1963-10-24 - Finding Moe?
Summary: Jillian and Raven release 'moe' from the clutches of the evil garbage can!
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
raven jillian moe 

Those foolish creatures. They left one of the imps intact. Insult to injury, they stuffed the guy inside of a garbage can, and bound it with angelic magic! Jillian has no love for these annoying teleporting scouts but it would have been much smarter of the others to have put the little creature out of its misery rather than trap it to suffer. As if they were doing it a favor!

And they say that -demons- are the cruel ones…

It's no trouble for her to follow them and their capture, especially with that white magic screaming at her every step of the way. It's an abomination, a spell which she will -gladly- destroy.

When she drops down into the darkened alley she does so silently, save for an enthusiastic hiss at the ward. Releasing the creature inside could be a bad thing for her, but she has other ideas in mind for it. The mere thought of stealing from Azazel all the way out here, and the consideration of having a teleporter of her very own?

Up comes the glaive, ready to dice the lid off of the garbage can.

"Sit low, imp."


The garbage can has had indignities heaped upon it already, and it hasn't yet been there a full day. Homeless have attempted to open it, other cans that reek of stale food and rotten vegetables eek out their gasses, and on top of it all, a careless toss of week old fryer grease, lard, sits atop.

Torture it is to the little imp. The little guy sits in almost complete darkness within (so he can see all that which his is surrounded!), and he is crouched along one of the corners, huddled, chubby arms wrapped about himself, his tail enwrapped as well. He's covered head to tail in dried lion spit, some stomach acid of said lion.. and now, garbage.

A voice from without calls, and it's speaking to him? Really? "Bamf!" Here! It's not the strongest sound; it sounds wearied and injured.


The movers and shakers of New York; Raven liked to consider herself one of the resident few who keeps her ears low to the ground, incredibly low, to find out who did what and what is doing who. Though, who is doing who is something low on her perview, it doesn't hurt to have a laugh here and there, along with a 'tsktsk' at how someone could do better than the likes of -them-. Though, there was a fight. A summoning from the Hellmouth. Most definitely Raven was going to show up at the last vestiges of it..

And it looks like she was right on time.

T'was the wings that got her attention, and the raise of the glaive. You do -not- spend two years (two weeks) in the hellmouth without picking up on something. Some new skill, some new way of thinking, some new seeming. Raven, in all of her blue glory emerges from the shadow, her blades pre-drawn during her nights of stalking, a quick and slew flitted movement she gave that had her trasping and her arm snapped out. She wasn't going to attack Jillian, nor was she going to kick the barrel down the street at a roll so she could kill the imp itself. But it was those quiet words.. the quiet words that had forced her hand into moving and allowing that blade to slam atop of it, her head slowly shaken towards Jillian.

"Such a violent method to release an Imp. Yes?" She says, her free hand lifting to try to still Jillian from an attack. "If you would allow me."


Ready, set, and -holy shit stop everything!-

Jillian's glaive darts back, held upright over her shoulder like one would throw a spear as her wings -floof- out behind her, both in warning and in preparation to take back to the sky.

Then her glowy yellow eyes narrow, suspicious in ways which she very rarely is.

"You are not one of his," she decrees in a low, level tone. "Yet you bare the look of the Neyaphem." The part which she doesn't ask aloud is still pretty clear in her expression, 'then what the heck -are- you??'

Slowly her polearm lowers, still looking very, very suspicious as she watches Raven. "It is not the force of violence but the warding which keeps it sealed. I cannot touch it directly." Not without hurting herself, which she'd rather not do. "By all means, Creature. Open it as you will." Because Jillian wants to make sure those wards don't harm Raven any.

She's still keeping her weapon at low ready, because there -is- still one very pissed off teleporting demonling lurking inside of the bin.


Here… here there was that glimmer of hope that the glamor would be attacked and thus dispelled! Glowing yellow eyes look up, waiting for the sight of open sky once again, but then?



One might actually hear the annoyance and frustration from the red imp within! It's not a game of Shroedinger's Bamf! He's in here, dammit! And it's time to get out!

"Bamfbamf… bamf.. bamfbamf.." is muttered darkly afterwards, his chin lowered to rest upon chubby arms which are upon knees. Glowing yellow eyes close again as his spade-tail twitches out every five seconds.


"Neyaphem.." Raven murmured. "Oh I have not heard that term in close to thirty years."

With Jillian's hand stayed, she removes her hand from the hilt of the blade, leaving it resting atop of the can with both arms raised. "So this barrel is warded against the likes of any other demon or hellbound creature." It was a test of a thought, really. One that has her thinking that since she was hellbound briefly, would she be able to open it?

