#hellegate

[lostsovl]

& crossroads.

starter for @hellegate // Alu

– Bampton, 1808.

Sir Frederick Abinger is twenty years her senior, and her answer is due in a week. They have met a total of two and a half times. In none of the instances did Valerie feel like they'd shared any particularly interesting morsel of conversation at the functions they had attended, and she had remained amiable but impartial, offering him the same attention she would to a dusty wall fixture, or a mushroom vol-au-vent. Naturally, when he calls at her aunt's estate in the heart of the Oxfordshire countryside, announcing that he is in search of a wife after having been widowed for only a month, Valerie is horrified.

Armandine tries to get her to see reason. This is the fifth suitor Valerie is attempting to dodge, though she had only just turned nineteen. "You have been out for three years." Her aunt presses, hand anxiously put to her bosom, following her storming niece around the house. Her voice pinches and cracks when she speaks, incensed with emotion. "Mr Abinger is a good man, he can take care of you."

"His late wife's not been cold for long."

"Valerie!"

She takes off in the early hours of the following morning cloaked in black velvet, forager's basket and knife hanging from her elbow, after a night of too much worry and too little sleep. Despair continued to churn at the pit of her belly, the breadth of her lungs. It had boiled into anger when she rose, sweltering in Spring. She is angry that her last known family member is dying (we don't speak of her mother...), and how that makes her feel utterly untethered, left in a world where she can only be property.

Not yet. God, let it not be just yet. Please, God, not this one, maybe a better one will come along, maybe there will be someone perfectly reasonable and tolerable, maybe Armandine would hang on for a year or two still. Ivory fingers clutch a small, gold cross necklace at her throat as prayers occupy her every thought, begging to be seen. Intervention. Time. Anything.

The fog is thick around her, concealing the path and most of the meadow she lingers on after spotting a few dandelion flower heads amidst the green, clusters of sun trapped in the dirt. Valerie crouches and begins to pluck at some young nettle leaves, too distraught to feel the sting, collecting them delicately in the woven basket as dew sticks to lightly rosed cheeks, eyes glazed with fury. Despite the dead quietude of the morning, she remains so absorbed in her inner turmoil she doesn't notice the rustling in the high grass just a few feet ahead, or the horned creature intently watching her through the mist.

[argcntheart]

➢ CONTINUED | @hellegate .

He was right, in a way. It wasn't fair—and Jashera didn't want to be here at all. At least, not under these circumstances.

Given her background, and the fact that the Argent was as much a part of her as any, there was a natural curiosity about it and its origin world. What was Hell like beyond the reports? What was Argent like in its most natural form? What was it that made it so… powerful? Sought after? Worth the sacrifice of millions?

The information was far above her pay grade, and her intellect. Her knowledge in the hard sciences was limited to radio mechanics and data wave maintenance. And even so, most of those teachings had long since outlived their professional usage once she was shoehorned into the position of Empress.

None of it mattered now, though.

She was sent here with a mission and—despite the lacking confidence it seemed everyone held toward her—she would prove them wrong. Even if it meant, quite literally, crawling her way out of Hell. Her nose turned up at the proposition to leave and she mirrored Alu's straightened posture. Her grip on the flowers steadied.

There it was… pride. Stubbornness that seemed almost unique to humanity. And with it, a quaint smile.

"Then it's a good thing I want it to continue. Even if you're right about Dr. Hayden's intentions, that won't stop me from doing the right thing."

Her footfalls were light, almost subdued, as she moved to approach the throne. She only stopped when she'd gotten close enough to lay the bouquet at the arch demon's feet. Throughout the entire gesture, her eyes did not leave his. And, when she stood again, her smile grew.

"What I choose to do is not for others to interfere with."

[musesmyway]

@hellegate sent:

"If you're looking for a reason not to kill me, I don't really have one. Other than, we share a common goal, and that we stand to benefit a lot more from working together than fighting each other.”

