[ Squalo has no doubt that his own cooking is absolutely better than anything that could possibly come out of Britain anybody else's in Hell, and he's not too happy about implications otherwise, even if it would be nice to just lay around while the food prepares itself if it's actually anywhere near as good as the guy seems to think. But, of course, he's not about to say that. ]
Sounds fair, I guess. [ It's not a very good deal, but at least it's somewhat close to a favor and not something he already has. And sometimes he did need things outside of his usual expertise, so having contacts who fraternized with different sorts of people could be helpful. ] I'll send you a text.
[ And he does. Except if L.L. decides to compare, he'll probably see it's absolutely the same number? However that works for Hell phones. Or maybe it doesn't show the name, and he'll only find out once he actually decides to call it. ]
[ A text with no name for the contact, so of course he has to investigate if he recognises the number…
The bastard. L.L’s genuinely pissed off he never realised Squalo would just not mention he wanted to take the job himself.
So he owes the man a contact, a free clothing alteration and - maybe not the meal, Squalo hadn’t seemed too enthused about that. He’d have offered more but right now he’s irritated he’s given even that much
He called the number, and tersely without introduction ]
I hear you’re the man to ask to cut off my foot for me
[ This is actually back to hilarious, and Squalo's ready to crank it up another notch. He, of course, knows exactly who's calling despite the lack of introduction, and so he responds in an extremely transparently fake voice with an exaggerated accent. ]
Si, if you need anything cut off, you're speaking to the correct man. Have you considered my inquiry, signore?
[ Oops, he's dropped the phoney accent. Guess joke time is over. ]
[ He will indeed show, however, possibly even a little earlier. He looks relaxed but alert, hands shoved in his pockets leisurely, a couple swords hanging off his belt. ]
[ L.L is already sitting on a sofa in the suite, feet crossed on the table before him so as not to bump his horns, looking as regal as one can get in a t-shirt and speedos. There's no need to ruin any of better clothes with the blood.
He's made the decision to let the joke go, irritating as it was to be teased like that. The man coming is about to mutilate him and it behoves L.L not to give him a reason to keep chopping.
He inclines his head in greeting ]
Good afternoon, Squalo. Forgive me for not standing to greet you; my feet have been altered to uselessness.
[ He gestures, offering the man a seat at his left side. At his right a pair of crutches are lain over the couch. ]
[ Is the greeting he gets back before Squalo leans in curiously to inspect his feet, then leans back with disgusted noise, and finally sits down on the empty side of the couch, immediately manspreading, arms on the backrest and everything. ]
Well. I've been here for years and I can't say I've seen anything like this before. Gross. [ He chuckles, tact is clearly not a concern for him. He doesn't plant to be unhelpful, though. ] You try filin' them down?
[ So glad you're not wearing speedos as well with a posture like that, Squalo. He grimaces at the comment on his feet because sadly, it an entirely correct assessment.
Yes, and it was like nails being dragged over a chalkboard up my shins. I have an exceptional regenerative ability; regrowing an entire foot will be swifter and less painful than filing down both these horns.
[ He should consider himself blessed if he got to see this perfect sideball, thanks. As is, though, Squalo's overdressed in leather as usual, so there's no risk of that. This time. ]
If you say so.
[ Squalo could point out how all the hellish appendages seemed to grow back in a few days no matter how brutally you removed them... but where would the fun be in that? He can do it later, once he's already completed the maiming he's been hired to do. ]
[ Speaking of which, he's leaning forward again to slap what appears to be a sheet of paper and a pen on the coffee table. ]
First, your contract. [ He'll even allow him to write it up himself if he wants, to assure there is no foul play, but he doesn't know the man well enough to trust him at his word. ] I've no interested in your buddies going after my ass 'cause they think you didn't ask me to do this and agree to pay me for it.
[ pause ]
I'd trash them, of course, but it seems like a waste of all of our time. Don't you agree?
[ look at him, being a proper demon with horns and tail and contracts. at least he's not asking for it to be in blood. kind of. ]
Anyone who's a friend of mine would trust my judgement in this matter - but a contract is a sensible idea.
[ A blank piece of paper? L.L picks it up and begins to write
and write
and write
and write some more, defining exactly what's to be cut, where the cut is to happen, what the payment is for, and then a large number of disqualifying terms all to cover if Squalo decides to get violent to renege on their deal. There's even a diagram on there showing where on his leg he needs to be cut
He hands it back with a flourish after covering all of the front side and most of the back ]
[ Squalo begins to regret his decision somewhere halfway through the first page, and leans his head back against the backrest with an exaggerated sigh of frustration. Nonetheless, as soon as L.L. is done, he straightens back up, takes it, and reads through all of it with perfect diligence, making sure that he is indeed being paid everything he was promised, as well as checking the details of what his customer apparently wants. He even smirks at the diagram. ]
Just that? Easy.
