To Bob
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TennyoCeres84
- Site Admin
- Posts: 2932
- Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:59 am
To Bob
What is it like to be a Sammaelite, since you're part angel and part incubus?
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IamLEAM1983
- Site Admin
- Posts: 3710
- Joined: Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:54 am
- Location: Quebec, Canada
As Bob
"It's - fine, really. Not much different than being a human must be like, from what I hear. The urges kick in maybe a mite stronger than in your case, but they're tempered with morality that's more solid than a human's on the supernatural level. We're not any better, we just don't give in to supernatural temptations as easily as you do. Everything else, though, is bog-standard. I've even been called a sleaze by some. Heh.
Even though my home's Pandemonium, I'm still a demon by most accounts. There's the whole Socratic spirit-of-knowledge thing, yeah, but Melmoth's pretty close to us Sammaelites, overall, as an example. We feel more than most humans, and we want more. You won't ever see me trying to push someone into a bad situation, but excess feels good. I love smoking, the body tells me it used to love it, and it'll be a cold day in Hell before I try out one of your diet smoothies. The body's already dead, so it's not like I have to bother with being careful, right? I just - stick five or six fast food joints on speed-dial, and away we go!
The hardliners would still call that sinning, of course. They'd be correct - technically - but I'm not after lives I'd need to destroy to fill up some kind of Demonic Karma meter. It's part of my job, really. I have to love all the little things that make you meat-sacks imperfect and so goddamn mesmerizing to some of us, to actually do a good job at protecting you from those that honestly don't mind pushing your buttons.
Here's an example: I'd qualify as an alcoholic if I were mortal. Booze is awesome. I know how seductive it can be to others, especially people who need an emotional crutch or a way to forget nasty shit. I love those five or six seconds of actual inebriation I get after going on a serious bender, and I think the sort of mental heaviness that kinda follows after a bender is pretty comfortable. I also know I have to pull myself out of it to help you poor, lovable idiots, sometimes. The thing is, the Pitspawn know it too, and they'll set you up with as much booze as you'd like. I'd try and push vulnerable types out of whatever's being used as a gateway drug to demonic influence or possession, they'd like you to drown in it.
Sin's relative, honestly. That's a fact only the last couple generations started catching on, and that's a huge fucking relief. You ever tried being forced to explain to some hateful shit of a Baptist priest that his gay son who likes Heavy Metal isn't going to burn in Hell for being gay and liking Heavy Metal? You get summoned for all the wrong reasons, sometimes, and you just have to sit there and give that poor, misguided idiot a masterclass in how generations challenge their ancestors' expectations no matter which century you're from.
The hardest part, I'd say, is not being able to show up looking like you've got the experience or the moral authority to push your summoners or your targets into some serious introspection. People buy the idea of an angel showing up, wings and blond hair ablaze, to point a finger at their summoner and go I JUDGE THEE, rah rah rah. They have a harder time imagining a guy with horns showing up and telling 'em they're being really fucking stupid.
Then - oh, then, there's when you actually have to get your hands dirty... That's always fun. Messy, but fun. You get to disrupt your possessed meat bag of a target's life in pretty spectacular ways, grab a hold of that fake soul-slash-screeching demonic shit, and drag it back to the Pit feet-first. Hence the memory wipe spells, 'cause seeing Hubby start doing Reagan McNeil-grade gymnastics after I pop an arcane slug in his chest tends to make most wives freak the fuck out.
The tail end of my job's handled by people back in the City. We use powerful magic to bend everything that concerned the departed soul's body so it all looks like nothing happened. That means willing death certificates into existence, creating graves with their associated paper trails, and sometimes pushing that same wife into accelerated grief. It's painful and it sucks, yeah, but natural social processes that happen after a loved one's death need to happen. If you've spent two weeks walking around next to a walking corpse that actually wanted to fuck you, tear you apart and mount your head on a wall, we're gonna have to replace those two weeks with memories of some pretty awful and lonely stuff - maybe even connect you with a therapist we'll have also mucked with so she also believes she's been seeing you for two weeks.
The short of it is it's an ungrateful, shitty job. Someone's gotta do it, especially when some high-ranking shithead thinks it'd be fun to hijack mortal politics or, I dunno, become CEO of a company or something. We also handle the more routine stuff but, yeah. My idea of an average workday involves yanking low-grade Infernal fleas out of some poor schoolteacher's mind and having to stick through the upteenth take on You can't do this to me, I'm Lucifer! Swear to You-Know-Who!
