Devil Spire Steakhouse [Eshara/Lucifer]

12:09PM
MARCH 12TH, 2012
FLOOR 666
BANQUET HALL
DEVIL SPIRE
SPIRELANDS
INFERIS

"I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry," Lucifer idly chided, before throwing his feet up in a terrifying arc and landing them on the table a moment later. Lunchtime was half past twelve in the Spire, but he and his personal chef had an agreement that she would just bring up the food whenever it was ready. Or whenever he was hungry. When Satan went without quality cuisine, bad things happened. Then again, bad things tended to happen surrounding him anyway. That was kind of an occupational hazard of being the desert. "I'm huuuuuuuuuuuuungry!" The almost childlike whine reverberated with a phenomenal and eerie vibrato effect around the walls of the banquet hall.

The girl had been an apt cook for a while now. She'd replaced the last one, whose name he'd never really grown interested enough to remember, whose food was of a perfect quality, but the portion sizes were utterly awful. It seems ancient Sumeria never really taught its peoples that appeasing the Devil requires at least twelve ounces of bloody meat per course for him to refrain from frying innocent children in the cradle. Of course, their dinner party a month and a half ago had revealed that he did, infact, prefer an assortment that others picked at and judged for him before he indulged; but no-one ever went wrong with steak.

But, yes, Shard, Eshara, whichever, whatever. She was a greenhorn in Inferis, but one of her monikers had been "the Black Boned Knife", which made Lucifer giggle like a sexually charged schoolgirl every time he heard it due to the obvious innuendo. After a few pops about the preferred colour of the reproductive organs she enjoyed fondling most, their relationship had become, above all else, rather interesting. The girl was attractive; and not in a grandiose manner like Asmodeus or Mammon, who were both, though very much endearing towards him, sycophantic.

Which was the only way he would have asked for his Archdemons to be; and whilst the respect in the girl's tones was indeed present, she had a certain air of an antisocial and boisterous attitude around her. Plus, she always had sufficient amounts of cleavage on display which never went awry, not here, not anywhere, really. Hubris might have been his particular token sin, but if he could have chosen to appoint an addendum title as "The Patron Demon of the Ninth Cardinal Sin of Breastfondling", he most definitely would have. (Everyone knew the eighth was anarchy.) Irrespective, he was a proud surveyor of cleavage and hers specifically were rather pleasing to one's eyes.

However, with the advent of a fresh month had come the introduction of a new and unwelcome kind in Inferis, yet one with, for Heylel, an upsetting familiarity. Michael had climbed down a few rungs to speak to them specifically at his little dinner party and royally pissed him off; and it had been twelve days now since their little slabs of rock had "mysterioooously" arrived in the crimson skies above his lands. Aside from a few scouting parties dotted around the spheres, though, it seemed that the Seven and the Host were, for the most part, hanging back as of yet and keeping to themselves. But in truth it was providing the Devil with a niggling little irritant at the back of his mind, an itch he couldn't eradicate; his omnipotence belonged to Hell, but the Skyhavens were pieces of Heaven, so they were essentially immune to any powers that originated here; and attacking pieces of Heaven with powers from Heaven wasn't going to get him anywhere.

Lucifer was an advocate of a heavy, stress-free lifestyle as Overlord. He had what he wanted more or less, but the Host and his forsaken father were really starting to get to be a pain in his pale white arse. It troubled him; but for the most part, he was just waiting, locked in clutch with this divine stalemate as everything occurred above, waiting for the Angels to make the first move. Once they were out of their so abhorrently pristine little huts, he could order people to bombard them with all manner of flaming projectiles; flaming dogs, flaming cats, flaming humans, flaming babies, flaming turds, and before long they would all be vanquished and covered in molten cat hair. And he knew that once they started, they would persist. If there was one thing that God was, it was persistent. And consistent. Well, both. Reliably persistent. The Host's predictability would be its downfall, he supposed.

So, for now, all he could really do was contemplate matters and go around with business as usual til they popped out for a little divine liaison, and appreciate his supper, he supposed. And every now and then he'd focus his superior mind on it and see if it lended itself to the situation to think in another direction, but even with powers of total infernal empathy, it didn't really seem to help. So he just returned to doing what he did, even with an imposing and disgustingly holy Angel fortress or seven hanging around in his back garden. So, the conclusion was, eat steak and fuck bitches. Though when hadn't that been Lucifer's solution to these sort of mentally puzzling quandaries?

Inferis was, without a doubt, the greatest adventure and paradise Eshara could have ever imagined in her life. The seas were fine and free and rife with territorial battle, but Inferis? Over two hundred years and it still never seemed to get dull. Souls to play with, tears that gave access to humans to play with, occasionally some demon hunter would get to feeling cocky and come right in to play with them. If it didn't make for a fine way to spend eternity, Shard didn't know what did. Of course, things had gone and made themselves just a bit more interesting, hadn't they, what with... new neighbors, as they were.

Not that Inferis wasn't big enough to share, but wasn't fucking Heaven enough? Whoever heard of angels willingly setting up camp to live in Hell? Fortresses or not, just seemed stupid, especially since everyone with half a tactical brain knew that trying to take on your enemy on their own turf was a shit move that'd get you gutted. There was something she'd seen in more recent human culture, sofa-camping. Though highly unlikely, it was amusing to think that maybe the damned flock of them had gotten kicked out and moved down to Inferis just to crash there without wanting to admit to anything. No, it wasn't how it was, Eshara knew, but dammit that would have been funny as fuck.

Deep purple lips curled into a grin as Eshara stirred the pot in front of her. That last dinner party had left her Prince rather dour. So perhaps another could be held... If the Host did anything stupid, make nice-nice with the lot of them, invite them to dinner, and kill them all through the meal. There must be something angels were allergic to. What do angels taste like? The question was a fun one to roll through the pirate's mind. Human wasn't too bad and quite reminiscent in texture and flavor to pork, so maybe angels tasted similar to that? But what about those wings.. So maybe more like goose, or dark meat fowl, like ostrich? Or even frying their wings and tossing them with buffalo sauce. There were so many ways to cook different meats, but unless she could nick a sample for herself somehow, Eshara just couldn't fathom a meal plan, even down to serving red or white with angel. Damn, that'd be bugging her for a while. Maybe... SOMEHOW... she could catch one, cut a taste of it, and then make a huge sampler. Surely her Prince would like that, even if only to look at the spread on the table and laugh! Just have to make sure the rest of the Host wouldn't start squawking. Hm. The only thing more annoying than pests moving into your home was if you actually weren't allowed to act on all natural impulses to slaughter them.

