Atalanta arched her in an inquisitive way when she thought she had heard actual words formed. Had it really grown so bold? Knowing her own penchant for day-dreaming, she was right to doubt her ears, so, she sought the opinion of her furry companion. Jean had his own agenda, however, and had scampered off, perhaps to his run outside. Atalanta was left gripping the broom handle as she waited, suspicious eyes searching for a prankster in the shadows?

?Nothing but silence met her. Either it was teasing her, or she really had imagined the whole thing. ?Lanta held her breath as she gave it another moment, but when the void was broken, it was by Jean, who barked a couple times from the side yard, though it was nothing urgent.

"Starting to spend too much time with yourself," ?Lanta grumbled under her breath as she shook her head and looked to the floor. It was true. Since coming to RhyDin, her afternoons were often lonely, save for the canine?s presence. She no longer had a houseful of siblings, nor did she have her schoolmates or her Tutor, with the final one being a more recent development. Still and in and out of her life, the Tutor was much busier, or perhaps all the more bored with ?Lanta?s poor development. As Atalanta sent off a lurching train of thought on her Elder?s whereabouts, she began to slowly drag the bristles back and forth, once more.

?You ogle me day and night, and yet won't greet me? Tsk, tsk,? it spoke again, still warm and gently teasing. It sounded like it was coming from the floor, or somewhere near there.

"Ogle you?" she found herself replying, before taking the time to consider whether she had imagined that, as well. "You must be mistaken. I usually only eye things I can actually see." She started to grin, patiently swiveling to catch sight of all corners.

With such a pretty voice, she was excited to see what would emerge. The game had become interesting. As a reward, she was given a response almost immediately. ?You know you don't need eyes to ogle. I have none, and must admit I'm drawn to you.?

"Oh? What about me do you find alluring, Stranger?" she asked, making sure to be extra quiet while waiting for his response. She wanted to find him this time around. Her belly ached and her temples throbbed just once to show the beginning stages of her particular hunger. The onset was much quicker than usual, but she didn?t analyze that, even though he gave a significant pause. Finally:
?You're unique. Most of my residents have been mortal men. Even your boss, he is normal, for the most part... and normal is boring. Normal means they relate to each other... and couldn't possibly hear or care to hear what a building has to say.?

While she listened to him, she attempted to trace the sound of the voice, her feet trusting her ears. Atalanta made sure to shuffle softly as he spoke, so as not to miss a word, finding herself disappointed when he stopped talking before she could track him down. "Me?? she narrowed her eyes, ?I'm not so very unique...what makes you think I stand apart?" Had she been whispering secrets?

?You have only to pry loose the nail, and I will teach you. I swear it.?

Finally at the basement door, Atalanta pressed her palm flat against the frame while her other fingers curled around the knob. The waning accent formed coy words: "And why should I trust you?"

??Do you know the rule about demons and their names??

She laughed, pressing her cheek to the wood. "Da' mentioned it, once, I believe--the power in a name. It did not affect me, though, so I failed to really listen." Her eyes were as sharp and brilliant as jungle cat's, lapping over the door she was leaning on. "Rumpelstiltskin?"

?Ianodys.?

?Lovely. What does it mean?" Atalanta still spoke with suspicion, yet she opened the door, regardless. It was a creaking, tortuously slow move, as she half expected a body to topple out into her arms.

?It means you have power over me by having my name. I am yours, 'Lanta... yours to summon and control, as soon as you free me.? What magic words. The basement below was dark and dusty, but there was a little lamp with a switch for it. There were a lot of boxes, mostly liquor, and a few empty ammunition crates left over from one of Alain?s?whatevers. There was no sign of the silver mark, however.

?That I do recall, now. Yes. I didn?t mean that, though. I was referring to the meaning behind your name." She smirked as her eyes adjusted to the light (or lack thereof), though not completely. She wasn't as gifted in the dark as her demon-kin, so she was forced to slow her movement down to compensate for her slight loss in vision. Where was that switch? Better question: "Where are you, Ianodys? I'm impatient..." From upstairs, perhaps still outside, she could hear Jean bark.

"It is no more meaningful than yours, 'Lanta. The ammunition box in the corner you're facing... The mark is under there."