I wonder why they keep pulling that card when everyone knows Lu wouldn't bother with forceful possession. He'd pick a dead shell and be done with it, same as I had to."
Even though my home's Pandemonium, I'm still a demon by most accounts. There's the whole Socratic spirit-of-knowledge thing, yeah, but Melmoth's pretty close to us Sammaelites, overall, as an example. We feel more than most humans, and we want more. You won't ever see me trying to push someone into a bad situation, but excess feels good. I love smoking, the body tells me it used to love it, and it'll be a cold day in Hell before I try out one of your diet smoothies. The body's already dead, so it's not like I have to bother with being careful, right? I just - stick five or six fast food joints on speed-dial, and away we go!
The hardliners would still call that sinning, of course. They'd be correct - technically - but I'm not after lives I'd need to destroy to fill up some kind of Demonic Karma meter. It's part of my job, really. I have to love all the little things that make you meat-sacks imperfect and so goddamn mesmerizing to some of us, to actually do a good job at protecting you from those that honestly don't mind pushing your buttons.
Here's an example: I'd qualify as an alcoholic if I were mortal. Booze is awesome. I know how seductive it can be to others, especially people who need an emotional crutch or a way to forget nasty shit. I love those five or six seconds of actual inebriation I get after going on a serious bender, and I think the sort of mental heaviness that kinda follows after a bender is pretty comfortable. I also know I have to pull myself out of it to help you poor, lovable idiots, sometimes. The thing is, the Pitspawn know it too, and they'll set you up with as much booze as you'd like. I'd try and push vulnerable types out of whatever's being used as a gateway drug to demonic influence or possession, they'd like you to drown in it.
Sin's relative, honestly. That's a fact only the last couple generations started catching on, and that's a huge fucking relief. You ever tried being forced to explain to some hateful shit of a Baptist priest that his gay son who likes Heavy Metal isn't going to burn in Hell for being gay and liking Heavy Metal? You get summoned for all the wrong reasons, sometimes, and you just have to sit there and give that poor, misguided idiot a masterclass in how generations challenge their ancestors' expectations no matter which century you're from.
The hardest part, I'd say, is not being able to show up looking like you've got the experience or the moral authority to push your summoners or your targets into some serious introspection. People buy the idea of an angel showing up, wings and blond hair ablaze, to point a finger at their summoner and go I JUDGE THEE, rah rah rah. They have a harder time imagining a guy with horns showing up and telling 'em they're being really fucking stupid.
Then - oh, then, there's when you actually have to get your hands dirty... That's always fun. Messy, but fun. You get to disrupt your possessed meat bag of a target's life in pretty spectacular ways, grab a hold of that fake soul-slash-screeching demonic shit, and drag it back to the Pit feet-first. Hence the memory wipe spells, 'cause seeing Hubby start doing Reagan McNeil-grade gymnastics after I pop an arcane slug in his chest tends to make most wives freak the fuck out.
The tail end of my job's handled by people back in the City. We use powerful magic to bend everything that concerned the departed soul's body so it all looks like nothing happened. That means willing death certificates into existence, creating graves with their associated paper trails, and sometimes pushing that same wife into accelerated grief. It's painful and it sucks, yeah, but natural social processes that happen after a loved one's death need to happen. If you've spent two weeks walking around next to a walking corpse that actually wanted to fuck you, tear you apart and mount your head on a wall, we're gonna have to replace those two weeks with memories of some pretty awful and lonely stuff - maybe even connect you with a therapist we'll have also mucked with so she also believes she's been seeing you for two weeks.
The short of it is it's an ungrateful, shitty job. Someone's gotta do it, especially when some high-ranking shithead thinks it'd be fun to hijack mortal politics or, I dunno, become CEO of a company or something. We also handle the more routine stuff but, yeah. My idea of an average workday involves yanking low-grade Infernal fleas out of some poor schoolteacher's mind and having to stick through the upteenth take on You can't do this to me, I'm Lucifer! Swear to You-Know-Who!
I wonder why they keep pulling that card when everyone knows Lu wouldn't bother with forceful possession. He'd pick a dead shell and be done with it, same as I had to."