Dee: "Dairy of a Dæmon": present rating P.G.: original

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Dee: "Dairy of a Dæmon": present rating P.G.: original

Postby Dee Arris » Tue Jan 31, 2012 4:03 am

31 January

Entry #1


I've never stuck around this plane long enough to require a journal before. Time-keeping and posterity are non-issues when your natural habitat flaunts time as much as this one does length, depth and breadth. It's not my first time in the kingdom, and it's not the first time a magician has purposely summoned me either, but perhaps it's the first time in memory when someone read the damn records. We should never have let the Internet concept fall into the hands of modern humans at all, let alone the hands of modern wand-wavers. They're all so...smart now. I remember not so very long ago when most of them didn't have easy access to common points of reference, they kept on making the same mistakes and, in the days before fast travel, living in different villages was damn near a guarantee they had no idea what they were really doing in the first place. It made the working relationships much easier to figure out. All cards on the table. The summoners couldn't hide things from us because they had no idea what to expect when we answered, and even then we were afforded the power to ignore them if we felt the calling was wrong.

Thanks to that berk Solomon and others, we get wrenched all over the place. No time to settle while we're here. Whatever happened to the good old days of the local parish infernal, or the cushy roles, like forest spirit or house imp? I swear, you give mankind an inch and they take a lightyear (I probably screwed up the phrasing, but distances don't really matter where I come from, either). I'd be pleased for them if I weren't so positively and outrightly irritated right now.

So here I am, writing these words, dictated by a habit of my present host (worse still, a willing host, so I've been poured into her and bottled until my new masters break the confounded seal).

It's only been a few days but I can feel her influence is well within me now. I tried to put this off, and I managed it for about a week, but there's this angry scratching in the back of my...her skull. If I resist further I reckon I'll start suffering from withdrawal pains. My host has these dairies all over her home. The ones I've dug up go as far back as her last years of secondary school, though I'm of the opinion there are more yet to uncover. She probably has entries dating all the way back to the womb, the obsessive-compulsive little cow. I am using this only to share my thoughts, as I certainly can't do so in everyday conversation, with all the normal humans. It's a bit of an unspoken law that we can't reveal ourselves to people who aren't open to us. There are lots of atheists these days, but the loophole is that the harder they try to make themselves disbelieve, the more the images haunt them, and the more open to us they become because their grip is so desperate and tenuous. There are very few who are truly closed. I admire their ability to shield themselves, but I know some soft-hearts feel sad for their isolation. I always did like my own company. Either way, the existence of those few are the reason we can't set light to sinners or outrun the EuroStar or bound over rooftops in full view of the public. Don't ask me to go into much more detail than that. I'm a guardian, not a lawyer.

A guardian of children, as a matter of fact. Wouldn't expect that of a dæmon, would you? Well, angel, monster, god, djinn, those are all just names. We're different species, certainly. I'm not made out of smokeless fire, and I'm not a four-legged spinning lion's head, or a ball of holy light so bright I'd have to struggle not to burn onlookers alive. At the end of the day, we're all doing the same job, or close enough to it that we maintain a kind of truce. More political twaddle I don't like to stick my nose into. I've been tagged to kiddies since just a little while after I was forged. I like them, well, I don't mind them. If I had a heart, some of them would warm the cockles of it with their antics, but I have learnt to keep my relationships with them as strictly professional, especially if circumstances necessitate moving them to my office. Entities inside the spheres have a nasty tendency to find out everything about you and what you're doing, and some are the very reason I have to play bodyguard, if you know what I mean. I like to think I'm good in a trans-dimensional fight, but it's always annoying when you have to worry about the N.P.C.s.

