happilyeverbeginning | Never tasted as sweet / A poison as you have (scrooge x magica)

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Never tasted as sweet / A poison as you have (scrooge x magica)

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and right now, Magica De Spell was desperate. There was still no guarantee this would work, but she'd never forgive herself if she didn't try. Of course, the more frightening aspect was this actually working... and actually having to pay the piper, so to speak.

But in addition to being desperate, Magica was also arrogant. If souls did exist, she'd find a way to keep hers. She'd find a way out - but she couldn't afford to waste anymore time dawdling about it. The moon would only be in perfect alignment with the planets and stars for so long - and she could only stay away from her wretched kin for so long. The time was now.

The candles were lit, the sigils drawn, the prayers made - now the final ingredient was the sacrifice. According to the crumbling parchment, this would take a lot of blood. If she wasn't careful, she could die of blood loss... but, considering the future her parents had in store for her, dying might've been the better option. So, win-win.

With a great, shuddering breath, she drew the knife to her arm and made the cut, dripping blood onto the sigil. It hurt like hell, but she bit down on her tongue to hold back any pathetic cries. The time for weakness had passed.

"I summon thee, from hell and flame,
Duty bound, yet cannot be tamed,
Hear my call, hear my plea,
I offer myself - now come to me!"

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For a moment, nothing seemed to happen.

Then the blood began oozing away from the puddle, tracing the lines of the sigils. Soon, the sigil was blood red on the floor. The candleflames blazed brightly -- far too brightly -- and the wax beneath them melted away, puddling beneath the flames which hovered in mid-air. The air turned scalding hot as the blood lines began boiling. The stench of sulfur filled the room, and the cries of the damned quietly echoed from somewhere far, far away.

Magica hadn't exactly been sure what to expect - maybe a little poof of smoke, followed by an ugly imp-like creature? Her heart began to race, and she dropped the knife, clutching the still bleeding wound. A part of her wanted to run away and pretend this night never happened - her conviction and stubbornness was far louder and stronger.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said quietly, perhaps to herself, perhaps to whatever was listening.

The blood and flames suddenly shot into the middle of the sigils, hovering two feet above the floor. It formed a sphere of bright, bright red that hissed and screeched before expanding to swallow the sigils and the area above them. Then it coalesced into a form, hellfire blazing so bright that it would temporarily blind her.

"You went for the really old ritual, I see," came a new voice with a Scottish lilt. "The old summoning spells are always a bit...dramatic."

When Magica's vision cleared, she wouldn't see an ugly imp. Instead, it was a duck dressed in a suit and tie, the shirt beneath the jacket red. On his head was a black fedora with a red band. His red eyes had no chance of being hidden behind the golden-framed pince-nez resting on his bill, a long gold chain connecting the temples of the frames that looped around his head and neck.

Magica had winced at the blinding light, putting an arm in front of her eyes. But the voice... threw her off. A lot. She slowly lowered her arm, and stared at the man who stood before her.

... Would "what the hell" be too ironic? It was still what she was thinking. She looked him up and down, blinked several times, then grabbed the parchment, trying to re-read it. "This can't be right." She said out loud, looking back and forth between the man and the old paper. "You are supposed to be a demon?"

"Expecting an imp were you?" He tsked. "Honestly, why does every mortal assume that? As if an imp could write up a proper contract."

Great, and he was annoying too. At least that would be a distraction from his appearance ... temporarily. "Fine." She grumbled, standing back up. "If you are a demon, then you have to know why you're here."

Maybe he wouldn't know the exact details, but the game was all the same - a soul for a wish.

"Of course I do," he purred. He stepped closer to her, reaching out to cup her chin in his hand. "You're looking to make a Deal for your soul. Well, lassie, I aim to please."

His body temperature would've had any mortal raving.

Magica's breath caught in her throat - that sort of personality made it difficult to ignore his... appearance. Gods above, if her supposed fiancé had half the charm -

Remember him, and remembering why she'd done this, she sharply shook her head away. "You can keep your hands to yourself." She growled coldly. "I hardly called you here for that. I need something that will give me pleasure for the rest of my life... Money."

He chuckled as she moved away, amused. Honestly, he was quite fond of this form, and it seemed she was as well. Excellent. It was easier to catch flies with honey.

He snapped his fingers, and a scroll of parchment appeared in the air with a burst of hellfire. It unrolled itself, the parchment blank.

"State your full name and what precisely it is that you want," he told her. "Along with your offer."

The moment of truth. She swallowed thickly, trying not to let her fear and worry show.