"Clever hiding spot," she said in a low voice, holding her position, momentarily. "And why do you think my name is without meaning? I picked it specifically, I'll have you know." She almost sounded as if she was chiding him--but she was having too much fun to truly nag. Her headache was a thing of a past, but in its place, there was a muttering in the pit of her stomach. She was too far in to care about that, though. Atalanta was aglow. She returned to her half-sightless stalk, heading for the corner. His corner.

?And what does it mean?? the voice was kind enough to ask. Her strange inner heat grew as she drew near, making it clear that this was truly one of her ilk. This was a bona fide demon. On the floor over her head, Atalanta could hear claws clatter back and forth; Jean was pacing.

?Balanced,? she answered while her unusual accent faded away, making her voice even and honeyed. With a wicked curvature of lips, she put both hands on the sides of the box he?d indicated and began to push it out of the way. It took some work, of course, considering she was not the most muscular of women, and as she labored, sweet smelling sweat blossomed from her pores. It was touched with spice.

?Lanta fell back onto her bum, soft black scales wriggling away from the weight of her body as the tail emerged from beneath her with a twist and a slither, as if panting for air. "I was closer with Rumpelstiltskin, wasn't I?" The demon might have been making quite a fuss, but she did not seem worried, for while she wasn?t a Full blood, she at least belonged to one. Her concern was best saved for later when she?d be forced to own up.

?You think that's funny, don't you? Do you know what's really funny?? The barking from upstairs suddenly turned to yelping. ?I could possess him, force him into seizures until he died - or maybe I'll just throw him out into traffic. If I'm really lucky, he'll get cut in half. Isn't that hilarious...??

"Don't!" she exclaimed almost immediately, her voice wavered with his threat. He?d put her in her place quite probably, making her wince timidly at Jean?s little cry. "Please! I...I won't make fun! Don't hurt him, though?" Her voice grew weak, as did the glow.

It appeased him, it seemed, for the next yelp reduced to whining, before she could no longer hear it over the building sinister laughter of the demon. ?Find something sharp. The clock is ticking, dearest 'Lanta.?

?Sha--sharp?? she stammered, concerned by the word. Was he planning a sacrifice? Even in brimstone bloom, she did not have that in her. The tip of her serpentine tail wound about her wrist. ?How sharp??

?Sharp enough to break your skin,? the demon stated, as another yelp broke out from upstairs. ?Do it!?

She made a face at the order, but Jean?s pain made her submit. Atalanta in the direction of her wrist, though she could not see the triangular end in the dark. She was aware, however, that the scales could change themselves for the occasion or the suitor, and this one most certainly asked for a hard, painful edge. In the shadows, her onyx scaled formed a smooth, razor line along both sides of the tail?s point. She held her arm out and the appendage unfurled, the 'head' raised like a viper?s; this snake did not have two fangs, however, and when it struck, it didn?t puncture. Instead, it drew out across her skin, making a four-inch long gash deep along the side of her wrist.

The moment the blood oozed out and hit the floor, it sizzled and began to turn into a strange, glowing red vapor, then blue, gathering near the floor and rapidly expanding upward. The power felt ever more intense as the demon manifested on the physical plane; and when the smoke cleared, there was a form before her. He reached up and tugged on the little string to click on the light?revealing a bizarre-looking demon. Seven feet tall, muscular to the point of absurdity, his skin a strange mottled blue and white, with ram?s horns. Three tails whipped back and forth, and he ran his fingers slowly, thoughtfully along his fangs. His bright yellow eyes slide over to her. "Oh, 'Lanta... you foolish little girl...,? he mocked as Jean went back to barking above. In the distance, there was the approach of a motorcycle. "Before I was summoned and then trapped, I commanded a legion,? he said as she moved towards her, snarling. "Did you really think a little mutt like yourself could command the likes of me?"

?Not really...,? she confessed as the bright eyes hung on him and tried to devour his form. He was odd looking, indeed, but not completely repulsive, either. It was certainly not the form she?d been expecting. "Demons always prove more wayward puppets than mortals. You had me curious.? Her voice had become less fearful, once more, since Jean seemed to be alright. Of course, she wasn?t ready to start cracking jokes, again, so she settled for an intensely interested tone, even as he lurched towards her. Perhaps she should have thought of moving, because not shortly after she spoke, he made a grab for her throat.