This pen's running out. If she knew this was going to happen, the least she could've done was set a spare biro aside for me. I'll write more when I have a new--
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Re: Dee: "Dairy of a Dæmon": present rating P.G.: original

Postby Dee Arris » Wed Feb 01, 2012 3:15 am

1 February

Entry #2


The way humans catalogue their units of time is confusing. February has less days than January, except during leap-years, which is the only instance in which the standard 365 day classification is circumvented. Either they like to over-complicate things for themselves as a conversation piece or it's an insidious plot to piss me off. On the other hand, there are lots of months with less days. February's just the most severe. Maybe this journal's broken.

Found a biro. Well, bought one, actually. A pack of them. Thankfully I have several friends back home who deal directly with finances, so my shadowing them has afforded me a decent enough grasp on currency to not look suspicious. I also got myself one of those sandwiched heart attacks on a plate just to spite my host. Bacon, beef and a coat of melted cheese just for good luck. We'll see how the bitch likes the cellulite package I'm giving her. Mmm.

I'm still waiting for the big day, so I had some time to absorb modern culture. Let me tell you, it's a real melting pot. I browsed the Internet a bit today...and it looks like somebody found an old photograph of one of my manifests. Name of Serj (Russian?). My shield kept me from being too clearly defined, but they revealed enough to show what a snappy dresser I am.

Those pictures seem to have sparked a plethora of new, revived interest in me. How in the universe did he get his hands on them?

I've watched at least a dozen groups on that online video site, dramatising stories about me. Their interpretations are intriguing, but I find the whole affair disconcerting. I'm not adverse to a bit of flattery, mind you (what dæmon is?) but the general consensus is that I'm some kind of man-eating monster (I'll have you know I haven't touched man-meat since the debacle in Egypt) or a crazed stalker...

...Well, okay, I am a stalker when I have to be, but so are detectives and everybody loves them! It's not fair, I tells ya! Anyway, the reason it unnerves me is that I...no, reckon I'm getting paranoid. According to the aforementioned storytellers I'm good at generating that in others, so I'm probably vulnerable to my own power. Ha-ha-ha!

I need to occupy my thoughts, or this will gnaw at me forever.

I'd sign this but the summoning keeps me from knowing my own name, so until next time...

-F.

That should suffice.
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Re: Dee: "Dairy of a Dæmon": present rating P.G.: original

Postby Dee Arris » Thu Feb 02, 2012 2:01 am

2 February

Entry #3


Her mind is closed off to me.

I can't use any of the old tricks. I can't use her voice, or dip into her memories. She's aware of what I'm doing, wrapped up in a little spiritual bubble like a womb, somewhere within the catacombs of her soul but separate enough to remain out of my reach. When I have to sleep, she gives me dreams so we can converse. I don't like it. To me, sleep is a way to get away from everything, a way to enjoy full sensory enclosure. According to her, all my diabolic abilities have been sealed until she or her partner, the summoner, state their approval. I can't get any more information than they are willing to tell me off the bat...once that bubble blows again it's over until next time she feels chatty. Fine. Like I even care. She's got weird ears, anyway.

Clearly they've taken many great and extensive measures to bind me between lurid encounters.

I admit I've not been completely honest. I'm still not used to the act of writing all this down, even for my own sake. I've been very vague about why I'm here, but if I can't open up, this whole exercise is rendered moot. So, here goes...

It's an unusual task, it only falls just within the periphery of my speciality. These two, they're part of a coven, or an Order, whatever they call themselves. They're preparing for an important Mass. Not your usual kind, mind you. Not a catch-all for this month's heavenly news and updates. I've managed to glean enough bits and pieces to figure out that this Mass, this ceremony, all boils down to ushering in a new age. The problem is that somebody's been bumping off named participants. The Priest and the Priestess, for example. They have enough members to find replacements, but what they really fear is those who have to commit what comes after the talking.

It's sex-magick. They plan to conceive a positive Moonchild at the moment the solar system reaches the alignment, one that will sway the fourth æon of man. No wonder everyone's taking their holidays in Sheol instead of Gehenna, where the pubs don't have chucking out time. For one dire moment, I thought I was expected to be the mother and my essence harvested to create a supernatural ankle-biter. Thank whoever that's not the case. What they want is for me to ensure the conception comes across occurs as planned...ugh...which means I have to watch. It counts under my jurisdiction as the Friend and Protector of Children. I'm almost sooner be playing mumsy.

