It was late enough in the night for the streets to be dark and quiet. Norman was out wandering, though he should probably have been in bed, getting some sleep because, like every weekday, he was going to have to get up early in the morning. He'd easily justified it to himself - he hadn't been able to sleep anyway. And one night with slightly less sleep wouldn't kill him. Might wreck his day, of course, but nothing more serious than that.

His sneaker encountered an empty tin can and he gave it a good kick to send it, rattling loudly, into the street. He paused for a moment to watch it roll to a stop, his china-blue eyes flat and disinterested behind the rimless lenses of his glasses. Giving a sigh, he turned and continued on his way. His slid a hand back through his hair in a halfhearted attempt to neaten it. The reddish-black spikes of hair were sleep-dishevelled, and it made it look like he'd just gotten out of bed.
Which he had.
He was even still wearing pajama pants, but there was no one around to see that. He'd put on a light sweatshirt over the t-shirt he'd worn to bed, and had gone out the door, just like that. Norm could be spontaneous that way,... but only very rarely.

A pair of glowing white eyes opened and illuminated a gray, darkly hansome face at the loudness of the tin can, like thunder in the silence. Verkur had heard the man's footfalls and he'd been willing to ignor them tonight, having other things on his mind, such as the building he'd collapsed an hour ago killing twenty two people indirectly in the process.

But that blasted tin can just could not be ignored. He watched the man with a mocking gaze. His own hair had grown longer, swinging to mid thigh in length and let loose in black silk curtians, tucked behind very pointed, rather long ears that quite resembled a bat. His face, the only thing currently visible in the darkness of the ally, lighted by the glow of his eyes has a gothic beauty about it, very regal and smooth. With his gray skin and the white light shining on it, there's an eerie effect.

"Have you no respect for the silence of the night?"

His voice is deep, rumbling, and vibrating. The words were spoken by a tongue that sounded as though it was made for another language. No language on this earth could fill his mouth properly.

He wore a tight shirt of black, fingerless gloves, black leather pants that molded to his legs, and heavy, clunky boots. None of which was visable in the allyway darkness. Seeing where his face hung in the blackness, he might be six and a half feet tall, maybe more. Or perhapes he's standing on something?

Norm, startled half out of his wits, jumped about a foot and nearly stumbled backwards over the curb. His hand twisted in the front of his shirt as if to keep his heart from leaping right out of his chest, his eyes darting frantically around to see who it was who had spoken.

"Christ! Don't scare people like that!" he snapped at Verkur, after staring at him for a moment. He went over the mental checklist of ways to dimiss anything strange about the person(?) in the alley.
The white eyes- that must be because of contacts.
Oddly-colored skin - makeup. Or some kind of skin disease.
Ears - ...latex. Yes. Fake ears.
Height - ...well, he could be wearing heeled shoes. Or he could just be that tall.
Nothing strange about this at all.

"Did I frighten you?" He did not sound apologetic in the slightest bit. He'd cocked his head just barly to the side. Now he did not plan to ignor the human, in fact, he'd rather enjoy a bit of fun right at this moment.

The demon stepped forward several paces into the light, casting it on his body, tall, slender, leather clad and very pale. His arms were as pale of his throat and his face. Gray in a deathly way, his arms wraped in scars. The demon's nneck had a mark along the side, what most people took for a tatoo happened to be a mark from the God of war, put there not with a needle but by his tongue.

Nope. He isn't wearing heals.

"I'm so sorry." Still, he did not sound so.

"Yeah, sure," Norm scowled at him, pretending not to care that he'd been just been approached by a - whatever the hell this grey-skinned thing thought he was. A slight tremble crept into his voice, and there was now a defensive slouch to his shoulders. Once Verkur had emerged from the shadows, Norman had begun to back away.

"You startled the hell out of me. You should watch what you're doing," he said irritably. He continued to slowly back away, but couldn't force himself to turn his back on the stranger. He might not believe that Verkur was anything other than a costumed human, but that didn't mean he was quite stupid enough to turn away from someone this intimidating.

A smile curled Verkur's dark gray lips, a charming smile. Not human at all, but something feril and malicious in the same guesture. He watched Norman back away and raised his chin as if to watch from the bottom of his eyes.

"But I was watching." He took one more step, this foot bringing him entirly out of the darnkess of the ally and the light of the moon and of the street lamps cast an haunting effect over him. He was beautiful in a pale, forboding way. And he had wings. Wings that stood halfway closed against his back hanging a foot over his head and nearly to his boot-clad ankles. They were black, torn and tattered. The pattern of them, the texture matched that of his leather pants.

