2013.10.20 - Just a Drink

The Harley-Davidson Iron 883. It's one hell of a bike, powerful enough without being overly oppressive in size, and it's new. Purchased within the last year, and maintained with careful precision. There are some modifications, of course, which seem to have been made by a rather skilled mechanic. It's got enhanced speed, better acceleration, and heavy tires designed for extreme conditions. However, what might be most curious are a number of buttons and switches which, when utilized, don't seem to do anything.

That's because Kwabena has the thing on remote lock. It's drive-able, but all of those fancy bells and whistles? Whatever they do goes yet unknown.

He's been tracking it on GPS, keeping a distance. Giving Satana some time to enjoy the thing, sure, but mostly waiting to see until it has stopped for a while. As soon as it does? He's on a subway train and headed toward Harlem.

Satana... Actually hadn't taken the time to play with all the bells and whistles. She was more concerned with keeping the bike safe. Or as safe as anyone could keep a bike like this.

The hotel room was simple enough to secure. It wasn't even under her name but it was a suite all the same. Yes, she's spoiled and she intends to keep it that way.

The bike is parked within sight of her balcony which she currently sits on the railing of, watching the bike intently.

Once the Iron 883 is in sight, Kwabena is all eyes. The GPS locator on his phone has brought him to this little part of Harlem, and sure enough, his bike is parked. Safe. His mis-matched eyes of brown and silver peer about here and there, looking for any signs of trouble.

Or half-human demon-spawn ready to suck out his soul.

He's taken the time to find a change of clothes, for there's no part of him that wants to run around the city in his X-Men uniform. It's still safely concealed beneath his attire, as always. No, the Ghanaian is now dressed in a pair of fitted skinny jeans, a collared red shirt, and a black leather jacket that is more than suitable for riding.

As he draws closer to the bike, however, keen eyes spot Satana where she's perched upon the balcony. He slows to a stop and simply looks toward her, his expression pensive.

Satana has dressed a little more... normal. A pair of jean cut-offs and a belly-shirt of bright red. Spotting Kwabena, she smiles. A genuine smile that, while it does show her fangs, is in no way hostile.

A motion is made towards the bike. A clear 'Take it, it's yours.', style motions. She has no intention of stopping him. She really did just want to keep it safe until it could be collected or delivered.

Rather than simply take the bike, Kwabena steps over a small fence and around behind a bush. There is a moment of thought, and then, with a quiet sound that very much resembles a 'poof', he disappears. A cloud of black smoke comes zooming over the street and upward, until it lands upon Satana's balcony. Up close, she'll be able to see his gaseous form in meticulous detail, with thick tendrils of deep black that seem to swirl and wrestle about each other, very much alive. The cloud takes the shape of a man, and then simply... solidifies.

Well, Kwabena can't help but to be dressed in his X-Men uniform now. He'll reclaim the clothing later, and he's long since gotten used to hanging around people in such attire. Were it not for the material's thickness and the patterns that follow the shape of his musculature, it might resemble some spandex joke purchased at a costume shop.

The mask is down, of course. She already knows who he is. Kwabena leans upon the railing for a moment, a look of concern on his eyes.

"Thanks for keeping it safe," he says, sounding earnest for the moment.

"You're safe tonight, I assure you." She smirks before sliding from the railing and nodding. "My pleasure. She's an amazing piece of machinery. Handles like a dream." Walking into the room, she tosses over her shoulder, "Can I get you anything to drink?"

The demoness is the classic 'complicated'. A conundrum of issues and subscriptions to deal with. "You shouldn't have left it."

There's the slightest looks of disbelief paired with a smirk when Satana assures him he's safe. However, when she turns to walk in, he takes a few slow steps toward the room itself, while remaining on the balcony. "Please," he answers. "Something... strong."

"She's de pahfect machine for me," he agrees. "Don't worry." Nodding his head toward the direction of the bike, he explains, "GPS. Also, I can shut it down remotely. But dat wouldn't have been a nice thing to do to you in dat paht of town."

