May the Devil

[Fál]

He ran brown leather gloved long slender fingers through charcoal hair. His dark gray hair obscured by a draped dark brown cowl. The tavern was growing noisy as the evening bade farewell to what little light there was left. He leaned into the corner of his back right corner booth, the wooden bench and table worn smooth by age and use. He came here to clear his mind, or perhaps obscure it with the pint of orange, mint, and honey mead that rested in the tin cup of his left hand.

The tavern he sat in was moderately lit with lanterns. A fat man with what exposed skin from under his curly gray and brown beard shone with a sheen of sweat, grease, and dirt cleaned wood, tin, and pewter cups, mugs, tankards, and goblets with a worn and graying linen rag while serving the various brews, wines, and meads he offered for sale from behind his wooden counter. Behind him, large barrels sat stacked two to three high, all with taps sprouting out from their front. The ceiling had exposed beams up through the second story. The second story had five rooms, four in a row, one around a corner, all their doors visible through the feeble balcony railing. The floors upstairs creaked when walked upon as did the beds. The bed in room five, the one around a corner, has fallen into poor repair, Fál would know.

People watching, he observed a pair of men hovering at the bar itself going on about their days when they were youngsters, telling fond stories of their youth. A few steps away, a group of young men sat in wooden chairs around a gnarled wooden table, loud, obnoxious, antagonizing the tavern's beer maid. They looked to be soldiers, all burly with little brain. The door opened, a small breeze stirred around the musty room before dieing quickly. Fál paid little attention to whomever entered the room. He looked down into the tin cup and swirled the mead before taking a drink.

His eyes wandered the room again, he found a pair of red, brown, blue, and green clad nomads. Murmuring quiet secrets to one another as if on a mission of great personal importance.

"May the devil take you with him!" cursed the wench at her unwelcome admirers. Her voice was high and the sudden shout quieted the room for all but a few seconds. She was flustered and stormed off out of sight behind the bar. During which time the group of young soldiers burst into earth-shattering laughter while gulping down the frothy beer in their tankards, one sloshing a little down his front.

Perhaps. Fál cynically thought and smiled wryly to himself as he took another drink.

[•Shearen Vallen Blackstone«]

"Enjoying yourself, are you?"

Shearen had appeared, seemingly from thin air, opposite Fál at the booth. His back was against the wall, one leg up on the booth, the other over the edge. One arm rested along the back, and the other dangled at his side. The demon's ghostly eyes scanned the bar, though the man he spoke to was in the peripheral's of his vision, off to the right. He had not missed the woman's exclamation, nor the King's smile. It was amusing in a twisted way that the woman would say such a thing in the company she had about her tonight.

He did not order a drink. He'd never cared for the taste of alcohol, not in the many hundreds of years he lived. He hadn't drunk it when he'd been a mortal man either, though he'd dealt in worse things. Such dealings had cost him his life, in more ways than one.

"What are you even doing out here?"

He spoke again, but his attention remained on the crowd about them, rather than the King. It was so odd, sitting there with such a man, yet surrounded by people unknowing as to who's company they kept. The devil himself, and the reaper of souls. He wondered, absently to himself, how they would react if they were told. Would they be scared? Surely. Would they run though, or be paralyzed with fright? He didn't like to think about it, yet he couldn't help but do so. He was curious...

[Fál]

Fál uttered half a snicker and would not bother looking up at the man who seemingly appeared from thin air and spoke to him when invention was not set forth. But that is how it was between the Grim Reaper and the King of Demons. Not one of acceptance, but one that developed over centuries of familiarity of one another.

He leaned over the table slightly, one arm resting upon it, folded before him. "I am here because I wish to be." He held the near empty blueish gray tin of mead by the rim with the tips of his fingers, swirling it and watching. Then stopping and finishing the drink. "I came here for a drink." Then he added on as an afterthought, "It was quieter when I arrived." And the available flesh has now been tainted. He thought about the angry wench that stormed away.

Fál scowled at the table. His brow then loosened slightly but the crease of his scowl never truly disappearing. "And you then?" He asked as he looked towards Shearen, a single eyebrow lifting slightly. "Of all the things you're known for, an alcoholic is absent on your list."

[•Shearen Vallen Blackstone«]

Shearen turned at last to look at Fál, a frown creasing his lips, and lines crinkling his forehead as he drew his brows together, his pale gray eyes narrowed. For a moment, he said nothing, and merely watched the man, as if contemplating if what he had to say was really worth saying. This would not be the first time he'd brought up the subject that was on his mind, and each time it had done him no good to speak of it. But things had changed, Fál had more followers. Other people, not just the demons of the underworld. He didn't need him...