"Forgive me. You seem...frightened?"

"No," Norm replied vehemently. He flinched as Vekur stepped fully into the light, his eyes widening at the sight of the wings. He shut his eyes to blot him out, then with a shiver realized that he'd rather be able to keep an eye on this weirdo, and opened them again. Those are,... they're- I'm imagining them. Hey! Maybe I'm imagining all of him. Waking nightmare or something, yeah, that's it. A hallucination, he thought hopefully. The thought that it might not be real didn't comfort him very much, though.

"Look, just - go back to whatever the hell you were doing in that alley, and leave me alone," Norm half-turned, still watching Verkur from the corner of his eye as he began backing away as fast as possible without tripping.

Verkur began to walk forward, his own feet making absolutly no sound at all, not breaking any of the silence that he'd chidded Norman for breaking. If he'd made noise that would have made him a hipycrite (grr. However that's spelled) now wouldn't it? He didn't hurry like Norman was, just followed at a terribly slow pace.

"But I am doing what I was doing in that ally," he replied. Your not imagining him Norman. He's there. He's real. It might be dangerous to brush him off as a figment of any sort. "I'm watching." Watching Norman to be specific.

"Go watch something somewhere else, then, you freak!" he growled, his lip curling slightly. The angry facade he was putting on had originally been sincere, but now it was mostly a mask for his uneasiness. He turned on his heel and began stalking away, hunching his shoulders and bracing himself as he did so. He half-expected Verkur to leap on him. "Go away...."

Verkur did leap on him. Or, almost anyways.

The demon was against his back at almost the same moment that Norman had turned his back to him. You'll learn Norman. Never turn you back on anything your instincts don't trust, much less, this freak.

"A freak am I?" He wasn't breathing, he didn't even have a heat beat against the other's back. If Norman cared to note and try to explain those. Verkur seeped cold through Norman's clothes, his is cold, his flesh is cold. He had his hands on Norman's shoulders, the ends of his fingers not deced with fingernails but rather very long, perhapes four inches worth, claws of what might have been black stone.

He swallowed hard. "Yeah, that's what I said. I don't know what you think you are, but you're definitely some kinda freak," he said shakily, almost snarling. He caught sight of Verkur's claws on his shoulders.
Fake nails. They had to be fake. Plastic, maybe. Or metal.
The sight of them made his temper flare up - This isn't real! It's just some freak playing dress-up!. There was no need to be afraid of a grown man who played dress-up, though he did look threatening. Norm twisted his body and attempted to elbow Verkur in the stomach to make him let go.

Verkur let him elbow him, his elbow would only meet a solid, cold stomach through the nylon shirt. But the moment Norman's elbow came in contact with Verkur's stomach, the demon tightened his hold on the man's shoulders, the tips of his claws pricking the sweater. Definatly not plastic. Maybe metal but plastic could not have so easily torn eight little holes in the front of his sweater, two in the back.

"I think I am the Demon of Chaos. And I Think you are digging yourself a shallow grave my friend."

"And I think you're some freak who's gotten waaaaayy out of hand. Y'ever hear the term 'delusional', 'cause if you haven't, you might want to look it up. Demon of Chaos, my ass!" Funny that Norman should call Verkur 'delusional', when he was the one purposely ignoring that those were real demon's claws clasping his shoulders. He tried to elbow Verkur again, not succeeding any better than he had the first time. "Let me go, damnit! What do you want from me?"

"Absolutly nothing," he replied, his deep voice and strange accent taking on a thoughtful note. "So I ask myself why let you live if you are of no use to me at all. Well?" Why let him live? Because while Verkur is allowed to kill indierctly ie: cause a car accident of knock down a building, he is not allowed to kill directly. The code forbids it and magic binds it. It says nothing, however, about inflicting pain.

"Do you want to die, Human?" He whipsered in Norman's ear without breathing.

Do I want to die? What kind of question is that?! he demanded of himself, turning his head at a rather uncomfortable angle to glare at Verkur. That's it. This isn't real. He's too real to be faked, so I've gotta be imagining it, that's all. More hallucinations. I'm only imagining he's touching me. He's not even really there. I just think he is, and that's why he seems so real.

