I believe our tastes align nicely. At least enough for you not to get a sprain from bending over backward to get me in the mood. [ Somewhat. The consumption of another's flesh, whichever end J might be on in that arrangement, isn't the precise spark that ignites the kindling of his desire. But it's a decent start.
When Charlie asks what satisfies him, that answer isn't as obvious as the vampire's glaring lust for blood. Truth be told, it's been lifetimes since J wasn't acting a part, hollowing himself out and completely cutting away who he'd been centuries ago, as though those traits were pieces of a necrotic limb sawed off at the bone. Any preferences the Archduke might have once possessed are now wiped clean from his memory. Erased as easily as the street name where he'd turned his first trick when both are practically equivalent in their irrelevance to his present life.
In scaling the summit of Hell's hierarchy, J had ultimately learned that the most powerful thing a demon could be is no one. A being without their own chosen preferences or desires, who could accept anything and be anything that others wanted. With that lesson learned and the need to abide by those requirements pressing upon him at every waking moment, who he was at his core had been sacrificed to the god of necessity. All that he might truly long for had eroded across the sands of time.
Save for one thing — Someone who could stand on equal footing with him for a tantalizing instant before toppling the most powerful demon in Hell from his high tower, blotting out an existence long overdue for expiration. That he craved with a desperation built up over seven centuries.
Charlie doesn't appear enterprising in the way J needs the weapon of his destruction to be. Nor does it seem likely he might be driven by a need to exact revenge the way J's ward had been. But stranger things have happened, more so than the possibility of giving Charlie a reason to end him once and for all. A street-walking child had grown into Hell's most formidable noble, while a melancholy young man became a demon ruthless enough to poison his own master with a hauntingly devastating toxin. One that still cuts like a blade worn and blunted, when it never quite manages to deliver the final blow that might finish him off. More horrific for the maiming it does with its nightly hallucinations and the terror that brings, when a quick death would be more merciful. ]
Do your worst. Monster to monster— [ Acknowledging that he knows Charlie isn't some run-of-the-mill mortal. It's a nod of recognition. Miniscule as it may appear to some, coming from a demon of his status makes the mention worth its own weight in gold. ]
What I desire most is for you to show me exactly what you're capable of.
[ There's no need for a confirmation. J's demonic senses don't lie. He can smell it on every inch of Charlie, from his spit to the taste of his cock. It's the dry as ash whiff of a life spoiled to the point of souring, extinguished for so long its scent has withered away into something practically unrecognizable. ]
Don't fret about the small stuff, either. Dying isn't an issue for me. [ Leaving one to question whether the Archduke means to imply that he's incapable of dying from even grievous wounds, or that he simply doesn't care if that's the ultimate outcome of their encounter. ]
( cw: Mentions of poisoning, suicidal ideation, altered states, childhood prostitution & violence. )
When Charlie asks what satisfies him, that answer isn't as obvious as the vampire's glaring lust for blood. Truth be told, it's been lifetimes since J wasn't acting a part, hollowing himself out and completely cutting away who he'd been centuries ago, as though those traits were pieces of a necrotic limb sawed off at the bone. Any preferences the Archduke might have once possessed are now wiped clean from his memory. Erased as easily as the street name where he'd turned his first trick when both are practically equivalent in their irrelevance to his present life.
In scaling the summit of Hell's hierarchy, J had ultimately learned that the most powerful thing a demon could be is no one. A being without their own chosen preferences or desires, who could accept anything and be anything that others wanted. With that lesson learned and the need to abide by those requirements pressing upon him at every waking moment, who he was at his core had been sacrificed to the god of necessity. All that he might truly long for had eroded across the sands of time.
Save for one thing — Someone who could stand on equal footing with him for a tantalizing instant before toppling the most powerful demon in Hell from his high tower, blotting out an existence long overdue for expiration. That he craved with a desperation built up over seven centuries.
Charlie doesn't appear enterprising in the way J needs the weapon of his destruction to be. Nor does it seem likely he might be driven by a need to exact revenge the way J's ward had been. But stranger things have happened, more so than the possibility of giving Charlie a reason to end him once and for all. A street-walking child had grown into Hell's most formidable noble, while a melancholy young man became a demon ruthless enough to poison his own master with a hauntingly devastating toxin. One that still cuts like a blade worn and blunted, when it never quite manages to deliver the final blow that might finish him off. More horrific for the maiming it does with its nightly hallucinations and the terror that brings, when a quick death would be more merciful. ]
Do your worst. Monster to monster— [ Acknowledging that he knows Charlie isn't some run-of-the-mill mortal. It's a nod of recognition. Miniscule as it may appear to some, coming from a demon of his status makes the mention worth its own weight in gold. ]
What I desire most is for you to show me exactly what you're capable of.
[ There's no need for a confirmation. J's demonic senses don't lie. He can smell it on every inch of Charlie, from his spit to the taste of his cock. It's the dry as ash whiff of a life spoiled to the point of souring, extinguished for so long its scent has withered away into something practically unrecognizable. ]
Don't fret about the small stuff, either. Dying isn't an issue for me. [ Leaving one to question whether the Archduke means to imply that he's incapable of dying from even grievous wounds, or that he simply doesn't care if that's the ultimate outcome of their encounter. ]