TH, 2012
NEVERMORE HEADQUARTERS
REGAL NECROPOLIS
INFERIS

"Hnn... dat's it, unicoahn, burn 'dem, burn 'dem all."

"...I'M FUCK... S... .. ..VING.. REBUILD.. FUCK... HQ... P AGAIN YOU FUCKING MOTHER FUCKING IDIOT." The pyromaniac stirred beneath the welding mask, face covered in residual explosive soot as he blinked a few times and turned over, before finally opening those bold scarlet irises to look up at his towering, fuming boss, stood in front of him as he was still sat slumped back against the last wooden wall he'd struck. Iggy grinned. He felt groggy. He felt... well, he felt like he'd just been blown up. "WE AIN'T GOT TIME FOR THESE FUCKING ANTICS DIPSHIT. WE NEED MONEY FOR OUR UPCOMING JOB. Not your god damn flammables and this bull."

Holding out his hand to feel the trickling of the sprinklers from above he grinned. "C'mahn, baws," He shrugged, moving to his feet and feeling a pang of relative, sharp pain through his midriff. Well, he'd probably broken a rib. At least that was a testament to his reagents' potency. Though, then again, who would argue for gasoline not being flammable. Dusting off his hands on the thick, black rubber apron and pulling the welding mask up at a ninety-degree angle so his sooty charcoal hair was visible in a small, ruffled fringe over his pale forehead, he smiled up at Takatori with a wicked grin. "Wassa' HQ fah' if not blowin' up?" He shrugged and poked his head through the Iggy-shaped breakage in the wall he'd left, peering into the room he'd been operating in, completely destroyed, and the bare night of the Necropolis sky visible through the flaming slats.

"I meahn, we needed tah' redecahrayte anyway," The pyromaniac shrugged. "Errybody' was complainin' 'bout dah' coluah' scheme of dah' wallpapah'."

[Takatori]

Takatori's foot began to tap as he could see how his subordinate was taking his time to fucking wake the fuck up. Was this FUCKING…. FUCK. "Hnn... dat's it, unicoahn, burn 'dem, burn 'dem all." What…. the fuck did that even fucking mean. He growled slightly under his breath, clearly not bothered in the least bit by the shit ton of soot and dust that was still floating about in the air around them. It was a fucking miracle Iggy hadn't blown the place down to the ground yet. Oh wait. He had in fact tore down half of it the month before. Heh. Whatever. This was Inferis. Least he didn't have to pay off cops. Most he had to worry about was if the Queen Bee up at the palace got too upset about her town getting blown to hell. Hey, at least he cleaned up his shit. He wasn't some fucking ass that made her and her servants do it. That was fucking suicide. But seriously? He did NOT have time for this shit right now.

"C'mahn, baws," Takatori raised a single eyebrow as he stared non-plussed at his pyrotechnic, glancing behind him to the hole that had clearly been made by his body.….Shit. Now they had the perfect window to stare at the sky. Fucking. Dammit. But it was obvious that Damian didn't really give a shit that Iggy was in any sort of pain. Twas his own fucking fault, and right now, he was a bit more pissed about OTHER IMPORTANT THINGS LIKE THE FUCKING HOLE BEHIND HIM. "Wassa' HQ fah' if not blowin' up?" His eyebrow twitched before he literally facepalmed at Iggy's idiocy, hand clenching into a fist in his pocket while the other forced its way through his hair. "Devil give me fucking strength…" He muttered, grey eye glaring down into the dumb shit in front of him. "It's for meetings Iggy. MEETING. AND LIVING IN. YOU CAN'T LIVE SOMEWHERE IF YOU KEEP BLOWING IT UP AND SETTING IT ON FUCKING FIRE." He answered forcefully, but at the same time, HQ was totally for blowing up if need be. He'd already done it once. He was liable to do it again if the need arose for it.

"I meahn, we needed tah' redecahrayte anyway," They…. what? His good eye twitched a little, "Errybody' was complainin' 'bout dah' coluah' scheme of dah' wallpapah'." He… they… WHO THE FUCK WAS SAYING SHIT. As soon as he felt the flare it dissipated, an almost bored expression coming over him as he slumped into his slouch a bit more, leaning his head to stare at the hole and flames some more. "Eh. I guess you have a point." Decoration was not his strong point. But seriously, what the fuck was wrong with having a building that looked like it belonged in the 20s? Like those hotels and shit from all the gangster movies? Shit was fucking hot as hell (no pun intended. … Ok maybe a little).