"Get off me, you crazy bastard!" Norman hissed, then spat in Verkur's face. Surely if he stopped imagining him, he would go away. He can't really do anything to me that I wouldn't do to myself, so there's nothing to be afraid of...
Not that Norman hasn't hurt himself before. He just hadn't done anything beyond a few cuts, and a burn here and there. Nothing terribly serious.

Verkur snarled, such an inhuman sound. Such a sound to make the wildest of wolves turn tail and run. Because it wasn't a sound of this world and it's the first sound he's made that actually seemed proper to come from that mouth. His teeth were individually razor sharp, each one pointed, until the canines. All four, the lower and upper, were longer. If you believed in vampires perhapes, these four teeth could pass as fangs.

Verkur shoved the man sideways into the wall without releasing him from his grip. He turned Norman around and pressed him to the wall with clawed hands flat on his chest. "Anser my question Human."

He winced as he was slammed into the wall. When he looked at Verkur again (couldn't help doing so, seeing as he was right in front of him), he was glaring again. The snarl had rattled him for a moment, but that moment had passed. My hallucinations are just getting freakier as they go. I'd rather see color-changing food. How the heck am I coming up with this?

"Of course I don't want to die. What kind of question is that?" he said defiantly, not even trying to struggle. Not yet, in any case. "Now let me go, and you go away. I don't want to deal with you, and I don't need to see you. I don't care where you go. Just leave. Freak."

He didn't answer. Instead his wings opened widely, casting dark, wide shadows over Norman's figure against the wall. A bit of light shone through the tears and tatters of age. He even possibly resembled a bat. Maybe that's where his 'hallucinations' are coming from. Has Norman ever seen a bat?

"I take orders from no human," he replied coldly, his voice slithering. "you will ask for forgivness." Verkur would leave, but only when he's had his fun. And he's not had entirly all of his fun yet. His claws poked through the sweater again and he drug them downward, attempting to only lightly cut the flesh underneath.

Norman's seen bats on nature shows. He thinks they're nothing more than ugly bug-eating flying rats.

"Apologize?!" Norm shoved ineffectually at Verkur, wincing. He squirmed, trying to get the demon's claws out of his skin. No way am I apologizing to an imaginary monster. "Bite me."
He didn't mean that literally, of course,.. but he should probably have thought a little more about what he was saying. Norm still didn't believe there was danger in Verkur - he was a hallucination, right? So, he wouldn't hurt him any more than Norman would hurt himself.
Even as he struggled against Verkur, he marvelled at how real this all seemed. I'm totally crazy. I wonder what it means when you imagine up bat-winged demons? I should see a psychiatrist...I should definitely see a psychiatrist...I probably ought to be put away in a mental hospital...

Bite me. Ok sure.

Verkur’s face loomed closer and closer, slowly as he opened his mouth to reveal those razor sharp teeth and long fangs again. Slowly because people panic more for some reason the slower something dreaded seems to come. And it’s more fun when the pray is frightened. He used one hand to push Norman’s head to one side and sink is sharp teeth into the soft spot where your neck runs into your shoulder. He bite him without tearing his teeth from side to side. A clean, good bite. He drew back, looked at the bite marks, smiled.

“Satisfied?”

Norman stared at Verkur in much the same way a small animal stares when in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler. He didn't move again until Verkur's teeth punctured his skin. He gave a small gasp of shock, and then gritted his teeth to choke back a yell. He clapped a hand over the bite and pressed on it, glaring at Verkur.

"You bit me! You sick freak," he hissed, his breathing speeding up. He was positively seething, now. The hand not covering the bite balled up in a fist, trembling slightly. "I don't care if you're a hallucination, I'm going to break your sorry ass."
Norman, still operating under the delusion that Verkur can't do anthing to him that he wouldn't do to himself, began struggling fiercely, wildly swinging his arms and hoping that one of the blows would find a weak spot.

The demon has many weak spots, none of which really work on this earth. Verkur cocked an eyebrow upward and tilted his head to the side, watching Norman struggle uselessly and hold a hand over his bite. He looked completely amused at this point, his white eyes glowing feircly.

"A Freak. A hallucination am I?" He pulled Norman off of the wall and slamed him back against the brick, harder then a human could have done. "Stop your squirming, human." The demon opened his wings and closed them around himself and his play thing, his claws racking down Norman's arms, piercing. "What will it take, short of my killing you" because he really can't do that directly, "to make you believe that I am not the imaginary monster from under your bed?"