I should have my contract redrawn. This is abuse. Well, they'd better not expect me to fight this psycho off with my...her bare hands.

One of the members is in C.I.D. He's managed to get himself attached to the murder investigation. I was feeling helpful the other day, and tried to suggest the perpetrator might not be of the human persuasion. He shrugged me off.
"Leave this to me." I'm sure you can understand I was a bit insulted by that, so I called him out and said his masters knew I was right. If they suspected it was a threat they could handle, they would never have called me up in the first place. To his credit, he seemed more willing to listen after that, and allowed me a bit of a gander at what he had. Sadly, after a couple of days of deep memory-searching, I couldn't connect the M.O. to any one specific entity. It was far too general. Do you know how many fire-dæmons there are? Bloody. That's how many.

Time's growing short. I'm going to make some personal preparations.

There'll be no time for mistakes.

The ceremony is tonight.

-F.
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Re: Dee: "Dairy of a Dæmon": present rating P.G.: original

Postby RedEight » Fri Feb 03, 2012 7:21 am

If this is really updated daily, I'll subscribe
Two men walk into a bar; the third one ducks.

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Re: Dee: "Dairy of a Dæmon": present rating P.G.: original

Postby Dee Arris » Sat Feb 04, 2012 1:27 pm

4 February

Entry #4


What a night.

Wish I could remember it.

Summoner doesn't want me anywhere near him right now. I think he's hiding something. Whatever, I got up with a murderous headache and I'm seriously not in the mood for cryptic rubbish. Woke up at the detective's house. He explained to me that I'd been unconscious since the night of the ritual. I'm told everything went to plan, that I intercepted the assassin just in time, so soon enough we'll know if there's a bouncing baby Antichrist on the way. I could just pop a lung, I'm so pleased. My back aches, too. Whoever the assassin was, they must've torn off a few of my tentacles before being driven away by...certainly can't have been me if I was already out, unless I did some serious damage beforehand. Good thing I can regrow those or I might actually be upset. Asked where the assassin disappeared to afterwards. He says he doesn't know. Reckon they're being interrogated, if they're still alive. I wonder if that's what's going on at summoner's place.

His name's Ansel. Mike Ansel. He insists I call him that. Must get sick of being called, "Detective," at work. I can get behind that. I'm not too fond of being called one of my titles all day, every day, either. Tried to go out on my own -- just to clear my head, y'know? -- but I nearly broke my neck going down the stairs. Yes. Mine. Not my host's. So long as I have to stay in this ridiculous body, I'm claiming tenant's rights on it. Anyway, since I'm still recovering from the arse-kicking of the century, Ansel's offered to drive me around. I need to get outside so I begrudgingly agreed.

For the most part I admit it was relaxing to just ride around, at least until somebody started messing with me. It wouldn't be major if they hadn't been using that damned symbol. The one from those online stories. The circle with an X through it. We found it on a piece of paper that was screwed up and stuffed into the letterbox. I think they call it, "The Sign of the Operator," or something equally as silly.

What, pray tell, am I meant to be operating?

Does somebody else know who I am, or is it just a member of the Order playing the most obnoxious prank in recent history? I honestly don't feel up to playing cops-and-robbers right now, but I'll be sleeping with one eye open tonight...if I'm able to sleep at all.

-F.
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Re: Dee: "Dairy of a Dæmon": present rating P.G.: original

Postby Dee Arris » Sun Feb 05, 2012 8:41 am

5 February

Entry #5


Didn't sleep much. Kept seeing that stupid symbol in my dreams, among other things. Can't tell if I'm being self-conscious or if my host is just a nutcase...speaking of which, I haven't heard from her these past two or three days. Little bit worrying. I do feel a bit different, like I've somehow been able to...fit, I suppose. Ansel sleepwalks. Either that, or he just loses his modest post-witching hour. Heh-heh. He's got a tattoo on his rear end. A blackbird. Think I'll start calling him that, just to shake him up.