Yes, the answer was. She was still mortal in a sense, though she still moved and walked as if she were twenty and could take on any mortal seeming..

Her hand suddenly smacks at the top of the can to perhaps rattle the little imp within. "You have a fury like your father.." T'was a tease, a tease and a draw of nails against the top to try to scratch the ink that was embedded upon the surface of the can away. A breach by hand, soon taken up by knife, scraping and working against the metal which creates a racket that has a few of the late night New Yorkers swearing loudly into the streets in reply.


Perhaps Jillian has every reason in this realm to be suspicious. This other blue female recognizes the word, -and- the imp's father. There's a level of familiarity here which has the winged one right on edge, the way the matter is treated so ..whimsically.

"What do you know of Azazel," Jillian demands as her voice drops to an all new low.

And how is it that they both look so alike? And how does she even know—

'Impossible' is a word for it. There is just no..bloody..way… Despite being this close to a potential prize she has suddenly forgotten about the imp altogether. There is a much bigger mystery now standing right before her!


"Baaaaaaaamf!!!" is squealed as the can is rattled. "Bamfbamf…" and the sound of 'things' beat against the inside of the lid. While he can't touch the top without burning himself, he can throw garbage.. and just be sure it doesn't land back on him, anyway.

He'll show her fury!!

Finally, though, when the lid is removed, and the top of the glamour is gone, the little demon from hell manages to simply crawl from the can, and perches on the edge of the trashcan, looking thoroughly miserable. The little weight on the edge of the can threatens to tip the thing, adding more insult to the already burned and abused (and tortured) creature of Hell.

In order not to fall over, he has to jump down onto the ground… not a place he wants to be, but it's all he's got the energy for. "Bamf.. bamfbamfbamf…"


"A lot." That was Raven's only reply. Much of the shared history between the demon and herself was shrouded in mystery. One she wouldn't dare speak upon unless the man, who's skin was red present. Even then, she would still keep her lips shut in the presence of what could have been.. or would have been.. probably is..

Her fingers sink into the loop that houses her blade, which was soon slammed home into her sheath as she takes a few steps back. Soon.. Soon.. the little..

..Oh, there he was. Right on cue!

Despite the fact that the little red thing looks like her own son, it carried anger that loaded up his tiny body as he begins to babble-bamf in anger. With a slowly approached step, Raven kneels before the little imp, her blue hand stretched out with wiggled fingers. "Hungry, little imp?"

Though now, her gaze flits up towards Jillian, her expression near blank. "Tell me his father is not on this plane."


That..response leaves a whole lot to be desired. It only raises more questions than it answers! But for Jillian..the gears are now turning. The most likely answer is already -right there in front of her- but one which she also happens to refuse because it's just -absured.-

She's not going to call the first blue-skinned yellow-eyed lady her mother. She's not! Even if the gal does know of Azazel!

Not. Happening.

Then there's a tiny, abused red distraction perching before them. If the creature didn't look so damned pitiful Jillian may have raised her blade again. Though while Raven is busy trying to be soft and gentle, Jill just steps closer and grabs the imp by the scruff of the neck so she can bring him in closer, staring eye to eye.

"I do not care that you have found me. I will not go back there."

At least she's a little more considerate in returning Moe to his perch before answering Raven. "He had best not be. If he is it will not end well." After a small amount of consideration (the Bamf here would out her without question, anyway,) she adds "I am hiding from him."


Raven… this blue one is known to him. The more he stares at her, the more familiar she becomes; she's imprinted in the blood that courses through his veins. The blood of Azazel when he was formed. The offer of food for the dirty, bruised and pained bamf is almost more than he can bear, and there is that first step to wander into Raven's hands before—


The imp is picked up by the scruff of his neck and is dangling before the face of the other blue creature. The one, actually, that they were set to either kill or bring in. Not necessarily in that order, but it was always a possibility. Ten against one… they should have won! Tail makes a grab for the wrist, but Jillian is too far for him to take hold, so hands reach up to try and scratch, try and get some purchase.. but he can't. He's hungry.. needs sleep..

When he's set down once more, the little red imp wanders closer to Raven for the moment and begins to climb up, eventually reaching her shoulder, and blinks weakly. "Bamfbamfbamfbamf…" He's telling Jillian off… but there's no fire behind it at the moment.


There was a little 'urp' that drew from Raven's lips, which has her immediately rising to a stand to cover her mouth to not -laugh-. Surely this must be a trying time for Jillian, and even moreso for the little imp, and yet here Raven was, laughing at their plight (or trying not to). For shame. Though now that the question of Azazel being present answers, she slowly gives a wary nod. Her 'two years' in Hell, Azazel wasn't present. Not that she was attempting to look for the man but staying off of his radar was best..