"I wanted to speak with you." He began, his voice empty and slow. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully as he paused to think once more, and it was clear he did not like having to ask what he had to ask. He hated having to do it... He felt as if he shouldn't have to. And yet, here he was, because he did have to.

"About my contract." He paused for a moment more, watching Fál for a brief second, before continuing, "Again." They'd discussed this before, with always the same answer. Shearen wanted out, simple as that. Just as simply, Fál would not let him go. He did not proceed to elaborate, for he knew the King would know what it was he meant without his explanation.

[Fál]

"About my contract." The reaper said, careful and with a pause. During that pause Fál took more care to look at his current companion. "Again."

Still staring, Fál narrowed his eyes for a mere split second. His eyes averted to the smooth wooden table as his right hand slid over his head, removing the hood that obscured him. Icy gaze returning onto Shearen, his glossy dark gray hair fell back into place upon the pale plane of his forehead.

Fál looked for something new in the features of the man, trying to look through him. He found nothing new, not since the reaper has grown emotionless and now acted without enthusiasm. Voice smooth and enunciating expertly, "And again I don't want to hear it." His hand absently lifted the tin cup, half hoping he hadn't finished it after all. But curious, for he was bored this night and he felt like being entertained. What may conspire here would all be for knowledge. He would not let Shearen go but wondered what his argument would be. "Amuse me, what would you be doing if I did let you go." He leaned back into the bench-back. Putting an arm up upon it, he stopped looking at Shearen and watched others in the tavern some more. "Or, if your option were to renegotiate. What would be your terms?"

It seemed as if the nomads now grew uneasy, nervous. As if these travelers now understood such company they were keeping. And the soldiers grew louder with every one of their gulps. Fál took in a slow deep breath, calm.

[•Shearen Vallen Blackstone«]

As Shearen fell silent, his empty gaze rested on Fál, watching him for his reaction. He felt slightly tense, for he was quite sure he already knew what the answer would be. Nonetheless, he felt the slightest anticipation that today might be different.

When the man answered, his eyes narrowed the slightest bit, but any other indication of a reaction could not be seen. Oddly enough, he felt relief along with his disappointment. Relief that that slight anticipation was over, and he had his answer, even if it was not the answer he was looking for. It was the answer that he had been expecting.

His ghostly eyes narrowed further still as the King continued to speak. Amuse him? He was not a source of entertainment, nor was his life. Whether the man saw him that way or not, and meant what he said in that way, it was how Shearen looked at it. With annoyance. He proceeded to suggest an alternative theory, of renegotiating. The demon didn't want to renegotiate... He was tired of killing, tired of witnessing the dead. His thoughts were clear on this option, but it was the first question Fál posed that Shearen had no answer for.

What would he being doing?

The reaper adverted his gaze down to the table, "I have no interest in renegotiating." He responded, drawing his left arm down from the back of the booth, and bringing his right one up, resting both his hands on his stomach, "As for your other question..." He trailed off, pausing for a moment, as if a last second idea might occur to him. But nothing came. He shook his head slightly, "I don't know."

[Fál]

A wide grin grew on the devil's face revealing perfect white teeth, making him look a bit impish. Fál let out a short sigh and stopped grinning but a smile remained on his full lips. His eyes looked lit up in the expression, pleased. The tavern has been increasing in bodies and volume overtime.

"Well you see then?" He chuckled, "You don't even have a plan. Why bother asking." The last sentence was a statement, not a question; And, as he finished speaking he flagged down that beer maid who has since resumed her duties serving customers. Her walk was bouncy, she was a cherry brunette, curvy in the hips but flat up top. "La fée verte," The Demon King ordered his favorite drink, his voice still smooth and words still executed perfectly. The waitress was unsure whether to be nervous or friendly, as both the men in the booth had something about them, something that wasn't right. Both Fál and the wench then looked at Shearen. With Fál knowing full well that alcohol wasn't his fancy and the woman in impatient expectancy. "Can I get you anything? Water, perhaps?" He asked him, it was mocking in it's own muted respect.

[•Shearen Vallen Blackstone«]

Shearen's ghostly eyes narrowed the slightest at the sight of the smile that spread across the man's face. He did not like it, nor the expression that found it's way to his face. He found the reaper's answer amusing, that much was clear. The demon on the other hand, saw nothing funny about it in the least. In fact, it irritated him that he had to reply as he had, but it was the truthful answer.

