2015.10.13 - Goth + Vegan = Gegan

*Lance receives an unexpected visitor as he makes the rounds in Portland. The wheels of demonic planning begin to turn.*

Portland, Oregon

Portland, city of the weird. The weird is the norm here! Which means that even demons -- even *pretty important* demons -- fit in pretty well. Yesterday, Seattle played host to the illustrious Demogorgon, recognized throughout multiple planes of existence and, in the human world, called Lance De Leon. Some know him as "boss", "the financier", "the mysterious botanist and horticulturist", even just "the biker guy" or "the leather man". But those in the know understand his true identity.

Whatever the case, whatever the nature of his people, they are undeniably *his people*, and they obey without question. It's a bit like a well-oiled army, but it's not quite so stiff or regimented. He demands highly of his allies, but they deliver. They can be given significant slack to give him their most brilliant ideas and accomplishments. He doesn't want to stifle them, after all.

But operations need inspecting, from time to time. Demogorgon can help to cultivate the most magnificent demon hemp, but even if it grows like tomatoes in heat, that doesn't always mean it's being distributed that well.

The Seattle group passed muster and then some -- spectacular, even. Portland has, so far, left Lance satisfied. He didn't expect it to be Seattle-levels, especially given the unconventional way the city seems to run. So, as usual, he's being treated to some of the unique pleasures of the city, some highly illegal substances...but all organic and fair trade. It's a secret meeting place, but it's decorated like one might imagine a particularly edgy vegan bistro might be...with a kind of gothy edge. Gothic vegan? It's cheerful and colorful, but not so much bright as a kind of cartoonishly macabre aesthetic.

Perfect for a demon like him, judging by Lance's tendency for his shirts.

Ahh, yes. The Gegan crowd. Anya knows all about vegans, both the real kind who refuse to eat anything animal based, and the namby pamby vampire/werewolf kind who only eat animals and the like. So it is that the demonic vegan goth bistro with an edge finds a new inhabitant popping in. Quite literally. One second, nothing, the next, perky blonde in a cute outfit wielding a sword and stabbing one of Lance's people right through, right into his chair. Mortal, demon, whatever he is, she's got him skewered quite well, and looks quite pleased with herself. "Well, that certainly went easier than I was expecting."... And then she's looking around more fully at her surroundings, her smile faltering ever so slightly.

It's probably best that the man in the chair is actually a demon, so the stabbing doesn't really do anything but surprise him. It surprises Lance, too, who is on his feet in the blink of an eye and interrupting Anya quicker than any human could perceive. His eyes are solid black -- if she's able to perceive his true form, however, she'll probably recognize him fairly quickly.

The fact that he manages to look imposing with a blunt suspended precariously between his lips is testament to his demonic majesty, and that aura is serious business. But at the same time, there's a sort of frown of recognition in his own mien.

He tilts his head slightly. "...what are you even *doing*? Is this a really poorly-planned surprise? I haven't heard of *you* running around lately."

"... This isn't 123 West Elm Street, is it?" Anya asks, more to herself than to anyone else. Her mode of speech is just a little too... enthusiastic and a shade too precise. "I mean, Surprise! Singing Sword-a-Gram!" She taps her way through a fairly impressive few steps, before glancing around. They're not buying it. "Wait. What are *you* doing here? And in that *ridiculous body*!? I mean, look at it, it's all... Gingery and boybandy." Her nose curls up ever so slightly in disgust. "Also, did no one tell you drugs are bad?" She crosses her arms over her chest, tsking under her breath. A moment later, she draws the sword out of the poor demon's chest, looking a bit sheepish.

"I don't even think there *is* a West Elm Street in--no, there probably is." Lance smirks just a bit, then that smirk turns into a grin, and he just raises his hand to wave all the concern away. There's some serious demon power gathered in here, but they all seem...pretty chill, really? Once Lance gives that signal, everything goes back to mostly acceptable. The smoke is probably helping with that.

