mutualism ~ {{daemon malus malum/xander quinn}}

[XANDER QUINN]

[atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 450px; background: url(http://i1121.photobucket.com/albums/l517/obsidianabyss/blackmetal.gif); border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #000000, bTable][style=font-family: courier new; text-align: right; color: #FFFFFF; letter-spacing: 1px; line-height: -10px; padding: 5px 30px 1px 5px;]methodical[/style][style=font-family: harrington; text-align: right; color: #ABA9AA; letting-spacing: 1px; line-height: 5px; padding: 0px 15px 5px 0px;]madness[/style][style=float: right; width: 270; padding: 10px; height: 310px; overflow: auto; background-color: #000000; opacity: 0.4; border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #FFFFFF; font: 10px verdana; color: #FFFFFF; text-align: justify;] it was quiet as the grave. as always. in his office, concealed in the pools of shadow that dominated the spacious room, DOSE's director waited. seated in a high-backed chair that stood behind a massive steel-and-glass desk, he could have been an imposing presence. could being the key word. he had the heavy chair tipped backwards at an odd angle, polished black loafers resting on the desk's spotless glass surface, and both arms propped behind his head. the effect altogether ruined much of the forbidding aura he could easily have commanded. the director, however, didn't seem to mind. slender white-gloved fingers danced their way restlessly across the desktop, finally wrapping around the glass nameplate at the front that read DIRECTOR XANDER QUINN in neat, precise capital letters along its slender length. after studying the delicate engraving for a moment, he began tapping it on the desktop in a tuneless rythmn. when the sharp ring of glass on glass grew too jarring to endure any longer, he busied himself with poking the contents of the meticulously-organized desktop into even more precise locations, mumbling pointlessly to himself as he did so. with every tiny movement he made, the light of the single flourescent lamp that lit the room refracted from the lenses of his white mask and lit the black panes eerily. tiring at last of his pointless little game, he tossed the nameplate aside and sighed irritably, righting his chair with a bone-rattling thump. it had only been fifteen minutes, but the virtue of patience (or any virtue, for that matter) was not one the Director possessed. the special was late. the director could have wandered off, he supposed, gone to supervise the lower levels, left the compound, even, under the ruse of business at city hall (heaven knew that was common enough), and taken his time getting back-- and let daemon wait for a while- but he did loathe leaving his office. the world outside was eternally, ceaselessly crowded with countless useless, pointless people, scurrying about. most dodged him or pretended that they conveniently hadn't seen him, as if daring to meet the black lenses that served as his eyes would be too forward, a step out of bounds. he'd done nothing, admittedly, to correct this dark reputation. with it this way, he was left to his own devices. alone. that was all he wanted. furthermore, if he left, his plan would again be delayed. that was unacceptable, once it had been set into motion. the moment the carefully-placed cogs had begun to turn, nothing on this earth would hinder them while the director lived. so he would wait. [/style][style=float: left;] [/style]

[atrb=style, height: 80px; overflow: auto; border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #FFFFFF; font-family: verdana; color: #000000; text-align: justify; padding: 5px;]TAG, daemon malus malum LYRIC,~ ~ ~ NOTES,~ ~ ~ WORDS,440 CREDIT,made by LUCI of OTE. steal & die. ; Edited by Maeka of Defrauding Fate.

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[DAEMEON MALUS MALUM]