Taking a deep breath, Damian sighed heavily to himself before walking over to the non-shattered window off to his right, staring down at the streets of the decimated London outside. It looked like some Nosferatu were hunting and catching a prey below. "Nah, but seriously Iggy, we DON'T have time for this. We gotta get preparing for a big fucking job. And I mean big." This wasn't any time for playing fucking games, this was a job that both got him so fucking hard and concerned the shit out of him. They were going to be painting a huge target on their back, and there was no fucking way they could stay in the Regal Necropolis after this. A Succubus dressed in a secretarial outfit came in from the doorway, carefully avoiding debris as she mistakenly came up directly behind him, speaking, "Mr. Cain--" His hand came flying about to slam shockingly hard into her cheek, sending her spiraling to the ground as her wings crumpled and splayed out about her. He turned his head slightly as his single good eye stared at her, the pupil and iris seeming tiny while the rest of his features were cast in shadow. "Don't FUCKING walk up behind me you stupid fucking cunt." His voice seemed to shake the foundations with how low it went, the instant almost immediately gone seconds later as he turned to face Iggy.

"How many big booms you think you can make before the 31st? Or April 1st? And how subtle can you make it? We're gonna be making some house calls on some very powerful fucking doors." He started to grin, but lost it as he growled and shook his head, pulling a cigarette out as the secretary pulled herself up to light it for him. Fuck. He had a habit of getting pulled into fights in the fucking snow, didn't he? Hell, maybe he'd meet someone interesting this time. Wasn't everyday you got hired to help with causing some chaos to take down an Archdemon.

[Iggy]

"Teufel geben mir Stärke..."

The boss came out in a language he didn't quite understand. Iggy cocked his head, made a vague "eh?" sound, and then followed it up with a blink and a: "Bless yah', T." It sounded kind of like a slightly harsher sneeze. Or like typewriter keys. Wrapped in tinfoil. Being thrown down the stairs. The literal facepalm conveyed no message to the pyromaniac, who simply blinked, and waited for his superior to ex-plee-kay. Why wasn't detonating this humble abode at all acceptable? Granted, he'd wanted to add some more flammable reagents before the fucking thing had blown, but the aftereffects - the thoroughly satisfying petroleum-based stench and the considerably whine in his ears - were actually far more luscious to bathe in than the Demon had previously imagined. He made a mental note to include some form of this mixture in the next incendiary-explosive paste he fashioned.

"It's for meetings Iggy." BOOOOOOOOOOOOORING. Seriously, who wanted to meet up and talk when you could just make an excellent first impression, decide all plans, and figure out how to take out your enemies with one big fucking fire! God, he loved gasoline. But, yeah, T was talking. "MEETING." Well, shouting. "AND LIVING IN." Pfft. Overrated. "YOU CAN'T LIVE SOMEWHERE IF YOU KEEP BLOWING IT UP AND SETTING IT ON FUCKING FIRE." Well, that was where he was going to draw the line. Pointedly, Iggy interjected with a determined look on his face.

"Ey, T," That was the perfect way to address his boss. "Ovah' dah' yeahs', I spent plentyah' time in dah' ruins a' burnt-out, smoulderin' houses," He looked upon his grey-eyed - literally, grey-eyed - "superior" with his own twin crimson irises and a look of absolute glee held in them. "And dey're just magical," The kooky pyromaniac offered up a follow-up chuckle. "Dah' amountah' fun ya' can have sleepin' in dah' ashes a' ya' fallen enemies is limitless!" It sounded like a slightly macabre theme park advertisement. "'Specially so if 'dere's more than one a' dem," A demented grin slipped onto the psychopath's pale, slightly ashen pallor as the welding mask creaked. "FUN FOR ALL DAH' FAMILY!"

Takatori followed up with exactly the response he should have. It was utterly agreeable. "Eh. I guess you have a point." He was the great Iggy of the Ashlands, the Wanderer of Fire, the Masked Man in Flame, the Black-Clad Scorchmeister, the Burning One, and the Constructor of Fucking Crazy Nicknames. Of COURSE he had a point. He couldn't NOT have one. "Nah, but seriously Iggy, we DON'T have time for this. We gotta get preparing for a big fucking job. And I mean big." The pyromaniac's eyes glistened as his taskmaster spoke the magic words. "Big fucking job". That was code - in Iggy's mind - for "lots of shit to burn". And he loved having lots of shit to burn.