Hitman Sentences

There's a rather long, uncomfortable moment where the Slayer just stares at Alu. A common goal, huh? He doesn't think so, the Slayer's only goal was to kill every demon out there, and maybe break Satan's neck with his bare hands, and he's willing to fight anyone who gets in his way. Was that the common goal? Something in him tells him that's not quite the case.

The Hellwalker's eyes narrow briefly as if he's finally considering what was said with a bit more critical thought, hands tightening on the gun he carried at the moment, the suppression of his first instinct becoming a little more apparent. "I don't really work with demons." He states. Hell, he barely worked with others, being more of a lone wolf type.

"And what exactly is your benefit in workin' with me?" He asks. He's willing to listen to that explanation at least before he pulls the trigger, but it's clear the Slayer's sceptical. "Or are you really tellin' me you agree with what I'm doing?"

[audaciious]

📐 scuttling in to offer Rayn (@wiildcr) at 6’5” and Alu (@hellegate) at 8’8” 😭😭

Send 📐 + your character's height to compare with one or more of mine!

You would send some of your tallest muses to dwarf her LMAO.

Two different vibes, too.

[futurebird]

The Black Catamount and the Stray Cat Coven of Hellegate Mews

A movie like Jaws, but it's about a black catamount. A group of strays and former house cats, disgusted with the humans who have mistreated them do a summoning ritual to call forth a "great ancestor" -- the black catamount arrives in NYC but it is beyond their control.

The creature is systematically hunting each of the humans who have wronged the kitties in the stray cat coven. This is more than the domestic cats bargained for. A biologist notices a pattern in the attacks, which have NYC gripped in a panic beyond that time with the coyote.

(A coyote walked over the GWB and was running around in NYC a few years back and it literally shut the whole city down. It was hilarious. I can only assume a big cat would lead to greater pandemonium. ) But the black catamount keeps taking victims.

Why are all the victims from this one area? What is the connection to the stray cat colony in the abandon lot in Flushing? How can a literal LION hide in a city of 8 million? Can the coven kitties put the genie back in the bottle?

[lostsovl]

(push) - sender pushes reciever roughly (to protect her from oncoming danger) - Alu @hellegate ❤️

& rough prompts – accepting !

@hellegate // Alu

North of Spain, late 1950s.

They took Mina. That’s all she can think of.

If not this lot of vermin, then one of their cult relatives, some lowlife self-entitled ‘monster hunter’, no better than a wildlife poacher, with their fancy traps and silver loaded guns. How much would her own head fetch? Her teeth turned to souvenirs and necklaces, blood drained into some rich asshole's veins. Whatever happens here, they took Mina. They broke into their home and executed her, and Valerie was too late to stop them, to save her. She caught one of them fleeing, nearly getting herself killed in the process, with that wretched knife slicing across her mouth, silencing her for nearly half a decade. 

Unlike any regular injury that she would have inhumanly recovered from, this one had taken an inordinate amount of time to heal, and even now it ran thin and pink over her lips, down to her chin. A final taste of Mina’s blood leaded with poison. Would that it had taken her, too. 

In her dreadful, mutant grief, she heeds no calls. There is no caution as she steps into their hideout, ambushing them in the black night, and tears into their bodies with her bare hands. She needs only one of them to live; one of them to speak. 

“Who was it?”

She asks, again and again, over the snap of bones and bursting of sinew, her mouth stained from the throats she tears. Eight, down to five, now three. They rush frantically around and scream and fire their weapons, blind, and the forest screams back, startled crawlers scurrying away from the campsite. Prayers— curses? One of them tries to invoke something, but his conviction is not quite there and his magic wilts before it can rise.

Who was it?

Her anger burns so bright it begins to consume her from within, pushing through a path of her own destruction with such brutal force she begins to lose aim, to detach from purpose. Howling, slashing through clothes and flesh, madness a bitter potion on the tip of her tongue. Just who is she set out to destroy? Where is the end of it? 