your death is oh, so sweet

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[rs=2]	Daemeon was having a great day. It was just one of those lovely times that made him want to walk slowly and enjoy the sunlight and go about with a curious smirk on his face that no one could ever figure out. The kind of day when - Oh, who was he kidding. It was a day no different from any other. Perhaps the weather was a bit better; but if it was, he'd long ago lost the capacity to find joy in it. He'd still had to go to his office in the City Hall, still had to put up with the idiots he worked with, still had to fight his internal wishes to destroy the whole world - and to make things worse, today was the day he met with him. At least it got him out of the office, that building where everyone smiled at him with a wary look in their eyes, throwing out polite greetings before hurrying on their way with heads down. It was annoying. Of course they thought of him as superior, but to scurry around like insects hiding from the sun - disgusting. He walked the path he had long ago memorized and waltzed straight through the metal doors of the Department of Special Experimentation's headquarters. He ignored the man who sat behind the desk in the pleasantly designed first room and turned immediately into a hallway, his footsteps loud in the silence. It was always quiet here, not that he minded terribly. In the underground floors it got louder, what with the screaming experiments and the training Specials and whatnot, but up here it was no different than any other business. Except, of course, it was about a billion times eerier. Even with the well-lit hallways, the clean floors, the generally well-kept and plain interior, the whole place stunk of something suspicious. For good reasons, of course. As Daemeon walked down that long hallway, and then up a flight of stairs, he only thought of two things: one, the director's reaction to his being late (done on purpose, purely for the opportunity to annoy him) and two, what on earth they would have to talk about. Pushing open the door labeled DIRECTOR XANDER QUINN, the ambassador stepped inside the large, empty-feeling room, lit by a single lamp, which scattered pale fluorescent light around the whole of the office. It wasn't quite enough to provide comfortable lighting, but Daemeon didn't care. He could see perfectly well anyways, and besides, the director had never been one for comfortable environments. Shutting the door quietly, he put a smirk on his face and looked up at the odd masked figure behind the massive desk. "Hello, director." He said with a fake pleasantness that was not at all well hidden, the sharp glint in his scarlet eyes only accentuating the obvious lie. He didn't bother trying to lie with this man, the man responsible for his creation. the man who knew things about him that even he did not. "Did I keep you waiting?" His tone dropped to a lilting taunt, the smirk remaining only on the corners of his mouth.
[style=width: 330px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 45px; letter-spacing: 1px; color: #292929; text-align: right; background-color: transparent; padding-top: -27px; padding-left: 10px; line-height: -10px; padding-right: 10px;]screams like music in the middle of night

[XANDER QUINN]

[atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 450px; background: url(http://i1121.photobucket.com/albums/l517/obsidianabyss/blackmetal.gif); border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #000000, bTable][style=font-family: courier new; text-align: right; color: #FFFFFF; letter-spacing: 1px; line-height: -10px; padding: 5px 30px 1px 5px;]methodical[/style][style=font-family: harrington; text-align: right; color: #ABA9AA; letting-spacing: 1px; line-height: 5px; padding: 0px 15px 5px 0px;]madness[/style][style=float: right; width: 270; padding: 10px; height: 310px; overflow: auto; background-color: #000000; opacity: 0.4; border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #FFFFFF; font: 10px verdana; color: #FFFFFF; text-align: justify;] the animosity in daemon's eyes- only halfheartedly concealed, was familiar to the director by now. it was an odd little comfort- come what may, daemon would always wear this expression around him. a tiny sliver of reliability in a bizarre, disorderly world that held next to none. "good morning, simon." the director's tone was a cheery, bright singsong, his irritation hidden well and daemon's true name inserted into the greeting casually, offhandedly, as if it'd been a simple oversight. it was not. "not long, not long at all." he purred in eventual reply, running both hands through his frosted brown hair. "don't worry, it doesn't matter." it did, (if to no one besides the Director) but he'd die before he'd give the special the satisfaction of knowing that the deliberate tardiness had managed to irk him. there were other ways of dealing with it. he slowly rose from his seat, clasped both hands behind his back, and stood there silently regarding the dark-haired man on the other side of the desk for several long minutes. the blank, black windows that concealed his eyes held nothing but the harsh glare of lamplight. finally, fiddling with a silver teapot that stood in the corner of his desk, he poured two cups of steaming tea, pulling one across the glass surface toward himself-- and leaving it untouched-- sliding the other to daemon with a quick, casual flick of the wrist. he doubted it'd be accepted, but it was a courtesy. a traditon, almost. "before we get down to business, i did have something to ask of you." and here, he paused to let his silky words dangle in the air before continuing. "i'm sure we can come to some sort of... mutual agreement." [/style][style=float: left;] [/style]