He lifted her and pressed her back against the wall, snarling as his tails thudding steadily on the floor. "I could ravage you right now...,? said while his nostrils flared as he sniffed at her, "but it would be more sensible to drink all your blood first." The door upstairs opened and slammed; the barking paused only a moment.

Meanwhile, upstairs--
Atalanta had just entered Alain?s room, which was filled with lots of old tomes, notebooks, and papers, both organized and disorganized. She artfully ignored the childish urge to snoop through his literature and drawers, (in much the same fashion she was ignoring the head injury) as she focused on the task Alain had given her. She was pleased to find only two books under his bed, which greatly cut down on time she could potentially waste trying to find the right one. The first book was unmarked, black, and suspicious looking, but even in the face of that temptation, she picked up the second, which was similar but older and more damaged. It was also faintly inscribed on the cover with the title Daemonologie. The table of index was less than useful, so Atalanta was forced to flip and scan at a frantic pace, grumbling at her own inability to read as fast as her younger brother. Not finding the given demon name the first time around, she took a breath, composed herself, and started searching again. She?d about lost all hope when suddenly, her mind caught up with the darting irises, and forced them to double back over the I-a-n-?Ianodys! The word matched the sound of it! She triumphantly raised the open book to her chest and held it tight to her, not wanting to lose the page as she jogged back down to the bar level?only tripping once. Before she slipped down into the basement, however, she spared a moment to look over at Jean, who seemed fine, if a little off-kilter. "I'm so sorry, Jean! I'm so sorry!? she said with genuine remorse, stifling his growling momentarily. ?I'll give you treats!" she added in the call over her shoulder as she bounded down the stairs.

The scene she walked in on was a desperate one, the demon pinning Alain against the wall with one hand on his chest, the other flaring with an evil-looking magic. Alain was pushing the arm away from his face with both hands. ?Lanta stood poised at the bottom of the stairs, concern for Alain making her voice carry out louder despite its distortion: ?SYNDONAI!?

The only change that happened when the name was spoken was that the demon stopped growling and trying to move the magic closer to Alain's face--but he kept the man pinned, his eyes narrowed, as he asked in a low voice, "What is your bidding, master?" The captured detective?s eyes slid to his pistol on the floor as the demon was preoccupied.

Oh, greed. Oh, pride. They were two lovely little sins that shone in the cambion?s devil-bred eyes at the term 'Master', and at the accompanying knowledge that she could take revenge on the liar?or simply have him work for her. It was like someone had made the Incomplete a very full, VERY powerful Complete. Yet, seeing Alain still in such a perilous place, she tapped into her humanity and reminded herself not to lose control. She dispensed her orders with the almost apparent restraint: "Drop him. He is not to be touched, again." There was a short pause, and then she added, "Neither is the dog. Come closer--to the stairs."

Sydonai dropped Alain at once, letting him crumple to his knees, coughing and wheezing; but very soon afterwards, Alain was crawling on his hands and knees to his gun. He emptied out the remaining bullets onto the floor and started reloading it. The demon arrived at the base of the stairs and looked up at 'Lanta, the evil magic flickering out from his hand. There was a bright red, cross-shaped blister on his chest, and more blistering around his left eye.

Atalanta didn't know what to do. Could she banish him? Should she banish him? "You're burned...," she murmured at the sight of him, her eyes back to the more intense shade, prompted by her dominance over the pure-bred. If she thought about it logically, she would realize trying to keep the creature was not the best idea--he was more prone to bite and rebel if he could find a way out of her hold. Besides, her Da' would just try to take him from her. But when presented with the idea, now, it didn't seem so impossible to have herself a large slave. "Tell me, honestly---what can I do with you? Where can I keep you?" she asked the demon as her eyes flicked to Alain, which elicited a rather unreadable expression. "And tell me, still honestly, how can I dispose of you, if I need to?"

?You can use me to rally what can be rallied of my old legion, and we can start a Great War in Hell, and see what can be gained for me... and for you also, of course." He grinned maliciously, but the grin flickered at her next question. "...You can bind me to the mark again, or another object... but not eternally. Never eternally." He answered her very last question after a pause, where he looked over at Alain's gun with narrowed eyes. ?With a holy weapon,? He snarled it out in a low mutter, barely audible.

