16559/INTERLUDE: The Scapegoat dialogues

INTERLUDE: The Scapegoat dialogues
Date of Scene:	07 October 2024
Location:	Jerusalem - Israel, Middle east.
Synopsis:	Lucifer goes to check on the wards upon the prison of Azazel (the fallen one, not the mutant) and discovers ... a small problem.
Cast of Characters:	Sinister, Lucifer

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Sinister has posed:
The sky is burgeoning with stars, at this time of the night. This is the nature of some ancient mysticisms, along with the nature of other spooky things that go bump in the night or are best remembered, but forgotten in the deeps and the darks.

You'll be able to tell better if things aren't how they should be, when the light of the sun ISN'T shining and negating all that thinning of veils. If things are going wrong in the bright light of day, it's probably too late to do anything but call in the Avengers.

Jerusalem bustles at night, as does any capital, ancient or modern -- however Tel Aviv has the nightlife more thoroughly cornered in the Holy Land. But here, just outside of it, there's no streetlights with any consistency, small diners and villages yes, but nothing that punctuates the dark of places long forgotten to all but a few.

The Hill of Golgotha is now a tourist attraction, people to go see where the crucifixions were conducted. But beyond it a ways, 'east of eden'. The terrain is rocky and barren in a lot of places, surrounded by high hills, though nothing like the crags of Jordan wherein Petra doth lie. Still...

Lucifer has posed:
Still. It's a good thing Lucifer is used to this type of terrain - having walked it a few times in the millenia he's been around. Did he take time to do things in Jerusalem? Perhaps. Likely to try and take off an edge that won't budge because he's too wrapped up in his own head trying to decide just how things might go once he reaches his destination. There's no real way of telling. He isn't psychic - as if that would matter. Likely not a crystal ball in the world that would want to peer in on this type of moment. Not without risk of shattering into a million pieces.

Golgotha. He stands there for a moment. There's nothing on the hill itself that preserves the idea of Christ being crucified there. Many other crucifixions happened on that hill afterwards - so it wasn't really that special. The moment of standing on such holy un-holy ground is...interesting... but it's only a moment. Then he's turning and moving towards the cave where his destiny lies.

Rough terrain is nothing for the Devil. He makes quick work of it. Until finally he's at the mouth of the cave where he needs to enter and walk into the bowels of. A breath in. Breathe out. Onwards to the final destination. All the while he's got feelers up - having not quite the best memory of where all the wards are - he'll need to feel them out and then work on strengthening them.

Sinister has posed:
The trouble with things that are meant to be buried and forgotten as a measure of punishment for their transgression, is that occasionally it can backfire.

Once, there were teams of saducees and pharacees that educated small sects of their flock to tend these caves. To bring the incense once a year on the proper day. To speak the words. To say the prayers. To un-name the one within.

Now, after millenia of strife, Arab invasions, british invasions, roman invasions, an exodus, a return, an exodus and a second return, such things are forgotten, or at the very least... blasphemy. Religion forgets that even prisons need to be maintained, or the bars and cells rot and rust.

The mouth of the cave yawns in perpetual laziness, black as the inside of a cat. That is until the devil arrives and then, the ghost of a torch ignites on either side, ephemeral, not real. More light the way, in light that is not light. The bowls are empty. The writing on the wall is faded. Whose job WAS that anyway?

Lucifer has posed:
"So fix it and then go charge someone with keeping it from now on. Which is likely easier said than done, since of all the ones to walk thru Jerusalem I am not the one..." Lucifer mutters to himself as the torches light, a knowing that this light isn't natural and likely only being made because he's here. He has to go all the way in to then come back out, making sure all the wards and things to keep what's in in and what's out out.

"You know. At the end of the day. You really do have the life..." He speaks into the darkness. "No one coming to bother you. No one coming to taunt you. This is an easy life...you can just hang out without a care in the world..." Torches keep up with the pace he's walking - even though the Devil can see fairly well in the dark.

"Shame I had to drag my ass all the way here just to make sure you weren't in danger of escaping... ha. That'd be the day.... can't have that. Not just yet anyway..." He has no idea if anyone is going to talk back, but knowing the prideful vanity chained on the inside, there might be a whole hell of a lot to say once he knows who he's talking to. As if he'd have to question it.

