No Ordinary Appetite
As early evening approached, so, too, did other things. Even in this age of industrialisation and robotics, natural landscapes could still hold a certain wonder, even to those eyes originating from somewhere beyond this world. Lake Michigan, for one, could almost be mistaken for an ocean, were one to find themselves without a map and, while the sun had not quite set, it was now nearing the end of its long journey to the other end of the horizon. Soon would come twilight and then nothing more than artificial light projected into the eventual night's sky.

It was at times like these, that certain nocturnal visitations might come to be known. The odd boat, here and there, making its way up the Chicago River, for example. One such cruiser doing so now, although with something else following in its wake... Something most would not see, appearing to glide smoothly under the water's surface, following, rather than chasing the vehicle. As natural light would start to dim, then so would human perception. Or just possibly, this particular shape chose the activity as a deliberate game; testing, toying, to see what could pass unnoticed, for no other reason than that of experimental amusement.

This, though, was no mermaid. An upper torso shaped like that of a woman's, yes, but no fish's tail had she. Instead, a finless serpent's trunk, allowing its owner to propel herself forward, torpedo-like, as with any giant snake in the Amazon. From one boat, she weaved to the other, following, submerging, diving, like some river-bound seal or dolphin.

It was in one of those rare moments, when the top of head broke water, glancing around above the surface, that her direction changed. Not so much for a further game of chase and bait, but for the river's bank. A wake of her own being generated behind slender form, with every swift, almost crocodilian movement through the medium of fluid. There, once having reached sufficiently close, she paused. Still only with head above the surface, but now with entire face visible.

A face with a smile.

"I remember spying you in the festivities," the snake-maiden called. "Fortune enchants its own, I see..."

In historical times, the bank he stood on would have been composed of silt and covered over with vegetation. Modern engineering had redirected the river southward, shored up its banks with concrete, and lined it with walkways that overlooked the channel. It presented a more restrained, civilized access to nature, ultimately in keeping with the demon's personality. Darian wrapped his hands around the cold railing, built as a deterrent from jumping in, but easily scaled if one felt like it.

"I saw you, too. I would've spoken, but the evening got a bit out of hand. I admit, I'm hurt you didn't warn me." Whether or not the Dealmaker's feelings could be bruised over such a minimal slight was questionable. He didn't doubt she'd sensed it coming. The Lamia had an innate connection to the underpinnings of the physical world, a way of knowing that destructive winds of change would blow before they stirred the first hair on his neck.

Even without keen eyesight, he would've noticed that no flesh-colored legs tread water beneath Erato's torso, and he said, "For a woman that appreciates going au naturale, your insistence on taking up residence in large cities mystifies me." For several centuries, Darian had found Erato in more rustic surroundings. After Las Vegas and now Chicago, he might be forced to concede the pattern didn't hold.

She was either aware of no mortal eyes looking their way or did not care, for, in either event, Erato of the Lamiae now took it upon herself to move closer. The way in which the water flowed so gracefully over shoulders definitely suited such a lithe representative of the supernatural. Erato was one of those timelessly youthful entities, for whom the material world, while indulged in, often seemed to somehow move around her in rippling waves. A slight, rhythmic swish of the tail allowing the creature to surge forth for a moment, until near enough to playfully float and swim, well within earshot of her familiar audience.

"I remember Egypt," she began, producing golden comb with which to casually slide through wet hair. It was the nineteenth century, of which she spoke; a time when civilisation was encroaching on a place of the ancients, where she had met him by the Nile. "Years after I had assisted you in salvation..." Not a manipulative reminder and nor did her voice convey it as such. To say that a being like Erato could sometime be nostalgic, was an understatement, considering her known longevity. "You said to me, then, that your aim was in the accumulation of power, of... Betterment."

A further smile was given at that last. While he had not spoken the word, himself, at the time, Erato was being concise and diplomatic.

"You seemed like so many mortals striving to be King or Queen, Emperor or Empress..." Head cocked from one side to the other and the Lamia floated back slightly, arms moving out to each side, as she studied him in relaxed pose. Darian might have the elevated position, but to be cushioned by water could be a most delightful comfort. The comb now having been stylishly deposited within those silken strands atop head. "But my kind, Darian... My kind have our treasures to guard and others, yet to be found. This place has one, but it is not made of gold nor encrusted in jewels. Nor is it the knowledge from some volume of magical arts. It is... A doorway. A doorway, as yet unclosed. And then, of course," she added, expression turning just that little bit more mischievous, "as with the wolf, so do serpents need their prey..."

"So it's to be a guardian now?" Darian let go of the railing and put his hands in his woolen coat pockets. The suit he wore was heavy and dark, in keeping with the cold temperatures. Each time he spoke, a puff of fog made hazy the air before him. Only a creature such as Erato would dare swim in the almost frigid waters of the river. That she could do so, and still look as languid as if bathing in warm springs, made her something curious to behold. "Tell me. Are you making certain it remains open or surveying what comes and goes? And if you wouldn't mind," he said, offering a thin smile, "Check the cryptic overtures at the door."

