sirenspull_logs | tremble for yourself, my man, you know that you have seen this all before

Entry tags:

crowley,
magneto

tremble for yourself, my man, you know that you have seen this all before

Who: Crowley [

integrity] and Magneto [

magnetic_magpie]
When: Tuesday, March 6th.
Where: Magneto's secret lair.
Summary: Crowley has been a little overly confident. It's time for him to pay the price.
Warnings: Horrific violence, torture, and ultimately, character death.

The dog hadn't wanted to let him leave the house today. Crowley, of course, didn't pay any attention to it. The dog was overly attached and though she had practically sunk her teeth into the edges of his long coat to keep him inside, he had told her to go, and so she had. The hellhound never disobeyed, after all, but as Crowley walked through the streets of Siren's Port, he couldn't help but feel bothered.

He was one of the more powerful beings in the Port, even if he didn't show it. He certainly didn't need his dog to babysit him for a walk through the proverbial park. Right?

Crowley had thought that until he turned down an alleyway, toward a park, and suddenly -- he couldn't move. His power was constricted. And as Crowley narrowed his eyes slightly, glancing down at the ground, he tested his strength -- and nothing. Telekinesis wouldn't work. The strength afforded to him by centuries of hellfire was dampened.

Exactly what would happen if Crowley had stepped directly into a Devil's Trap.

"Ohhh, who thinks they're being funny today," Crowley muttered, turning on his heel to glance behind him, aggravation slowly building as he stared around. He couldn't see the Devil's Trap, but it was certainly there. Nothing else could keep him in place so effectively. "Come out, whereever you are," Crowley called down the alleyway, though his tone was tinged with ice. "If it's one of the Winchesters, I'll have your guts for garters -- or Bobby, truly, you could ask me out in a far less date rapist fashion, this is bordering on rude."

He let the threats fall silent before he began to get truly aggravated.

"Don't make me call my dog, because she certainly won't show any mercy," Crowley said quietly, glancing back around him.

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He felt the push back, which was fine. He was actually completely fine with it, crouching lightly on the top of rail of the ironwork.

The dog was a surprise. Not unexpected but a surprise. She couldn't cross into the circle - that was good to know. Worse case, he could mirror the trap on the top of the disk and stand there, and be safe.

On the rooftop, to the left, where he had been walking before moving to the ironwork a sheet snapped, all crisp and dropped. It was a soft grey colour, nearly, nearly white, woven but made of silver. He didn't touch the dog, but he blocked her path with it.

Growley was an intelligent dog, but she was still a dog -- and when Crowley said to do something, she would do it. And so while the blanket of silver caused her to stop, she snarled at it, moving forward to test it experimentally with her nose -- and it sent the dog backwards with a yelp of pain, the flesh hissing with a burn as she circled backwards, snarling angrily at the wall.

The demon didn't say anything, but he immediately raised a hand, to calm his dog, his eyes fixated on the wall of silver. This had just gone from annoying to potentially dangerous. Silver int his world had, he thought, been relatively rare, but here was an entire wall of it, and it was aimed at both him and his dog. And while Crowley was certain he could endure an attack of silver and iron, he wasn't about to torture his dog pointlessly.

The dog, however, had other ideas -- and when Crowley moved out of her line of sight, Growley immediately moved forward again, but turned away centimeters from the wall, her fur and tail brushing against the silver, hissing and crackling at the negative reaction, a snarl of pain emanating from her, and the demon stopped in his tracks again.

"Stay," Crowley said quietly, loud enough for the dog to hear -- but then he raised his voice, his tone rough and furious. "I hope you realize that while this game is extraordinarily entertaining to you, I've lost any sense of humor I once had," Crowley snapped at the walls of the alley, "and if one strand of fur on that dog's hide is injured in any way, shape, or form, I am going to make your life an eternal hell."

And the way Crowley said it -- the anger behind that one word -- he meant every last syllable.

He abhorred torture. Unless it was necessary.