He grunted in pain as he was slammed into the wall, hitting the back of his head on the brick. It took him a moment to regain his bearings, and by that time he felt Verkur's claws in his arms. Norm shuddered, but was absolutely determined not to give the (imaginary) demon the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

"You're not going to ... m-make me believe it," he snarled, between clenched teeth, "You're... not real, and I'm not going to, to b-believe your lies. It's lies. You're a lie..."

"Oh? Well in that case it won't matter what I do to you will it?"

The demon removed his claws from Norman's arms and slid a claw down his cheek, then lifted him from the ground. The demon drug Norman's back up the rough brick as he did so, pushing aginst him harder then was truely necissary. His eyes glowing feircly and his lips drawn into a sharp smile.

Finally, after far too slow of a lift for all those muscels down his arm, he had Norman up against the wall, holding him there by one hand to the other's chest. He picked his claws for a moment, then put all five to one of Norman's legs, prepareing to shove the claws through the leg.

He glared at Verkur, his lip curling just enough to reveal his teeth. The expression on his face was one of absolute disgust.
"Of course it won't. You can't really hurt me," Norman snorted. But there was a look in his eyes - fear, maybe? And he didn't sound absolutely certain. That might just be because he was having difficulty breathing, pressed up against the wall like that,.. that's what Norman was telling himself, anyway.

The demon grinned and slid his claws through the man's leg, one claw gratting over bone. They sank through smoothly, how sharp they most be, and stopped when the tips hit the brick wall on the other side. That'll need a goo amount of stitches.

Verkur withdrew the claws slower then he'd slid them in. Really he wasn't even allowed to do this, direct physical torture, but he was interpeting Norman's 'of course it won't' as permission to cause physical pain and slow torture. His claws freed, his ran the back of the claws, thicker and less sharp, down the side of Norman's face, smearing bloody trails there, then licked one finger where the blood was running down his claw and onto his hand.

"This doesn't hurt?" He positioned the claws in the same fashion at Norman's shoulder. Thats next.

Norman managed to hold back the screams for all of ten seconds, then was forced to let them out. The sound that was ripped from his throat was ragged, choked, and high-pitched but too long to be a shriek. He gripped Verkur's wrist and dug futilely at his with his fingers.

I'd never have guessed I was so messed up in the head..

When the claws were withdrawn, he was still struggling. When he saw the demon's claws nearing his shoulder, his eyes widened briefly in fear, then were darkened by a scowl. He was shaking, but not ready to give in. Not yet.
"Didn't hurt," he gasped, defiant.

Verkur raised his eyebrows at Norman, the look on his face never faltering or slipping. It seemed that when Norman had smiled, it was twice as loud. His wings had created a cacoon around them and all the sound echoed back to them, vibrating against the demon's wings in a soft tickleing sensation. Very little, muffled sound escaped their tent.

"Then you must just be singing." He sank his claws through Norman's shoulders, pulled half way out, then sank them back in again without hesitation.

((Sorry about the shitty posts I'm giving you. I'm having a very off day.))

"I - aaaaaaaahrgh! God,...." He screamed again, the volume rising as the claws dug in, then falling once they were pulled out. He shut his eyes tightly, grimacing in pain, but he couldn't stop the tears in his eyes from spilling over. Despite the tears, he wasn't actually crying. He was too angry for that.

"F-f,... f-fuck you,... You're not real. This is all in my head..." his voice held a strained sing-song quality, "And I'll w-wake up and you'll be g-g,... gone."



((Nah, your posts are just fine. *hugs*))

"Suure." He replied, mimiking the sing-song voice. His own tone wasn't strained though. He, after all, hadn't just had a set of five claws shoved through his leg and then through his shoulder. "And when you dreaming do you often feel severe amounts of pain? And when you wake up, all that pain is gone?"

He switched the hand that was holding Norman to the wall, carful to slid Norman up another inch, just to grind the brick into his back again. He then placed all five tips of his claws to the other leg. "Then this won't hurt a bit." He slid the claws through quickly, grating the bones once again with stone claws.

"Y-yes I do!" he snapped. Whether he was serious or not was anyone's guess. He'd only answered to show that Verkur hadn't beaten him yet.

...And the new punctures were accompanied by another harsh scream from Norman. Black and red spots swam before his eyes as he gasped for breath,... unfortunately, he knew that he could take more pain than this, and the thought made him feel so sick he gagged.

"Leggo..." he said weakly, finding it very difficult to breathe properly. "...Doesn't hurt..."