"'Course I gottah' point, T," The Sizzler grinned nonchalantly. "Place was startin' tah' get a 'lil... old," He poked his head - welding mask creaking once more - around the corner to stare through the hole his body had made, grinning at the size of it - and the apparent force with which he'd flown through - and the blackened remains of his "chemistry lab" there beyond. "Eithah' way, my sources ah' tellin' me 'dat 'dah charred an' dilahpidated look is very fashionable 'dis time a' dah' yeah." To be fair, it was fairly standard all year round for a lot of buildings in the Necropolis. The scarlet-coloured skies - beautiful as Iggy thought they were - gave the place a distinctly post-apoc tint to it. "But tell me moah' bout 'dis big job," He grinned intently. "Haven' set fiyah' tah' sahm live ones in fahevah now." Well, more like twelve hours, but all the same, the withdrawal made it felt like an eternity and then some.

It was at that exact and opportune moment that from behind him with the clacking of tactfully-placed stripper heels, glasses that Takatori had clearly requested she wear at a certain angle down her nose, and a shirt and jacket buttoned up but yet clearly two sizes so small pulled around the succubus' monstrous bust, Secretary Slutbag appeared. "Mr. Cain--" She tapped him on the shoulder - to be fair, he could have very easily heard her coming, but his boss was not often that perceptive towards the less-important things, especially when there was a job on the table. Iggy knew exactly how this would end. With a pivot on his heel and a backhand that would make Chris Brown feel envious enough, the succubus was sent reeling onto the floor into a crumpled, startled mess. "Don't FUCKING walk up behind me you stupid fucking cunt."

In that opportune silence, Iggy took the time and absolute effort to draw in all the air he could - after his eyes had pushed through the glazing of awe, and glee, choking back the vindictive, sadistic laughter that he so adored, and spoke: "PIIIIIIMP..." There was the first half, as he paused for a break. WAIT FOR IT. "...SLAAAAAP." It was an appropriate commentary, he felt. T was always good with making sure that the bitches stayed in line. In fact, he was fairly sure most of his secretaries didn't last the first week or so. To think of it, he didn't recognise this one. "Hee." The final, hyperactive squeak would suffice.

As Takatori lit up, Iggy concurred that, even with the probably presence of residual gaseous vapours sitting around, he did still want a cigarette, considering that he'd been blown up a drag and a half into his last one just moments earlier. Patting himself down slightly like a confused suicide bomber, he quickly found the crumpled packet of Fire Up cigarettes and drew one out, sticking it up and lighting it just as his boss' was - Secretary Slutbag scowling viciously at him as she did so, which Iggy returned only witha pleasant grin. "How many big booms you think you can make before the 31st? Or April 1st? And how subtle can you make it? We're gonna be making some house calls on some very powerful fucking doors."

Iggy's response was immediate, and one of very much distinct euphoria. His lips curved upwards into the widest, toothiest grins. He didn't care if they were fucking with Lucifer, if T wanted him at his highest capacity for churning out explosives and flammables now for a solid month... oh he was getting shivers. "Oh, T~!" The pyromaniac swooned falsely. "Ya' know howtah' push all my buttahns~!" Jokes aside, he ramped down the eyelid batting and the false, high-pitched voice, which sounded a vague resemblance of nails being drawn down a chalkboard. He sighed - though obviously still ecstatic, grin consistent - and continued. "Subtlety'll be difficult," The madman concluded in his Brooklyn drawl. "If ya' want dah' big booms, I'mma need a lottah' shit." That meant one thing and one thing alone. He had the recipes, as was clearly evident...

...now they just had to go SHOPPING.

[Takatori]

"Bless yah', T." God this guy could be such an idiot. There were only a few words that he ever seemed to fucking understand and those included "fire" and "explosions." Despite the general annoyance of his nature, the guy was still useful and at least an expert in his field. Even if he continued to blow up half the fucking building. It was a miracle they hadn't brought the Queen Bee down on their heads yet from this guys antics. Or all of them for that matter. Heh. It wasn't like they were entirely subtle at times. His most recent job in the Spirelands for example. Again, still surprised that Lucifer didn't come down to communicate annoyance.