He backed the blanket up, once he realized, yes, Growley was going to run into it. And kept it back. Magneto might not have liked the dog - or dogs in general - but he didn't desire to hurt her.

Near by, a copper pipe rattled and broke loose, spinning into threads, soft a silk strands but millions of times stronger. He lifted it over the edge of the sheet and let it spill over, hooked the copper into it and puffed it out. There was a buffer. It was still a barrier but Growley shouldn't get hurt.

He had other plans. This wasn't the end all of his plans, but he didn't want to have to deal with the dog. He'd wait, until Crowley sent her off.

Against the blanket, like someone pushing against is with their finger, like writing in sand, letters formed and stayed.

Send her home. No reason to risk her, correct?]

He let his eyes move to the blanket, his eyes narrowed as he read, before he curled his fingers into fists.

"Should I send her home, you're going to have an extraordinarily pissed off angel on your doorstep," Crowley said icily, "and my warning holds the same for him as it does for the dog."

The demon stepped forward, right to the edge of the ring, speaking directly to the wording.

"You do not want to have me for an enemy. Stop the idiotic games and release me, because this is the only opportunity you're going to receive to save your hide."

Why pull anyone else into this at all?

Magneto wouldn't hurt Castiel. But he wasn't going to detail that.

I can wait until you decide.

He was comfortable where he was, secure and safe. Crowley might very well be able to lash out at him later. The Core did throw a hiccup into these kinds of things, but he wasn't looking to drag others in. Castiel especially.

"The two of us managed to open Purgatory, do you honestly think we couldn't handle an arrogant pissant like you?" Crowley snapped in irritation, turning on his heel toward the other edge of the ring -- because now he was agitated. This was more than just a stupid trap and a stupid hunter, this was more, and that sounded like a very thinly veiled threat. "Choose your own health and sanity over this idiotic game before I rip out your heart with my bare hands. Now."

How are you going to accomplish that?

There was the dog - true - but he was more than capable of using the fire escape to box them in. The threat may normally be a very good one - he would admit to being worried about it - but for right now? No, he wasn't. At all.

The words spilled out of his throat in a gutteral snarl.

"I'm the king of fucking Hell."

And on the last word, Crowley shoved outward with an immense amount of power -- and though it was constrained, trapped by the sigils and warding, the ground shook, for the barest moment -- a split second, no more, and no less, and Crowley curled his fingers into fists.

"I'm not a fucking foot soldier. Let me go, let my dog free, and I'll consider not sterilizing you."

So you keep telling people.

On the rail, Magneto didn't much reach. He used to have to deal with Avalanche. He wasn't concerned.

A foot soldier would hardly be worth the effort, Crowley. Your dog is free to go. I'm only going to protect myself from here attacking me, nothing more.

He pulled the blanket back, giving them more space - and threaded out the silver line, to give Crowley more room.

Crowley was silent, at that, his mind calculating his options. He couldn't break out of a Devil's Trap of silver -- only Lilith could ever be capable of such a thing and seeing as he was not Lilith and the demon was not here, he was helpless to do anything but continued forward.

But that wasn't necessarily true. No -- Crowley was smart, and he began to pace within the ring, seemingly agitated and upset, but in actuality, he was only giving the dog the opportunity to see him. His hands were in his pockets, clenched into fists, but subtly, he began to move his fingers against his thigh -- tapping. Tapping. Tapping. And for a split second, the dog stilled, before resuming her snarling at the blanket -- and suddenly, Crowley stopped pacing, anger and frustration ripping out of his throat again.

"Go home, idiot," Crowley snapped at the dog -- and Growley immediately backed down, pressing her stomach against the ground for a moment or two as she whined. And the tiny moment of disobedience caused Crowley to snap at her again. "I said go!"

And at the last snap, Growley abruptly teleported away.

Leaving Crowley very much alone.

"We move forward or not at all," Crowley snarled angrily at the wall, like a caged cat faced down with someone they most certainly did not want to touch.