-F.

Entry #6

Word on the assassin. Summoner insists that it's being, "dealt with." I prefer to not be kept in the dark about work-related incidents. I'm nobody's dogsbody. I'm a damned Guardian, and I made this very clear to him. He definately doesn't like me, but he can at least admit when I'm right. I was taken into the inner sanctum, a big, dimly lit room with tall, metal candle-holders, engravings in the walls and ceiling and a large slab in the middle. The purplish haze and sweet, sweet smell of incense were everywhere. Very ceremonial, and of course, tacky as hell. The way magicians like it. Ansel was with me, he's now been appointed my official handler. I think he expected this about as much as I did.

The assassin was spread out on the slab, wrists and ankles bound. They hadn't stripped her of her clothes, so at least she was afforded some dignity. She was mute, and when I got close enough for a good look at her, I could tell there was nothing diabolic about her. That's when I spotted the brands on her arms and legs. She was human, but I could sense infernal essences in the markings. It made me feel sick to accept the truth. The marks weren't for simply calling familiars. Whoever dispatched her had lashed a group of lesser fire-dæmons to her skin. She was a puppet, a vessel for their will and nothing else, playing meat-suit to a squirming, wriggling mass of frightened spite and brimstone.

What's her story? Little girl, wanted to be a witch, maybe for love or revenge, ended up in over her head? A pound of flesh from some arrangement that had nothing to do with her? A random innocent snatched off the streets?

I get the feeling summoner intended for me to be present, because my extrasensory perception was allowing them more answers than their methods. Apart from how she was able to sling fire and turn people into molten mush, there was nothing. The lights were on, but nobody was home. She was fifteen years old. I could've wept. This was a child I should've saved. Instead, she slipped under my radar utterly. I left the building with Ansel six hours ago. My hand's still shaking with the memory of her.

It's a horrendous state of affairs when a dæmon has to ask if anything is still sacred.

We have her control talisman, or what's left of it. I smashed it up pretty thoroughly while we were fighting. The signal is weak. The culprit is within this city. Ansel and his team are working to track down any rival Orders and comb the magical underworld.

I'm going to hunt them down my way.

-F.
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Re: Dee: "Dairy of a Dæmon": present rating P.G.: original

Postby outsourcefirm » Wed Feb 08, 2012 12:07 am

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Re: Dee: "Dairy of a Dæmon": present rating P.G.: original

Postby Dee Arris » Thu Feb 09, 2012 9:44 am

9 February

Entry #7


Dead end. Dead end dead end DEADENDDEADEND dead
[expletive] end [the following is a paragraph of curse words, some in other languages, including what seems to be a precursor to Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics and extremely rough Sumerian cuneiform].

Entry #8

They've left the city. The trail of magical residue thinned out after King's Cross railway station. I think the spell was cast by several magicians instead of one, and they hopped different trains on the very same night the attempt was made. I scoured as far as I could, but came up dry. Ansel tells me it might be enough to start an investigation by checking the train schedules. Not sure what he expects to find, but...I don't have much other choice than to let him do what he needs to.

I feel so exhausted. So on edge I'm seeing things out the window that aren't there. I know they aren't there. It's me I'm seeing. The old manifest...


[The pen slides off the page. The next piece of text is written in larger, more eligible font.]

In other news, Soror Cybele is with moonchild. She's asked me if I'll be godmother. I'm not certain how I feel about that, or if I'm even in the right state of mind to do so. Ansel thinks she doesn't comprehend who or what I really am. Inclined to agree.