"Sorry. Can't do that." Or rather 'not sorry and I won't do that.' Verkur didn't pull the claws out of his leg this time but instead twisted his hand to the side. And while the twist leaves annoying feelings in his fingertips where the claws connect to his fingers, it doesn't hurt him in the least.

"I might leave you alone when I'm no longer a figment." Obviously he wants credit for what he does, not to be considered an imaginary creature.

"Y-you're not real..." he said shakily, "You're not real. You're n-not real..."
He choked on the last word as if it had grabbed him by the throat. 'I might leave you alone when I'm no longer a figment'... what does it mean by that, maybe if I just- no, no, it can't...

"I won't, I w-won't let you trick me, you're just trying to get me into trouble and I don't believe you, y-you're just a lie and you're lying to me...," he rambled, his voice a strangled whisper. Hurts,... but it'll only hurt worse if I tell it it's real, because it's not. It's fake, all a filthy lie... Trying to trick me into hurting myself,... I won't do it again...

"You're a liar..." he whimpered.

"I may be many things, human, but a Liar I am not." And just to emphasize the point, he twisted his claws back, in the opposite direction he had just done. This time, as he pulled free his claws, he did so with a downward slide, slicing open more skin, coming away with little shards of flesh and not only just blood.

He placed the claws in a mirrored position on the man's shoulder, exactly as he had to the other side. Then smiled, tapped his thumb against Norman's chest. "Your heart is right here. One slice through it would kill you." Of course, Verkur is unable to kill without something awful happening to him in return, according to the code. He had a feeling that it consisted of the God's flocking to him and all individually punishing him. Not a pleasent thought.

He began to slide his claws slowly through flesh.

"I d-don't believe you... you're just trying to get me in trouble..." Norman moaned, letting his chin drop onto his chest. He gave his head a sharp shake, purposely dropping his glasses to the ground. Without them, he couldn't see a thing - which was just what he wanted at the moment. He was clinging to the hope that by not being able to see Verkur, he could make him disappear.

For a moment, he felt it had worked, but then the demon's claws punctured his other shoulder. Norm shrieked in agony, his voice hoarse and strangled. When he spoke, his words trembled so that they were almost unintelligible.
"No, no more! Stop! Please, please stop,... please..., it hurts...."

Verkur pulled his claws out of the skin and what little bit of muscle he'd punctured before the man cried out. Then he removed his other hand entirly from Norman's body a let him fall down the brick wall without another word. For a moment, he hovered, looking down on the Human, his eyes glowing feircly, making her gray face almost white and throwing black shadows over that white.

He clicked his claws togather, touched one claw to his tongue, a gray, dark tongue. "That pain is real human. You won't wake up and feel safe. You are not dreaming and hallucinations don't bite back." He began to let his leathery wings fold.

Once he was let go, Norman collapsed to the ground and curled up in a ball, bringing his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around his legs. "Don't b'lieve you,.." he whimpered, tightly closing his eyes. "Won't let you trick me,... just make it worse. Won't fool me... F-fuck you. You c-can't..."

What did I do wrong? he was screaming inside his head. What did I do? I'm not making this up. It's not happening - I'm not making up stories. I've been good...
...
so why do I hurt so much?

Didn't Norman learn his lesson at all when he told Verkur 'bite me?' Because now here he is telling a demon, and one who has just torn up one of his shoulders and both of his thighs, 'fuck you'. Now, I should say that Verkur is allowed to do so, he simply doesn't. He's millions of years old in general, three thousand on this earth, and scarcly has he raped anything. But he has a sick, twisted humor at watching peoples faces when they think it is going to happen to them.

The demon sighed heavily and squat down beside Norman. "Well I don't usually let a human fuck me, but if you want to, though, I don't see how this would be convencing that I am real."

Norm looked up at him for a moment, looking horrified. His eyes were round, and glassy with pain and tears. Then he shut his eyes again, curling up more tightly as if that would help to protect him. He tucked his face against his knees, rocking slightly.

"No..." he whispered pleadingly, "No, I didn't mean,... Go away. Just,.. n-no."

Verkur prodded Norman in the side with a claw, he didn't even make a scratch, yet he was proding as hard as he had when he'd threatened to slice through him. How many years had it taken to learn to weild those weapons as dangerous and as an extension of your hand?

He frowned, inclinded his head forward and sideways like a curious cat. "I think I broke it," he said to no one in particular when Norman began to rock.