A touch of paprika went into the gravy with just the slightest bit of salt to bring up the flavor. It never did well to see her Prince unhappy, or hungry, and being that they couldn't do anything about their "guests," Eshara felt that lunch today might make an effort to amuse him a little. The gravy had a touch of spice and was poured over caramelized onions and peppers, altogether a little sweet, a little spicy, and just a tiny drizzle of cream over the gravy for color and taste. Nobody really got too excited over vegetables, though, and it was the main course that she wanted her Prince to be amused by. She'd had to pull a few strings, make a promise or two, and stab a few other demons, but Eshara grinned, everything well worth it. The cow was beautiful. Huge and solid white. A special breed of cow from Italy. In ancient times they were bred for the sole purpose of sacrificing to the gods; now they were much more commonly used as gourmet beef, but select few of these lovely bovine had a much more divine calling and were kept just as the private stock of the Vatican. Popes didn't get their steaks from just anywhere, after all. And this solid white cow with her big brown eyes had been raised and slated to be holy steak for his Eminance and sold at auction to head that way. HAD been. Funny thing about cows- sometimes they just waaaaaalked away before touching the Vatican's holy anything.

It had taken some doing to get a hold of her and here, and if all else failed Eshara could always go back and get the lovely young man who had been such a faithful little holy gopher and serve him up as a side order. Eshara didn't like hurting the innocent, but one look at her heaving cleavage and the boy's total lack of innocence was plain as day and infinitely amusing. In fact she might just go back for him to corrupt him a bit more and then see what other fun could be had. But that wouldn't be at least until after lunch. Right now Eshara was terribly amused that she'd made off with the cow that had been meant for far more dull people. Roasted potatoes, caramelized veggies with a Hungarian gravy, and a cut of steak so fresh that the cow it came from was still screaming. Literally. The edge of her cutlass was sharp enough that the pain didn't register on the beast until after Eshara'd already made two cuts, and was in the process of neatly ripping the heafty chunk of flesh free.

It was a beautiful scream, too, she noted as she pushed large bowls beneath the cow to catch all the blood as it rained down, Shard taking a moment to sample. Damn, even holy cow's blood was gourmet. Humming gently to herself, Eshara was entirely in her element, not noticing the small splashes of blood that landed carelessly on her stomach, cheek, and shoulder, crimson shining agianst the golden flecks in her skin. In restaurants, you could generally have your meat rare, medium, well-done, or some combination between those three. Less than rare was called blue, but blue wasn't tasty simply because the meat was damn cold. But cooking meat this nice would be a sin in and of itself, and even rare came dangerously close to implying it had been cooked. A hearty laugh moved past her dark lips, recalling something she'd heard. "I want you to take it to the kitchen, let it look at the oven in terror, and then bring it to me!" Very close. Some quick trimming and cleaning and all that was left was a perfectly large, bloody piece of meat, still very warm from having just left its body. There was a flash-searing- her pan so hot it could have caused a fire, the meat touching it just long enough to heat up the beautiful marbles of fat that ribboned through the flesh and trap all that wonderful hot blood inside. No cooking, just sealing. Holy steak stolen before it could be blessed, cut extremely freshly, and with a tiny sprig of rosemary for fragrance. It was fresh from Italy, after all.

"I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry," came the almost-whine, a handsome Prince demanding his supper. Eshara chuckled lightly to herself, arranging the platter with finishing touches to make sure it was appeasing to see and ample enough not to leave her Lord still hungry. Couldn't have him going hungry. Her tail wrapped delicately around a glass of merlot so dark it was nearly black; blackberry merlots were nice like that. Goblet in tail and tray in hand, Eshara made her way from the kitchen, only pausing a moment to grab the little black chef's had her Prince got such a kick out of. She rather liked it too, she supposed, even if the glittery horns did tend to leave glitter in her hair. "I'm huuuuuuuuuuuuungry!" Well, that was her cue, for sure.

The door to the banquet hall pushed open with Shard's hip, the demon gracefully making her way in. Feet on the table, her Prince was there, waiting as dark lips pulled up into an almost coy smile, her tail gently lowering the glass of wine down with a well-practiced swish. "Steak's on, m'lord," Shard purred, setting the massive platter down. She moved away from the plate just slightly enough to give a polite space while still remaining in hand's reach of Lucifer, leaning her thigh against the grand table very gently. "Yer steak... comes from a very special contribution today. All the way from It'ly." The amusement in her voice couldn't be hidden, though part of her thoughts had drifted back to wondering how that human'd be on the skillet. "Chianini steak cut fresh, from a cow that would have been waested on the Pope. Spiced gravy with veg'bles, rohsted p'tatoes, blackberry merlot, and fer dessert... Fiji apples poached in wine and sugar, stuffed with currants, raisins, and waelnuts, and served with clotted cream... from that same lovely, pre-holyed cow." Shard could hardly suppress a soft, purring chuckle, indefinitely amused at her own handiwork and decided that she should filch goods from important people more often. The food was good and the aftermath of confused humans was terribly funny.

"Steak's on, m'lord," And it was about bloody time! In a display of acrobatics heavily laden with undertones of sexual innuendo she lowered the glass of wine with her tail, and the hefty platter moments later. The steak was grand enough, probably totaling in at around thirty ounces or so. "Yer steak... comes from a very special contribution today. All the way from It'ly." He inclined his head gently and made no attempt to hide his gaze it fell upon his personal chef's cleavage with a toothy grin.

"The girls are looking very perky today, Eshara," He commented aptly, eyes apparently almost hypnotised by the cook's ample breasts. He caught the smell of the seared steak on the table with two nostril-based drawn lungfuls of air and exhaled pleasantly. That... smelt good. She had failed yet to disappoint for the entire time she'd been in his servitude. He didn't really care to remember just how long. "Smells like mortal meat." Satan nodded in concurrence. Flesh of Earthly creatures - or humans - was a delicacy around here, considering most Inferis meat was either poisonous, foul-tasting, or somewhat gamey. That was alright for the common rabble; most of whom couldn't fathom a coherent thought between them and yearned for blood moreso than flesh, but the Devil had always been an Overlord of taste, truth be told.

She continued by giving him a summary of the extravagant meal that sat in front of him, describing the various courses and their respective sides one by one. "Chianini steak cut fresh, from a cow that would have been waested on the Pope." True enough. Ol' Benny was a geriatric whose tastebuds more than likely numbered into a few thousand; the number Lucifer possessed and their sensitivity to specific tastes or textures he could alter at his whim. Really, most food was wasted on humanity as a whole; shame they needed it to stay alive and provide such excellent entertainment.

Eshara carried on irrespective. "Spiced gravy with veg'bles," Never was a fan of veg, but gravy was always good. "Rohsted p'tatoes," He'd been looking at working more slow-release carbs into his diet. "Blackberry merlot," Excellent, he could get lashed and have a good ol' meal! "...and fer dessert... Fiji apples poached in wine and sugar, stuffed with currants, raisins, and waelnuts, and served with clotted cream... from that same lovely, pre-holyed cow." Lucifer made a face vaguely resembling a memetic mutation in another reality that pretty much just concluded with "not bad". He swept his feet off the table and snapped his fingers at one of the Praetorians standing stalwart and cold by the door.