Curiously, he looks into the room that he has not yet entered. He wouldn't want to be rude and invite himself in. "I hope you had some fun with it at least?"

"Please come in and make yourself comfortable. I promise not to bite or claw. Or kiss." She sends a smirk over her shoulder before looking at the minibar. "Best they got seems to be Kraken. Will that suit?" Even as she's asking, she's pouring herself a glass. "I was more worried about it being stripped instead of stolen."

Thankful for the invitation, Kwabena finally slips back inside. Her remark about promising no kiss draws a rueful smirk from him, and he answers, "I don't know wheddah to be insulted or not, Satana." He looks about, decidedly headed for the nearest unoccupied couch. "Forgive my appearance. It's difficult to bring de clothes with me when I make such grand entrances." The offer of Kraken is given a conceding gesture. "Beggah's can't be choosers, right? No, Kraken will be pahfect. Neat, please."

Kwabena waits until Satana has joined him again before taking his seat upon the couch. "Well. I can tell you dat if it were stripped, de peopah who did it would regret it." He leans forward, eyeing Satana conspiratorially. "Every single piece of dat machine can be tracked, down to de inch. And believe me. Dere would be pain involved."

A laugh drifts from Satana. "Nah. Don't be insulted, baby. I figured it'd help put you at ease." She smirks, walking over and handing him his drink. "For the record... I control it. It isn't automatically draining."

Settling beside him on the couch, she grins. "Smart move. You've had a lot of time, effort and money put into that bike. Or you did it yourself..." She looks him over and then smiles. "I'm willing to bet you did it yourself. Am I right?"

Accepting the drink, Kwabena lifts it and offers it across the short distance as she seats herself, for a toast. "For... control." There's the flash of an eyebrow before he takes a good drink of the spiced rum, appreciating it in its detail.

"You'd like to think so?" he asks, before seeming to visibly relax, finally sitting back into the couch in full. "Nope. Not my kind of deal. Should have chosen option A. Time, effaht, and money. But it gets de job done, and I can do it with style."

After taking another drink, Kwabena shifts himself just slightly so that he's facing Satana more directly. "I watched you feed," he suddenly admits, seeming both at ease and concerned at the same time. But his concern is not for himself. "I am sorry for dat, but. I'm a curious pahson. You control it?" There's a touch of doubt in his voice, and a trailing end to the question that expects an answer.

Satana chuckles. "Really? You seemed to strike me as the type who would prefer to do the work with their own two hands." She chuckles and takes a long pull of her own drink.

His admition is met with a quirked brow and a saddening of her eyes. "I'm sorry you had to see that." She then chuckles. "I can kiss someone without drawing their soul." Her head tilts. "Care for a demonstration," is ask, her tone rather obviously playful.

"I do de maintenance with my own two hands," quips Kwabena, in an admission that she may have guessed right, at least partially.

The African takes another drink from his glass of Kraken. It wasn't his liquor of choice, mind, but for a rum, it's surprisingly good. Turning back toward Satana, he decidedly seems to play along, leaning forward just a touch and fixing her with a mischievous expression. "And a dance with de devil's daughtah?" he asks. "What would my mothah think!"

Leaning back, the smirk has become more of a grin, one that seems to be more likely to stay. "You don't have to apologize for who you ah, you know," he offers. "I mean... we all have our demons. Not many of us may have to suck out a man's soul to stay alive, but, in a strange way, you might be doing de world a favah." He fixes her with a steady gaze, showing that he's not afraid to engage in such conversation.

Satana chuckles, red eyes glittering. "That her son is a brave man?" She takes another sip of her own drink. "Besides... I can't dance to save my soul." Lie. And a REALLY bad pun.

The demoness shrugs her shoulders. "It was more of an... I'm sorry you saw it. Not I'm sorry I did it." A brow arches. "What makes you so sure I only ever feed off of people like that?"