Sinister has posed:
The initial response is a psychic and physical coldness; the temperature quite literally plunges low enough in the initial corridors as to create a flashfrost on the walls. It creaks and cracks and falls off in places, taking just a little more sandstone and cave decay with it as it does so. The sound of breaking ice echoes in the depths and the torches flicker.

Footsteps in the passageways seem very loud in the silence, at least for a little while.

'I seem to remember you going stircrazy when asked to wait until tomorrow for something to happen. And being free to roam an entire realm was not good enough for you. I do not think you are an apt judge of what is or what is not a cushy existence, Sam.'

Lucifer has posed:
"Well if you hadn't have been so trigger happy - pun INTENDED - maybe you wouldn't have ended up here in the first place..." Lucifer scowls out, none too happy with the sudden chill that was pressed through and it takes him a moment but the ice will melt a lot faster once he turns up the heat in the hallway. "Oh-ho. Me? Not an apt judge? I happen to be both judge and jury in this life of mine so I believe that makes me the perfect one to explain to you just what sort of benefits you have here..." He chuckles at the end of it then before moving further within. To the second mouth that opens up the back of the cave entrance.

"But to let people leave it in such disarray is a crime, dear Zazzy..." He grins. "I would think you would have made sure eon after eon someone would still come by and keep things neat and tidy. Prim and proper. Or was this your way of trying to win the world record of slowest prison escape -ever-"

Sinister has posed:
Again, there is silence for a while, followed by the breath of a long-suffering sigh. The cold does nto attempt to fight the heat at all, it is an insidious thing after all.

'I have felt from time to time, that this existence is a little like shutting the gate to the sheep pen, after all the sheep have already fled to the hills. Those sheep are lost now, they are not going to come back to be tended in the fold, yet the gate remains closed. Also: how would it be -my- job to keep my own prison? Your logic escapes me, but then you aren't precisely logical, Sam.'

There it is, the simplest of prisons, when it comes to it. A crack in the wall, that has been jammed full of lots of smaller rocks and sealed with beeswax and resin. A large tri-lith forms a kind of doorway, a bit crooked and counter to the crack, a long-rotten brazier holder on either side; naught but woven wicker and reed, they would fall apart in the light were any to bring them into the sunshine. Dust however, is absent.

There should be dust. Why is there no dust?

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer takes in a deep breath and then exhales it slowly. "There's a reason the gate remains closed...and you know damn good and well why." This said and then he looks over the prison itself. Nothing fancy. Simple things, and basic wards but it looks as though someone has tried to make work of either breaking it apart - or the very simplest of mends to keep it together. "Shoddy work either way..." He finishes the thought aloud while drifting fingers over the wall.

"What would your argument be for wanting to be free of this? You fell along with me. Followed me down because you believed in what I was upset about. What I wanted to change. Then you took the people and made them prideful, introduced them to vanity and practically delivered them the very tools they have used to try to end each other with. You are a dangerous being, Azazel. More than myself if I say so - and that's something. Yet no one remembers you except those who wish not to." He pushes here, pulls there, perhaps to see where the give and takes are.

The lack of dust is noted but kept to himself for the moment. Perhaps waiting for it's signifigance to spring out and slap Lucifer in the face.

Sinister has posed:
It'll come to him in a minute, just give it a while.

'Aah, flattery will get you everywhere. But you're wrong about me being a forgotten entity. There are those that remember me and know my name, despite all the efforts to remove my cartouche and condemn me to the dark, as the egyptians would have said...' Azazel's voice chuckles, bouncing off anf off the walls, seemingly coming from everywhere at once. Without effort, the tone is menacing, sending that chill inside deeper.

'You sound ungrateful, if I'm not mistaken. Or do you not enjoy what your pride wrought?'

Lucifer has posed:
"Oh I enjoy what -my- pride wrought very very much. But there won't be much to actually enjoy if humans actually manage to render themselves extinct..." Lucifer chimes and then grins while looking around once more.