At last, a flaming arrow grazes her side, biting skin and shattering rib, sending her staggering to the right, with nothing standing left to catch her. Whipping her head in the direction of this stealth offender, she spots him hidden behind a tree, reloading his bow, aiming to kill. 

Pathetic.

Still, her vision swims. He fires before she can charge forward, humbled by a growing collection of reckless injuries, and this one’s aiming for her breast, where it might just take her out, and she might just thank him for it— 

Something massive collides into her, throwing her violently off-course and tumbling on the ground. Valerie’s nails claws dig into the arid earth for purchase, a vain attempt to counter the motion, to spring back upright. Disoriented, wild eyes search the camp in an effort to prevent the next hit, to face whatever new threat had just joined their cause. However, it isn’t a man she sees, not even a bear, and certainly nothing you’d find loose on the Galician mountains, prowling the forest beneath the steel moon for an easy dinner.

The red-eyed satyr storms through the remaining assassins before she can tell him to stop, before she can even recognise him after long years apart, or that he had indeed saved her from that arrow with her name on it and a sure, but painful death. He stops only when they’re the only ones left breathing, at which point Valerie collapses back into a pile of rubble, clutching her oblique, blood gushing through her fingers, and begins a vertiginous comedown from her rage spell. 

Maybe not fast enough, though.

“You— you fool! Why would you meddle?!”

[musesmyway]

@hellegate sent:

“Is this your boy?” The demon hums, admiring the torn picture of his family on the desk with something like fondness gracing his gesture. It’s bittersweet though, at least if the slight droop of his ears is any indication. “He’s adorable. Reminds me of my own.” - from Alu to the Slayer :3c

Unprompted-

The question really shouldn't have been much of a surprise as it was, if the way the Slayer tenses is anything to go off of, it's clear it's a very...very touchy subject that the goat has stumbled across. The photo, along with a few other bits and pieces here in this room, are what's left of his old life, from before he'd even stepped foot onto the path that'd lead him to becoming the Slayer.

It takes quite a bit of effort for him not to immediately snap for him to get away from it, but if the slight audible crunch of metal in his hands was anything to go off of, it's clear the Slayer isn't too happy. So much for repairing the preator suit. He sighs a little and he looked over at Alu then, taking in his demeanour, it's really only then that the Slayer seems to relax, even if it's only slightly, still a little wary about letting the demon know about all of this. It's very private.

"...That's my son, yes." He says, pausing for a moment. "Was...was my son." He clarifies and sighs a little, moving to sit down in his chair by his desk as he picks the photo up. "All I got left of him is this photo." And the few memories he can remember that have faded slightly with time. He shakes his head slightly and he looked down at the picture he's now holding in his hand, protectively because he doesn't want to damage it further than it was, considering he'd torn himself out of the picture ages ago.

[audaciious]

@hellegate said: ❛ i’m starting to think maybe you don’t know what i am. or what i’m capable of. ❜

A bitch. A bastard. A cocksucking motherfucking pain in the ass.

He could take his pick and it wouldn't come close to what she thought about him. As what he was capable of, she couldn't even begin to fathom the power that he had at his fingertips, let alone the rest of him. And despite knowing the danger she was currently flirting with, she stood her ground. Her spade tipped tail flicked in time with her flexing fists. She couldn't recall the last time someone had managed to get under her skin as easily as he could. They'd barely even known each other an hour.

"No. And you don't seem to understand that I don't give a shit," she argued, head craned all the way back to look him in the eyes. It'd have been comical how much smaller she was were she not so desperate. "I summoned ya with that dumbass human ritual which I'm pretty sure you could have ignored. Unless you're not as powerful as you think and say you are." Her nostrils flared. A bargain needed to be struck. She needed help. She needed his help. The materials for the ritual were scarce in this age and hoping she could get another high ranked demon to answer the call was all but abysmal.