"Ey, T," You know, Iggy was so lucky he didn't mind that particular nickname otherwise he probably would have been dead a hundred times over by now. "Ovah' dah' yeahs', I spent plentyah' time in dah' ruins a' burnt-out, smoulderin' houses," Here we go. Damian just stared down at Iggy's gaze with complete non-plussed amusement. "And dey're just magical." Oh sure, those could be nice for a night or two, but just that. A night. Or two. Not for weeks or months or however fucking long you lived there. "Dah' amountah' fun ya' can have sleepin' in dah' ashes a' ya' fallen enemies is limitless!" And now the corner of his mouth twitched slightly at that particular statement. Takatori was all for sleeping in his enemies ashes. Hell, he had taken a bath in the blood of one once after torturing the fuck out of him for two days. Not… Ugh. He would get nowhere with this idiot. "'Specially so if 'dere's more than one a' dem," Well no shit, you'd have more ash that way dumbass. "FUN FOR ALL DAH' FAMILY!"

There weren't enough face palms in the world for Iggy. There just simply weren't enough in the least bit, but at least Damian snorted softly at that last statement. Least this guy was his little pyromaniac psychopath and not anyone else's. Just think of what he could do when it wasn't their HQ. So he spoke those magic words. "Big job." THAT would catch this little buzzer bee's attention. Least until he opened his mouth again, "'Course I gottah' point, T," He pointedly ignored the grin. "Place was startin' tah' get a 'lil... old," His fingers twitched at his side, but he did not move as he stood there by the window. "Eithah' way, my sources ah' tellin' me 'dat 'dah charred an' dilahpidated look is very fashionable 'dis time a' dah' yeah." Oh is that fucking so? Maybe he should just hire all of Fashion Weekly to redesign-- WHO THE FUCK GAVE A FLYING FUCK ABOUT FASHION?!?!?! There was no TIME TO DEAL WITH FUCKING FASHION. "But tell me moah' bout 'dis big job," Fucking FINALLY he catches on. "Haven' set fiyah' tah' sahm live ones in fahevah now." No, he just kept blowing up buildings instead. He shoulda sent HIM on that Nazi mission instead. All the explosives he could want.

The woman began to pick herself up behind him, smoothing out her skirt and shirt, hair hanging perfectly down her back still. Honestly, how many times had he told them to NOT walk up behind him? "PIIIIIIMP..." The Secretary glanced over with some anger at Iggy, "...SLAAAAAP." A smirk lit up his features, and there were some more reasons why Iggy was kept around. He was always so entertaining. There was no getting bored around him. The succubus was attempting to pull herself back together, glancing over to Takatori to see if he would do anything about his subordinate, but, as usual, she would find that he would not. "Hee." Why would he? Ahhh cigs…. No, clearly he gave no fucks about potential explosive gases still being in the air. It was more likely that Iggy had already blown them all up anyways so why worry?

He breathed deep of those noxious fumes, half amused as he could hear Iggy doing the same. He turned slightly to look at Iggy, watching that change in his expression and only smirking slightly in return. Excellent. "Oh, T~!" A swoon? Fucking seriously? Hah! "Ya' know howtah' push all my buttahns~!" While the succubus was twitching at the pitch of the mans voice, Takatori only chuckled. The guy may as well have been the Harley Quinn to his Joker right there. Although…. He inwardly shuddered, that was not quite a pairing that should actually happen. "Subtlety'll be difficult," It was explosives, not a tea party. Subtlety wasn't quite the point. Besides, if Etreven wanted subtlety, he hired the wrong fucking people. Damian had a feeling that that was not the case. Guy was too finicky about shit. "If ya' want dah' big booms, I'mma need a lottah' shit."

And now they had come full circle once again, for Takatori refrained from reiterating that they didn't have TIME for his SHIT right now. He had way bigger fucking things to worry about. "And we'll get them. He looked at the secretary and she nodded once, her heels clacking on the floor as she walked out of the room and closed the door. But yes, this was the POINT of getting PAID for these gigs. Was so that they could go buy the good shit. He held out a piece of paper to Iggy, special paper actually. "Thats your spending limit as well as a full list of what I'm going to need from you. I'm serious Iggy, not a single penny more. I want the ingredients to be common and difficult to loop back to the purchaser. We don't wanna be followed. You get me?" They couldn't afford to have any of them big Archdemons come finding them because of a paper trail. That was asking for death. He knew Etreven had to have some plans up his sleeve for getting his ass out of the fire, but he didn't give a rats ass about his employee's. "Nothin too fancy, ok?" Otherwise they may not have enough dough to get the rest of the things they'd need. Fuck this was tedious!

"Cause here's the deal Iggy, we're going hunting for the biggest prey around down here. Not sure which one of the 9 we're going for, but its the BIG nine. We can't fuck around with this." And if there was one thing Takatori didn't do, it was fuck around.

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