Shady Business

Hello Elena Marie Thiels.
For the sake of prolonging our next contact, one I hope shall be more physical in nature, I shall attempt to be brief.
I have intercepted your message, and would hereby like to express my interest in your proposal.
I am of course aware that the date of the meeting has already passed.
Though this method of contacting you may be a transgression of protocol in itself, it is my belief that having arrived as an uninvited guest would be the greater evil, and may have put me in the perilous predicament of having to face your coterie of savages and miscreants.
I propose we meet at the same location your previous meeting took place at; I have already secured the location for tomorrow night.

I look forward to meeting you again.

Your ardent admirer,

B.

So read the e-mail that had arrived in Elena Marie's personal mailbox, which until now had never been reached by any source she did not know. The message, though polite in nature, implied that its sender knew more about its recipient than she did of him. To the witch of New York, it may have come as quite a surprise that despite her discretion thus far, apparently there were those who were aware of her existence without being known by her themselves.
This display of knowledge however was not intended to flaunt the sender's power over the witch, but rather to spark an interest. There was no doubt in his mind that she would bite. Whether it was because she felt threatened, amused or simply curious, the allure of mystery would guide her to him.

The ambiance inside of the structure had been vastly improved since the last time it had been inhabited. The Bastard had made sure of that. The walls were dotted with electrical lights of a strange design, both in shape, which was one that reminded of a withering rose, and of the light and its color, which was bright enough to illuminate the room, yet hued a dark green, bringing forth a rather unique ambiance. At the end of the room rested a small bonfire, put up against the wall to make it resemble a traditional fireplace. The fire itself was not too big, and well-contained, though comfortably warm.
In front of the fire stood two chairs, separated by a small table in between them on which rested a device that closely resembled an antique phonograph, yet was somewhat alien in its design. The device played a particular song in a quality that further betrayed the advanced technical nature of the seemingly ancient device.

And on one of the aforementioned chairs reclined the figure of Andrew Thiels. Or so he had taken to calling himself. Most of those who knew him referred to him as 'The Bastard' when speaking amongst each other, and 'Bastard' when addressing him. He understood the meaning the name held, and that it generally had a negative connotation, but that didn't bother The Bastard at all. It mattered very little to him what people called him.
His appearance however, did hold some measure of concern to him. He was aware of the import one's outward appearance held in human society, and maintained himself accordingly. He had also grown a particular dislike of foul odors and the grimy feel of dirt and sweat. He knew that these were but petty concerns, ultimately insignificant, but still preferred to feel comfortable in this body.
He had let his black hair grow out, and saw little reason to cut it. Though he washed it regularly, he did not care to style it. It usually looked fine even when unkempt. It gave him a wild look that he, for some reason, found rather agreeable. His eyes, though normally colored in an emerald quite similar to the natural eye-color of his body's creator, were now colored an inhuman gold by usage of contact lenses.

He heard the door open slowly, guided by the hand of caution, but remained motionless. "Welcome. Please, take a seat at the fire, beside me."
His voice was calm and steady, his tone polite, though entirely absent of any human warmth. As much as he tried, he was never really able to fake that.

Elena's question, one that expressed doubt over his value as an 'asset', evoked a grin onto The Bastard's face that he could not suppress. The witch asked him what use he could have for her organization, what he had to offer. This was the difficult part of the negotation, the one he had mulled over for quite a while.
So far in the interaction, he had had his conversational partner at a disadvantage. She did not know his name, past, abilities, and most importantly his motives, while he had shown a great deal of insight into her private dealings, and her life in general.
But now came the part where he had to show his hand, or at least some of his cards. His grin, though primarily borne of the pleasure he derived from tormenting his creator with insecurities and doubts, a sadism he had cultivated in order to make his time here less excruciating, also harbored a level of nervousness. Fear.

The Bastard was not impressed by the Witch's powers. No, Elena Marie Thiels, or Collin, was certainly superhuman, that much he granted. But on a cosmic scale, she was but a queen among ants. It frustrated The Bastard that even with this knowledge, he held some amount of fear for her, and the many other threats this world held for him. Were it not for the artifacts of power he carried on him, which he had created with his deeper insight inthe cosmos' inner workings, a natural talent he had inherited from his previous state of existence, it was certain he stood absolutely no chance against her.

And it was on these 'trinkets' of his that he would have to capitalize if he were to win the witch's favor, and allow her approving glance to fall upon him. Even though he knew his technology was extraordinary and ' magical' to the human world, he could not help but think of them as mere curiosities, crude tools made from scraps. He felt sickened at the very thought of extolling the virtues of his tools, when he knew these were but primitive tools created with the limitations of the human mind and its understanding of the world around him.