"Who or what has been here? Even you couldn't clear out the desert sand that easily..." Then there's a closer look at the walls where text was written to serve as wards. Perhaps a squint to everything else around them. "...Has someone or something been trying to break you free?" As if he thinks Azazel is going to actually tell him the truth.

"Twenty-four of you fell with me. Seven of you decided to stab the very same back you followed. Why would I be ungrateful?"

Sinister has posed:
'There is a very nice lizard that comes in from the heat from time to time. Spiders. Scorpions. Desert life. Occasional goat. You know what goats are, how they'll run amok. Urban tourists, dark tourists. I do love them you know.' -- The laugh comes again, a voiceless little chuckle in the pseudo-light of the cave.

'Don't you remember what they were like before you gave them understanding? All /I/ did is further that. They had to start down the track, or you wouldn't even have a job now, they'd have been eaten by the first alien that came visiting. No, I don't apologize for further opening their eyes, why should I?' The silence is rich, deep for a while. Oddly hollow.

'By the by, if this is Lucifer Morningstar, the right hand of god and first of the fallen, please leave a message after the tone -- BEEP!'

Lucifer has posed:
"You could have been more subtle about it..." Lucifer's ears flick a bit at the next bout of laughter that follows those words. He turns away from the wall and glances left and right. Something about that laugh, then more words as they have this sort of fencing skirmish but with words. The silence after has Lucifer's heart dropping just a bit.

It's to the point that he turns and walks through what should be the gate of the prison. Hellfire shot out to light torches or even just hover if there are no torches to light. Regardless of the taunting, Azazel -should- be somewhere within these walls. Somewhere that Lucifer could see him.

Unless he's too late.

"What game are you playing at, Azazel? Show yourself!"

Sinister has posed:
Behind the solid tri-lith, beyond in the deeper, coldest heart of the cave, illusion has made the entrance look as though it is a mere tomb for some forgotten soul. The truth, the cavern beyond, it, is larger of course. The lights on the walls, illuminated by hellfire, cast the scene into a rather horrible relief.

The gigantic stone that held the Azazel pressed, devoid of light, is still there, crooked with time and earthquakes that have hit the mediterranean over the centuries. They're such a bugger they are, when you're trying to keep monoliths like this intact! But it doesn't look right. There are claw marks in the stone slab 'neath it. Iron and silver made up ingots in words in the floor, like a mosaic of warding. Salt in a ring also. On that plinthe though, once the eye has done taking in all the other details... is a decrepid and wizzened hand and arm, emaciated by millenia. Rings adorn its fingers bloodstone and agate and lapis lazuli. He should not be .... corrupted? Wizzened? So obviously... like... a mummified corpse...

'Why brother dear, why would I want to go and do a silly thing like that and give you the chance to smack me down again? you've forgotten -so- much. And all I've had, is time to think. In the dark. And dream a hole where a worm could trickle through.'

Lucifer has posed:
"You really will be hurting dear sister's heart if you've actually managed to escape your prison somehow... yet you have to be close if you're free because otherwise projecting your voice would be sufficiently taxing..." Lucifer says this, talking as he does, while going up to the mummified hand so he can reach and pluck off the rings one by one.

"And the smack downs I give you won't seem like anything compared to what I have in store for you for when I find you and bring you back here..." Is offered then as well while he looks over the wards and the salt ring, just taking it all in trying not to exclaim things at the top of his lungs.

"As an aside, do you know where Ramiel is?"

Sinister has posed:
'Remiel? Oh, I'm certain he's around and about somewhere. He and I don't exactly chit-chat. But then again, neither do -you- and I... you should try those on for size, they'll be quite fetching on you,' Vanity brought to the world by this one, after all. Azazel's voice drops lower, a soft tut of sound admonishing the baiting that's transpiring.

'The more things change, the more they stay the same. I had such high hopes. You really have forgotten more than most will ever know in a lifetime, haven't you?'