Why won't my host speak to me?
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Re: Dee: "Dairy of a Dæmon": present rating P.G.: original

Postby Dee Arris » Fri Feb 10, 2012 8:56 am

10 February

Entry #9


First off, I apologise for the mess caused by the last few entries. I've gone a bit native, getting tired and frustrated with everything that's going on. Truth be told, at first I wasn't all that fussed about Soror Cybele. I've never been asked that before, but then again, I didn't plan to stick around.

That was when I got some delightfully horrid news. I know why my host wasn't speaking to me.

It's because she doesn't inhabit this form anymore. It's just me. She jumped into the mind-wiped girl. Now I can't tell if they really cared about protecting the ritual, or if this was some convuluted scheme to give the bitch an extended youth. The body's mine now, packaged with all the senses. I wasn't in the best of moods when I found out, and about six or seven of summoner's people had to hold me off her scrawny neck while he zapped me with the diabolic equivalent of a cattleprod.

I should still be angry, but I suppose it's nice to be able to actually feel something without a supernatural aura around it. It's very new to me, and touching a world with actual solidity is a therapeutic change. What this means, however, is that even if I didn't have a whopping great rage-on for these enemy magicians, summoner has further plans for me here. If he's anything like the first man to call me into the physical realm, it's going to cost him more than a vessel and a few paltry drops of blood to keep me on permanent standby.

Onto the face they've given me...

As far as humans go, I'm not bad looking, but pudgy and plain never suited me. I like a bit of style, and height. I'm going to find a circle of power and gather strength to morph myself, then I will fix this ridiculous woman's wardrobe. I'm not adverse to having a gothic flavour -- I mean I've been watching some of that Tim Burton fellow's work and I reckon he's got some real flair -- but I've always looked my best in a smart suit.

I know when something's out of my hands. I'm going to let Ansel and the Order worry about who sent the assassin, then I'll act when I have something more to go on. Ansel doesn't know it, but I've been letting my influence seep into him, but only at a minimum so as to avoid detection. He is not under my control, and I cannot read his mind, but I will be able to see through his eyes and listen through his ears. I'm not taking any chances that they'll lie to me to control me. He is a good man, I'm sure, but he's one of them.

In the meantime, I'm going to recuperate, and I'm going to keep an eye out for whoever thinks it's funny to stalk me while wearing my old face.

Or lack thereof.

-F.
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Re: Dee: "Dairy of a Dæmon": present rating P.G.: original

Postby Dee Arris » Wed Feb 29, 2012 8:44 pm

1 March

Entry #10


I haven't written in this journal for a while. Things were relatively tame recently. I've been languishing in this world. Whenever I'm not exploring the things that have changed so drastically since my previous manifestation here, I find myself lethargic. Drained, even. For a short time I made myself notorious for trolling an entire forum dedicated to the fictional depiction of me, but the novelty was swift to wear off. I've not seen much of anybody except for Ansel and his pretty girlfriend. She is wary of me, but I have made sure not to do anything that might upset her. She has nothing to do with any of this magickal nonsense and doesn't deserve my ire.

My physical vessel now looks more like the me I'm accustomed to. I've trimmed away most of that excess weight and, through focus and meditation, I've begun to regain my proportions. A few inches is not all that much, but at least I no longer have to look up at everybody. That was demeaning, and no mistake! I'm thankful there was an empowered place where I could recover, as I can now utilise a few of my abilities without alerting summoner, though only if I do it sparingly. I'll not be outrunning a train or uprooting trees with my bare hands for a while to come. Wouldn't that just be something? Ha!

I've not seen anything suspicious of late, but I can't shake the feeling that somebody is watching us. This morning I went outside and found at least five or six different spiritual residues clinging to the walls. I'm not sure how to explain it to Ansel, the clarity with which I perceive them might be beyond even the greatest of this world's magicians, but I've convinced him to strengthen the security around his home. Whatever he invests in, I'll be putting it to use as much as possible.

