Stolen Property

[Existentially Odd]

Kerr walked through the beautiful doors and came to a dead stop, half expecting to be accosted for trespassing. His teeth thumped nervously on the rounded spike of his tongue stud, his hands sliding nervously behind him to tuck - backwards - into the rear pockets of his jeans as he glanced around. He rocked slightly in his brown suede hiking boots, feeling awkward because he was dressed so casually. His shirt wasn\'t even tucked in, for fuck\'s sake. Despite that being the fashion, it just felt wrong. This whole damn excursion was wrong; but he wouldn\'t be deterred. Hell, he\'d thought the casual approach (and outfit) would make a marked difference from his intrusion on the premises the night before, and perhaps he\'d provoke less antagonism from the thieving demon he\'d come to see, if he looked cooler. Calmer. He could only hope, anyway.

When nothing and no-one moved across the darkly-covered floor - not emerging from the spiralled staircase in the middle or even from the elevators up the back - he decided he might have to be a bit more forthright. Self-consciously he took a step towards the counter on his right

Holy fuck that\'s long.  How many people even come in here to warrant a desk that long? Or is it some sort of joke? There\'s not even anyone behind it. Where is their security? The place was swarming with activity last night... wasn\'t it? Fuck, I don\'t even remember if there was anyone here then, I was too nervous. Was that plant here? That staircase, even? Maybe this whole place is an illusion. It changes. Maybe. Shit that counter\'s huge.

and then a few more. Stride by uncomfortable stride, he found himself at the remarkable counter that might have once served as a reception desk for this place (might still, in fact... perhaps the Oligarchy hosted demon conventions or something here). He thought it was a hotel - it certainly had the look of one - but it didn\'t really matter, now that he knew what it actually was. And what sort of horrors were witnessed by these elegant walls. He tapped the little bell that was closest to him and looked around - as if he anticipated flying demons to swoop instantaneously upon him and escort him from the premises. He tried a few poses (in case Shiroan himself was the one to greet him first), wanting to look relaxed by leaning down on the counter, or against it. In the end though, he settled for resting his right hand, flat, on top of the cool surface, shoving his left fist into his front pants pocket and gazing at as many things at once as he could.

[Trillian]

Zebediah was the reason for Kerr\'s unannounced and unseen entry.  His distraction of a small kitchen fire at the restaurant commonly used as a cafeteria for the hotel workers (for there were in fact, many) meant that the vampire had entered during a momentous occassion when there was truly nobody around to see him.  Usually it was a simple effect of patrolling along walls or relying on cameras, that gave the appearance security was lacking.  Security usually never lacked.
 
Zeb, however, had a talent for distractions.  He hadn\'t meant to create a fire in the kitchen, he\'d simply wanted a toasted cheese sandwich.  How was he to know he had to toast the bread without the cheese?  He\'d tried to clean up the mess with a paper napkin, which had then caught fire so he\'d tried to put it out by throwing it into the garbage disposal unit and causing the rubbish from the previous night to catch aflame.
 
That was when he\'d made a hasty exit.
 
He looked like a half-sized version of Shiroan, for he was both short, and a youth.  In his demonic form his horns were growing nubs, only beginning to curl, and he had a habit of feeling their progress.
 
He had his hands on his horns when he turned the corner into the lobby and ended up walking out not ten feet in front of Kerr, staring at him with a look of obvious surprise, just as the shrill pitch of the bell faded in the air.
 
"Ummmmm," he said, still holding onto his horns, then let his arms fall limp to his sides.
 
Apparently that was all he was going to say, very light blue eyes watching Kerr with a mix of suspicion and paranoia.

[Existentially Odd]

Kerr raised his eyebrows at the demon, pondering the fact that he was just strolling about in such a form. What sort of protection was there in this place that he was not aware of? He changed his mind about there being no security; there was obviously much more than met the eye. What if a mortal happened to walk in here? They would see a creature out of purest imagination, be stunned before running out screaming wildly and then the Oligarchy would be breaking their own rules, that\'s what. That couldn\'t be allowd to happen. There had to be glamours or something at work... cantrips alerting those within to the presence of mortals? Something like that, for sure. Yep.

He reeled his errant mental faculties in as he realised he was just staring at the young demon, who looked as suspicious as he felt nervous.  He cleared his throat as he hastily threw an opening sentence together. "H-hello. I was wondering if I might... request an audience... with... Shiroan?" he asked hesitantly, caught up in the quandry of saying the demon\'s name to an underling who may not know him, saying it incorrectly, using it impertinently... fuck. Caught in the quandry of even speaking to these horrible beings, but it was the only way he\'d get what he wanted.

[Trillian]

Zeb tilted his head so sharply that the angle upon which he held it looked both peculiar and uncomfortable.  The name Shiroan had meant something to him, recognition flashed in his eyes and he gave a rather stern look at the being before him - who he now leaned forward over the counter to smell the air in front of.
 