[ If there is nothing else he might deem offense or suspicious in the contract, he will fold it up and tuck it into his jacket before proceeding to stand up. ]
Whenever you're ready. I recommend biting on something.
[ He'd planned to move to the bathroom to minimise the mess... but no, let the demons deal with the blood. Why should he make their life any easier when it was their master who'd mutilated his body.
He straightened out his skinny legs on the table, shuffling so that the spot he'd indicated for Squalo to cut would be hanging in the open air. It'd be impolite to make him blunt his sword on the table after all.
He leaned his head back upon the sofa, letting out a long breath. For now he wasn't going to look just in case he flinched - though he'd been ten years an immortal, he didn't have the same practice at dying that C.C had. ]
There's no need for me to bite anything. Every part of my body will heal as soon as the wound is made.
[ Squalo's sword being as anime as he is, he's got no qualms splitting the table in half along with L.L.'s leg, but if he wants to save it, well, that's up to him. He's had weirder requests from people who paid him actual money for his work. ]
[ He shrugs and unsheathes his sword. He's encountered some people with regenerative abilities in Hell, and most of them seemed very susceptible to pain. But hey, again, if the guy had a hard-on for biting through his tongue, Squalo wasn't going to judge him... right now. ]
Suit yourself.
[ And that's all he says before he strikes. It's fast, the heavy variety of sword he's using ensuring there is ample force beneath the swing to cleave flesh and bone cleanly through and with deadly precision, exactly the way he's been instructed. ]
[ He clenches his jaw with enough force to chip a tooth before erupting into a full-throated scream. His feet fall on the table, the stumps of his legs only don’t fall because he stiffens in agony. His blood spurts, he’s dizzy with the shock -
And then the ache in his mouth soothes away. The blood slows and he slumps, breathing heavily. The stumps of his legs are twitching and rippling as slowly, painfully, his flesh starts to regrow.
It takes too many painful minutes as he flops there for his feet to reform. ]
[ Squalo lets out a little sadistic laugh, apparently quite pleased with the scream, though to his credit he stays true to the contract and doesn't injure the other further. He's got half a mind to simply leave, really, but that rippling catches his attention. It's not every day you get to see something as fucked up as that. ]
[ So he lingers right where he is, casually wiping the sides of his sword against the couch as he watches the would-be legstumps shift and mold in real time. ]
[ It’s hard to tell at first what’s the pain of regrowth and what’s the pain of an unnatural growth, but as soon as he’s got most of a foot he pulls his legs up onto his thigh so he can watch the growth of his sole, palpating the area as it forms ]
… No… Why didn’t that work?! [ He spits a number of incredibly gauche curses in Arcadian, the sort his mother used to clip him round the ear for copying off of her, and flung himself fuming back on the cushions ]
That should have worked! My feet should have grown back in their original form! My body isn’t supposed to change.
[ He sits up as abruptly as he’d flung himself down, grabbing for one of his old severed feet ]
Do you have a knife? I need to see the internal changes they’ve inflicted on me
Yeah? [ It's not an uncommon reaction by any means, but Squalo still taps two fingers against one of his own horns with a crooked smile. ] You think I'm wearing this 'cause I like it?
[ He considers asking for something more in return again, but this is actually turning kind of fascinating. He digs around in his jacket and tosses a folded pocket knife at L.L. ]
Some guys have actually compiled DNA analysis a while ago. You can probably look it up... I think his name was Fitz. [ shrug. ] Whatever it is, it's apparently altering us on the mollecular level.
[ He’s sure he can do this autopsy. Why not? He’s seen men die, he’s seen men mutilated, their bodies torn and spattered, and he’s been covered in the blood of people he’s killed. He cuts into the heel beside the the horn, sectioning away a hunk of flesh as efficiently as if he were preparing raw meat for a stew, but as he flips away what was his own meat to reveal the first of the bones underneath his stomach turns.