"Roger, get your arse over here." The skeletal abomination rattled and moved its way over with a hollow, distant gaze, letting them fall, utterly subservient, upon their master's visage. Had it possessed the individual intelligence to, it would have responded by bowing and feeling utterly humbled that Lucifer had addressed it by name; but the Reaper Praetorians were, above all else, thicker than two short planks. Probably why the Son of Pride had a particular penchant for them. "Fetch two plates and two sets of cutlery from the drawers over there." The Demon bowed its head and let out a shaking whistle, some form of acknowledgement, as it moved towards one of a number of ornate mahogany cabinets lining the banquet hall, and did as its master so commanded. "And if you chip any of them again, I swear to God, Mammon's Barghests will be using your femurs as chew toys." It was not an idle threat. The puppies did love Reaper bones.

But the loyal, silent, unthinking, and almost mechanical soldier of his returned; and functioning on an automated whim now, set down a plate, a knife - impossibly sharp, for cutting the tougher and more exotic meats - a three-pronged fork chiseled from what appeared to be some form of ancient draconic bone, and an unorthodox, though functional, elongated desert spoon made out of some skeletal socket, all in front of Mephistopheles, perfectly oriented, then identically before his chef, then returning to its post by the door, and setting its gaze back on the middle-distance in its stalwart, empty, eternal watch. "Sit," He spoke simply to Eshara. "Take something to eat, and don't give me any of that "I possibly couldn't" bullshit, the chef always wants more than anyone else to try their own food first." He wouldn't be surprised if she'd skimmed a little in the cooking.

"You've been cooking for me for a while," Satan began his speech, before leaping forward to carve off a liberal, quarter-sized slab of the steak, before ladling a few piles of potatoes on, then dousing it all with some of the steaming gravy. It was an ornately-presented meal, and conglomerated before him, it smelt utterly delicious. The Devil extended his hand to take a sip from the chromed goblet, and chewed the wine a little, pretending he knew anything about wine tasting - preferred to drink blood or spirits - before swallowing it and nodding in approval. "And other than making a good meal out of my last, useless, less-than-memorable cook, we've never really had a liaison." Samael reached forth and tore a piece of the steak off, before slipping it between his lips and beginning to chew, making a somewhat vociferous sound of approval, nodding - as he had many a time before - in Eshara's direction, somewhat fervently, before swallowing the meat and continuing.

"You're my personal chef, and I feel like I don't know you," Of course, certain "borrowed" abilities meant that he knew her. But he just hadn't seen this entire affair acted out in full. Plus, he always appreciated lunchtime entertainment. And her breasts looked great. "But you intrigue me, Eshara," He grinned wickedly and took another sip of the merlot. Tasted fine enough to him. "So tell me a story." Didn't have to be her story. It was implied it should be, but it didn't have to be. The Devil, after all, held a starring antagonistic role of a story of his own, and had for years and years now; adapted into many different languages across realms mortal and otherwise - it was safe to say he appreciated a good tale, be it fictional or not. "And don't take too long. I'm sure you've heard the rumours about me and patience." Provided they weren't too fucking long. Legion had an awful habit of making a story take a few weeks before he was finished. One of the many downfalls of giving one of his direct servants the ability to access an eidetic knowledge collective.

There were few satisfactions in life or the afterlife quite like knowing that she'd made a good choice that pleased her Prince. Eshara smiled softly, a warm feeling of pride tingling in her dark cheeks. Even if she'd served her lord hundreds upon thousands of meals since the start of her services, she never got tired of knowing that her work was appreciated. At least some things never changed after you died. The smell of rosemary and seared flesh danced along with the aroma of the paprika in the gravy, the chef pleased with her own handiwork, ignoring the wandering thought in the back of her mind that asked what she'd possibly present to her Prince for dinner that night. Then again, there was still the rest of that massive cow, and if any applied magic was holding it was still very much alive. Unhappy, but alive and calm- tense cows made for tough meat.

Her lord Prince's eyes were trained mostly to the cleavage that was very nearly bursting free from the beige blouse, Eshara making no attempt to move away or feign modesty. If Prince Lucifer enjoyed the sight of her ample assets, then by all means, he could look all he liked and depending on if he had dinner guests planned that night, she might even wear the hem of her blouse lower. Pleasant things were good for digestion and all. Eshara as quiet for a moment, waiting to be dismissed, but instead watched with mild curiosity as the unspeaking sentry was ordered to fetch two sets of dining ware instead of one. Well this was new. "Sit. Take something to eat, and don't give me any of that "I possibly couldn't" bullshit, the chef always wants more than anyone else to try their own food first." Well, well! This was a lovely new development indeed!

An eyebrow arched upward in surprise as she smiled, Eshara moving to pull out the seat in front of her. Invited to share the meal she'd prepared for Prince Lucifer? Now that was quite the nice treat. Her tail flicked slowly from one side to the other before wrapping neatly around her waist as she took her seat. "I'm honored my Prince." It was amusing to know he'd told her outright not to refuse eating; good to know Lucifer was perfectly aware that good cooks always loved tasting their own food. "Well, you know what they say about a cook who dan't eat their own cookin': it's poisoned." Eshara gave a low chuckle, recalling that funny slice of advice she'd been given when she was just a little girl and sat peeling potatoes for Adrian. She waited patiently for Lucifer to fill his own plate before moving forward to do the same, cutting a modest portion of meat and moving it onto her plate. Edges of the golden potatoes were crispy with the flesh tender and fluffy, and the vegetables under them just begged for sampling. Eshara watched sauces mingle, pleased as it had the exact effect she had been striving for as the still-hot blood from the meat oozed out and swirled, crimson streaks against the gravy and ribbons of fading white. It was quite artistic, and if she'd done it right, the flavors would complement the blood just nicely.

"You've been cooking for me for a while. And other than making a good meal out of my last, useless, less-than-memorable cook, we've never really had a liaison." It was unfortunate but true. Few words were exchanged past what was needed and the occasional quip about her fantastic breasts or recent romps on Earth, Eshara kept to herself. "You're my personal chef, and I feel like I don't know you. But you intrigue me, Eshara."

Eshara watched as he took the first bite of his meal and made generous sounds of approval. Excellent. That also meant she could try it herself, and without hesitation but polite refrain she moved to cut a small piece of the bleeding meat and dipped it into the blood, gravy, and cream before tasting it herself. "To yer health, Prince." There was the faintest of sighs, knowing that that blood she'd tasted in the kitchen was just as good as the white cow it came from, and man the Vatican knew good beef! As she swallowed she smiled. "Thank you m'Lord."

"So tell me a story." A story? Now that was something Eshara hadn't been asked to do since she was actually alive and her own wee Hellspawn had been weaned from her breast. But she rather doubted the Dark Prince wanted to hear a damn fairy tale. "And don't take too long. I'm sure you've heard the rumours about me and patience." Eshara couldn't help but give a small laugh beneath her soft grin as she gently cut into a potato. Vulgar as she was, her manners were oddly excellent for a human or a demon.

Quiet for a moment, Shard nodded. "I understand, Prince. And... Once upon a time," - because all good stories started like that - "I was the cook on the ship The Revenge. It so happened that eventually, we were wanted, dead er alive. When we docked in Nassau, we heard about a ship of privateers that had been paid to hunt us all down." Eshara recalled that day rather clearly, her dear captain was less than amused that night about it. For good reason. She smiled, taking another slow bite and looked up at Lucifer.