Vampire.
 
Screwing up his face he then turned for support on both his left and then his right.  Nobody else stepped forward to take over.  Looking back at the vampire he pursed his lips into a full pout of consideration as he thought about how to best approach this.
 
"What sort of business is it about?" he demanded, knowing that he really should qualify anybody who came into the hotel.  The thing was, he had no idea of what restrictions there were and what guidelines had to be met before making introductions.

[Existentially Odd]

"I need to speak with him about him returning some belongings of mine.  That he stole last night," Kerr answered indignantly, straightening off the counter after being sniffed at.

He stood much more rigidly then, looking at the other in as condescending a manner as he could manage. So that his loose right hand didn\'t give away his nervousness, he bunched it into a fist by his side, the other doing much the same thing in his pocket. It could have been construed as anger - though at a brewing stage, not an I\'m-about-to-leap-at-your-throat-if-you-don\'t-give-me-what-I-want one - but that was not his intent. He concentrated on keeping his thoughts blank, his expression impassive as he waited regally for the creature to lead him to his goal.  Or bring his goal here; he didn\'t care either way.

[Trillian]

It was the shift in attitude that helped Kerr.  Zeb wasn\'t exactly a dominant figure in his clan, and if he hadn\'t learned anything but one thing, it was the ability to read body language and aggression.  Instead of pitting himself against the vampire (who he didn\'t like for the fact he was a different species), he remembered that vampires were terribly strong and had quite a lot of tricky talents up their sleeves.
 
As Kerr drew himself up, Zeb became more compliant, tilting his head at an awkward angle once more before lowering it a little.  The subtlety of his movement could\'ve been explosive, but all it looked like was a youth being respectful to an elder.
 
"What\'s your name?" he asked.  There was no please, but the tone had softened a great deal.  The change was hard to miss.

[Existentially Odd]

"Kerr Galvin," he answered promptly.  Though his eyes narrowed suspiciously, he was fairly certain this was a positive development; that the demon would take his name to Shiroan or someone who could get Shiroan for him.  Well, he could only hope so... and remain ready for any act to the contrary.

[Trillian]

The wiser thing to do was to relay the message to Shiroan of who was waiting for him in the lobby instead of surprising him at his own private room.
 
Zeb was not known for being wise.
 
He thought about the vampire\'s name for a long moment, fairly sure that he recognised it.  He\'d overheard talking, as well as laughter.  He concluded this was a point in Kerr\'s favour.
 
"Okay, come with me."
 
Zeb moved around the counter, revealing that he wore a flimsy t-shirt with holes ripped through for his wings to tuck in tightly, a pair of jeans, and no shoes.  He padded over to the bank of elevators further down the corridor, a little past the ridiculously long counter.
 
"He\'s in his rooms," Zeb explained, then offered a broad smile that was nothing but a picture of helpful innocence.

[Existentially Odd]

Almost skeptically, Kerr followed, blinking when he was given this extra tidbit of information in front of the elevators. Thoughtfully, he watched the button that the demon pushed, relieved to see that it was the one that told the elevator they wanted to go upwards. He remembered that from the night before... that they\'d descended to Hell... and he chose not to think anymore on the matter.

"So... what\'s your name, then?" he asked quickly, wishing to fill the silence and distract himself from the inevitable trail of thoughts that would lead him back to Ben\'s loss and Mandy\'s punishment.

Ben... is he here?  Could he be?

Glowering unintentionally at the other male, he gnawed on his tongue stud and wriggled both hands around inside his jeans pockets. It shouldn\'t be so painful coming here, he knew this, but that didn\'t make it any easier. He only hoped he didn\'t somehow run into his judge. That would be awkward.

[Trillian]

"Zeb," came the reply, just as prompt as Kerr had given his own.  "My full name\'s Zebediah, but nobody calls me that, unless they want to annoy me," he said this with petulance, as though quite a few people had annoyed him with it.  It didn\'t stop him from handing out the ammunition of this knowledge, however.  "Sometimes I\'m called the Z-man, or Zed, which is like a cool nickname, when I make everybody happy."  He beamed proudly when handing out this information.
 
Asking for Zeb\'s name was somewhat like asking for his life story - for he gave it.
 
"I\'ve got a talent for making people laugh.  My jokes are the best kind, but sometimes I go too far with them - that\'s what I get told anyway.  I don\'t see how a joke can be too funny, but when-"
 
His words were cut short as the elevator softly bonged its presence and Zeb\'s gaze was drawn to it.
 
"Going up," he said, moving into the lift and pressing the button for the twenty-sixth floor, two off the penthouse.

[Existentially Odd]

"Right. Nice to meet you, Zeb," he interjected, when an opportunity arose. The chance to say any more faded quickly, as his companion elaborated on the variations - and implications of the uses thereof - of his name.