His blood is still fresh. He swallows against the nausea, trues to ignore his sudden realisation that the foot is still warm as he cuts in further, looking to see if horn is joined to bone ]
[ You know what? Squalo was going to leave at this point, but this has just gotten interesting again. Is this guy fucking insane enough to dissect his own foot right after he got it chopped off? He elegantly sits down on the clean part of the couch, a safe distance away just in case L.L's stomach can't handle it after all, lamenting the fact that he has no popcorn with him, and watches. ]
[ He draws a deep breath, steadying himself back to detachment. This is nothing, this is a task coroners and surgeons perform every day, he has Geassed far more gruesome acts and he can handle actually cutting through the meat himself for once ]
Ahh… it appears that the horn is growing directly from the calcaneum - the heelbone. Rather than the horn be a distinct growth, the heelbone itself is changing colour and consistency across the entire bone…
[ He scrapes the knife against the bone, thinking to look deeper, but something about that wet noise and the friction finally turns his stomach completely. He drops his foot and the knife and scrabbles away from the table, grimacing hard as he fights back the sudden wave of nausea. He nearly clamps his hand over his mouth - but no, it’s covered in his own blood and flesh - and bolts for the bathroom on his tiptoes.
Very soon comes the sound of him being noisy sick into the sink ]
You must've really fucked up, though. Those things are usually practical.
[ You hear that, L.L? You're worse at sinning than the contract murderer. At least all of the growths he received were a non-obstacle at worst and a functional weapon at best. Bone stillettos, though? That will be cumbersome every time he needs to run. ]
[ And then L.L. gags and rushes off. So much for that. Squalo makes a disappointed nose and picks himself off the couch, stretching with a yawn and heading for the door. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ Squalo has no doubt that his own cooking is absolutely better than
anything that could possibly come out of Britainanybody else's in Hell, and he's not too happy about implications otherwise, even if it would be nice to just lay around while the food prepares itself if it's actually anywhere near as good as the guy seems to think. But, of course, he's not about to say that. ]Sounds fair, I guess. [ It's not a very good deal, but at least it's somewhat close to a favor and not something he already has. And sometimes he did need things outside of his usual expertise, so having contacts who fraternized with different sorts of people could be helpful. ] I'll send you a text.
[ And he does. Except if L.L. decides to compare, he'll probably see it's absolutely the same number? However that works for Hell phones. Or maybe it doesn't show the name, and he'll only find out once he actually decides to call it. ]
no subject
The bastard. L.L’s genuinely pissed off he never realised Squalo would just not mention he wanted to take the job himself.
So he owes the man a contact, a free clothing alteration and - maybe not the meal, Squalo hadn’t seemed too enthused about that. He’d have offered more but right now he’s irritated he’s given even that much
He called the number, and tersely without introduction ]
I hear you’re the man to ask to cut off my foot for me
i don't even know but this is what you get
Si, if you need anything cut off, you're speaking to the correct man. Have you considered my inquiry, signore?
no subject
When are first available? I want to get this over and done with as soon as possible.
no subject
Cesare was born ready, signore. Would you like to do it now?
no subject
Now would be best. I’ve already prepared room 219 for the amputation.
no subject
[ Oops, he's dropped the phoney accent. Guess joke time is over. ]
[ He will indeed show, however, possibly even a little earlier. He looks relaxed but alert, hands shoved in his pockets leisurely, a couple swords hanging off his belt. ]
no subject
He's made the decision to let the joke go, irritating as it was to be teased like that. The man coming is about to mutilate him and it behoves L.L not to give him a reason to keep chopping.
He inclines his head in greeting ]
Good afternoon, Squalo. Forgive me for not standing to greet you; my feet have been altered to uselessness.
[ He gestures, offering the man a seat at his left side. At his right a pair of crutches are lain over the couch. ]
no subject
'Sup.
[ Is the greeting he gets back before Squalo leans in curiously to inspect his feet, then leans back with disgusted noise, and finally sits down on the empty side of the couch, immediately manspreading, arms on the backrest and everything. ]
Well. I've been here for years and I can't say I've seen anything like this before. Gross. [ He chuckles, tact is clearly not a concern for him. He doesn't plant to be unhelpful, though. ] You try filin' them down?
no subject
Yes, and it was like nails being dragged over a chalkboard up my shins. I have an exceptional regenerative ability; regrowing an entire foot will be swifter and less painful than filing down both these horns.
no subject
If you say so.
[ Squalo could point out how all the hellish appendages seemed to grow back in a few days no matter how brutally you removed them... but where would the fun be in that? He can do it later, once he's already completed the maiming he's been hired to do. ]
[ Speaking of which, he's leaning forward again to slap what appears to be a sheet of paper and a pen on the coffee table. ]
First, your contract. [ He'll even allow him to write it up himself if he wants, to assure there is no foul play, but he doesn't know the man well enough to trust him at his word. ] I've no interested in your buddies going after my ass 'cause they think you didn't ask me to do this and agree to pay me for it.