"We happened upon them tot'ly by chance, and then took them all in the middle of the night. Sent a rohboat to them, and laid waest. Suddenly, we now had two ships, one with the King's pardon." She laughed again, recalling just how fun that night was. "So, our cap'n gets this notion, and sends message to one of the ships from the Royal Navy that issued the bounties and tells him that the privateers caught and killed all the pirates on the Revenge and wanted to collect the bounty. Soon enough they come sailing in, see the Revenge empty with just their "hired" crew, and we set em down to dinner with us."

It had been such a dark night with no stars, but the Naval captain and his officers were aboard the ship, drinking and dining with the very pirate they'd been hunting down. "While the Cap'n's negotiating a good price for all our heads, we take another rohboat and do to the naval ship what we did to them stupid fecks on the privateer ship, and just leave the officers drunk and alive, and invite em to sleep aboard the ship the night since we were all such good friends." There was a fangy grin that emerged beneath Eshara's dark lips, showing how much she treasured this memory of her life. "So we drug the last of the wine and sail with them sleeping and put em in the hold. When we bring em back out, we're in Papa New Guinea and sell the lot of them to the cannibals!" She laughed again, it was just too delicious. "Was SUCH a profitable month... Paid by the King's own men, paid by the cannibals and traded a fair amount of spices and fruits for that worthless crew, and then had two ships' worth of bounty to split AND two ships to sell! Ahhh, those were good days, my Prince." It wasn't the story of her life, but a favorite from her life, so that was kind of the same thing, right?

If ample breasts were good for the digestion, then Paimon was so flat as to be inverted...

There was never a cirumstance where it was a good idea to interupt Lucifer during dinner. In fact, there was never a circumstance where it was a good idea to interupt Lucifer for anything at all. Because of this well known fact, it is considered some sort of strange miracle that Paimon, the Secretary of Hell, had not yet been blasted into oblivion. It might of been becasue Lucifer hated paperwork really that much, it might have been cecause Paimon was a fallen angel rather than a human soul, or it mgiht have been because Lucifer just liked to toy with his prey for a few billion years before killing them. Nonetheless, Paimon on a far too common basis would fine some inane reason to visit his Lord at the most inopportune times, usually with a quill and paperwork in hand.

They could probably hear him before they could see him, the rattling and jingling of his many pieces of jewerly and his oversized golden crown. It was probably lucky for them that his camel was parked outsider rather than coming along with them, as the thing had a terrible tendancy to making rutting noises when things got too intense. The rattling was interjected with the occasional muffled insult or yell to Demons Minor in the halls, usually some minor complaint overblown. Just as one of the Skeletal butlers when to open the door and announce him, the King of Cowards pushed open the door himself and took a deep bow. "My Lord, 'tis I, Paimon, your faithful servant. I bring urgent news from Prince Vlad's holdings! Apparently a number of wandering Ashba-...."

That is when Paimon saw... HER. He had heard that there was a new Imperial Chef in the Spire, however as he took most of his meals by himself, Paimon had yet the chance to lay eyes upon her. He quickly understood why his Lord was so eager to hire her on; her heaving cleavage was something of an obvious factor. Paimon, however, was unimpressed, more so because he knew her to be a former human and thus far below the Overlord. His handsome, and perhaps slightly effeminate face, creased with a mild grimace. Keeping somewhat bowed he approached the table, head lowered in deference to Lucifer. “Many apologies my Lord, I had not known your Majesty was at dinner and…with a guest I see. Your Majesty’s Taste Tester, I presume? A wise choice, your Greatness, we can never have anything less than perfect for his Lordship.” He cast a baleful eye at Shard, while keeping his head bowed and a gleaming smile of obsidian splayed across his face.

"To yer health, Prince."

To his health? That was a new one. Most people cheered to his ever-doting name, to the blood of those he ruthlessly slaughtered, to the preferably-waning health of - hopefully - their enemies. With the sacrifices, animal or human, and the whole "dancing in goat entrails" bit. But it had been a while - or, at least, felt it - since someone had sat at the table and toasted to something as simple as "his health". Not like he needed it, anyway. That handy regenerative healing factor - kicked up a notch from Abaddon's, originally - made sure of that. "And to the small, warm, and presumably tight space between your breasts." That was apt. He rose the glass of Merlot and moments later took another liberal sip.

"Once upon a time," Well wasn't this just patronising? Back to Inferis kindergarten again, kiddies. Time to play story-time. "I was the cook on the ship The Revenge. It so happened that eventually, we were wanted, dead er alive. When we docked in Nassau, we heard about a ship of privateers that had been paid to hunt us all down." Well, that was more like it. Assassins, he found, made stories all the more engaging. Giving them cutlasses and flintlock pistols - personally a favoured era of history, alongside some others - just made things really fun. Silently, he tore off a lump of the meat and began to chew at it, near-silently, as the cook continued.

"We happened upon them tot'ly by chance, and then took them all in the middle of the night. Sent a rohboat to them, and laid waest. Suddenly, we now had two ships, one with the King's pardon." Privateers, rowboats, and political amnesty? Man, this was as good as the first Pirates of the Caribbean. "So, our cap'n gets this notion, and sends message to one of the ships from the Royal Navy that issued the bounties and tells him that the privateers caught and killed all the pirates on the Revenge and wanted to collect the bounty. Soon enough they come sailing in, see the Revenge empty with just their "hired" crew, and we set em down to dinner with us." The cook was talking about dinner! She was managing to keep him engaged thus far, which was no idle feat. The Overlord of Inferis could be, at times... easily distracted. Mainly by temptation of blood or the sacrifice of exotic Earth animals. There was one stingray that had sacrificed a whole Australian celebrity in his name-- oh, she was talking again.

"So we drug the last of the wine and sail with them sleeping and put em in the hold. When we bring em back out, we're in Papa New Guinea and sell the lot of them to the cannibals!" He forked over another liberal slab of gravy-coated meat, rare enough he could still taste the blood melding gently with the rich taste of the sauce like some exquisite condiment cocktail. Lucifer nodded subtly in approval. Cannibals were great fun. He'd spent a few years living with the tribes over in Papua New Guinea. Those guys knew how to have a party. "Was SUCH a profitable month... Paid by the King's own men, paid by the cannibals and traded a fair amount of spices and fruits for that worthless crew, and then had two ships' worth of bounty to split AND two ships to sell! Ahhh, those were good days, my Prince." Especially the psychotic exiles. Man, there was no one quite as good at cracking open skulls and drinking the blood from them in his honour as exiled tree tribe cannibals.