**VIGNETTE FOR THE EYE OF THE CAMERA-- AND THUS THE BEHOLDER, OF A JAW, WITH A SMART LITTLE SOULPATCH AND HAIRLINE GOATEE, THE LIPS ABOVE IT SMILING AND STARING INTO A CRYSTAL GLOBE, SPEAKING TO IT'S SURFACE LIKE A LOVER**

The wards seem sound enough, if worn. But everything in here is worn, isn't it? There's magic, it seems strong... and then suddenly it's a lot stronger still and the scent of salt is strong in the nose. More so than is warranted by the salt circles, for sure.

'At least you can move around. Do enjoy yourself won't you?' -- then there's the sound of clipped heels walking away, a billow of a cloak crackling and... silence.

Lucifer has posed:
"Forgotten? No. No I don't think I forgot anything..." Lucifer begins to check his pockets, pulling out bag after bag and dropping them to the ground. "Surely one of these will work... I think I brought every anti-ward spell I could think of and then some..." He continues to drop bags. The small kind. Ones that can fit little spells. Little but powerful spells.

Old spells.

At some point after the wards come up, they begin to shimmy and shake, like they can't hold themselves together for very long. "Had a whole monologue prepared and everything. All for the sake of making the punch line last a little bit longer. You really... -really-... need to quit underestimating me..." He says this much more, watching and listening as the clipped heels walk away.

"And to think... I almost thought of having a Sinister at the end of the cave ready with my own little catch him while you can cagey thingie. Only made out of science instead of magic... well...maybe a little magic..." He pauses as the wards crumble further until it's enough that he can walk back out of the cage again. As he walks, he slips on the rings one by one, admiring his hand each time.

"Huh. These -do- look good on me..."

Sinister has posed:
Of course, there is no reply now. Saving for a rumble deep in the earth, a little answering echo of that which was wrought, coming apart as it dissintegrates. Small but powerful spells indeed -- Azazel is no Seraphim. Merely a fallen general but a damn good one.

A rather terrifying one if all is to be believed. And now, his prison is nothing more than a cave, with a fallen rockslide on a plinthe that might have just been a slab of ceiling shale.

Elsewhere, a figure vanishes into the shadows, travelling the distance of a single breath. This, after all, is the King of all Dybbuk.

But Luci, you got some 'splainin' to do at some point.

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer sighs, turning on his heels and lifts a hand to call back all the unused spell bags he brought. Used bags won't do him anymore good now, but a little hellfire to rid their presence won't hurt either. Leave no trace behind, Samael.

Now it's the pondering. The rockslide has buried what more that could have been used to prison the General once more - and Lucifer is sure to not hear the end of it from -someone-.

Cue the leaving. Like the Messiah from his tomb - if the tales are to be believed. Lucifer looks around and gives a little huff. "You're as stupid as you are smart, Azazel..." He mutters under his breath and then looks around for a moment. He's searching for something specific. A signature. They all have them you know. Untraceable to the human eye - but Angel following Angel? Oh yes.

Oh yes indeed.

<<Might be gone a bit longer than expected. Don't wait up for me...>> Is all he thinks towards one person in particular and then there's a flash of white wing before Lucifer himself is gone - following the General's trail.

Sinister has posed:
The night is still dark and full of stars outside, a myriad of tiny motes high in the sky. A white feather and a flash of motion follows an instant of seeking the Bloodhound Bead. It is moving, of course, far faster than it has any right to.

Toward Jerusalem, it seems.

The night life is rampantly underway now, even in the holiest of cities there are those that sleep... and those that come out at night. The innocent AND the guilty, both; a thousand tourists, a thousand criminals, a thousand ladies of the night and one 'feeling' like the tang of copper through all of it, like blood in the dark.

What was Azazel's gift, anyway?

Through various wards and districts until it alights at the site of the old temple, that was destroyed long ago. The one that prompted the rebellion of the free masons, if all is known to be a truth.

Lucifer has posed:
There's a thought in Lucifer's mind that he really shouldn't be seen in Jerusalem as any face that could be traced back to his club in his New York. So he dons a new appearance. A little more heavy set. A little less beard. Rugged clothes - like he's just gotten back from a trek through the desert. Longer hair. Hazel eyes. A little bit of difference here and there to not recognize him.

No wings now. He's going to do this the old fashioned way.

Sort of.