"Liar." Kwabena smirks broadly. Any woman who can move the way she moves sure as hell knows how to dance, and that just might be something she could gather just by the glimmer in his own eyes.

"Conjecture," he answers. "Also, philosophical nonsense. We could go down dat road. We could talk about, oh, how one man's de next mass muderah, and de oddah man is de next Lincoln. Dat's not my point." He lifts the glass, smelling the liquor before making his point.

"All I'm saying is? World isn't as black and white as some peopah like to think." He takes a long drink, a sigh of relief escaping once he's finished with the glass. "Dere's nothing to be sorry for. I've seen far worse."

"I'm required to tell so many lies a day. Had to hit my quota." Satana smirks a little and holds her hand out. "Refill?"

Her head cants off to one side as she regards him for a moment before she smirks. "I'll give you this... You certainly have an interesting out look on there. Most would have run screaming, not many would have returned and a rare few would have the guts to sit in my company... I can't think of any who would see the shades of grey that you do."

"Please." Kwabena offers his glass. He's got this rare moment to really let go, and he's not going to hold back on free liquor, at the very least.

"You'd be sahprised," he argues, suggesting he knows of a few people who can see those grey areas. "I mean, less dan twenty four hours ago, I was trying to kill you." His eyebrows dart upward for a moment, before his expression settles into something far more candid.

"I like to think I know when to run. I just leave de screaming for oddah peopah. If I'm screaming, it's because I'm behind de barrel of a Sig 552." And just in case she doesn't know what he's referring to, he raises his arms, holding an invisible assault rifle in the air, and fake-destroys one of her walls with semi-automatic rounds.

All joking aside, however, he looks back toward Satana, now frowning. "You don't always like what you do. Sometimes you revel in it. I get dat. Probably not in quite de same way it works with you, but." He shrugs. "Apples to oranges, right?"

Satana smiles as she stands to refill the glass. "Do I need to worry about you driving drunk, Kwabena?" She arches a brow over her shoulder at him. "And you may very well be trying ro kill me tomorrow or a week from now or..." Her shoulders shrug. "Who knows what the future holds."

She nods her head, walking back over with his refilled glass. "Here you go, babe. I seriously doubt any screaming would be heard over that. I suppose we could always find out though."

And then there's the difference in her brought up. "Sort of. It's more... I both hate and love it. Two sides of the same coin battling for dominance." She smiles sadly. "It's nice to be able to speak with someone who understands. Even if only in some ways."

With a wry smirk, Kwabena shakes his head. "Undahstand. You're drinking with a serious drinkah. Been doing dis since twelve, at least." He lifts the glass. "Cheers. I do own one, if you like, but it tends to draw too many cops when I shoot it off inside de city." A twinkle of mirth comes over him, before he takes the glass and swallows a good hearty gulp of Kraken.

When the subject matter grows a bit more serious, Kwabena merely nods his head. "Well, you're just going to have to live with me being your friend one day and your enemy de next. At least I won't come to your house with a gun while you're sleeping." Beat. "Dat would just be rude."

Satana snickers, lifting her glass in salute. "Cheers." She settles herself back onto the couch, arching a brow. "I can take you anywhere in the world you'd like to go in a heartbeat, hon. If you wanna show me, I'm all for it."

The joke gets a laugh before she shakes her head. "I'm half demon, baby. That's the story of my life. I can't think of anyone who I would call a friend that hasn't also tried to kill me at least once."

Her head tilts and she studies him a moment. "I have to ask... How were you able to resist? I watched you want to give in more than once..."

Shift's laughter comes louder when she offers to teleport him somewhere just to show off his assault rifle. "Hey, if we're going to be out in de middah of nowhere, I've got much more intahresting things to show you. De assault rifle would be boring. You've only seen two cards. I've got a full deck."