The demon otherwise known as Demogorgon looks Anya over a couple of times, looks at the sword with a sort of questioning expression, and then shrugs his shoulders, reaching up to take the joint from his mouth, holding it between his thumb and forefinger and exhaling an impressive carpet of smoke that curls over his lips and out his nostrils as he speaks. "Oh, I don't know. I kind of like it. The previous tenant didn't want it, so I thought, well...why not!" He turns around in place, arms outstretched.

Then, seeming to realize, he holds out the smoking roll of paper and herb towards his visitor. "We never really...hung out, did we? How's the vengeance biz going? It's Anyanka, right?"

"I liked it better when you were all wrinkly and terrifying... All... Betty White." Anya opines, glancing around to find somewhere to store the sword... she shrugs, and back it goes into the demon. "Hold that for me." At the offer of drugs, her nose wrinkles again. "No thank you, I can smell it from here. Isn't there a plane of hell that reeks like this?" She's going to have to wash her hair tonight, that's for sure! "Anyanka, Patron Saint of Scorned Women... and slightly confused." She leans on the hilt of the sword, looking thoughtful. "Listen. Did he upset a 40 year old house wife? Because one moment, I'm speaking with a mousey, frumpy brunette shaped like a potato, and the next, I'm here. And you're getting sworded... It's all very unprofessional, to be honest."

"Could you...not stick swords into my people?" Lance gestures at the sword, the woman leaning on the sword, everything. The demon who happens to be the happy shealth is...well, not so happy about it. It was surprising at first, now it's clearly starting to annoy him.

But Lance takes his smoke back with a casual shrug. "No, nobody here's connected to anyone like that. Are you sure you've got the right city? Things have kind of..." he wiggles the fingers of his free hand, "gone wacky lately. That whole magic upset in California? I mean, sure, this is the capital of weird in plenty of ways, but where I'm living now has it outdone on a weekly basis."

"But... Look at him. He's clearly ripe for stabbing." Still, she's a guest, so she draws the sword out again, casually wiping it on the demon's shoulder before looking at it in confusion. "This isn't even mine. Does anybody want a sword? I am willing to exchange it for currency!" Lance's words are taken in thoughtfully, and Anya nods a few times to herself. "I think I found the flaw in the wish. She wanted 'that demon bastard run through with his own sword'. I... think that she meant that sexually, by the way. Housewives are usually the most vicious." She says that as an aside to the current winner for 'most stabbed in one hour', before turning her attention back to Lance. "I'm fairly certain I have the right city, the right neighborhood, the right block... Wrong floor, maybe? I'm just getting back into the swing of things. More like the *stab* of things, though, right?" She slaps the poor demon who's been stabbed and used as a rag on the shoulder, laughing in an obviously forced manner.

That, at least, gets a chuckle out of the man. Good thing Demogorgon's a good person with plants, or else everyone might not be so mellow. But what-ifs and wouldas aren't in the dealing tonight, and it seems like the geganesque crowd take it in stride. After all, it could be worse. It might have been someone totally different, who really meant to do some harm.

"No, I know there's no Elm Street within at least ten miles. But if you need help finding it, I have some people." Lance motions to the room. It would seem that they are all involved, in some way or another, with his group. Demon groupies! Probably some humans around too. "Just, uh...try to let me give you a pointer or two if you need someone. Some are a little more...able than others."

This having been said, no one steps forward to try and bargain for the sword.

"This is a really good sword!" Anya announces to no one in particular, once she realizes no one is stepping forward to buy it. "It slices, it dices, it is possibly able to kill demons! ... Just not that guy." In Anya's defense, she meant to do a great deal of harm. To a human. But perhaps her subconcious is playing games with her, and the wish isn't getting granted because she doesn't want to do it. Who knows.

"I should be able to find it on my own, honestly, this is insane. I'm over a thousand years old, I've avenged countless wrongs over the years. It shouldn't be this difficult to forcibly impale someone with their own phallus. They have pills now so that old men can continue impaling people on their phalli for years after it stopped working naturally. Perhaps something is wrong with my demonic GPS?" She's looking sheepish again, glancing around at the crowd. Good thing this didn't happen at a vampire bar. They would totally question her choice in fashion.

