The sashimi sold at the shared restaurant was delicious, as one would expect with a cook who'd sold his soul to the devil to gain his skill, and who, from all accounts, felt it was a worthwhile bargain. She'd heard that the devil agreed, and was pondering ways to escape the bargain so that the cook could continue to perform his art and perhaps expand franchises into more places, ideally ones near crossroads where at midnight the devil could appear. The devil was, she heard, getting a bit tired of the blood of a rooster and some cheap rum, and he thought a nice offering of sashimi would be much more the thing. She ate the tentacles and claws, delicately nibbled the thin flowers of white flesh, and managed not to vomit until she was two blocks away from the restaurant. She knew full well the source of the "seafood" that was served to customers--she supposed that was part of the appeal for many of them--and she didn't have any interest in demon-flesh being allowed to absorb into her own. She might be more than half demon herself, but the part of herself that was demon was a pureblood, not mixed by reproduction, breeding program, or regrettable eating habits (all too easy to acquire in the netherworlds).


Inspiration: http://www.flickr.com/photos/37102051@N00/10422965504/ plus a bit of "Drones in the Valley" - Cage the Elephant
Story potential: High.
Notes: Something appropriately creepy for Halloween season. And I like the idea of this kind of setting.

Clumsy. That's what she always thought she was, until she went into the mirror shop and there was the one mirror way at the back that showed a whole cluster of spirits and demons clinging to her shoulders and back and legs and...well, everywhere, really. Once she saw it, she felt the pinpricks of their claws through her clothes. She spun to face away from the mirror, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried walking to the store door. She still felt the pinpricks, shifting as the creatures shifted their weight, and she felt the brush of wings against her bare skin now and again. Well, she thought, dizzied, that explains it all. Either I'm crazy--but she was pretty sure she wasn't, there were enough stories about the demon-carriers that she thought they must be a real thing--or that explains my clumsiness. And why I'm so strong for my size. If I've been carrying around all these extra creatures since I could walk, my muscles must be stronger than those of everyone else. But why can I see them in the mirror, and how can I get rid of them, and what--what do I do now? She strained her memory for the stories of the demon-carriers, but all the stories had been quest/adventure type things, with nary a mention of how they got control of their...condition. Call it a condition, she decided. She turned and walked back into the store and stared squarely in the mirror. The creatures glanced over at it, and then got excited, standing up on their hind legs and pointing. "Yes, yes," she said wearily. "I can see you. You can see yourselves. Great. Now what do we do?" "Can I help you, Miss?" a polite voice--


Inspiration: "Clumsy" - Jane Jensen
Story potential: High.
Notes: Either a pure second world fantasy or maybe one based on a more recent real-world era. I'm tired of the Victorian thing, and I don't want to do the medieval thing, either. Harrumph. Also, this smells like a novel.

Your mama warned you that I wasn't a good idea, that I was nothing but trouble for any girl who go close to me. I'm telling you she's right, but there's a piece of heaven within my chunk of hell. You'll never know real heaven unless you try mine. That's the vibe that he sat there putting out as long as he could, sitting in the college coffee shop, wearing a leather jacket covered in patches for bands long since dead and gone and activist groups busted by the police for activities that went beyond the permissible. His hair was cut short to his head except on one side, where he'd grown in long enough to brush his cheekbones and then put in dreads. The better to show off the line of earrings that marched down the ear on the opposite side. If a college girl glanced his way, she'd see the tattoos peeking out at the cuffs of his shirt and out of his collar, but she'd also see that he was reading a philosophy book. Hook em in both ways, that was the plan. He knew it wasn't the done thing to call it putting out a vibe these days--that would have been the right term about forty years earlier--but it was what it was. That era had been really dumb in some ways, but it had gotten some things rights. Vibes was one of those things. And sure enough, he saw a demurely dressed young woman with only a single piercing in her ears and her hair combed smooth and shoulder-length giving him the look. She read his vibe, and she wanted what her mama had always told her to avoid. It wasn't like he was lying, either, though it surely was a pity that no woman yet had managed to get through the hell to find the heaven.


Inspiration: "Your Mama Warned You" - The Eels
Story potential: Low.
Notes: Eh. Seems pretty standard urban fantasy.

"Let me get this straight. He started a band, chose that occult name, and slaved until he wore his fingers to the bone, all so that he could get popular enough to have an auditorium full of people chanting that name?"

"Looks like it."

"Why didn't he just make a flashmob event like the rest of the wannabe demon summoners who need a hundred or so pawns?"

Lenny shrugged. "Maybe he needed the faith, too? Maybe he was just old-skool and didn't follow fads much. There's a good tradition of using music cults to get power."

She shook her head. "And that's the reason why I only listen to obscure bands and never, ever go to concerts!" She looked around her at the path of torn bodies that led up to the stage. "Looks like he may have regretted his approach, too. Isn't that his body up there, impaled on the guitar?"

"Yes and no."

She looked at him. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Depends. How do you feel about sacks of flesh with the skeleton missing?"

"Fuck."


Inspiration: "Dragula" (live) - by Rob Zombie. He gets the crowd chanting "Zombie."
Story Potential: High-ish?
Notes: The voices just started talking in my head. That's usually a good sign.

Feed my hungry soul, she demanded leaning close across the bar to him. He leaned back. "Whoa, aren't you supposed to be the one taking care of the drinks?" She grimaced. "Fine. What do you want?" "Gin and tonic," he said, not sure if he really wanted to stay in this bar any longer anyway, never mind that his friend Tom had told him that this was where all the hot girls were, the ones who'd put out on the first date. He thought anybody who put out on the first date with Tom was an idiot, but he was getting pretty lonely, and if they were willing to put out for Tom, maybe they'd be willing to go on a second date with him. He had what they called in his business "lowered expectations". He didn't look for true love, or even a hot, passionate love affair. He just wanted a little company--


Inspiration: "Feed My Hungry Soul" by Lords of Acid
Story Potential: High-ish?
Notes: Hmm. I like the idea of twisting this--he honestly doesn't want a quickie, and somehow the demon (what, there was no guess?) has committed to him by going on a date, but can't leave until he does, so he ends up with a pet succubus who's quite cranky. (Or incubus, if you go by the original definition, before genders switched.)