multiversallogs | open log: mOuOm

Who: Balthazar and anybody
What: creeping, most likely
Where: here and there, hither and thither
When: whenever is convenient
Notes: Balthazar's permissions! If you don't have yours done, please do them before tagging me, so that I don't godmode anyone.
Warnings: Senator Ickyface is Chairman of Creepery, and generally unpleasant. Grossness could happen! ... it's kind of always a possibility with him.

His room at the Valhalla Inn stays, for the most part, empty and unused. Sometimes he puts things there just in case anyone is checking, and he drops by every few days to pester Fish at night. He's come no closer to figuring out what exactly Fish is, but he's wary of using magic in Baedal; nothing feels right, or rather, the way he's used to, and besides, it's more fun this way.

Day and night he wanders Baedal. He's been in most of the city by now, sometimes shielded from the general view by his illusory powers, sometimes layered in illusion, and sometimes, as he is now, out in the open. Adaptation of his image is absolutely necessary, which he is accustomed to due to his many years on earth; Baedal lacks the sheer volume of material greed that an industrialized society supports and maintains, but gold is still a motivator. He has not entirely abandoned the suit, but today it is less obnoxious. The tie, however, is still horrendous.

Today he moves among people, gently sowing casual chaos. Occasionally he utilizes his powers to pick a pocket, but only to transfer the money to someone else's. He looks at people hard, trying to learn the subtleties and nuances of their nature to determine what exactly they are. At home, he used four basic categories: celestial, infernal, human, and non-human. These are entirely inadequate even just out on the street. And, too, he knows that probably some of them can see him the same way he's seeing them — but he's hardly that weird in comparison to many xenians, so the reaction is muted. It's interesting and novel to him, and he's looking out for those slight and small tells.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Evening in the Aspic Bazaar is still a time of brisk trade, but the streets are not so crowded that it causes much fuss when a manhole cover near Balthazar lifts up and slides to the side. Two red hands -- one normal and the other oversize and made of stone -- reach out and brace themselves on either side of the manhole, and a large, obviously demonic-looking man hauls himself out. A demon wearing, of all things, a tan canvas-and-leather trenchcoat that's obviously seen better days, with a golden-hilted (and, depending on Balthazar's sensitivity to such things, very magical) sword sheathed on his back.

He extracts himself just enough so that his tail is clear, and then sits down, his legs still dangling down into the manhole. The great heaving sigh of evening air he takes speaks to just how long he'd been down in the sewers. After a moment, he looks around, and his slightly glowing orange eyes notice the ~~horrible tie~~man standing nearby. He gives a little wave with his Right Hand and says, "How's it going?"

Of all the fucking things to come out of a manhole, Balthazar had not been expecting that. Demons — real demons, anyway — come in all shapes and sizes where he's from, and Hellboy would fit right in, if not for the trenchcoat and sword. Furthermore, his demeanor is anything but the default demon persona, which can be basically summed up as Asshole Jerkwad McrapingEverything of Clan Awful. He has never in his three thousand plus years of life been asked "how's it going" by anything even vaguely resembling Hellboy. Okay, maybe once, but that had been ironic, seeing as he'd been attached to a red hot rack at the time.

In any case, Balthazar makes the immediate (and erroneous) assumption that Hellboy would know what he is, too. And takes a casual step away from Hellboy, keeping his eyes on him with great suspicion, something Hellboy is probably accustomed to.

"....... okay," he says after an extremely awkward pause. Many questions present themselves. None of them seem wise to ask outright, even if Hellboy appears to be remarkably chill. It could be a trap. Hell loves them some traps. "..................... how're things down there."

Hellboy is, indeed, used to a certain amount of instinctive suspicion, and a casual step or two back. After a moment to consider his answer, he starts reaching into one of the pouches on his belt and says, "Smelly. And messy. Also, a lot bigger than I would've expected, and I've had to traipse through some sewers in my day."

What he gets out of his belt is a thin case from which he extracts a cigarette, and a small box of wooden matches. (Holy Smokes are generally sold as pouches of loose tobacco, but given that rolling a cigarette is a two-handed operation that he can't manage well, he arranges to get them pre-rolled in batches for him.) He strikes the match on the rough surface of his Right Hand and lights up. The first drag is a deep one, and he tips his head up to let the cloud of smoke out in a satisfied sigh, entirely oblivious to the effects that the smoke might have on his new acquaintance if the wind might blow it at him.

"Name's Hellboy, by the way."

If those existed in his universe, Constantine would probably never have stopped smoking. Even more so than he already did, or did not. Balthazar just barely flinches — it's not as bad as a face full of holy water, which he considers refreshing anyway — because it's so unexpected, both the holiness and the fact Hellboy is smoking them. He delicately leans away, which could be construed as general aversion to smoke. If it gets in his squishy demon lungs, he'll be hacking for at least a day.

But all that is less distracting than the name. What. Though he fights not to show it, exasperation creeps through.

"What? Like a superhero?"

Only then is when it hits him: that's totally what this guy is. Name is Hellboy, appears to have been engaging in heroics rather than depravities, smoking holy tobacco, wearing a trenchcoat that feels like it's got charms inside — this Hellboy is totally a superhero. His left eye actually twitches a little.

"Oh. Sorry." Taking Balthazar's avoidance for simple sensitivity to smoke, Hellboy makes sure to direct further exhales away from him. His next one comes out as a bit of a snort, though, as Balthazar's question collides with his own ideas of what a superhero looks like.

"Uh, no, it's my actual name. As actual as it gets, anyway. Long story." He shrugs, then shows his badge. "I am a member of Hellsing, though."

(He totally, totally is a superhero.)

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fixed typo.

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