On the inside, though, Crowley was perfectly calm.

The dog knew what to do.

As soon as Growley was gone, he removed the blanket, folding it midair, the copper separating, and draping the blanket over another rail. No where near him. He started weaving with the copper together into cuff. It floated over to the blanket, and a small part ripped off and bonded with the outside. The it went the blanket's previous spot on the roof and a tiny pen - iron metal, verses ink - floated up and drew a copy of the Devil's Trap on it. Then he floated it down to Crowley, hovering in front of him expectantly.

It was going to be a lot easier it this worked. If not, try again another night. In this, he was patient.

His eyes watched the pen, the Devil's Trap being formed... and when the pen hovered in front of him, the demon scoffed to himself, incredulous.

"Up yours, mate," Crowley said irately, staring at the pen as if it were a person. "You aren't branding me like I'm an animal."

The thought made rage bubble in his stomach.

The pen and cuff shrugged. Crowley's choice, as least for now. And the remark amused and pleased him. He would have said the same.

In that case, Magneto simple picked Crowley straight up - keeping nearly three metres between him and the floating trap, and the blanket, pen, and other supplies lifted to the top of the disk, resting there. He alighted from the rail and set to fly. He didn't know how Crowley would take to his his fast speed, or to what he was about to do. He felt the tug, the pull down of gravity, and then the push-snap-hurl as he cut it. The planet continued her rotation on it's axis and orbit around the sun, but they were free of it for the microseconds it took to reach the industrial sector, building near were Sectors 10, 8, and 11 met, a rooftop to a building that had intact Darkness proofing.

When he felt himself lift, Crowley immediately pulled his hands out of his pockets to balance himself, hissing several curses to himself. The sudden speed and movement was disorientating, but Crowley himself teleported on a frequent basis, so he wasn't all that bothered as he set down on a rooftop. He immediately looked around, though, to catch his bearings, and recognized some of the buildings, placing himself mentally on a map of Siren's Port.

Close enough, anyway.

The Trap moved towards the door on the roof, towards the door, ushering Crowley inside. He wasn't walking, he was hovering, not willing to revel himself - or what he was showing anyway - yet.

Nor was this building linked to him in anyway - but he did have it Hellhound proofed. It had used every single bit of the store Michael had left at the HoA when he'd first showed Magneto how to do it, but it was worth it. And he could pick more up later, if needed. Between his housemates puppies and Lucifer's, he was giving up.

The moment he stepped inside, he could feel the magic -- the warding, the sigils. This place was protected -- and he silently cursed to himself as he moved into the building.

"What is this?" Crowley said, finally, not able to keep quiet anymore, his hands sliding back into his coat again, tense.

Magneto would have warded it against Castiel if he had known how - he didn't want to ask Lucifer how to do that, so it wasn't done. But he didn't believe Crowley would call Castiel - and he could see the warding on Crowley's ribs.

He wondered what happened when you broken those.

The door shut tightly, a light switch flipped on, and the Trap floated to the middle of the room. Just an open room, exposed pipes and wiring, and just a pile of metal things on a table, too dappled in shadow to be seen. It was worn, old, but clean - no dirt or dust to leave footprints, and now that they were inside, his footfalls were near silent but not totally, a soft scrape on the ground behind Crowley, staying far enough behind him that it was purposeful. Steps slow, measured. Disciplined.

"A lesson." Inside, he finally spoke. The image inducer changing his voice, to something that sounded like it belonged to a younger man rather than an old one, an Argentinian accent, a more tenor pitch. That was all false. The utter calm was not.

Crowley almost laughed, as he looked around -- because a dark creepy room, with pipes, wires, a table here and there... it was almost reminiscent of Crowley's laboratory.

Where they had lost it all.

You said it perfectly. What an asshole.

It would only take one prayer for Castiel to break into this damnable place and free him from this trap, but Crowley remained silent, his eyes focusing on the man who stepped forward. He immediately pressed outward with his power -- a nearly suffocating pressure as he lashed out again with his strength, but his hands remained in his pockets, and he did not move a muscle.