A horn sounded farther up the waterway. The demon watched the retreating boat, noting the presence of a few people at the stern. One of them held a camera. It looked as if Erato might become Chicago's own version of a loch ness monster, and he an anonymous man, part of the landscape within the frame, an admirer to her far more interesting water siren. Darian cut a sharp figure, but looked nothing like the irascible young demon she remembered him to be, pumped full of reckless ambition and an urgency to prove himself. He had long ago secured his place and his was a steadfast kind of arrogance.

"Cryptic, Darian? Truth is as a door... It opens. It revolves."

Perhaps she was just being facetious now, but the Lamiae were a notoriously secretive breed. It benefited them to remain as mysteriously enigmatic as legend would suggest, but quite how much of it was deliberate subterfuge and natural mannerism? That was for them, alone, to know.

Erato, too, spared a glance the gathered passengers' way, although seemed not to care. With much of her still concealed beneath the surface, there was not much to physically pick up on a camera, but there was every likelihood that she might simply invoke an enchantment to eliminate any record of having been there. Then again, there was also a chance that she might have her reasons for being seen, inadvertent or not. In either case, it was to he whom her attention now returned and, drifting up to the nearest available surface, reached to it with hands, securing a grip, before hauling herself from that same body of water from which she had arrived. Water cascading down her flawlessly preserved form, as waist gave way to serpentine tail; its coils, likewise, sliding into the exposed air with a look of serenity.

"Darling, I have always been a guardian... I merely have no reason to invite others to see that which I hold sacred."

It was spoken as she crawled upon, then raised away from, the surface of concrete where her conversational partner still stood. The railing seeming to act as more of a climbing frame for her, than any sort of barrier. Again, that golden comb was slid out of hair and used to slide its tooth-like way through brown strands. Somehow, Erato had a way of keeping apart from the usual pollution and smells which should have otherwise now coated her. She did wear a bohemian covering over female assets upon chest and another around pelvis, seemingly created out of some sort of leathery material. Quite whether there would be anything to see, down below, with her in such a form, seemed to be kept as yet another secret.

"I hear of a fairground, not too far from here," she announced, in that enriched, Greek-like accent of hers. One half of serpent reforming itself into a pair of quite enviable humanoid legs, even as she did so. There was no apparent great effort involved, but then, neither was there any indication as to whether the transformation had been physical or more illusion. "Would you care to accompany me, Darian? Unless you prefer another destination?"

"As usual, you've said much and yet nothing. Your ambiguity confounds me." Giving her a dry expression, Darian presented his arm in a nonetheless gentlemanly way. He was intelligent enough to read through Erato's evasive narrative; however, he was the sort to make clear his intentions and sentiments through body posture as often as words, and any halfwit could translate them. If he was bemused, people sensed it and kept talking. If he was rankled, people got out of the way, sensing a short fuse and a dangerous temper. So for the Dealmaker to show impatience at Erato's illusive ways wasn't unusual.

It was unusual that he liked her for the very characteristic that bothered him.

"Your failure to expound on why you're here leaves us little to talk about." He headed in the direction of Navy Pier. Its ferris wheel was visible. "Unless you want to tell me about your prey. What does Erato prey upon, other than the sexual fantasies of mere mortals, who stand no chance?" The stark difference in his layered attire and her near-complete lack of it would've been cause for comment. Perhaps a stray guess that he was a pimp.

Erato was graceful, yes. She could be a fantastic hostess, yes. She was beautiful, yes. She had access to untold wonders - again, yes.

Such superficialities, however, had to be looked past. She was, more or less, in her element, as such times. A certain half-succubus had sometimes been witness to Erato's lesser-seen sides, of where her long-lived experience was at a loss when it came to particular modern conveniences. She might have danced well, at the recent festivities, but had found the need for combat to be mostly a frustration. Erato could get flustered and there were times when she was out of her proverbial depth. Here, however, she was the usual creature of magical fantasy.

And also, as he had noticed, dressed rather differently from most. This, too, could be something of a flaw in Erato's nature, yet it was one which her kind tended to use to their advantage: A way to stand out from the crowd and garner attention. A method by which to show they followed no fashionable lead but their own. Technically, she should, at the very least, be wrapping up a lot more than this. Then again, 'technically', she was not human.

She might not even qualify as being alive.

Glancing down in contemplation, as she joined demonic companion, Erato reconsidered the request for clarification. It was either out of friendliness or the fact that he was being polite, that she revealed a coy, "My interest in this land's curiosity depends upon what it is doing. Its route is not specific. Be it beneficial or to our detriment, only time can reveal... But yes, there are times, are places, to where my sisters and I are most intrigued to see if it shall lead. This world is already contaminated. Introducing a little further chaos can sometimes be quite entertaining, no?"