But all the same her story was done. Setting down his cutlery, he made a gentle, brief round of applause with his gloved hands, inclining his head subtly. "Pirates, privateers, wine, boobs," Had she mentioned boobs? "Cannibals, bounty hunting, a fair share of trickery, boobs," She had definitely mentioned boobs. "And the extraordinary gambitry of your captain..." He nodded with a grin that swiftly broadened. "You seem to know how to cater to my taste in tales just as well as my taste in holy cows." It was true. Though, then again, the world was full of bloody sycophants. Eshara was just very good at making it seem like it was an accident that she'd hit the entire affair spot on. "But, seriously, you were a few exploding powder kegs from me heading onto Earth and pulling an Inception on Nolan to make a pirate-themed cannibal blockbuster." The explosions were more Michael Bay's forté, but even the Devil didn't associate with that abhorrent individual. He was beyond evil.

The halls rattled outside with the sound of hurried footfalls and their conversational silence was swiftly shattered. Just as Roger approached to open the door towards him, they flung open, smashing against the poor Praetorian and knocking his skull off with the force of an outgoing golf ball, sliding along the floor and knocking against the opposite wall as the headless, skeletal butler floundered for a moment. Lucifer ignored him. Roger was better off without a skull. Instead, Heylel looked to the banquet hall's newest visitor with a look of disappointed scrutiny. Paimon. He forked in another peace of meat ambivalently and sat down as he chewed, arching an eyebrow and uttering a question between his bites. "No camel this time?"

"My Lord, 'tis I, Paimon, your faithful servant. I bring urgent news from Prince Vlad's holdings! Apparently a number of wandering Ashba-...." The glorified secretary, irrespective of the many titles he would award himself with each consecutive meeting, let his glare fall upon the innocently-chewing Eshara with a look halfway between confusion and disgust at a "lesser" sitting with his lord. This was the sycophantic type to which he referred. Though of all of them in the realm, Paimon probably took the cake. “Many apologies my Lord, I had not known your Majesty was at dinner and…with a guest I see. Your Majesty’s Taste Tester, I presume? A wise choice, your Greatness, we can never have anything less than perfect for his Lordship.”

The tones in his voice did, of course, not go unnoticed. He knew that Paimon, though irritating, was smart. He'd put two and two together and realised that this ample-chested woman sitting before her share of the Devil's meal was his new chef. The white-haired, black-clad Overlord idly raised a finger, glove and all, to his teeth, working initially at picking a loose string of cow free from his jaw. "First off," He commented, plucking the majority of it away, but a lump of it still remained. For all the powers in the realm and the Spire he sat within, he needed to replicate a Demon with the ability to eliminate dental annoyances such as this. "The reason you're delegated as my..." He paused for a moment, feigning an inability to remember, before shrugging. "Whatever you are," That would have to suffice. "Is so you don't bother me at times like this with unimportant drivel, Paimon."

The sycophant meant well, he supposed. And he was archaic enough. It'd be a shame to eliminate him without a second thought. And he did take care of the paperwork. "And, no," He replied in a precious, babying tone. "This is the Spire's new chef, Eshara," He caught the spiteful look the Demon in the overly extravagant crown-bullshit thing he wore shot at her. "And you will extend her the same courtesy as you do all my guests and servants." He peeked off the table to stare at the still-headless Praetorian, now on all fours, clattering around with a slightly more frantic, hollow, near-silent wheezing as he scuttled around on the floor looking for the skull, around ten feet away from him, resting silently on the crown against the far wall. Lucifer reached over with a stretch and plucked it from the ornate flooring of his banquet hall without so much as a noise, resting it in his hand as he looked to Paimon with a demonstrative, subtle nod, the skeletal creature still maddeningly looking around for his head. "Except Roger."

Drivel Yes, of course it was drivel. What was Paimon thinking about bringing such unimportant things before his Lord? Who gives a double damn that the population of Ash Balls in Vlad’s holdings had nearly tripled in the past few days? Who cared if the meat trade had recently changed hands in a quite unpredictable manner? Who cared if a mercenary group calling itself EDEN after that damnable human paradise was on the rise? Who cared if Belphagor released a particularly ominous belch the other day in his sleep that could have drastic seismic effects across the whole of Inferis? WHO CARED? Well? Well, Paimon cared…he cared very much. This was his Lord’s realm and he only wished what was best for his Lord… but surely….surely Lucifer had significantly more important and infinitely more taxing things on his mind. Certainly it wasn’t just large tanned breasts. At least…that is what Paimon continually told himself, what he continually forced himself to believe since the Fall.

“Faled is currently in rut and I thought it best to leave him at the base of the Spire, my Lord.” He then looked back to Shard for the quickest of moments before turning back to Lucifer as she was identified to him. Of course he knew she was the chef and of course Lucifer knew that he knew…but being the Grand Sycophant requires him to respond in certain manners… Of course my Lord, my humblest apologies for my mistake. It is an honor to meet you Madam Chef, I take it that you feel welcome in his Majesty’s Abode? ”

Paimon had never been invited to dinner with Lucifer…Paimon was billions of years older than most of the souls in hell….Paimon had fallen right there beside him…Never…not once in all that time had Lucifer ever thanks Paimon for his services. But…but Paimon never blamed him for that! Oh no, Paimon knew that Lucifer ‘s favor was upon him and that one day one day that favor will bring him into the ranks of Archdemons…But for now, for now Paimon had found himself a new target for all his seven billion years of stored up rage. And that target happened to plenty of surface area…. Don’t think about her breasts…don’t think about her breasts….

The sound of gloved applause was wonderful, Eshara's tail uncurling itself from around her waist to flit slowly from side to side in a happy manner, pleased that her tale had amused her lord. It really had been one of her favorites to tell at dinner when she was alive; her children rather liked it, and it was a bit more appropriate than the motherly stories about teaching her babes to hold a weapon and demonstrate on straw dolls where to strike. Though that had been a particularly fun round of lessons as well that had made the mother so very proud, but few moments in life are as precious as witnessing your eldest draw first blood.

"Pirates, privateers, wine, boobs..." Nice to know her Prince had been paying attention. "Cannibals, bounty hunting, a fair share of trickery, boobs..." And nice to know that even on a subconscious level Lucifer appreciated the cook's attributes. "And the extraordinary gambitry of your captain. You seem to know how to cater to my taste in tales just as well as my taste in holy cows."" The tip of Eshara's tail flicked in amusement as she laughed. Yes, her captain had been a most brilliant man, worthy of so much more than the vague notions left to history's winds.

Few still mentioned men like Captain Berres, not when there were other, grander pirates to mention in history. He was probably down here in Inferis somewhere, as were possibly the whole of Shard's childhood crew. That might need looking into sometime, if only for nostalgia's sake, like a family reunion. A family of people who drank, pillaged, and murdered on a rampage for years and all sat down to supper together to cheer about it. They were like a fucking Normal Rockwell painting. "Many thanks, my Prince! Did try my damndest to enjoy life more than most allowed themselves." Nice thing about perspective was that sure, she did some pretty horrible things, but at the end of the day, Eshara wasn't sorry for a single one of them because they all helped ensure she got to savor the freedom that most were too lazy or sniveling to reach out and take.

"But, seriously, you were a few exploding powder kegs from me heading onto Earth and pulling an Inception on Nolan to make a pirate-themed cannibal blockbuster." Eshara chuckled again before taking another mouthful. Now wouldn't that be something, the Devil whispering into some human's ear and getting a movie about the adventures from her life.