[ pause ]
I'd trash them, of course, but it seems like a waste of all of our time. Don't you agree?
[ look at him, being a proper demon with horns and tail and contracts. at least he's not asking for it to be in blood. kind of. ]
no subject
[ A blank piece of paper? L.L picks it up and begins to write
and write
and write
and write some more, defining exactly what's to be cut, where the cut is to happen, what the payment is for, and then a large number of disqualifying terms all to cover if Squalo decides to get violent to renege on their deal. There's even a diagram on there showing where on his leg he needs to be cut
He hands it back with a flourish after covering all of the front side and most of the back ]
That should be sufficient.
no subject
Just that? Easy.
[ If there is nothing else he might deem offense or suspicious in the contract, he will fold it up and tuck it into his jacket before proceeding to stand up. ]
Whenever you're ready. I recommend biting on something.
no subject
He straightened out his skinny legs on the table, shuffling so that the spot he'd indicated for Squalo to cut would be hanging in the open air. It'd be impolite to make him blunt his sword on the table after all.
He leaned his head back upon the sofa, letting out a long breath. For now he wasn't going to look just in case he flinched - though he'd been ten years an immortal, he didn't have the same practice at dying that C.C had. ]
There's no need for me to bite anything. Every part of my body will heal as soon as the wound is made.
You may make your blow whenever you please.
no subject
[ He shrugs and unsheathes his sword. He's encountered some people with regenerative abilities in Hell, and most of them seemed very susceptible to pain. But hey, again, if the guy had a hard-on for biting through his tongue, Squalo wasn't going to judge him... right now. ]
Suit yourself.
[ And that's all he says before he strikes. It's fast, the heavy variety of sword he's using ensuring there is ample force beneath the swing to cleave flesh and bone cleanly through and with deadly precision, exactly the way he's been instructed. ]
no subject
And then the ache in his mouth soothes away. The blood slows and he slumps, breathing heavily. The stumps of his legs are twitching and rippling as slowly, painfully, his flesh starts to regrow.
It takes too many painful minutes as he flops there for his feet to reform. ]
no subject
[ So he lingers right where he is, casually wiping the sides of his sword against the couch as he watches the would-be legstumps shift and mold in real time. ]
no subject
… No… Why didn’t that work?! [ He spits a number of incredibly gauche curses in Arcadian, the sort his mother used to clip him round the ear for copying off of her, and flung himself fuming back on the cushions ]
That should have worked! My feet should have grown back in their original form! My body isn’t supposed to change.
[ He sits up as abruptly as he’d flung himself down, grabbing for one of his old severed feet ]
Do you have a knife? I need to see the internal changes they’ve inflicted on me
no subject
[ He considers asking for something more in return again, but this is actually turning kind of fascinating. He digs around in his jacket and tosses a folded pocket knife at L.L. ]
Some guys have actually compiled DNA analysis a while ago. You can probably look it up... I think his name was Fitz. [ shrug. ] Whatever it is, it's apparently altering us on the mollecular level.
no subject
[ He’s sure he can do this autopsy. Why not? He’s seen men die, he’s seen men mutilated, their bodies torn and spattered, and he’s been covered in the blood of people he’s killed. He cuts into the heel beside the the horn, sectioning away a hunk of flesh as efficiently as if he were preparing raw meat for a stew, but as he flips away what was his own meat to reveal the first of the bones underneath his stomach turns.
His blood is still fresh. He swallows against the nausea, trues to ignore his sudden realisation that the foot is still warm as he cuts in further, looking to see if horn is joined to bone ]
no subject
How's it look?
no subject
Ahh… it appears that the horn is growing directly from the calcaneum - the heelbone. Rather than the horn be a distinct growth, the heelbone itself is changing colour and consistency across the entire bone…
[ He scrapes the knife against the bone, thinking to look deeper, but something about that wet noise and the friction finally turns his stomach completely. He drops his foot and the knife and scrabbles away from the table, grimacing hard as he fights back the sudden wave of nausea. He nearly clamps his hand over his mouth - but no, it’s covered in his own blood and flesh - and bolts for the bathroom on his tiptoes.
Very soon comes the sound of him being noisy sick into the sink ]
no subject
You must've really fucked up, though. Those things are usually practical.
[ You hear that, L.L? You're worse at sinning than the contract murderer. At least all of the growths he received were a non-obstacle at worst and a functional weapon at best. Bone stillettos, though? That will be cumbersome every time he needs to run. ]
[ And then L.L. gags and rushes off. So much for that. Squalo makes a disappointed nose and picks himself off the couch, stretching with a yawn and heading for the door. ]