Lance opens his mouth, and he looks for all the world like he could answer that in some way, and then he closes his mouth again, and then opens it again, and only this time does he actually speak. His brows come together and for all the world he looks more concerned about this kin of his -- distantly-connected though they may be -- than most probably would with such a fairly minor degree of actual acquaintance.

Still, he knows of her, and she knows of him, and anyway there's pot and geganism going on, and it's Portland. "Maybe you should just...chill here for a little while. I'm extending this hospitality to you. I mean...I've been there. I think we all have. Look, I'm...gonna get you something to drink. What do you want to drink? We've got pumpkin spice everything."

"I am not some basic white girl in yoga pants to be tempted with pumpkin spice! I caused the Russian Revolution! The Crimean War! I deserve at least an Apple Pie Scone and a Frozen Hot Chocolate." Her tone goes from over the top to completely reasonable with the last sentence, and she smiles. "I don't need an intervention though, okay? The last one resulted in me getting stabbed in the heart and turned into a human. Again. It was most unpleasant, and I am entirely pleased to be returned to my demonic form." So... why doesn't she sound sure of that?

"Well you know we're obviously not going to do that." Lance summons one of the people working the bar. Or well, not exactly *summons*, since most of them are demons and that has a slightly different connotation around them, but he definitely beckons, and she definitely comes to see what's up. He has a few soft words with her, and she moves off with a smile, giving Anya a curious but friendly enough look.

Lance steps closer, gesturing with one hand towards that same bar. "Don't think of it as an intervention," he intones, taking a drag off his joint before passing it to the sword guy. He probably needs it. "How are you on current events?"

"You shouldn't give him that, it's just going to leak out of the hole in his lungs." Anya opines, before following Lance toward the bar. "I am completely uninformed on current events, much like most of humanity. Knowing that I am not up to date does, however, set me ahead of certain people in the Appalachian regions and the Ozark..."

Her brain makes the weirdest connections even when she's not breathing in drugged air. "The last I was aware, Sunnydale was collapsing into the Hellmouth, and that dork that I was wheelchair fighting with was running off with my ex fiance to start a new life of what I can only assume is domestic homosexual bliss. And now I find out that gay marriage is legal! How wonderful is that?" She hops up onto a stool, grinning. Xander's moved on! She's happy! She's pleased! She's also slightly delusional...

Lance just waves off the concern. If the underling doesn't heal up quick enough, maybe it'll lead to a unique contact high for the rest of the group around him. "Sunnydale? Oh man." He clears his throat and , as they reach the bar, takes the drink and food with a soft smile given to the same woman that took his order before. Her eyes flash solid black and she returns the smile, before she moves off to deal with other matters.

"Okay, so Sunnydale's been gone for a little while. And this is a frozen hot chocolate, and this is an apple turnover, and I can guarantee it's delicious." Lance leans slightly against the bar, nodding in thought. There are some things he could say to the whole homosexual bliss thing. But as she probably knew him before he became invested in said bliss, he opts simply not to bring it up and complicate things. "So you're...just going right back to work?"

"That's very distracting." Anya murmurs to herself when the eyes flash black, before her own do it. Repeatedly. Shapeshifter, after all. She's also still looking like a typical human woman, too. "I was given very little choice. Go back to work, or remain trapped in hell as a mortal forever. I get two weeks of vacation after one year, and dental at two years. D'Hoffryn was very insistent on two years for some reason." She shakes her head, clearly confused at management's policies, then takes a bite of the apple turnover... and is obviously pleased. "Delicious!"

"It's a thing," Lance waves his hand again. They do that even when it's all demons and sympathizers. He stopped thinking about it a long time ago. It just happens. "Anyway...I just want to welcome you back to the working world. I'd like to keep in touch. Maybe we could help each other a little bit, eh? Are you settling in Portland this time, or did you just come here to check out the landscape?"