"If that does come up m'Lord, I want to be in the front row ta see it. And I really hope whoever plays me has an amazin rack!" Yes, her breasts were large, and quite nice. She knew it, and rather enjoyed that. Hell, Eshara loved her breasts almost as much as other demons and humans did looking at them. So if  human got to play her? Eshara wanted to meet that woman and inspect for herself that her breasts would be up for the challenge. As she swallowed another small mouthful, she glanced to Lucifer's glass of merlot, a thought suddenly coming to mind, just to mention. He seemed to be liking the wine. "An' just so you know, I've got a favor coming in to bring some fresh fruits, namely a good amount of muscadines." The globe-like, black grapes were a delicacy even on Earth. "If you dan't mind, I'll be setting some aside to make a few fresh batches of wine and cider. Blood and muscadine wine should be a very rich taste if I brew it right." One of the most important lessons from her childhood: how to brew and ferment things into alcohol.

Enjoying another bite of food, Ehsara was more than content with her day thus far. it had been quite successful, even with the unplanned events, but who in their right mind would turn down luncheon with their Overlord? Not bad for really being such a simple kind of demon. For all the flack she'd heard about Hell as a human, this really wasn't too bad, and Eshara honestly was quite content, and watching other demons rub their hands and plot about things when they took over (in their dreams) was always pretty entertaining. Some things just didn't change after you died.

When the door suddenly burst open and poor Roger's skull sent flying, Eshara's tail only gave a small, acknowleging flick as she glanced up and then returned to her veggies. A demon propelled himself in, a glowing.... thing mantled between his horns. It was gaudy, bejeweled, viney, and seemed like some Martha Stewart abomination glistening above this wormy demon's head. "My Lord, 'tis I, Paimon, your faithful servant. I bring urgent news from Prince Vlad's holdings! Apparently a number of wandering Ashba-...." Ohhh.... So this was Lucifer's toady.

He seemed like an anxious little thing, and Eshara wondered if he had to stop to remind himself to catch his breath so his head didn't pop off. He seemed less than enthused that one such as Eshara was having lunch with Lucifer. What? She had to eat too, and they were both hungry. Her Prince just made a point to point it out. But "taste tester"? Really? She'd fought and killed for this job- like hell she'd really go and try to poison their Prince with sub-par food. She was a cook, not a burger-flipper from American fast food places. Besides, what would she do with Inferis for conquering it? Install giant glowing bug zappers? Then again, that might work- it might confuse the stupid flying pests in their back yard to fly away from their nests and Bzzzt!!

Blinking, Eshara caught her name, and straightened up slightly, tail showing her curiosity. "This is the Spire's new chef, Eshara. And you will extend her the same courtesy as you do all my guests and servants." Well...! The demon chef nearly blushed, first at the tone he'd used, and then again at being defended. That certainly was a first in the afterlife, and she really couldn't think of many times such a thing ever came up when she was human. This day just got more and more interesting! She swallowed her mouthful, smiling in a soft yet rather sincere way.

"Thank you, Prince..." Paimon's tones and looks cast Shard's way weren't lost on the pirate in the slightest, but she honestly didn't give two rats fucks what he thought. She'd known plenty of men like him on Earth; wormy kiss-ups who were the token yes-man underling of someone important, always happy to do anyhting and everything asked and acting like the tasts make them something grand without ever wanting to admit they're just a lacky. Eshara took great satisfaction in shooting those men.

"Of course my Lord, my humblest apologies for my mistake. It is an honor to meet you Madam Chef, I take it that you feel welcome in his Majesty’s Abode?" ...Oh, now, this was rich. She hadn't seen anyone lay it on so thick since her Captain's rival tried to make up for insulting her before learning she was marrying her Captain's son. But, it wasn't her place to insult Lucifer's toady; he was much better at it, and this was just getting funnier and funnier.

Eshara smiled at Paimon a far more charming and ladylike smile than had graced her lips in hundreds of years, red feathers framing her face as she shook her bangs over her shoulders. Light glinted off the gems embedded in Eshara's flesh and the gold specks in her skin. "Thank you very much. I honestly can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be." Some could say it was a kissass thing to say, but thankfully, it was the truth. Eshara wasn't into kissing asses. She preferred other body parts.

"Faled is currently in rut and I thought it best to leave him at the base of the Spire, my Lord." Yeah... that was a wise decision. Roger's predecessor, poor Richard, had unfortunately been the last particular manservant - or, well, skeletonservant - to end up "partner" to Paimon's camel when it was in mating season. Hilarious as the debacle was, it was somewhat morbid - even for the Overlord himself - and a little less refined, so his secretary had seen to it that, ever since, he left the beast tethered to the bottom of the Spire when it was in heat. After the entire affair, Richard had never really been himself, so, Lucifer decommissioned him and gave his remains to Mammon's puppies to enjoy. "Thank you, Prince..."

Satan nodded aptly at Eshara as he thanked her, and watched the ensuing back-and-forth between his secretary and his chef. "Of course my Lord, my humblest apologies for my mistake. It is an honor to meet you Madam Chef, I take it that you feel welcome in his Majesty’s Abode?" He was finding it difficult to decide which of the two he preferred. Irritating as he was, Paimon did have a natural knack for the entirety of his infernal paperwork. He was loyal. Like a dog. However, he also liked to sniff at and occasionally lick his hindquarters (metaphorically). Also like a dog, though the canine would more than likely be less of a sycophant. "Thank you very much. I honestly can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be." That was probably a lie. Kitchens were great, and cooking for the overlord was a prestigious task, of course: but high-speed teleportation allowed him to ensure he did exactly what he wanted when he wanted: she, he presumed, was privy to no such power.

"Okay," He said, setting his fork down after swallowing down a fresh piece of steak - one slice after another simply melting into his mouth, the girl was very good, it seemed - and standing to his feet, before slamming his hands on the table. He looked to Paimon, and reminisced of all his years of servitude. Then to Eshara: she was fresh meat, she needed to be broken in. And he would happily break her in, if the omniscient fourth-wall breaking audience knew what he meant, giggity. But there was always a degree of initiation required: most positions just came to be natural over time, however, there was always something ceremonial if you slept under the same roof as the Devil; though, he insisted that sleep was for the weak and unnecessary for beings with replicative omnikinesis. "Let's cut the tolerant bullshit and change the topic lest I vomit over the pair of you," He chimed idly, before tossing the skull he was still holding back over to Roger.

The centrepiece of the skeleton struck him on the back of the spine, and bounced, with perfect trajectory, out into his stunned, open hands. Skittering around, still, he screwed his head back on with a resounding crack and stared back at his master, bowing with another hollow wheeze and the essence of servitude, forever and eternally indebted to him once more, blah blah blah and all that bloody nonsense. "I didn't just bring you back out of the kindness of my heart, Roger." Heylel spoke coldly and matter-of-factly: it was hard to find warmth in a cold black lump. He often wondered if he even had a heart, but then realised he was dwelling far too long on metaphorical and human topics, soon to be followed by the definition of self-awareness and the importance of friendship in a context of teamwork.

