It&#x27;s Just An Unfortunate Coincidence

notthescarecrow:

Anyone else might have freaked out at the demon’s apparently intimate knowledge of his power and level of control, but this was Jonathan, after all. He’d lived with this long enough that very little ever surprised him. Dangerously genre savvy, he was sure it was called.

“…why me, though? I bet you could find anyone else to take you on, people who would love to feel special, you could make interesting deals with some of them.”

“I just want to help you. You’re suffering because of the outbursts of your power, I knew someone like this.” Samael said, doing his best to keep his image stable. “I’m a demon. I’m attracted to anomalies…”

“It’s not just my power and I don’t think you can fix everything,” he sighed, lifting a hand to push his hair back, wincing at how limp and greasy his hair was after his adventure. “How do I know you’re not just gonna hijack my body for some bizarre reason?” He was reedy, slender and tall and not exactly muscular. No use, really.

“I’m a man of my word. And betrayal really disgusts me, not only from moral point of view, but also personal reasons…” Samael said. “I’m ready to help you with whatever you need. I’d at least try to… Ugh!”

He was really running out of energy. Almost fell.

Yeah, like that was a confirmable trait. Besides, he’d always thought demons were all about betrayal and trickery. Was he wrong?

Not that he’d ever really believed in demons until now. But anything could be real, it seemed, in some other universe.

Sighing deeply, he rubbed his temple. The other was weak and desperate. He was going to have to do something, wasn’t he? “Look, alright, fine. I’m not going to sit here feeling useless and guilty for hours after you leave, so... whatever you need to do, do it.”

notthescarecrow:

Anyone else might have freaked out at the demon’s apparently intimate knowledge of his power and level of control, but this was Jonathan, after all. He’d lived with this long enough that very little ever surprised him. Dangerously genre savvy, he was sure it was called.

“…why me, though? I bet you could find anyone else to take you on, people who would love to feel special, you could make interesting deals with some of them.”

“I just want to help you. You’re suffering because of the outbursts of your power, I knew someone like this.” Samael said, doing his best to keep his image stable. “I’m a demon. I’m attracted to anomalies…”

“It’s not just my power and I don’t think you can fix everything,” he sighed, lifting a hand to push his hair back, wincing at how limp and greasy his hair was after his adventure. “How do I know you’re not just gonna hijack my body for some bizarre reason?” He was reedy, slender and tall and not exactly muscular. No use, really.

notthescarecrow:

“So what are you offering?”

Might as well cut to the chase. What did any side effects or genie contracts matter nowadays, anyway? Especially when his reputation in the area was getting worse, his colleagues trying to pressure him to quit “for the sake of his health”.

“What do you need, and what will you give me?”

“I will help you control your power. Surpress it and put it on right track when you need it.” The demon explained calmly. “In return, you will let me sit in your body. I won’t possess you, per se. Just sit in there, nicely.”

Anyone else might have freaked out at the demon’s apparently intimate knowledge of his power and level of control, but this was Jonathan, after all. He’d lived with this long enough that very little ever surprised him. Dangerously genre savvy, he was sure it was called.

“...why me, though? I bet you could find anyone else to take you on, people who would love to feel special, you could make interesting deals with some of them.”

notthescarecrow:

Okay, so this thing could fix glasses. Neat. From the way he agreed so readily with the ‘deal with the devil’ bit, the possibility seemed high that this was in fact a demon. Oddly, he’d never had any dealings with demons in all his time as a… as a… whatever you called his power. This was the problem in being “special” - there wasn’t a handbook on it and all the terminology you needed.

“…And you think I’m that desperate?” he asked, taking the filthy sleeve from his face long enough to check on the cut. Still seeping blood. Nice. “Or am I your only hope, Princess Leia?”

“Yes, you are my only hope. It’s a matter of time I fade away, and the more I try to show myself and show my tricks, the less time I have.” He said truthfully. “I need your help and I’d be more than happy to help you in return.”

“So what are you offering?”

Might as well cut to the chase. What did any side effects or genie contracts matter nowadays, anyway? Especially when his reputation in the area was getting worse, his colleagues trying to pressure him to quit “for the sake of his health”.

“What do you need, and what will you give me?”

notthescarecrow:

No, he probably wouldn’t want to, especially if it turned out the other fellow was a hallucination, since it would only lead to psychoanalysis of himself. Good thing psychoanalysis was questionable at best. He didn;t have to take it seriously when it concerned himself, then. Or at least, that was the logic he used to deflect from his own issues…

Turning his head with some difficulty, he looked at the flickering whatever-the-hell-he-was and sighed in kind. “This is some sort of deal with the devil then, huh?”

“Correct. But this one won’t cost you your soul.” The demon said and with a light tap fixed Jonathan’s glasses. It costed him a bit, though. Samael gasped and his image flickered a bit. “Damn… I forgot that I shouldn’t do that…”

Once he stabilized himself, he spoke again. “I could help you with that power of yours. I would just need to stay in your body as a passenger…”

Okay, so this thing could fix glasses. Neat. From the way he agreed so readily with the ‘deal with the devil’ bit, the possibility seemed high that this was in fact a demon. Oddly, he’d never had any dealings with demons in all his time as a... as a... whatever you called his power. This was the problem in being “special” - there wasn’t a handbook on it and all the terminology you needed.

“...And you think I’m that desperate?” he asked, taking the filthy sleeve from his face long enough to check on the cut. Still seeping blood. Nice. “Or am I your only hope, Princess Leia?”

notthescarecrow:

He didn’t act much like the creatures he saw in his visions, whether they were things which only existed inside his head or things in different verses he was seeing in his own. Then again, it really was hard to tell, especially which his poor eyesight and dismal situation of broken specs. He almost seemed like a trick of the light, or a weird prop from a stage show based on a sci fi movie.