"Thank you. It's so very good to be back. I am overjoyed at the chance to continue wreaking bloody vengeance upon the men of the world." At the mention of settling in, Anya shakes her head. "I go where the work is." She explains, leaning on the bar a bit as she sips her frozen hot chocolate, clearly enjoying that, too. One of the perks of being a demon? No brain freeze! "I do not see how we could be of mutual assistance, but I am interested to hear your solution!"

"Well, I'm putting together some things. We like to get each other's backs, you might say. It's a nice arrangement. Not the groupthink of the white light squad and not the 'every demon for himself' of the other crowd." Lance's smile widens just a bit, and it's about then that the woman returns again, this time with a latte smelling of pumpkin spice. Real pumpkin spice too, and probably organic. And fair trade.

*Gegan.*

He nods without looking around and picks up the bowl-sized cup between his hands, tipping it to his lips and taking a sizable sip. "Mm." Licking his lips after swallowing, he continues steadily on. "Heaven and Hell are becoming so last season, and I don't think they're gonna make it to retro kitsch."

"You should talk to D'Hoffryn. He runs a tight ship. Not literally, but..." She gestures, then takes another bite of her turnover. She speaks with her mouth about a third full, muffling her words mildly. "At least with demons, you know where you stand. With angels it's all ooo, let's work together to stop this greater evil now I'll stab you repeatedly with my magic swo-... I wonder if that's where it came from." She swallows, then takes another sip of her chocolate. "They know what they're doing here. You should franchise."

"Can you hook me up?" Lance lowers his cup, to rest it back down on the surface of the bar. "Oh yeah. This place is pretty great. I haven't really gotten into the whole...well...eating and drinking for pleasure thing until fairly recently, so I've got a lot to catch up on. It's better with the smoke, gotta say." There's a sort of nagging at the back of his mind, and he can't help but wonder if Stiles would like this place.

But he pushes the personal concern from his mind and presses on. "Yeah," he answers. "I agree. That's why this is an all-demon operation. Angels are just...too..." Lance makes a kind of weird face, like he isn't sure what emotion to put on it, and then finally finishes, "drone ant."

"Stabby?" Anya offers. But then Lance is explaining it in insect terms. "That works too. Though they are also quite stabby. I mean. There's an angel of vengeance. Who died and made him the end all, be all source of vengeance in the world? At least the Furies understand we're all in the trenches, fighting the good fight of avenging the wronged, together!" She slams her fist on the bar, restraining her considerable strength to prevent from breaking it. "Eating and drinking for pleasure is great, but I prefer interlocking parts. Human bodies interlock for a reason, you know. It feels very pleasurable."

Lance suddenly wears a not only pleased, but knowing expression as he gazes into the distance, seeing someone and something not there at the moment. But very much an active memory. "Oh yes," he nearly purrs. "Yes, I'm aware of that. There's this one I know th--" But he cuts himself off. He can't just start talking about that right now. Because he's pretty sure it will scandalize Stiles if this ever gets back to him, and he would ideally like to introduce Anya. Someday. Maybe when she learns not to talk so openly about paying vengeance upon men.

Lance draws himself back tot he here and now. "But yeah, they're pretty stabby. Angels. I mean, I guess ants are stabby, but I think they're more...bitey? And...work-y."

"Like Xander. Especially with the bitey." She sighs softly to herself, glancing around the room. Her drink is finished off, and the last bite of turnover is devoured. "I should go. There's still a man out there whose own phallus isn't going to penetrate him without my help. Well... Presumably. I have seen some unusual things however, so it would not overly surprise me." She stands, dusting off her hands and looking around the room. Grabbing up her sword again, she smiles. "I will send word to D'Hoffryn that you seek his attention at his immeasurable leisure. Thank you for the sustenance. Summon me if you seek to franchise. I may wish to own one!" And with that, she's gone, appearing once more in the Potato Wife's home, to interrogate her as to where her ex lives.

Lance is surprised, not by her sudden departure, but more by how much they seem to have in common, for being such different types of demons really, when it comes down to it. They're united by their kind, united by a similar sort of...approach. In a way. Sort of, if you squint. Yeees, he will have to speak to D'Hoffryn. Or subjugate him. Or something.
He takes another sip of pumpkin spice latte.