[atrb=style, height: 80px; overflow: auto; border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #000000; font-family: verdana; color: #000000; text-align: justify; padding: 5px;]TAG,daemon malus malum LYRIC,~ ~ ~ NOTES,~ ~ ~ WORDS,290 CREDIT,made by LUCI of OTE. steal & die. ; Edited by Maeka of Defrauding Fate.

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[DAEMEON MALUS MALUM]

your death is oh, so sweet

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[rs=2]	Simon. His smirk dropped to an expression that was somewhere between a sneer of disgust and a glare of absolute hatred, though through an effort of will he managed to keep it from surfacing on his face. His jaw clenched briefly, yes, but really it was only his eyes that showed anything more than their usual bloodthirsty coldness. But that was how it usually was. It was bothersome, to say the least. He was so skilled at hiding things, so skilled at keeping everything but those emotions that were present in his ever-expressive eyes - the eyes that they had given him, advantageous in some ways but a mere annoyance in others - down. Sometimes he wondered if that had been done on purpose, to keep track of what he was thinking. Oh, it made him hate them so. Hate him so. With an inconspicuous little sigh, Daemeon resigned himself to the presence of the Director. It was impossible to trick this man - he'd tried often enough - and besides, somehow Xander always managed to twist and return his carefully-phrased, well-disguised insults, so that they worked against him instead of in the way he'd intended. He'd underestimated him often enough to know that, and yet that vain thought of his being supreme always managed to win out against his rationality. Something else to thank the Director and his team for. The moments of silent regard were nothing new to him, and he didn't so much as fidget under the blank, disturbing black eyes of the mask. He kept his scarlet gaze locked on them, as if they were both weighing each other, testing one another to see who would come out on top. And Daemeon knew that, no matter how much he hated it and no matter how hard he tried, the Director would always come out on top. Not that he would give up. No, he wasn't that hopeless. He would never give up. He would keep going with his little cycle of insults and barbed words until one of them was dead and gone. When the showdown was finally over, ended by the wet sound of tea, the special forced himself to move forwards, as had become custom. Their meetings always went this way: Daemeon would come in as late as he thought he could get away with, the Director would brush it off and they would spend a long moment watching each other, then the tea would be poured and left to go cold, untouched by either as they discussed petty political matters. But this 'mutual agreement,' that was something new. Daemeon arched one dark brow and rested both of his gloved white hands on the clean glass of the desk, leaning forward just slightly. It revolted him to be this close to the Director, but he didn't want to give even a hint of his discomfort. "An agreement?" He repeated the question back at him, the little hint of the constant smirk returning. "Why Director, it sounds like you want a favor." His smirk widened just a bit more, hiding the curiosity the question had piqued. "And what would this favor be?"
[style=width: 330px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 45px; letter-spacing: 1px; color: #292929; text-align: right; background-color: transparent; padding-top: -27px; padding-left: 10px; line-height: -10px; padding-right: 10px;]screams like music in the middle of night

[XANDER QUINN]

[atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 450px; background: url(http://i1121.photobucket.com/albums/l517/obsidianabyss/blackmetal.gif); border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #000000, bTable][style=font-family: courier new; text-align: right; color: #FFFFFF; letter-spacing: 1px; line-height: -10px; padding: 5px 30px 1px 5px;]methodical[/style][style=font-family: harrington; text-align: right; color: #ABA9AA; letting-spacing: 1px; line-height: 5px; padding: 0px 15px 5px 0px;]madness[/style][style=float: right; width: 270; padding: 10px; height: 310px; overflow: auto; background-color: #000000; opacity: 0.4; border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #FFFFFF; font: 10px verdana; color: #FFFFFF; text-align: justify;] daemon concealed his expressions as skillfully as ever, his handsome face a perfect sculpture of subdued, calm control-- but his bright crimson eyes, for an instant, sparked with the intensity of utter loathing. it would always be those eyes that betrayed him. bestowing a creation with skill was redundant, if it could be used against the creator himself. no, a sucessful project must find a delicate balance. strength, of course-- but just enough weakness that they were not infallible-- that those who knew their secrets would still hold power over them. daemon was a perfect example of the ultimate sucess- a creature beautiful, powerful, so very close to perfect- but for his eyes, but for the emotions at odds with his icy personality, but for the tiny, insignificant weaknesses like his past and his name. he fell short so very magnificently. the director was more grateful than ever for the mask. it hid the small, satisfied smirk that had crept onto his lips far more effectively than he ever could have. the curiosity was concealed neatly behind daemon's own mask-- a mask of false courtesy, but it was most definitely there. "less of a favor, more of an... ah, an exchange, shall we say?" xander drawled, clasping both hands behind his back and tilting his head at an odd angle. he studied the special, admiring the curious gleam in his eyes, then glanced at the rapidly-cooling cups of tea for a long moment, prolonging the wait to an agonizing point before at last returning those glittering black squares to daemon. "i understand that you're... unhappy with your recent promotion?" the words were a sugar-sweet, enticing purr, the barest, meagerest hint of precisely what he was offering. just enough to catch his attention. the trap had been baited. [/style][style=float: left;] [/style]

[atrb=style, height: 80px; overflow: auto; border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #FFFFFF; font-family: verdana; color: #000000; text-align: justify; padding: 5px;]TAG, daemon malus malum LYRIC,~ ~ ~ NOTES,~ ~ ~ WORDS,318 CREDIT,made by LUCI of OTE. steal & die. ; Edited by Maeka of Defrauding Fate.

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[DAEMEON MALUS MALUM]

your death is oh, so sweet

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[rs=2]	Something was going on behind those black panes of glass, he knew it - something malevolent and twisted that he hated even without knowing what it was. The long, dramatic silence he took between sentences only enhanced that thought. Mentally Daemeon berated the Director's eccentric theatricality. Such an annoying, human quality - one he was glad he didn't possess. Yes, he toyed with his prey, but more as a cat with a mouse than like this. When he killed, he didn't perform. Not for other people, anyway. The last phrase was an utter and complete trick. Daemeon saw through it in a second, though this time he kept his expression calm - even his eyes, if just barely. The words themselves were cleverly said, made to harm him no matter what his answer was. Even if he acted completely complacent... No, the Director would see through that, it was useless to try. An exchange... He scoffed to himself, the tip of his finger tracing the rim of the teacup slowly in one long circular motion. "That suggests benefits for the both of us." He pointed out after a few brief seconds, his glittering scarlet eyes sharp in contrast to the nearly friendly evil smirk. "As for the matter of my unhappiness, I don't believe that's an honest question, Director." Here his smirk became sickeningly sweet in its falseness, his voice matching it with an almost cloying tone. "Would you have put me there if it would make me happy? Because surely you know my emotions better than I." It wasn't his greatest hidden insult ever, but Daemeon didn't really care. Again, this was the Director - he was already reading him like a book. And besides, this way grated on the masked man's intelligence, if only slightly. It also called to attention the secrets Xander wielded like power over him; but no matter, again it was something that had come about so often he had simply allowed it to slip by, regardless of the annoyances.
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[XANDER QUINN]

[atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 450px; background: url(http://i1121.photobucket.com/albums/l517/obsidianabyss/blackmetal.gif); border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #000000, bTable][style=font-family: courier new; text-align: right; color: #FFFFFF; letter-spacing: 1px; line-height: -10px; padding: 5px 30px 1px 5px;]methodical[/style][style=font-family: harrington; text-align: right; color: #ABA9AA; letting-spacing: 1px; line-height: 5px; padding: 0px 15px 5px 0px;]madness[/style][style=float: right; width: 270; padding: 10px; height: 310px; overflow: auto; background-color: #000000; opacity: 0.4; border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #FFFFFF; font: 10px verdana; color: #FFFFFF; text-align: justify;] daemon irately, quietly waited, enduring the his melodramatic pause wordlessly before utilizing that graceful, razor-sharp tact they’d given him. quite impressively, though xander would never admit that. the director bristled ever-so-slightly, a frown rapidly replacing his smug grin. thanks to the mask, however, there was no outward sign save for a slight stiffening to his posture, the subtle addition of a rigidity that hadn't been there before. that, he quickly masked by pushing his chair back with a sharp grating sound and casually taking a seat, as if the simple gesture had been his intention all along and the only reason he had shifted. "whether or not it was an honest question, you've nonetheless dodged it." the director calmly retorted, his tone a lilting rumble. it carefully concealed the fact that the special's barbed words had indeed grazed their mark. slowly, deliberately, he steepled his fingers and languidly gazed at his reflection in the desk's immaculate glass surface. he didn't need to look at daemon to know that the special, in spite of his wide smile, harbored an unsettling darkness in his bright scarlet eyes. "we did have reasons for the transfer other than to spite you-" he began, pressing on smoothly. "-as much as i'm sure you'd like to believe it, you don't matter that much. to any of us." he still hadn't even once glanced in the special's direction, or so it seemed. "and now, we have our reasons to make this offer. will you hear the terms?" somehow, it wasn't really a question. [/style][style=float: left;] [/style]

[atrb=style, height: 80px; overflow: auto; border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #000000; font-family: verdana; color: #000000; text-align: justify; padding: 5px;]TAG,daemon malus malum LYRIC,~ ~ ~ NOTES,~ ~ ~ WORDS,256 CREDIT,made by LUCI of OTE. steal & die. ; Edited by Maeka of Defrauding Fate.

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[DAEMEON MALUS MALUM]

your death is oh, so sweet

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[rs=2]	The man was as good at hiding his emotions as ever, Daemeon had to admit. There were almost no outward signs of discomfort or annoyance, and the slight movement before he sat down was hard to discern. It could have been innocent, or it could have been what he'd hoped to get out of him: anger. But of course the scientist pressed on as smoothly as ever, even sliding a little insult of his own into the words. This time though, he managed to let it go over his head with considerable ease. It was clear in that little insult - that he didn't matter that much - that he had gotten to the Director, if only slightly. "I never said I did." He practically purred in response, watching the emotionless reflections of the mask before turning his gaze to the cold tea. The smell was pleasant and light even with all the warmth gone, but the color had faded and it now looked very watery. A shame, he thought, though he probably wouldn't have dared to drink the liquid even if it had been the most fantastic in the world. The last question wasn't a question at all. It was in the way it was spoken, the tone that was light and cheerful yet demanded order, the posture with the careful downturned eyes, the fingers that pressed together with just a bit of pressure. "Might as well." He said as languidly as he could in response to the order, clasping his hands beneath his back and waiting, appearing slightly bored as usual.
[style=width: 330px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 45px; letter-spacing: 1px; color: #292929; text-align: right; background-color: transparent; padding-top: -27px; padding-left: 10px; line-height: -10px; padding-right: 10px;]screams like music in the middle of night

[XANDER QUINN]