"Head up to the orrery." He hoped they still had it. Trix and Trax often liked to "redesign" rooms that he left uninhabited for a few million years, much to the Devil's chagrin. "Ignore the Blood Crows and try not to anger the Abyssals," That was just a tip. Abyssals were always grumpy. The presence of clumsy halfwit Roger would definitely only agitate them more. Plus, they had a particular vendetta aginst Praetorians. "Move past all the cages and move through to the back, and take care as you walk through the shadow." This was beginning to sound rather ominous. "Should you make a single sound within, the beast that guards the vault will devour you whole." Almost there... "Step through, and you will reach the end of the orrery, a great, wrought, circular iron door." And then... "Make a shallow curtsey before it, and the door will open if you are a true servant of mine." His eyes glistened with a red fury, an utmost desire, a lust for whatever horrors, whatever foul creature or wickedly powerful treasure sat behind that colossal door. Perhaps he would make a show of it/them for Eshara and Paimon to prove some infernal point...

The Praetorian bowed his head and immediately sprinted away to the elevator. Lucifer sat back and smiled broadly at Eshara, not bothering to grace Paimon with so much as an eager grin. Without prompt he did not speak; he did not stir save to eat more in silence or take further sips of that exquisite blackberry Merlot, but all the while, he simply sat there with a wicked, toothy, glistening white smile. The elevator thrummed as Roger disappeared; and what felt like an eternity but was, in fact, barely ten minutes. The doors hissed open: and the Praetorian returned, cradling in his hands a box about three feet tall and two feet wide, coated immaculately with a sheet of the finest scarlet velvet. Lucifer nodded, surprised that Roger hadn't gotten himself killed, though there were a few fresh talon marks in his skull than the Devil remembered, regarding them with a contented grin. He set the enigmatic cuboid shape down on the table before Mephistopheles and returned to his position by the banquet hall's grandiose double doors.

This was what he had been sent to find. This was what was guarded by legions of crows and an intangible beast that lurked in the shadows, not to mention an iron door as thick as the table they dined upon, impregnable by most definitions of the word. And what lurked beneath the crimson velvet in a space so small? Was it a chest? Was it a box? Was it one final defense against the treasure or inconceivable horror beneath. Swish. Lucifer tugged away the sheet with a grand display of showmanship and cast it aside nonchalantly, thin scarlet veil flapping in the air before it danced to the floor, and revealing, sat before him on the table...

...a bird cage. "Oh, bloody hell, I had just gone to sleep as well."

"Lady and gentledemon," He gestured to Paimon and Eshara mockingly in turn with a broad grin. "May I introduce Sir Reginald Charles Michael Thomas Popolofsky the Fourth," He shrugged as the light shone upon the bird cage and illuminated its occupant. "Or, as he would prefer to be called, Reg." Reg was a small parrot, roughly the size of a macaw, atop a single wooden perch. Unlike the off-centre colour scheme which seemed somewhat sporadic of most exotic parrots, Reg's feathers were varied along a thin spectrum, at their lightest a regal gold around his beak and on the underside of his wings, but for the most part a wicked, striking, vibrant orange, leading into deep, musty tones of red. His beak was a glistening black, and his two eyes small with simple pupils were coloured a bright yellow.

Reg flapped his wings once frustratedly upon the rung and bowed his beak towards the white-haired Devil, before opening his beak and speaking in an impeccable Oxford accent. "My gracious and powerful Lord," He spoke dryly at first. "You know I live but to serve you, is there perhaps anything you called upon me for on this particular day, or am I simply to make a mimicry of your guests once more as some display of my innate vocal abilities?" The parrot then turned to the crowned secretary and rose one of his tapered, hooked claws to scratch idly at his rung. "Master Paimon. It has but been too long since you inquired into the nature of what laid behind the orrery vault. A pleasure to finally meet you in person." The parrot then pointed its beak towards Eshara. "My lady, I do not know you, but our Lord has already introduced me. 'Tis my pleasure and my pleasure alone to be in your company. You are most beautiful."

Lucifer tapped a gloved finger on the top of the cage, yielding a metallic rattle and a startled squawk from the avian occupant, who turned towards him. "Your time festering in the orrery's up, I'm afraid, Reg, my boy," He lowered his head so his eyes were down on exactly the same level as the parrots, before raising an accusatory finger exactly at Eshara. "Considering little Eshara here has both skill and an apt history, I've finally decided on your owner." Unhooking the cage's latch, and spinning it around to face the chef, he grinned and leaned back. "Reg, you are to serve my chef as you would have served me," Had the Devil let him. He bore no particular fondness for birds, really. "Just don't get any feathers in the stew."

4:32 PM
March 10th, 2012
Deep Within the Darkroot Domain's Jungles

Within a cave, deep within Inferis' sphere known for its supreme coverage of foliage of all sorts, as well as its dense areas of trees, there stood a lone soldier at its mouth. Dressed in the finest ebony armor, there appeared to be no face beneath his helm, but two, floating, red eyes that glowed eerily. Why he had been positioned here, for one hundred years exactly to this day, was that it was his duty to protect the slumbering demon within as he rested. As per the rules of the deal he took, Saruo slowly began to stir. He knew he had to uphold his end of the bargain with Lucifer, but he didn't want to now. He was just getting to a reeeeeaaaaaallyyyyy good part in his dream. Oh well, he could finish it later, he guessed.

The Monkey King leaped up rather suddenly and began to clothe himself with his martial arts uniform he had left hanging upon the wall a century ago. That was another thing John was tasked to do, actually; wash Saruo's garment every day. Who was John? Why, the black armored guardian of the cave, of course! While he won't exactly be very important to the plot, you bet he's going to squeeze in as much screen time as he can get! That's why Saruo performed a flying kick to his back, and caused the armor to fall to pieces and scatter about every which way. He landed and stepped forward, John's head landing in his hands.

"Hi, John, what's up?" The Monkey King asked as he rubbed a bit of sleep from his eye with his free hand. John began to go off on a long tirade about how he deserved more respect or something, but Saruo wasn't really paying attention. It actually took quite a good while for John to catch his attention.

"Ugh, anyway, Lucifer needs to see you." The head spoke out in its echoing, spectral voice within its helm. Its red eyes rolled themselves, and a huff rung out.

"I already know that, silly!" he giggled and laughed as he flipped about every which way in the foliage and rocks surrounding the cave. As he did so, he juggled the helm about with kicks. An attempt to get some of his pent up energy out, surely. "He's probably expecting me already, but I'm sure he can wait a little while longer!" He stopped, still laughing, and placed the angrier head on the ground.

He ignored the yells that came out from behind him, and continued off through the jungle. Hopefully he could find a Crimson Doorway or something. He was sure those were still things, they had to be, who could kill an Archdemon? Especially Ba'al. So, he set off and looked for the Crimson Doorway, a huge smile on his face all the while.