?Right?right,? she exhaled, knowing then that he would be taken away--for the best, as displeasing as it seemed. "One last request. For the moment.? She smiled, and continued, ?Apologize. To the three of us." She was just being mean, now, but if she couldn?t keep him, couldn?t she at least humiliate him?

Sydonai clenched his hand into a fist, growled, and finally managed--"I apologize! I apologize to the idiotic mortal, to the mutt upstairs, and to the mewling whore of a mutt who commands me. I apologize to the fools who dare to command a lord."

Apparently Alain didn't much like his answer, because he pulled back the hammer on his revolver.

Atalanta, however, took the insult in stride by giggling and tipping her head. "Careful now, my pet, or I'll make you say it again?nicely," she rubbed it in using a mock threat as her guise. ?Lanta?s domestication was demons reared its ugly head again, as she tread (without much grace) over his nerves, not even batting an eye. She leaned to view Alain from over the shoulder of the beast with a 'well now what?' kind of glance.

Alain looked over at 'Lanta, considering her silent question while maintaining a careful poker face. He was bleeding, but not badly; his lip was busted and there was a rivulet of blood coming from somewhere above his left temple. He mopped at it, put his gun away, and dug out a liquor bottle, which he held up to her. "Can you find a way to bind him to this? If you don't know how, I've got a small library upstairs... and I'm pretty sure it could help us."

Jean was at the top of the stairs, still panting, though when he saw the two of them okay and was unable to smell anything funny, he ambled down quickly. Alain gathered him up to give him a good rubbing and also to inspect him for damage. Atalanta smiled to the canine, yet, just as she done with Alain, she was hesitant to keep her gaze on him for long. Alain walked up the stairs into the main room, holding Jean and Atalanta followed, securing the book and the bottle to her chest. She kept her eyed on Alain?s feet as he headed up the side stairwell to the second floor and then to his room.

"I don't think Daemonologie will do us much more good in dealing with dear old Syd," Alain said as he entered his bedroom and picked out several volumes (including the unmarked little black book) and a first aid kit, leaving Jean to wander around upstairs with them. "But I've got others that might do us some good." He proceeded into the study and dropped the books, then set the first aid kit aside. He opened it for her and continued, "The Book of Raziel the Angel, the Munich Handbook, The Picatrix...I've got the Red Dragon here, but I've always thought it was bullshit." He piled two more books onto the desk. "Both volumes of a Middle English translation of the Damascene Manuscript - the author claims to have destroyed an archdemon with a couple of rabbis, and it seems pretty legitimate to me." He looked up at her as he applied alcohol to a little cut on his head and put a band-aid on it. "That's probably our best bet."

She was struck dumb and forced to just nod along, again. Her silence this time blossomed from this being the first time she could remember that she was confronted with so many books on a subject so close to her. Curiosity had led her into library investigations once or twice before, but she'd never been able to get through much without feeling uncomfortable. She always felt like someone was watching her and judging. She reached for some gauze, the medical tape, and a little pre-soaked alcohol pad, as her eyes widened and flicked furtively over the many books.

Alain finished cleaning up pretty quickly, and took the second volume from the Damascene Manuscript. "Middle English is so bloody hard to read, but this book is worth it...,? he started to go through the pages, letting the silence go on, before he looked up at her again. "I'm not a demon hunter or any kind of zealot like that," he said with a shake of his head. "But sometimes my casework..." He trailed off, and then gestured to all the books. "I guess I should explain all this, huh?"

Quietly, she answered: "You don't have to if you don't want to. It's not like I was entirely honest." That ended on more of a sour note than she had intended. She was busily struggling to wrap her arm up.

"We all have our secrets," he reassured and moved over to take over wrapping up her arm. It gave him something to do while he figured out how to say what he wished, and finally, he began: "Almost as soon as I opened up S.P.I., over a year ago, someone put me on the case of the West End serial murders - the ones that taunt the Scathachians and use their symbols." He worried his lip as he focused on tying off the bandage a moment. "Recently I figured out they're, ah... Bha'al-worshippers. That's how I got that limp about a month ago. These," he added, nodding towards the books, "are what I need to have a shot at bringing them in."

