Kitten Wants Your Soul


Julian_icon.gif Simone_icon.gif

Summary: Simone stops by to inform Julian that his soul is to be forcibly removed. Cheers!

Date It Happened: February 4, 2002

Kitten Wants Your Soul

These days, Julian isn't really active in the night life of the places he lives. Everything went downhill after the 1940s - and that's being generous - so he usually ends up staying in at whatever place he calls home. In Los Angeles, he's found himself a modestly sized apartment in a high-class district, and he's turned it into a pre-modern marvel. No internet. No television. Even the phone is a vintage rotary model, one he's managed to stubbornly keep his hands on for the last sixty-odd years. Aside from the refrigerator and the stove, it's probably the most technologically advanced thing he owns. Books and old records abound, as do photographs faded by time in elaborate frames. Most of the photo subjects are women. Julian is seated on an armchair in his living room, sipping a scotch while reading a book and listening to a recording of Fred Astaire. His apartment is a little slice of the past, and that's just the way he likes it.

Hopefully the man isn't too heavy in lethargic comfort, because his little, self-contained Museum-o-World bubble is about to be popped rather rudely. Time to get your head into the here and now, Tiggs. It's a quiet sound, distant compared to the recording playing near Julian, but there is a clicking and rustling from the front of the apartment - that of the door being tried. Knocking, obviously, is overrated. When it swings open without any effort, Simone lets herself into the foyer, brushing off one wrist of her gray hooded sweater as she does so. It is a nice sweater. There is a tiny reddish-black stain on the stomach. "Juliaaaan?" she calls aloud after a second's delay, turning her head to rest her gaze on the nearest wall. It's as though she lives there, a wife returning home to her husband.

It's just a miracle that Julian wasn't singing along with the music or even dancing around the room with an imagined partner, both of which are common habits of his. Clearly the night isn't suitable for for reading any longer thanks to the intrusion, and the small man glances up with raised brows as he hears the front door open and shut. The puzzle of who exactly has come to call is solved with the sound of a familiar voice, and without so much as a thought the book is thumped shut and the glass of scotch is set down as the half-demon gets to his feet, already several steps towards the foyer by the time he even realizes he's responded. "Simone, what a pleasant surprise." Despite being dressed for comfort the man is still wearing most of a three-piece suit, tie included. Because he's like that. He's really only missing the jacket. "Can I take your - you don't have a coat." Scandalous. "Your sweater?"

"I'm fine," is the brisk, though not rude response to the offer. As Julian approaches, Simone meets him with a stance that is passively imposing, both arms folded across the knitted fabric covering her abdomen. There is a smile on her face, though one can only guess what devilry that has as its cause. "You know, Jack, you really should start locking your front door," she starts dismissively, tilting her head back in that direction. "I would've called, but frankly I don't know, ah, what … kind of working phone you might or might not have." So here she is.

Hmph. "I have a working telephone, kitten. Just because I don't hold with the crazy things people keep coming up with doesn't mean I am willing to pass up a marvel of communication." With his reflexive politeness partially sated Julian steps slightly to one side to clear the way into the living room for Simone, trying to brush off the somewhat disturbing look she's giving him. "No one in this place would steal from me, darling. It's a nice building. A drink, perhaps? I have a bottle of scotch out."

Well, and this is coming from the man who wears suits styled from seventy years ago. One can't blame Simone for doubting. She gives him a heightened eyebrow that implies 'well I didn't know.' "Perhaps a quick one," Simone allows without any slackening of her expression, letting her lips press together- just so. "I don't intend to stay long. I came here, in fact, because I have a piece of news for you." Oohoo. News.

"News?" Julian asks as he wanders back into the living room, picking up another tumbler from a short shelf that's filled with various drinking glasses. He makes his way to his chair and pours a generous amount for the vampire before topping off his own glass, which he then lifts and takes a drink from. "What kind of news?" News from Simone could mean anything.

Promptly: "Excellent news." The woman trails behind Julian at a close but comfortable distance, letting her eyes soak up the old-fashioned touches adorning everything. Almost absentmindedly she stretches out an arm for her tumbler to sip from it, and a hint of satisfaction can be noted on her face as she swallows. Liquor is one of the few human consumables she enjoys anymore. And speaking of that: "Oh, it concerns you, Julian. Specifically, the weaker half of your divided being."

"You mean the part that enjoys musical theater more than drama?" Julian smirks the tiniest bit when Simone takes her glass, taking another swig of his own drink. "Have you drained a rival theater troupe or something? Perhaps a mime. One can only hope." The half-demon can guess perfectly well what the woman is probably talking about - but that doesn't mean he won't give in to a little ray of hope. It's only human.