" Of course. I understand. You would not want an unreliable asset of unknown value to you. Praise the child not for virtues spoken of, but those that are shown. I will demonstrate some of my...inventions"

The Bastard raised his left arm, putting into plain view the gauntlet of twisted design that seemed to have spread over his hand not like a glove, but an infectious parasite. The item was alien in its design, and though it held some resemblance to a gauntlet of a medieval suit of armor, coated in black, this was merely the closest thing one's imagination could summon. Veins of nauseous green light spread over the artifact, pulsating at a highly irregular beat.
He lowered his arm, aiming the gauntlet at the fireplace in front of them, and at his will, from it fire an eldritch spray of energy that seemed both liquid, gaseous, and light-based at the same time. The beam of strange light engulfed the fireplace completely, and seemed to reach right through the wall behind it.
The crackling of the firewood ceased abruptly, the flames became stationary, unmoving, and their warmth faded entirely.

Bastard smiled gently at the display, regarding fondly the specks of dust that had been frozen in time and space, before returning his gaze to his guest's visage, gauging her reaction to the spectacle with great attention.

If it is my extolling my virtues and strengths that you desire, please consider this first display of my..talents."

A slight tone of disdain had seeped into his words, which he regretted as soon as they had left his mouth. He found it difficult to speak with bragadoccio, something most men seemed awfully fond of. A way to feed their egos perhaps. The Bastard simply could not relate.

The effects of my creations are what most humans would call magic, but which we both know to simply be a more obscure cousin of your so-called science and technology. This particular device twists time and space in such a way that all which is caught within its beam is placed outside of it for the duration of its effect. That is of course a gross oversimplification of the process, but suffice to say that it freezes things in place."

"I suppose I could show you more of my creations if you truly desired it, or perhaps demonstrate my physical prowess like some primitive simian beating its chest to display its strength, but I think you and I both know such things will not be necessary.
What all your group's current members lack, is a head on their shoulders. Short-sighted buffoons, all of them."

The Bastard snorted derisively, a gesture of condescension that, unlike most displays of opinion or emotiveness, came rather naturally to him.

You must have noticed it by now. In fact, it's most likely why you chose them. They cannot see past their petty views of the world, and are bound by their perception of it. While they would serve as your blunt instruments of bludgeoning, or at most knives of assassination, I propose you utilize me as one would a flashlight. A beam of light that cuts through the dark, eliminating the darkness of the unseen, and takes away the burden of strained eyes."

The Bastard, though having given a rather elaborate yet also vague reasoning for his usefulness to the organization, had not given up an ounce of his motivations. His identity was still shrouded in mystery, even his name kept an enigma. Just the way Bastard wanted it. For now.

"I understand perfectly, Miss Thiels.Your forthrightness is appreciated, and your suspicions entirely justifiable. Therefore, in an attempt to alleviate any lingering suspicion and distrust that could hinder our business relationship, I will allow you three questions which I shall answer with the utmost sincerity. Please try to understand my desire for privacy and secrecy however; as I have said, I possess no super-or even preternatural talents beyond what I have demonstrated so far."

The Bastard chose his words carefully. He always did; making sure that while he remained impeccably polite within the interaction, and what he imagined humans to consider 'pleasant' , he also kept a certain distance, and kept an air of control. What he had demonstrated so far was intelligence, for he had made sure his vocabulary was put to good use, and he had done his homework on the woman's private business, the ability to create technology of entirely alien design, origin and utility, and his remarkable adeptness at controlling the setting and conditions of his interactions. Though the fear and suspicion she would feel were a necessity; to ensure his mother would learn to appreciate the gravity of the situation and that he was not one to be trifled with, it was with some amount of human shame that the Bastard confessed to actually enjoying it. But in order to win her trust, which he required just as much, he would need to relinquish some of the control. And so he did, albeit with some amount of begrudging reluctance.

"I do not take your threat lightly, for I understand that if you, or one of your 'associates' were to will me out of existence, this could very well lie within your abilities. But please, forgive my digressions, and ask your questions. I would not wish to deprive you of any answers you may seek."

After finishing his little monologue, a habit he knew he had to correct, the Bastard leaned back into the chair again, resuming his hands in the upwards steeple position. Her move.

(OOC:Apologies for the inconsistency in typing format between posts. Experimenting with the style of a new character.)