so what was this about summoning again

[ashqelon]

He's almost forgotten what it feels like to be actually summoned. It catches him off-guard somewhat; when he bursts through, the puff of swirling smoke he becomes upon entry is more startled than actually menacing.

Though he's never actually specialised in menacing. There was that.

"So. What do you require of me, mortal? Speak." He materialises a vaguely animalistic form, wings and teeth and claws sprouting out of a semi-solid mass. It may be unsettling. He intends it to be the case.

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[ashqelon]

He snorts, almost in disbelief at how much power this mortal was giving him. He definitely wasn't trained the way that other summoners were, that was for sure.

"Leave the washing out, did you?" He can smell the sudden panic boiling off James, despite his best efforts. "You could always bind me to a contract, but you're ill prepared for one. Or you could rub out the circle and let me go." He grins. "I promise not to eat you."

Best not to think about all the distinctly unpleasant possibilities a demon had access to without once using their mouth.

[pareidolist]

Of course, the one day James decided to summon a spirit is the day his superiors have scheduled a house visit. He already has a reputation for being unreliable, so he can find an excuse if they show up and find him gone. He hopes. But if they arrive and see this - he's supposed to stay away from even the slightest hints of occultism. A demon summoning ritual would probably lose him his job. At best.

"Yes. Terrific. I have always wanted to make a contract with a demon." He claps his hands together and rubs them impatiently. "Let's go. How does this work?"

[ashqelon]

He squints, briefly trying to detect whether that's actual sincerity or not. He decides to leave it until later.

"You seem to be in a hurry. We'll use something simple." He pauses for a moment. "You'll need a blade. If you've no sword a knife will do. Something sharp. A blade and one of your own belongings - something that knows you. Use the weapon to crush or tear it."

Another pause. "Or blood," he says, shrugging. "If you don't want to sacrifice personal property. If you choose that option, you'll need your palm to be bloodied. Try not to get it all over the blade - the hilt's the part you want coated. Then, mmm..."

He crouches, though he doesn't need to, and scratches in an easily visible mark on his side of the circle. "Strike the earth right here, on your side of the circle. Needs to be touching the array you've drawn. Then we'll see."

[pareidolist]

James holds up a finger - a sort of wait-right-here gesture - and stands up. One of the four walls of the garden has a sliding door, and it is through this entrance that James hurries into some sort of kitchen. He returns moments later holding the world's saddest-looking paring knife, and sits back down.

"This should do," he mutters to no one in particular, before making a neat and shallow cut along his heart line. He is more still, now; surprisingly devoid of the awkward jerkiness that normally characterizes his movement. When he rubs his palm along the hilt of the blade, the motion is delicate, almost caring.

He hesitates, however, before striking the earth. "I keep my soul, though, right?" he asks. Better to be sure.

[ashqelon]

He just stares at him disdainfully when he makes the gesture. Where else is he going to go, exactly? Out? He can't even leave until he's dismissed.

He cackles. "Don't worry," he assures, in a not-very-comforting tone of voice. He's floating upside down, now, apparently just for his own amusement. "My previous wielders kept their souls just fine."

[pareidolist]

James turns the sentence over in his head a few times, trying to find anything particularly threatening - or for that matter, anything that actually says he won't lose his soul - but decides losing his soul probably isn't as bad as losing his job. He's actually bored a demon, now, if the upside-down floating is anything to go by, which is surely a sign it's time to get this show on the road.

He performs the ritual. There's a stab of pain, naturally, when the rough dirt scrapes against the cut in his palm. He winces slightly and looks up expectantly. "So?" he asks. Please let there not be much more to do, he prays silently to a quickly-devised St. Geoff, patron of demon-summoners and all other people lacking the ability to make good decisions. He doesn't have a good plan for after - he supposes he'll just walk the streets of the city and try to learn as much as he can from the demon. Anything is better than being here when the Antkeepers arrive.

[ashqelon]

Ascalon lets go of his hold on his assumed form - no need to do that now - and a wind whips up, biting at James' face with dirt and stone, blocking the circle from view. A bolt of vivid pain goes up the arm holding the knife, then stops as suddenly as it started.

When everything clears, the summoning circle is completely eradicated. Nothing is out of place except the fact that where there were symbols and sigils, there's now plain dirt.

Mostly because the entire circle seems to have ended up engraved haphazardly in rings upon the knife, and if the pain on his arm was anything to go by, there's probably a couple of stray sigils crawling into place somewhere up his arm.

"I'm used to actual weaponry, and thus a little more room, but this serves adequately. You've got a little bit of it on you - couldn't help that."

His voice rings inside James' head, like a very small bell. James will also probably notice that with each syllable, the knife resonates slightly, enough to feel.

[pareidolist]

"Shit - shit!" James yelps, dropping the knife and clutching at his arm. He glares at where Ascalon used to be, realizes his mistake shortly after, and settles for glaring angrily at the knife on the ground. You really could have warned me, he snaps. His mind's voice is different, of course; faster, less curt, and a great deal poorer at hiding his emotions. And be careful up here. I'm already running out of space hosting a fucking fairy court.

He rolls up his sleeves and stares at his arm. The symbols, he immediately assesses, are badass. They are also going to get him in so much trouble. One step at a time. Speaking of which, he'll pick up the paring knife, stick it in a pocket, and start heading back into his house.

[ashqelon]

"I'm not actually inside your head, I'm in the knife." Now that James has dropped it on the ground, he's able to see that the symbols glow and spin whenever Ascalon speaks - and yes, now the knife is talking. "I won't interfere with your actual brain functions. Not part of the contract, unless you choose to extend it."

The symbols wriggle in an almost sheepish kind of way, separated from their brethren. They start moving towards concealment, and thankfully there's no pain there.

"Now what are you in such a hurry for?"