12:45 PM
March 12th, 2012
Floor 666
Banquet Hall
Devil Spire
Spirelands
Inferis

Saruo made his way up the many stairs of the Devilspire, finally having reached the 666th floor. It took a while, sure, but he liked to take the stairs. It was fun and took forever! What more could a sloth demon want? Anyway, he stepped out from the stairway and walked down the hallways until he heard what sounded like talking. One of the voices seemed familiar at least, so it had to be Lucifer!

"Hiya! Guess who's awake!" The small boy made his presence known quickly, laughing as he walked into the Banquet Hall. "Hope you've found something interesting for me to do by now! Where's the strong guys? I wanna punch 'em!"

OOC: Please excuse shortness, doing a small exit post b/c I don't feel that Paimon really has a lot to add here at the moment.

Paimon grimaced at the Bird, grimaced at Shard, and grimaced at the intruding Hellguard Chief. He wasn’t exactly sure what Lucifer had in mind any longer. A talking dandy parrot, a busty chef with whom he shares his personal meals and the miniscule son of Sloth as the head of Lucifer’s personal legions, what happened to those glorious days so very long passed? But…but it was not Paimon’s place to ask questions of his Lord. It wasn’t Paimon’s place either, it would appear, to be standing by his Lord’s side. Paimon was, of course, mere cannon fodder; he was an empty puppet for Lucifer to use to his will. Slowly, the bejeweled demon got the feeling that he was neither welcome or wanted, a feeling that scarcely came to the egotistical creature. With a bow to his Lord, Paimon gave a sniff and his most diplomatic smile.

“It has come to my attention, Overlord Lucifer, in that I have some pressing paperwork to attend to regarding Lord Belphagor’s current sleep cycle. It would appear that a portion of The Lord of Sloth’s caretakers were…flattened as he turned in his sleep, requiring that we shift more resources in that direction. Please, continue as though I was never here, by your leave your Majesty.”

The golden crowned demon turned on his heel and marched out of the door, snorting disdainfully at Sloth’s son as he does so. Perhaps, in the comfort of his office, Paimon would figure out what he could do to regain the true favor of Lucifer. However until then…until then there was always paperwork to be done.

Well, wasn't this something. The fop's camel was horney and best left outside... Now that had to be something amusing, not so much because Eshara cared to see a beast of burden attempting to mount anything, but because she'd seen how difficult such animals were on the occasions she'd seen stallions and bulls ready to go, and there probably weren't too many lady-camels for Paimon's pet to choose from. Which probably made things even funnier.

One thing was certain, though: Eshara almost rather hoped she'd get to chat with Paimon again, privately. Not really out of any great curiosty to find out what Heaven had really been like or his thoughts on the transition from angel to demon through the centuries, or even his opinions of the progression of mankind and the influence of both demons and angels that brought the human race as far as it had. Paimon was certainly highly ranking, but Eshara had no real interest in chumming up with the crowned demon to try and mooch herself into a higher position, get an ear in for direct gossip, or even to offer her friendship genuinely with such a one. And despite his horns and gaudy crown and taste in jewelry, Paimon was still quite lovely to look at, his angelic traits carrying through his features, and yet, Eshara didn't wish to meet with him more in hopes of wooing the secretary and corrupting his soul further with the temptations, assets, and skills of her body. Oh no. She just wanted to fuck with the little twerp's head.

She suppressed a tiny chuckle at their Lord's disgust at the polite banter, and briefly wondered if she should drop her fork as to reach down for it and give him a fantastic view to make up for it, but thought better of such an action for now; if her Lord wished to see more of her breasts, he'd likely help himself. She was at the table, after all, and all the best things at lunch should always be within arm's reach. Eshara took another quiet bite or two, listening to the careful directions of Lucifer as he sent Roger away into the orrery to fetch... something. From an or.. orrer... and ornery? From somewhere else. Whatever. Some place full of cages, but that could easily have been a spare bedroom for all she cared to guess.

Whatever he was upto, her Lord Prince shot her the most wonderful, toothy (fangy) smile before turning back to the remainder of his lunch wordlessly. Eshara inwardly shrugged, carrying on with her own food, confused and amused by the day's unexpected events. She almost wondered if Paimon had any idea all the ways she'd like to try just to make him squirm, and if doing such things would either amuse Lucifer or vex him. Paimon was the Lackey King, but he was Lucifer's bitch, and it wasn't nice to take toys that weren't yours. But still! the looks Eshara imagined his fair face would make, how hard she might make him blush and squirm, and then! That ultimately satisfying look of despair. Oh, it could be fun!

Within a few quiet minutes the skeleton had returned, deep gouges dug into his skull that weren't there before, and carrying a large velvet-covered box. The Devil stood, moving to grab the fabric. Oooh, show and tell! Eshara's face lit up in curiosity - in life this had been one of her genuine joys, even when it was seeing what her peers had taken as prize for themselves. With a grand flourish the drape was pulled and tossed to the floor to reveal.....! A birdcage. With what looked to be a parrot of some kind in it, though Eshara'd never seen that breed before. "Oh, bloody hell, I had just gone to sleep as well."

Eshara leaned forward, intrigued. Parrots could talk, or at least mimic talking. That's one of the things they were known for, aside from their longevity. But this one could actually bloody talk! And like a proper dandy, at that. Sir Reginald Charles Michael Thomas Popolofsky the Fourth. Thank the Darkness he had a nickname, she'd never recall all that at once. And... Shard blinked in mild surprise, wondering if she'd heard that right. The eloquent parrot was to serve her? For a moment she wondered if this were some sort of test, especially since that was twice now her Lord had pointed out the demoness' age, first with that tone he'd used to refer to her to Paimon, and now calling her "little." Little? Few things on her were comparatively "little," and even they were more tight than small.

Lucifer unlatched the cage, and Eshara slowly extended her arm to offer to the extraordinarily vocal bird. "You're most gracious, my Prince... Thank ye!" She was still rather awed by the avian, and even thoughs she'd seen a fair amount of intelligent monsters in Inferis, a parrot like this was something that rivaled many in her opinion, and... it was a small taste of home. "Reg.. I hope I live up to yer expectaetions." Because parrots in her memory never had the capacity or wherewithal to complain. As she went to take one of the last bites of her plate, the door burst open again, and the increasingly popular dining hall was now audience to... a child? She hoped he wasn't some kind of entertainment dessert- Eshara'd have to excuse herself from that. And it was a child with.... a tail. Well that was interesting. A brown furry tail. Eshara glanced to her own tail, smooth and dark as she wrapped it back around her waist politely, wondering why on earth a child with a tail that made her think of the old stories about King Hanuman would come to the Devil's table and ask about beating people. Today just got weirder and weirder.

But Paimon seemed uncomfortable, grimacing at Eshara, the bird, the child, and their Lord. He was either uncomfortable by the whole of everything, or was holding in a really large, uncomfortable fart. Either was amusing. But he excused himself, leaving Eshara rather puzzled and with only her Lord Prince and the child for any explanations. [color=lightblue}"Well... This certainly has been an exciting lunch."[/color] She smiled with a soft chuckle. The rest of the week would have a lot to live up to.