"Anyone can draw a Devil's Trap, congratulations," Crowley said darkly. "Release me and I'll let you live. I won't offer it again."

Magneto settled against the wall, arms crossed lightly over his chest, and finally dropped his shield. Tanned, dark hair, dark eyes, younger, a milght slighter build, the man standing there looked nothing like Magneto. That was the plan.

"Perhaps. Almost anyone could figure out what to use against you. It wasn't difficult." Still, his voice held that unnatural calm.

"Death here doesn't mean much to Newcomers, does it?"

Crowley narrowed his eyes further at the individual. Unrecognizable, even in passing. But something wasn't quite right here -- something was off. A person Crowley didn't know, managing all of this? A nobody?

Unlikely. This person had a score to settle. Why else would anyone go through the trouble?

"Death means far more to me than you could ever imagine, actually, we take tea together every so often," Crowley said coolly. "He's quite the conversation starter. Has an affinity for pizza places in Chicago. Perhaps you should take up your complaints with his lack of fame with him instead of wasting my time."

"I was under the impression Death was a she?" Mildly curious but not really inviting more conversation on the topic.

He pushed off the wall, walking sedately. He wasn't in a hurry, he wasn't worried. Simply confidant, in this place and what he was doing. His movements were sure, focused. Despite wearing boots, his steps were light, almost silent, no wasted movement.

"Perhaps he got bored and had a sex change when I wasn't looking."

Crowley rolled his eyes slightly to the left.

"But let's cut to what's really important."

And the demon stepped forward, right to the edge of the circle, his tone lowering quietly.

"Congratulations. You can draw. I'm happy for you, truly. And I'm certain you want to tell all your little friends that you managed to drag Crowley here against his will and perhaps your girlfriend will be impressed by your actions as you're clearly overcompensating for something, but I have a slew of extraordinarily powerful people in this city that will happily tear out your heart and enjoy it when they arrive here. So, please -- "

And Crowley took out a hand from his pocket to gesture at the silver ring.

"Do us all a favor and let me out of this idiotic creation before you make an even larger fool of yourself than you already have."

"Oh. I know how to do a great many things." His voice remained calm, quiet. A tone for a library or whispering in a lecture hall. He walked over to the other side of the circle, his back to Crowley, and started fussing with a rather clunky, inelegant, bulky machine, with odd wires and the like sticking out. It looked like a really bad prop to some 70
s or 80's grade B sci-fi flick. Static crackled a few times, it whined in protest, and finally a few pink-purple arcs jumped between the wires and the air changed. It smelled a bit sharp, there was a feeling of a low frequency hum, although nothing was heard.

"And I have...associates, shall we say...who can do a great many more." He turned back to Crowley, foot crossed behind the other, toes to heel, and spun. A prefect military about-face. "Call any you'd like, they will have even less power than you inside that little drawing." It wasn't a bluff.

"I honestly can't wait for Castiel to explode your head like a grape between his fingers for the sheer level of egotistical insult spewing out of your mouth at how incredibly well off you are," Crowley said, unbothered and nonchalant, though his eyes moved toward the machine as it sparked to life.

What in the hell was going on?

"Castiel. Mhm." He stretched slowly, rolling his neck, before looking back at Crowley. "Pretty fellow with blue eyes?"

He had warned Crowley about being so free with information. It was something those in power, if they lived long enough, learned. Keep mum about allies and friends. Keep them close, but don't hand over information.

He watched Crowley's face, then followed his line of sight and patted the machine. "Tougher than she looks. Scrapped when Voids were invented but handy, don't you think?" And if Crowley were to go looking later, there was, buried in SERO's old paper files, ideas for voiding tech. The appearance was mostly for show - Magneto's own tech was sleek and elegant. This was not.

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...I uploaded new icons JUST FOR THIS POST.

8D

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