In other words, her sisterhood were undecided upon what to do about the portal, but were hedging their bets on it bringing something along which would be of interest.

Assuming, that was, they were not partially responsible for it being there...

"And, pray tell, what is wrong with enjoying the sexual fantasies of others, Darian?" She next quizzed with a teasing raise of eyebrow. Head turning just the slightest, as if trying to affect a look of playful offense. "But if you must know what are considered a delicacy... The children of man."

It was Darian's turn to pivot and cock his head. "The children of man," he repeated. "I have serious cause to hope you're not being literal. Or that if you are, you're referring to devouring them as a meal, and not relative to the previous topic." Because, black as his intentions and heart could be, the alternative was as distasteful a thought as getting on one knee in front of the Corruptress and pledging his servitude like some kind of knight of the underworld. Neither was ever going to happen.

"I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that was an unfortunate juxtaposition of words." The demon's rigid expression relaxed into something approaching a smile and the leisurely stroll continued. It was an effort not to cut a veritable swath to his next destination; he could have so little regard for wasted time. "I have to hand it to you. I didn't imagine you as the child-devouring type." It was odd that not so much as an eyebrow twitched in response to that possibility. Darian's imagination took him through the unhinging of her jaw and the swallowing whole. Would it strain within the confines of her snake-like trunk?

"Also, for the record, no, there's nothing wrong with enjoying the sexual fantasies of others. What would immortality be without la petite mort?" He climbed a set of concrete steps that would bring them to street level. "The pursuit of which has certainly broken up the monotony of my life."

Erato fixed him with a look which bordered on just the right side between amusement and scepticism. The suggestion was enough to have slowed her step, albeit fleetingly. "No, Darian, I have little interest in attempting to rouse some vague sense of sexual satisfaction from infants," she clarified aloud. This most definitely qualifying as one of those 'less than dignified' moments, where Erato seemed something other than unflappable. A frustrated sigh being made, which was more incidentally comical than genuinely angry. "Humankind devours livestock of its own... Why the nutritional decision of others, to consume their young, in turn, should surprise them, I am unsure. They do it, themselves, more often than they care to admit."

Which, in a way, might correct Darian's mental image of swallowing human children whole. Erato might be a creature of arcane arts, but she was still subject to the mechanics of her physical body.

Not that she was entirely innocent of sexual indiscretions with youth, so to speak. Just not that young.

Before too long, they would reach an expanse of greenery. Something upon which Erato would somehow look far more at home upon - and not just for the utter lack of footwear, nude feet making contact with the ground, as the pair moved in search of entertainment devised by human beings. A form of it, however, which had been in existence for longer than Darian had been in a human shell. To Erato, the sights and sounds a fairground would generate tended to cue on predatory impulse, although she had been around humankind for more than long enough to hold such a thing in check, when need be.

"I should, perhaps, ask what brings you to such a place," she pondered. "I do not think your motivations and mine are often the same, yes?"

"I think it unlikely." Though he had come for prey of his own liking, the Dealmaker certainly didn't guard anything other than his sentimentality. "I left Las Vegas to go to Ireland with Bethany," he said, reaching up to adjust his collar. "I admit to thinking Ireland leaves something to be desired in comparison to American cities, and I wasn't there a year when I decided to come back." His shoes flattened the brittle grass, each blade having stiffened in the severe and often damp cold that pervaded the winter months. "I hadn't taken up residence in the midwest since the 1920s, and I'd rather impale myself than return to St. Louis. So I found a suitable piece of property here for a business venture." He nudged his nose with his gloved hand. "You could call it a modern-day Coliseum with the decency to employ discretion."

Approaching the amusement park with relative quickness, the pair had drawn close enough to be bathed in orange-gold light from the streetlamps and more festive bulbs. "The Lincoln Park community holds interest for me as well. Now that the neighborhood's been more or less exterminated, there's talk of opening it up for public auction. What do you think, Erato? Do you see me as a real estate tycoon?" There was an openness in his communication with her, which was not often seen with Darian. Because she would never be a client -- held instead something of a revered status as an ancient -- he saw no purpose in being vague with the Lamia.

It provoked a more dedicated study of his form, turning head swiftly at the suggestion of it. There seemed to always be something he did or said to infer...

"You have the most puzzling ability to make me picture you as permanently mortal, Darian," she advised, somewhat bemused by the possibility of it. "But... Yes, you operate best when managing enterprises, I think. You may, however, find that subordinates fill you with a sense of distrust."

That part was mentioned with a pointing of finger in the air before her, landing the tip of it upon his sternum, for added emphasis. Whether or not she was being prophetic, Erato appeared to see him as a being who could succumb to the usual major fault of rulers: Not a level of paranoia which was always present, but one which had the danger of building up, over time. Quite why she would feel this way was not yet specified, however.