Had she met Shift a year ago, it might have been a completely different story. He's different now. Far from seasoned, but certainly not green. "Well, next time I'll just have to go for incapacitation, rathan dan killing. You're clearly not some kind of nutcase megalomaniac, so we can leave de killing for de oddahs."

Now, when she studies him and asks that question, he considers it for a moment. He'd suspected that the strange attraction he'd felt to Satana was an effect of her power. Something metahuman in nature. There is silence as he considers just how to answer, filling the gap with a good drink before setting the glass down on the table for a moment.

"You're in a combat situation," he starts. "You're focused. Dere's two, maybe three dozen tasks someone has to do, and you've only got de time and ability to tackle a small handful, if you're lucky. You don't get distracted like dat, no mattah how hard off or lonely you are. Dat's me. Suddenly? Everything stops and you are trapped. All dose tasks, all of da noise, de adrenaline, it doesn't mattah. You're just staring at dis beautiful pahson." He leans forward slightly, fixing Satana with a very real, very level stare. "Dat, my friend, was clue numbah one."

He fails to tell her about the other reason he was able to resist. There are reasons, but if she's perceptive enough, she might see it in the way he stalls.

Reaching again for his glass, he asks her, "It's one of your abilities, isn't it?"

Satana laughs, giving her head a little shake. "You must be more careful with your words, darling. Especially when speaking to a succubus." She winks at him. "You're more than welcome to show me all you got, handsome."

His explaination is listened to in silent contemplation. Her head tilts one way and then the other as she considers him and his logic. "And there's someone... It's much harder when they heart already belongs to another..."

She chuckles, taking a sip of her drink. "It's innate, yes. The allure is, as I'm sure you've noticed just sitting there, always present. When I choose to seduce.... to hunt... It becomes far more... Potent..."

"You must remembah," he defends. "English is my second language." It's a half-hearted defense, for there's a part of him that is close to accepting that offer, and then some.

Still, she calls his bluff, the thing he wasn't talking about. There is something of an argument that forms in his eyes, but he fails to speak on it just yet. Instead, he listens patiently, reaching for the glass of rum to give his hands something for a distraction.

"I've... noticed," he agrees. "Much more powahful." He shakes his head slightly, finally feeling it necessary to offer something of a defense. "My heart does not belong to anyone. Dere is someone, but it's..."

She's his second in command? She's from how many years in the future? She's powerful enough to rip his molecules apart at the subatomic level if he made her angry enough? He's on a global operation with her?

"...complicated." Beat. "It's business."

There are more words forming on the tip of his tongue, but as he turns to look Satana in the eye, he just can't bring himself to say them. His body leans toward her just so, but it stops out of sheer instinct.

Fear... or self preservation?

Satana is able to bite back the snort of disbelief that comes with that half-hearted and pitiful excuse for a defense. She simply smirks.

Her eyes sparkle for a moment in slight amusement before she sobers as he explains. "You want more though. I can see that much... And yet you hesitate. You war with yourself. I tempt you even when I'm actively trying not to..." It's a novel idea for her, really.

When he leans forward, she reaches out with her free hand to brush his cheek with her fingertips before closing the distance between them. A feather light, rather sweet kiss is brushed against his lips.

She's taking great care not to seduce him. Not to let her instincts take over and lure him to her.

Kwabena Odame has been at war with himself for his entire life.

"Is it even possible for," he begins to say, but the words are brushed away with a kiss.

He shouldn't go any further with this. There is a logical part of him that knows this, and it's the same part that has been there throughout his training with the X-Men, his imprisonment in Latveria, the impossibly long and difficult undercover operation at Genosha. Then there is the completely illogical part of him, the part that has set aside personal touch and desire in favor of training, duty, recovering from his many battle scars and the restoration of his honor.

She's just kissed a wounded soldier.

Shift lingers there for a moment, his eyes having drifted closed. She may not be actively trying, but he's gradually giving up. He reaches up to claim her hand, keeping it pressed against his face for a moment before pressing back, answering her with a kiss that's not entirely light, and not entirely sweet either.