That cigarette… was kind of a ridiculous touch. Raising a brow, he squinted through what remained of his glasses. “Tch.” Dabbing at his cheek with a dirty sleeve, he shifted to draw his knees up towards his chest. “Well if it’s a psych evaluation you want you still need to make an appointment through the proper channels.” After his last adventure, he wasn’t exactly feeling especially hospitable.

“You wouldn’t like to psychoanalyze me.” The demon chuckled softly and tilted his head to the side. “I’m here for something different, because, as you see, we’re both in quite a dire situation…”

Samael knelt next to Jonathan and sighed softly.

“You, blinking there and there, me being… a mere ghost of what I used to be. How about we help each-other out?”

No, he probably wouldn’t want to, especially if it turned out the other fellow was a hallucination, since it would only lead to psychoanalysis of himself. Good thing psychoanalysis was questionable at best. He didn;t have to take it seriously when it concerned himself, then. Or at least, that was the logic he used to deflect from his own issues...

Turning his head with some difficulty, he looked at the flickering whatever-the-hell-he-was and sighed in kind. “This is some sort of deal with the devil then, huh?”

It was a difficult life for the miserable psychiatrist. He knew loads of people who would jump, absolutely leap at the chance of having the same powers he did, who would take the time to train and revel in being so damn special, and go on adventures and fuck the consequences.But Jonathan was getting older, and his poor mental health was his excuse often prevented him from caring too much about training. Plus, weren’t you supposed to have a guide for this kind of thing? A mentor, a teacher, a tutor, someone who found you and went ‘okay, so here’s your superhero card and this is the school, so let’s jump right on in to your training’. It was a bitter disappointment, but life wasn’t like that at all.

It was more like a cringe comedy, or a series of unfortunate happenings that gave rise to some sort of morbid humour. The universe, if it was sentient, was likely laughing at his misfortune.

It wasn’t fun to fall into other verses and be spat back into your own covered in your own blood and in trouble for missing work for a week. In this instance, he’d only been away for a grand total of ten hours but every bone and muscle ached, and he sat in the corner he’d clawed his way back to, trembling, glasses cracked and hanging from his face. Great power, sure. Immortality and control, not so much. One of these days, it was going to kill him.

And that thing across from him, that glitchy image of a ghost of a person, that wasn;t helping in the slightest, but it was looking at him. Like it expected him to put on his therapist glasses and listen.

“What?” he managed, wiping blood oozing from a superficial cut on his cheek. “Did I bring you here by mistake or something? Because if I did you’ll have to wait about a month or so before I can figure out how to send you back.” And he closed his eyes, cringing, waiting for some kind of reaction. Weird things like this, to his recollection, were often violent.

@feathercorp

“Mistake… No, not at all.” The ghost said, stepping a bit closer. “I’ve been following you for quite a while.”

The thing was quite unstable, shaky and glitchy, like a hologram or projection from those sci-fi movies. Looked like a man in his forties, red-haired and freckled, dressed sharply, smoking a cigarette. Quite different from how he presented himself to Samiel Blackfeather back in the days…

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you.” He raised his hands, cigarette hanging from his mouth. Oh, how much would he do for a real one right now. “Just wanted to talk, that’s all…”

He didn’t act much like the creatures he saw in his visions, whether they were things which only existed inside his head or things in different verses he was seeing in his own. Then again, it really was hard to tell, especially which his poor eyesight and dismal situation of broken specs. He almost seemed like a trick of the light, or a weird prop from a stage show based on a sci fi movie.

That cigarette... was kind of a ridiculous touch. Raising a brow, he squinted through what remained of his glasses. “Tch.” Dabbing at his cheek with a dirty sleeve, he shifted to draw his knees up towards his chest. “Well if it’s a psych evaluation you want you still need to make an appointment through the proper channels.” After his last adventure, he wasn’t exactly feeling especially hospitable.

It was a difficult life for the miserable psychiatrist. He knew loads of people who would jump, absolutely leap at the chance of having the same powers he did, who would take the time to train and revel in being so damn special, and go on adventures and fuck the consequences.But Jonathan was getting older, and his poor mental health was his excuse often prevented him from caring too much about training. Plus, weren’t you supposed to have a guide for this kind of thing? A mentor, a teacher, a tutor, someone who found you and went ‘okay, so here’s your superhero card and this is the school, so let’s jump right on in to your training’. It was a bitter disappointment, but life wasn’t like that at all.

It was more like a cringe comedy, or a series of unfortunate happenings that gave rise to some sort of morbid humour. The universe, if it was sentient, was likely laughing at his misfortune.

It wasn’t fun to fall into other verses and be spat back into your own covered in your own blood and in trouble for missing work for a week. In this instance, he’d only been away for a grand total of ten hours but every bone and muscle ached, and he sat in the corner he’d clawed his way back to, trembling, glasses cracked and hanging from his face. Great power, sure. Immortality and control, not so much. One of these days, it was going to kill him.

And that thing across from him, that glitchy image of a ghost of a person, that wasn;t helping in the slightest, but it was looking at him. Like it expected him to put on his therapist glasses and listen.

“What?” he managed, wiping blood oozing from a superficial cut on his cheek. “Did I bring you here by mistake or something? Because if I did you’ll have to wait about a month or so before I can figure out how to send you back.” And he closed his eyes, cringing, waiting for some kind of reaction. Weird things like this, to his recollection, were often violent.

@feathercorp