"Are they demons?? Atalanta asked, since Bha'al was not something that she remembered hearing before. She watched him work, since it also gave her something else to look at, besides Jean and her boss, as she sat on the floor, surrounded by bits of insight on her heritage. She wasn't sure she wanted to pick up these pearls of wisdom, though.

"I'm not sure... some very well might be, but I know it's not all of them - and I really doubt it's most of them." He finished, and looked up at her again. He asked the same question he asked earlier--"Are you okay?"

"Yeah...," she again exhaled the word, rather than speaking it. "It's just...all this. It's a lot. And the back of my head hurts. I feel kind of dizzy. But the books..." She glanced to them, her expression confused and clouded by contradicting thoughts. "Let's just find out how to make him go away?"

He nodded slowly. "I'll see what Malachi the Elder has to say," he indicated the Damascene book as he dragged it to the floor between them. Alain flipped to several different bookmarks, and at last found what he was looking for. He read it a few times before translating it. "With the demon thus bound within the vessel, we surrounded it with a circle of sawdust. I and my companion prayed, and Aaron summoned him from the vessel. Together we... spake his name thrice, and I drove the Spear of Raziel through his heart as soon as he appeared. With a most hideous roar he burst into light... and was gone. We spake his name thrice again, and he would not show. He was bound to Hell beyond mortal summoning, or destroyed." He looked up at her, with a look that said, Well?

"Oh." She fidgeted some, again. Her arm wrapped up, she had nothing much to look at, except white gauze. "Well, then...where do we get such a spear? And sawdust is needed, too...but, I assume...that'll be the easier of the two to get..." She said it all very softly, turning pink in the cheeks.

He actually wiggled his eyebrows, since he thought it was appropriate at this point, un-holstered his pistol, and opened up the cylinder. He removed one bullet and passed it to her. "I know it's all the same Church, but I will swear up and down that my friar is the best one in town. I put one of those in a vampire once, and he exploded. Its manufacture is... complicated, but it involves silver, cross inscription, blessings, and a lot of holy water."

She was nervous to handle it, both because of the religious weight of it, and because it was a bullet. In truth, it actually made her stomach churn a little, audibly even, like it sometimes did in mass. She was glad there was no burning involved, though. Alain held his hand out for the bullet back. "That is our Spear of Raziel,? he stated while she placed the bullet back into Alain?s hand, a little too eagerly.

"So. Sawdust. And then...we can...just..." ?Lanta sent a sidelong glance to the bottle.

?I'll shoot him in the heart. You may want to duck beside something when I do. He may explode, and if he does, while I doubt it would be particularly harmful, it might get... messy." He eyed the page before them with a frown, shut that book, and opened another one. "Every demonologist and demon hunter out there uses a different substance to make their circle - black sand, red sand, sawdust, lead beads, powdered glass, salt..." His eyes scanned the pages before him, verifying to himself that demon hunters have in fact used salt circles, and that he was not just imagining things. He looked up at her again. "Do you think hops would work?"

The green eyes rounded to the size of little saucers, stuck on Alain as he spoke about shooting Sydonai in the heart and the mess that would make. "Uh..." But then he was off on his knowledge quest, and she was left to look at him stupidly. When he finally asked her for her opinion, she reverted to the standard nod. She knew what hops were, but at that moment, she couldn't remember what they were used for.

"Then pick the emptiest part of the basement you can find and make a circle large enough for our guest to stand in." He looked skeptically at his .38 revolver and left it on his desk; he started picking through his other weapons that he kept tucked away here and there. "I just need to make sure the gun I use is the very best...I don't think I'll like what happens if I shoot a demon-lord in the chest and he survives the experience." He reached down to pet Jean absently while he coolly-and-calmly inspected something that can only be described as a hand cannon. So this is what her boss is like when he 'switches off.'

"Try not to...blow it through him, though? Ain't that...against...,? her tongue lost power for the umpteenth time at the sight of the new weapon Alain pulled out. Feeling a rush of excitement and dread that made her all the more dizzy, she skittered to the door with the bottle pressed up against her ribs. She tripped in the doorway, scatter-brained and trying not to step on the dog underfoot, but by some divine grace, the glass did not shatter.

?It should disintegrate upon contact with his heart!" he called after her somewhat belatedly, after she?d gotten to her feet and rushed off.