[atrb=cellSpacing,20,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 450px; background: url(http://i1121.photobucket.com/albums/l517/obsidianabyss/blackmetal.gif); border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #000000, bTable][style=font-family: courier new; text-align: right; color: #FFFFFF; letter-spacing: 1px; line-height: -10px; padding: 5px 30px 1px 5px;]methodical[/style][style=font-family: harrington; text-align: right; color: #ABA9AA; letting-spacing: 1px; line-height: 5px; padding: 0px 15px 5px 0px;]madness[/style][style=float: right; width: 270; padding: 10px; height: 310px; overflow: auto; background-color: #000000; opacity: 0.4; border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #FFFFFF; font: 10px verdana; color: #FFFFFF; text-align: justify;] this pause was long, the eerie silence of the office palpable. finally, the director flipped open a file that sat in the far right corner of his desk-- exactly three millimeters from the edge at both sides of the angle-- (he would know- he'd measured the miniscule distances and oh-so-carefully nudged it into place.) and spun it toward Daemon, careful not to disturb its delicate alignment as he did. in the folder was a glossy color photo-- the typical Special snapshot, taken for the records, but the common resemblance ended there. this special was grinning at the camera cheerfully, the placard with his name and serial number not held in both hands, as the photographer had instructed, but carelessly, with only two fingers, dangling at such an angle that the director inwardly cringed when he saw it. AXEL LOVELLE trial 00003, a3b4c5 "i'm sure you're familiar with mr. lovelle." the director began slowly, searching daemon's oh-so-useful eyes for the flicker of recognition that he knew would be there. "--and by extension, familiar with his behavior. he's on the verge of outliving his usefulness." as if to allow time for his words to sink in, he paused here and briskly shut the folder on axel's cheery smile. "however, we tend to adopt a 'waste not, want not' policy-- and mr. lovelle does hold you in a certain high regard. my offer is simpy this-- that you instill a bit more discipline in him. spare us the trouble of having to redo this project. and in exchange..." "we'll.. demote you, so to speak. you'll be free to reassume your tracking position." [/style][style=float: left;] [/style]

[atrb=style, height: 80px; overflow: auto; border-style: dotted; border-width: 1px; border-color: #FFFFFF; font-family: verdana; color: #000000; text-align: justify; padding: 5px;]TAG, daemon malus malum LYRIC,~ ~ ~ NOTES,~ ~ ~ WORDS,440 CREDIT,made by LUCI of OTE. steal & die. ; Edited by Maeka of Defrauding Fate.

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[DAEMEON MALUS MALUM]

your death is oh, so sweet

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[rs=2]	Axel Lovelle. The very name had the power to send shivers down his spine, in certain situations - and this was certainly not one of those times. At first, he was blatantly surprised to see the all-too-familiar face, grinning up at him through the supposedly formal snapshot. In fact, it was so surprising it was funny. He managed to correct himself before he could laugh, leaving only a bright spark in his eyes to hint at his emotions. As was usual. The Director's offer, to say the least, was intriguing. Intriguing because in all honesty, Daemeon would never have expected something like that to leave those treacherous lips. It was an offer that was surprisingly beneficial for them both. That made him suspicious; why would Xander Quinn, of all people, offer an equal trade? Moreover, why offer it in such a way, it made him seem as if he had all the power? That he, one of the Director's mere experiments, was being acknowledged and - dare he say it? - complimented by the man who had created him. Oh yes, he was intrigued. "Mr. Lovelle and I do have a bit of history," He said slowly, drawing the words out to both to speculate further on the subject and to prove what it was obvious the man before him already knew: that the proposition fascinated him, the same way most evil deeds did. "But what makes you think that I can instill... discipline?" Daemeon's eyes glittered in the light of the sole lamp, sharp like the eyes of a hunter. He paused, recollecting his earlier train of thought and letting the words sink in just a bit, in the same way the other had. "I'm certain you know of the... history Axel Lovelle and I share. And thus I'm also certain that you know I have attempted to exert some degree of control over him - and only partially succeeded." Another brief pause, in which he drew the tip of his finger across the flawlessly smooth, clear surface of the glass, as if inspecting it for a microscopic particle of dust. "And Director... Why place me in such a position as the government only to offer such an easy way out?" By this, Daemeon meant to solve one simple, clear query that had been on his mind from the start. Was there a catch?
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