A few steps, a push through the crowd, and then he's at a spot well ahead of where he had been. This goes on and on until he's just at the site of the old temple. A look around and then ahead as he pushes forward.

Sinister has posed:
It's got worshippers at it. This place always does, day or night, it matters not. One turns and looks straight at him, the smell of copper is strong and that worshipper smiles, then looks confused and goes back to prayer. And now, it's a woman looking at him, blowing him a kiss -- again only to look chastized when she realizes what she's doing.

On and on, across the crowd, face after face turns to look at the devil. Some wink. Some doff invisible hats. Some bow. Some curtsey.

But then, one by one, fingers are pointed. Hands extended, accusatory digits aimed right at the First of the Fallen.

But where is Azazel? At the back? In the shadow of a wall that is no longer there? The figure in the hood and cloak appears, smiling in the midst of the humanity all around.

Lucifer has posed:
"Let them go, Azazel. This has nothing to do with them..." Lucifer offers, pressing forward even as the hands point at him. The scent of copper staining his nose with almost a permanant aroma of it. It might be a while before he can make it through the crowd. Unless the crowd starts to crowd around him.

He takes a breath as he does this and then tries to look for Azazel again.

There in the middle. So Lucifer stops. "What's the point of all this anyway?"

Sinister has posed:
A woman beside Lucifer says, in perfect enochian "The point is, that you aren't going to cram me back into my prison cell, dearest brother. I refuse to surrender to you and your Gaol aspirations."

She faints, blood starting to come out of her nose, eyes rolling up in her head.

The man in the middle smiles again, lifting his hood up further, to show eyes that burn like sulphur itself, yellow and jaundiced. He tugs upon his forelock, then he too, faints and starts to convulse, blood coming from his nose and eyes.

A older hessidic jewish man turns around to stare at Lucifer then. "If you like, I can keep going. Letting them go only happens when YOU let -me- go." His torrah is clutched, then he starts to hit himelf in the forehead with it, hard and rhythmical.

Lucifer has posed:
"Stop it! STOP IT!" Lucifer shouts while looking around and then back. "Does it look like I'm rushing to cram you back into that prison now, Azazel? You're out. Okay. But there has to be conditions. Terms. You cannot just go galavanting back to the world like you have a care for it now." Worthless deaths. Pointless. How many now because of him?

"You know I can't just let you go... you have eons of suffering pent up... I can't let you take it out on the world, Azazel..." Saying this, as if reasoning with the General is going to be a possible thing to do.

Sinister has posed:
"You're right," the old man with his torrah informs, again in perfect enochian. "A millenia in the dark, unable to move, to talk, to see, to feel anything but the weight. Back off, Lucifer. Nine steps. Thirteen steps. And lay down your arms, for I -know- you have them."

The man has a big bloody bruise on his forehead now and is liable to end up with concussion or worse, there's panic in his eyes, but his actions are not his own.

There's an entire clique in the church dedicated to what THIS is, isn't there? Yep.

"You will leave. And I will leave. And then they will be free. If you come for me again, it will be a different battlefield. But make no mistake, I -will- see you soon."

Lucifer has posed:
Lucifer holds up his hands and begins to take those steps. One. Two. Seven. Nine. Twelve. Thirteen. Then he shifts back to his normal visage, all proper suit and tie and nothing more. His hands still up. "I won't reach for anything. You have my word." Which, for the Devil, is truth.

"You leave first. I want to see these people free of whatever it is you've done to them. Then I will return home. I promise." Another promise. Another truth. Because the Devil cannot lie.

And he's sending a message to Asrael as best he can without Azazel knowing. Meet at the Penthouse. Dire things upon us.

Sinister has posed:
There's a pause in the panel beating of that poor man's brain. The holy book is dropped. The man drops with it, but this time just unconscious and bleeding. A woman at the edge of the crowd runs to the shadows by the nearest wall and DOES knock herself unconscious running facefirst into it, but then, one by one, the human beings in the temple site lower their hands, looking confused and more than a little scared.

But the smell of copper fades and vanishes entirely.

This is going to be an interesting discussion isn't it? Oh yes, yes yes.