-F.
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Re: Dee: "Dairy of a Dæmon": present rating P.G.: original

Postby Dee Arris » Fri Mar 02, 2012 8:38 am

2 March

Entry #11


It all started at midnight last night, when the three of us were awoken by this tremendous uproar from outside, like great stones grinding, synchronised to a thousand howling dogs. Nobody in the neighbouring flats reacted. Ansel grabbed a knife from his kitchen, and I had to struggle not to blow my cover to his girlfriend by snapping out a couple of dozen tentacles, which really upset me in a way because, as I've only just recently regained control of my powers, you can understand I'm quite anxious to use them. I was still the first one to the door, but we were all blown back by an invisible blast of energy, and for the briefest of moments I could hear children screaming in my head. As the Guardian of Children, it was distressing, but thankfully only Ansel's girlfriend was knocked out. He had landed awkwardly across the coffee table, so he was bleeding from the side of his head, but he powered on anyway. He yanked open the door and took off down the balcony with his weapon. I did not follow, however. I was too fixated on the creature on the rooftop above the flats opposite.

I thought it was standing there, but there was something strange about its posture, like it was really behind the building, leaning over, and staring right at me, despite lacking discernible eyes. It wore a blood-stained, navy blue suit and a red tie. I was tempted to spread my wings and confront it, but Ansel came back then, and in the split-second I looked away, the watcher had vanished. Ansel was pasty, sweaty, like he'd seen something frightening. Something down in the courtyard below us. Either I'd been mesmerised by that impossible gaze longer than I imagined, or he'd simply seen it from a distance and was getting worked up prematurely. I told him to stay with his girlfriend and call an ambulance, then I rushed to the courtyard. I think he tried to argue, but I wasn't listening.

There are a few trees down there, I guess to make it look more appealing, and some plastic swings and a slide for the families with very young children. Apparently our visitor had seen fit to add some new decorations. I've seen a lot of things, all dæmons have, but plastic shopping bags full of human organs is a new one on me, and that damned symbol was everywhere. The circle, crossed through. I feel a taint all around this place now. It's not safe for anybody.

Whoever that thing trying to be me is, it's not of this dimension. Loathe as I was to do it, I informed summoner and the Order. They arranged for Ansel to be put on the case, though he was reluctant to be apart from his girlfriend, who is thankfully stable. Makes me wonder if the assassin investigation has truly gone cold and they've given up. That'd mean a lot of wasted energy, but these things happen, I guess. I was only ever a pawn in that game.


[Two lines of pure expletives follow. The middle of the last word has been punctured by the pen.]

I'm going to check the recordings from the security camera in a little while, as soon as summoner's bitch is done questioning me. I'll always look at that new face of hers, and think of jamming a tentacle through her buck teeth.

-F.
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Re: Dee: "Dairy of a Dæmon": present rating P.G.: original

Postby Dee Arris » Sat Mar 03, 2012 12:50 pm

3 March

Entry #12


Watched the recordings from Ansel's security camera.

I'd be lying if I said they weren't disturbing.

I don't remember when exactly I went to sleep that night, but it was late. I can't have been out for more than a few minutes when the trouble started. The front door leads right into the living room, so I should've noticed when Soror Cybele appeared on our doorstep, pushed the door open as if it were unlocked, and stood over the settee where I was watching television for twenty minutes.

Why didn't I react to her? Even register her?

She walks off in the direction of Ansel's bedroom. It cuts to static for five minutes, and when it comes back, she is knelt to the side of me. She slides something underneath the television cabinet. I can see the front of her clearly now...she's covered in blood, but it isn't her own. She strokes my face, which makes my skin crawl, and a minute after that, she leaves. I see my own body topple onto its side, and then the door slams shut, apparently of its own accord. It's only a simple trick for many dæmons, but last time I checked, most humans aren't capable of it. Perhaps it was the watcher?

I want to find out what poor soul was turned into luncheon meat, but what I'll be more immediately able to do is find out what Cybele left for us, and check to see if she's all right. She clearly wasn't in control of herself when this took place.

-F.
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