"You're doing a really, really bang up job of that, love." Raven comments, british accent abound, only stiffening once the little imp begins to crawl up her leg. The poor thing. He sounded so tired.. "So both of you happen to originate from the same point of Hell's origin, you obviously know this little one." Raven points out, her fingers dipping right into her top to retrieve a little wrapped up bar of chocolate. Chocolate that was going to go to Fred after she teased about where she kept it, but now afforded to the little imp for eating.

"Do you mean to kill the imp?" She asks, point blank. "Your kind doesn't skimp on round-a-bout way of speaking so pardon my forwardness."


Jillian just had to make that point entirely clear. One Infernal to another, Moe should understand. Though with her piece said and her tiny 'opponent' too weary to even cuss her out her guard is lowered, the glaive's counterweight coming to rest upon the cracked pavement of the alley.

"He has not found me yet, has he?" she challenges Raven's sarcastic remark. It's also met with a puzzled cant of her head, not understanding the British flavoring within her comment. "He has sent forth his scouts. -I- found -them.- The rest of his group all lie dead. Azazel still does not know I am here."

There's a slight incline of her head with Raven's next statement. "We are of the same army. There are many just like this one. They do not carry names of their own. It is possible we have met before, though only he would know for certain."

As for the morphic one's last inquiry… Jillian's eyes narrow once more as she regards the tiny, miserable red furball. As she said, the rest of the group lies dead. He does still pose a risk to her but it is a small one now. "No," comes the flat determination. "I mean to keep him out of trouble." Because she can make use of him, darnit!

Thus begins this evening's incredibly one-sided debate. "Choose whom you wish to leave with, Imp." The angry winged half-mutant half-demon that had already quasi-threatened to kill him, or mo—the OTHER blue mutant who is being all compassionate and offering chocolate and stuff.

Really no contest at all, this one.


Chocolate! His tail whips out to grab it before Raven gets the chance to change her mind, and immediately he's shoving squares of it into his mouth. Little feet hang on to a shoulder, but he's a two-fisted eater for sure. Yellow eyes open and close in rapture… he's not eaten anything all day!


It's gone in the proverbial blink of an eye, the paper that once adorned it now sliding down Raven's back and onto the ground. Soooooo much better.

The question Raven asks is a fair one. Now that he's been taken from the angelic garbage can (Yeah..), what is his fate?

One glance is spared for Raven, the other, Jillian. One, the other.. and a forked tongue comes out to wash what little he can get off from around his mouth. Eyes narrow and he lets out something of an annoyed hiss once again. He can't do anything against the winged blue.. as he's been tasked to do.

Then, there's Raven, whom he knows… kind of.

Decision time?


No red imp to be seen.


Consideration was given towards Jillian and her plight. Consideration. That was more than she had given anyone else in the past but towards Jillian? She -understands-. Completely. Deeply. So much that Raven could unleash a fury of doting hugs upon her if she were -that- type still.

But as the days grow colder. She was not.

The chocolate bar was snatched from her hand, the crawl like spiders of the wrapper trickles down her spine. Edicts were issued and the little imp was gone, which left Raven's hand lifting to fan away at her face and draw out a little cough. She clears her throat then, her hands lifting up in a slight shrug. "It looks like you have some hunting to do, then. Yes?"

There was no further need of Raven here. She lended a helping hand to the.. evil kind? Whatever! "And try to keep that thing away from Central Park. I am not sure of his father could follow the trail of the soul but if so.." Tsk. "You and I both would benefit from his .. long straying hand. I trust you'll see to it that he does not take -too- much of a focus to this earthly coil?" She doesn't wait for an answer, she just walks all cool as shit, John Lee Hooker probably played in the background when she struts away, slow. Back to the world and alla that. Probably going to get drunk, knowing her.


Well, that takes care of -that- dilemma. What's one more demon running loose within this city, right? If he gets himself into trouble now he only has himself to blame.

Then..there's the matter of the other blue femme. There's more than a dozen thoughts running through Jillian's mind. Questions, demands, even some offers. Somehow, saying 'call me sometime!' doesn't seem appropriate at all here. Buuuuut she can't just let this all go away, either.

Also, given SOME of the questions on her mind, demanding anything of Raven also seems to be a somewhat inappropriate approach.

Cooly regarding Raven again, she states "I will tend to the Imp. However, I would wish to speak with you again, Creature. It seems as though we have some air to clear between us."

For someone who also happens to fly, air is a big deal!

Go ahead, turn around and walk away. Because Jillian, she's gonna -fly.- That little red bastard could be halfway to San Francisco by now.


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