When the elevator arrived, Kerr blinked and then followed Zeb into it obediently, thrown completely offguard by the cheeriness of the man. He was fairly certain that the demon\'s behaviour was designed to keep him guessing; no-one could be that naïve and still remain a functioning employee of the Oligarchy. Though the chatter was probably also supposed to put him at ease, as the metal doors closed and the small cubicle ascended the required amount of floors, he found himself only growing more nervous. The prospect of coming face to face with Shiroan was not as rewarding as he\'d expected it to be, it seemed.

"What do you do around here, Zeb?" he asked, genuinely curious about what sort of work demons might be employed for - besides capturing and whipping, of course - but not certain he\'d get an honest answer. He figured it was a good enough question to pass the time while the lift rose, though.

[Trillian]

Zeb found that awkward angle with his head again, looking across the length of his nose at Kerr before musing on how best to answer the question.  He made \'hmmn\' noises for a long moment before he came up with something he felt was worthy.
 
"I often get handed assignments," he declared.
 
Cleaning the kitchen was usually one of them, or washing the windows.  The most exciting jobs he got handed to him were the busy-work duties, of calling around to find the cheapest price of a certain product, then ordering from the lowest-priced supplier.
 
This information was not what he offered however, and lapsed into silence as the elevator took them swiftly up floors.

[Existentially Odd]

"Ah," Kerr nodded, not recognising the vague answer for what it was; he believed it was deliberately structured to avoid giving him too much information.  He realised the necessity of such a ploy, but was disappointed nevertheless.  He watched the buttons light up silently as they passed floors, then thought of something else Zeb may be able to help him with.

"Do you deal with punishments much?  Mortals?  Do you know what happened with the male that was left here last night, for instance?" he asked softly, not expecting an answer but feeling compelled to ask regardless.  He owed Ben that much.

[Trillian]

Zeb answered while walking to the rooms he\'d intended on delivering Kerr to, turning right and heading up a corridor, then right again. "Punishments..." Zeb pressed his lips together for a moment before explaining further. "I don\'t have rank to be present at those. I haven\'t even met all the Oligarchs yet, but I know they\'re the ones who hand down the punishments. They have the dragon tattoos, here," he tapped the side of his neck in demonstration. "That\'s how I knew you weren\'t one," he explained with a tap to the side of his nose. Because his hand was so close to his head, it strayed up and felt one of his half-curled horns out of habit.
 
"Dad doesn\'t like me getting involved with Oligarchy business," Zeb said apologetically and with a shrug. "You could ask him yourself though, he\'s in here."
 
Instead of knocking on the door, with his free hand he opened it and walked right into Shiroan\'s quarters, surprising his father and giving away a rather large piece of personal information about the albino demon.

[Erebus]

The door opened into Shiroan\'s living room.  Painted and furnished with muted browns and blues, it forced the eyes to slide to something far more colorful and interesting: the huge plasma television that dwarfed one wall.  

Shiroan was sitting on the couch in front of it, bare feet propped on the coffee table.  Around his crossed ankles was an assortment of small white boxes and round plastic containers.  He had two wooden sticks caught between his fingers and one of the boxes propped on his stomach.  

Without taking his eyes from the television, he dipped the chopsticks into the box and then lifted it to his mouth.  When he heard Zeb\'s voice through the wall (though he couldn\'t make out what had been said), and then the door open, he shoved the mixture of vegetables and beef to one side of his mouth with his tongue and spoke around it.  

"Zeb?  Your food is getting cold."  He craned his head back and gestured to the table.  "Walter stole your egg-rolls, but I recaptured one."  Parental advice given and triumph spoken of, he faced the television again, wanting to capture the last minutes of his favorite cop show, but not before catching sight Zeb\'s wings and the outline of someone else standing beyond the door from the corner of his eye.  

He swallowed his food, tossed his chopsticks to the table, and tried to stand.  The demon had forgotten something, though - the Chinese food still perched on his stomach.  

"Damnit!"  He tried catching the box before it hit the ground, but all he succeeded in was getting a handful of sauce and bits of meat.  

Shiroan, already agitated by the likelihood of Zeb wandering around the hotel in his demon form and bringing visitors to his room uninvited, was thoroughly pissed by the time he\'d grabbed a napkin to wipe his hands on.  

He made his way toward his son - stepping around the pile of food on the floor - with his jaw clenched.  

"You waited until you made it to this floor before you shifted back, correct?"  His eyes went to the yet unidentified person still standing behind Zeb.  "And you informed me of this guest before bringing them upstairs?  Zebediah, how many times do I have to tell you?  Stop that.  Put your hands down, and for chrissake, stand up-"  

He broke off when the scent of death and blood overwhelmed that of warm Chinese food.  It also served to distract him from browbeating his son and focusing on their \'guest\'.  Pushing Zeb aside, he was bombarded with the sight of one person he could have gone the rest of the night... no, the rest of his lifetime without seeing.

"Why is he here?"