In between drinks, Simone lightly lifts her brows again. "I haven't, though I'll keep that in mind should I ever meet one. —No, Julian, you know what I'm talking about. Your humanity." With that word comes an unspoken connotation of many negative things: weakness, fleshliness, all around faint disgustingness.

The man sends a frown over towards Simone, tapping his fingers slowly against his glass. "I'm not quite sure what you're trying to get at, kitten. What does my… divided being… have to do with you?" It can only be something unpleasant and probably painful, given the vampire's disdain for humans. Julian isn't too keen on pain.

Simone herself doesn't know how much pain might, or might not be, involved just yet. "This is what I'm getting at, dear. It's a work in progress, but if I have my way, it's a problem that you won't have to deal with too much longer." She can't help but note this with relish, flicking her hand sideways with fingers splayed. Chop.

That's the slightest bit extremely disturbing. Julian likes his squishy-soft human soul. "…Kitten. Didn't we have a talk a while ago about you doing things that directly affect me without asking me first?" He tosses back the rest of his drink and lets his free hand fall back to start groping for the bottle. More alcohol is needed to deal with this particular situation.

True this. On the other hand, Simone is enjoying herself; it's for a different reason that she helps herself to another gulp of scotch before bothering to elaborate. "I don't remember ever having a talk like that," she purrs once the tumbler is loosely at chest level once more. It's true! "Must be my memory. Getting old does that to you. And don't be that way, Julian; I knew you wouldn't have the guts to step up yourself, so I took the liberty of doing it for you." Isn't it wonderful?(!!!??)

Julian swallows, but it's not because of the scotch. He's not swallowing his pride, either! This time it is nervousness. "Simone. Kitten. Darling." Honeybuns. He's only one endearment away from saying it, because he'd never dare call Simone a 'doll'. He takes a step towards the woman, bottle in one hand and glass in the other, and points the base of the bottle at the vampire. "Really, I. I don't think any stepping up needs to be done."

"Oh, I think it does," Simone says smoothly, reacting to Julian's step forward by not reacting at all. "It's been holding you back all these years, you know. Think of what you could do without it; what you could be. Of course, there are others capable of living up to their potential without such undignified procedures, but for you, it seems like a block that you just can't deal with." In her view, such has always been his weakness. Sometimes it seems like he doesn't even try.

"Kitten, please, I'm doing just fine on my own, I-" Blabber, blabber. Julian is losing his composure just a little tiny bit. "I don't have any blocks, Simone, and I need no procedures." The man exhales heavily, his shoulders drooping in the face of Simone's complete lack of signs of intimidation. It's unfriendly. It's rude.

"Julian, no real demon has a soul. It isn't natural." It's slightly a sigh. If Simone is unfriendly, then Julian is a bit of a disgrace. Just a bit. "The sooner we deal with this, then the sooner we can move on. You do want to be a proper demon, don't you?" Even if he doesn't, well, she doesn't care. It makes her look bad.

For a moment Julian simply looks perturbed, but then he gives his head a shake and squints harder at Simone. "I can learn to be a proper demon without - without - whatever you're planning to do with my soul, Simone." His jaw gives a slight twitch and he frowns still deeper, mumbling in a quieter tone. "Besides, not having a soul isn't natural. The afterlife doesn't look kindly on that."

Simone had been in mid-sip when Julian utters that last sentence; as soon as she hears it, she appears a little stunned. "It's worse than I thought," she comments as sharply as if someone had knocked all the breath out of her body. The smile has vanished, replaced by something darker and more displeased. "When it's gone from you, Julian, you'll see the sense in what I'm saying. That I was right all along. Poor fool."

"I'm not a fool, Simone, I'm-" Religious. It's a habit. But Julian doesn't finish the sentence, instead actually managing to look the vampire in the eyes despite her obviously worsening ill humor. "I like my soul exactly where it is, and there it should stay for at least a few more centuries. It's my decision, kitten."

"Your say in the matter, doesn't matter." The tumbler of scotch, still about one-sixth full, is set with a bump on the nearest available flat surface. "You speak as one under a spell. When it's over, everything real, will be visible to you again." Simone has no coat to re-don, but the way she exhales and draws herself together has an air of finality. She -had- mentioned she wouldn't be staying long. "I won't stay and argue with you. But don't think this is over."

Julian shrugs. He doesn't look pleased. The conversation has done little other than set his mind abuzz with anxiety and not a small amount of fear. "Do drop by again, kitten, but next time try to have a better purpose. This is over." With that the half-demon nods towards the door and finishes off his glass of scotch. Soon after Simone leaves, her glass will be emptied as well.

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