Erato, ever the walking deck of Tarot cards... "Nevertheless, I recall hearing you are no longer subject to the old rules. That you were freed from your obligations. What does a maker of deals do, when he is no longer bound by restrictions? Or was your potency also reduced? Magically-speaking, of course...!"

This was met with a look of warning. "Tread lightly." No man, be he normal mortal or a demon in convincing disguise, enjoyed the implication that he was less than fully armed. Darian enjoyed it less when coupled with a hint that he was becoming all too human. "A maker of deals does so for the pleasure of the hard sell, and the even greater reward of a watching a customer who only realizes afterwards that the product you've sold him is not only fundamentally flawed, but non-returnable, and you're the only merchant in town who sells another."

At the boundary of the premises, grass gave way to concrete again. The noise of their footsteps subsided beneath music coming from the pier.

"It may strike you as a pedestrian way to wile away time, but I don't think you're seeing the possibilities. Imagine you were a human, so destitute that you would buy or rent property in a community where the bloodstains are barely dry. Do you have the means to pay? Will you fall behind and need to leverage something else of value to keep yourself afloat? What if you have nothing a bank would recognize as currency? And there lies the space for a demon such as myself to stretch his legs."

There was a fleeting moment of comprehension, as Erato gained a full understanding of the one thing she seemed to value, above all else: Passion. Specifically, the nature of his own. Erato understood the world in such ways. Her entire perception was geared towards the fundamentals of its thriving and while she might have guessed at such a motivation, it was his method of describing it which...

Well, it might not qualify as foreplay, exactly, but certainly brought a cheerful, bright-eyed smile to the Lamia's face.

"You are more a hunter than any drinker of blood, my friend," she finally responded, closing one hand over his. Passion, yes... Passion and a devious, calculating nature. Things she already knew, granted, but seeing it play out in this way? There was something tangible about it. Like his entire mind had just transformed into a tapestry for her perusal. In a way, it made her feel emotionally closer to him, to have this understanding. "Your kingdom, others shall see in possessions, but you seek not territory... You seek agreements. You seek not deals, but debt. Your thirst is quenched by the strangulation of an iron glove. You seek not murder, but the sensation of a knife held to neck."

At this, Erato seemed to come somehow more alive. Still a certain, esoteric level of grace about her, yes, but there was a sudden and impulsive laughter and dance-like twirling away. It was this almost childish nature which explained why she was often seen as the little sister, among her siblings.

"You would never be pleased by an empire of worshippers, Darian! Your appetite lies in enslavement!"

To this he offered, "What man, who was once a slave, doesn't dream of rising up to become the master?"

It was through a certain level of trickery that Darian had become a maker of deals. He, a demon of crude beginnings, had aspired to this station. The spellcaster who made it happen nearly four-hundred years prior had lied by omission. The gains of every metaphysical bargain struck had gone to Iain; the losses of every bargain unstruck or broken had gone to Darian, causing a physical regression that was physically agonizing as well as demoralizing. But he had calculated his way out of it -- beaten Iain at his game -- and now took the most sincere form of pleasure in outwitting others, in manipulation, in offering a person something of such irresistable value that they were incapable of refusal. Most of all, in making sure that they always got what they asked for, yet it was never equal to what he took.

And what he took meant nothing to the demon. Its only value was in the duress it caused. Several lifetimes of taking, and he had accumulated almost nothing in material goods. If one were to visit his place of residence, they would find that the Dealmaker traveled light, indeed.

It seemed Erato had been transformed into a pleased child by solving this puzzle. Against the backdrop of the amusement park, and its lilting soundtrack of music and voices, it was fitting.

Darian wasn't likely to enter that place. The walk had been taken for Erato's company. He put his hands in his pockets and watched her. "Now you know why I once criticized your affection for altars and offerings." He tipped his head and gestured at the admission gates. "I won't ask why you chose to come here. Given earlier revelations, it seems obvious." Recapturing her hand, he kissed the back of it. "I'll leave you to it."

She cut an odd figure against that background. Unique, but odd. One might mistake her for someone on chemical stimulation, judging by her primal style of outfit and yet she held herself in a manner most composed. Eyes keeping track of Darian's every movement, like he were some kind of transient firefly in need of constant observation. Yet, the expression on her features read as pleasure and even, once the gesture was bestowed, of emotional gratification.

"I have seen many kingdoms rise and fall, Darian."

A smile more flirtatious than the rest and a kiss of her own was blown his way. Not merely a token, in her case, the Lamiae specialised in dreams and their like. It cast a certain spiritual warmth upon him and, if even for a moment, an undeniable sense of artistic inspiration.

"Yours shall be a... Memorable one."