"My name is Magica De Spell." She said slowly, eyes on the parchment. "And I want to be the richest person in the world. I want to be so rich, no one can claim power or authority over me. And I want this wealth to last me the rest of my natural life."

Natural was the key word. No sudden deaths by murder or accident. With such wealth, she could afford the best food, the best doctors, the best treatments. This would also give her plenty of time to find the loophole or other means of freedom.

On the parchment, words began to appear in cursive handwriting, the words written in golden ink. Scrooge summoned a cup of tea to sip it casually as he wrote the contract out via magic.

Hmm...natural life. Clever girl if she managed to remember a very key detail: how long that life was supposed to last. An aneurism could take even the very young at any time.

"And your offer?" he asked.

"The only thing I have that's of any value to your kind." She looked up - and scowled at his pleasant tea-time. Arrogant bastard, like this wasn't even important to him.

"My soul."

"Oh dear. I'm afraid we have a problem," he mused, taking another sip of his tea. He conjured a saucer to rest his cup on. "You see, that's not enough.

"Fortunately, there is something you can add to your offer in addition to your soul: time."

"What?!" She balked - this wasn't in the writings! "How is my SOUL not enough?! Isn't that what you demons always want?"

Not to mention the obvious - she'd asked for a "natural life" to give her as much time as possible. Surrendering time would make that a moot point.

"The wealth you want isn't easy to come by even with magic. Do you think a mere mortal soul is enough to cover the cost of such a feat?" He released his tea cup to reach out with his now-free hand and lift her chin with one finger. "A mortal soul is valuable, true, but this isn't like the corruption of one of the Exalted. There are limits, and magic hates being balanced. My lord needs to recoup the loss somehow.

"So once you die, you'll work as a servant for Lord Lucifer, his Infernals, and his demons. You'll have a rank equal to an imp, but don't worry: Work hard in my lord's service, and you might find yourself promoted. Once your time of servitude is up, you'll have the option of continuing to serve or to accept the fate that naturally lies in store for one who sells her soul to the Fallen Morning Star." He smirked. "According to my calculations, your servitude should last fifty years."

Why did he have to keep touching her! (And why did she keep having to enjoy it!)

"If he's so powerful, why isn't he here to do his own work, instead of sending you?" She huffed, trying to diffuse his intimidation tactics. "I won't be scared off so easily. Between a hell on earth or one below, I can at least make the choice there."

"My, someone has a high opinion of herself." He returned his hand to his teacup, lifting it up to take a sip. "My lord doesn't come to Earth for something this mundane.

"Back to business: You wish to be the richest duck in the world for the rest of your natural life in exchange for your soul and fifty years of servitude to Lord Lucifer. Do I have that right?"

Magica almost wished he kept his finger there, as the urge to bite him for such an insult was tempting.

But right now, there was no way to extend the game any further. She couldn't afford the ingredients to make this spell happen again. The noose her parents had looped around her neck was tightening day by day.

She would have to figure the escape plan later.

"Yes. I agree to those terms."

The rest of the contract filled itself in. At the bottom of the scroll was an empty place for her signature.

Scrooge sent away his cup and saucer, instead drawing an obsidian knife from the ether. Then he paused.

"Normally, I'd tell you to prick your finger to draw blood, but seeing as how you're already bleeding quite significantly, I believe we can skip that part of the ritual. Just bloody your finger and press it against the contract."

Finally, some semblance of manners. Silently, she pressed her pointer finger to the wound, and drew out her name slowly.

Magica De Spell.

Money to plan. Money to learn. Money to fight. This was only the beginning, and she knew she could find a way out.

But... she would also be happy. That had been the first and most important part of this whole insanity - with this freedom and power, she would be happy and enjoy her life, however long it was.

"You don't need to -- Oh, never mind."

Her bloody signature was absorbed into the contract before reappearing perfectly-written in her blood.

The contract completed, it took a moment or two before a seal appeared. Lucifer's seal.

"Congratulations, lass," Scrooge told her. "When you wake up tomorrow, you'll be the richest person on Earth. And when you pass away, one of us will come to collect."

Not him specifically? It stung, another reminder of how truly unimportant she was in the scheme of things. As if when it came to these deals, all it took was a coin flip or a toss of a dart.

"So, this is the first and last I'll see of you?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I'm a very busy demon with my fingers in a lot of pies. We might cross one another's paths when you least expect it."

He gave a slow smirk. "I take it you wouldn't mind?"

She turned her head, trying to play up her disinterest. "As long as you don't get in my way, it hardly matters."

He closed the distance between them, allowing his hot breath to brush over her neck as he spoke.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. Perhaps I might even help maintain your new fortune.

"Or would you prefer...something else?"

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