Shearen adverted his gaze as Fál spoke, letting it fall to the far corner of the table on his side. It was of his opinion that he did not need a plan. Why did it matter that he did not know what he would do if he were free? The point was, that he would be just that: free! He would find something in time worth living for. At least he would not longer be in someone's service, sent to do things he wasn't all that interested in doing.

The demon's hands curled into fists where they rested on his stomach. He saw the barmaid approach from the corners of his eyes, but did not look up. He heard Fál order, and then ask if he wanted anything, suggesting water. His empty eyes looked up, though he did not lift his head, annoyance clear in his expression as he looked at the man, "No." He said shortly. It was clear he was not pleased with the man's answer, let alone the way he'd given it, nor his mocking attitude.

[Fál]

"Very well then." He voice went lofty and he nodded to the waitress to tell her there would be nothing more. There was a short silent period when Fál listened to the noise around him. Voices of the tavern that melded together and came and went in waves of intensity. Every now and then a voice would stand out when someone became particularly excited about something, or so intoxicated that they thought yelling was the only way the person sitting next to them could hear. It was when three men sitting at the bar broke out into a song, it's melody carried well by one singer, the other two completely flat, that he decided to speak.

"It has been a few millennia since I called you into this service. And you worked diligently and with enthusiasm." His eyes narrowed for only a second before returning to his previous expression. "But now you sit here, asking me to terminate your contract. Which you have done before, and as before I have always given you the same answer."

He was interrupted then, by the wench placing a glass on the table which was filled with a green liquid, another glass which contained spring water, a slotted spoon, and a (well what was supposed to be) a cube of sugar... which looked more like a lump then a cube. Fál reached into a pocket and with long fingers placed a couple of solid gold coins on the table. Being the devil, there was no such thing as being fortuneless. The wench looked at the money as if her customer had completely lost it but wordlessly slid the money off the table and walked away. Looking back once.

Fál brought the items that were brought to him closer to him and sitting just a little closer to the table now sat up his drink. "Shearen, what happened to that enthusiasm?" The King asked as he sat the slotted spoon over the poorly crafted hand-blown glass of a double shot glass. He then continued to place the sugar lump on top of the spoon and with the spring water, poured the water over the sugar and into the glass with the green liquid ; which now changed into a milky color.

"Severing your contract would give you your eternity in hell at best."

[•Shearen Vallen Blackstone«]

Shearen's eyes flickered quickly to the girl, and lingered on her a moment, before he adverted them, allowing them once more to scan the area around as he'd done upon his first appearance. Every few moments, he allowed his gaze to rest on a particular group, and watched them out of mild curiosity. A few moments later however, he would move on. He let his eyes continue to wander, even as Fál began to speak. He listened nonetheless, of course.

The demon had a feeling he knew where this was going. The question that was coming... He was spared a few moments more of it being asked when the barmaid returned, and placed the King's drink before him. He tipped her generously, and for a moment, she seemed as if she weren't going to take it out of the assumption that he were tricking her or something of the sort. But a second later, she swept it from the table, and was on her way.

His ghostly gaze fell upon the man's face a second before he posed the question the reaper knew was coming. He did not look away from the King, though nor did he answer. Moments of silence passed after Fál's last comment, during which Shearen did not tear his gaze away from the man. After little while more, at last, he did, and allowed it to return to the workings of the pub.

"Does it really matter?" He asked, his voice sounding more somber than usual. He had a reason, but he was no so inclined to share, "And yes, I am aware of that." He added, eyes flickering for a split second toward the King, then returning to the crowd.

[Fál]

Fál drank the absinthe by sips. His eyes locking onto nothing in particular, and fading in and out of focus as his thoughts jumped from one set of importances to another. He would not feel the effects of the alcohol when he consumed so little, nor would he exhibit any signs. And though his plan was to get buzzed and have a good night out in this town in the middle of the grasslands. It was not to be, so he wouldn't push it further.

He should have taken it as an omen when Shearen walked in to sulk about his lot in life that his night of proposed promiscuity would come to a premature end. The guy should learn to drink. He thought to himself as he downed the rest -nearly half of what was originally there- of the absinthe in a single shot. The lopsided glass went back onto the table with a small clink.

"No, I suppose it doesn't really matter." Fàl thought out loud. "But I am a inquisitive creature by nature and I just cannot help but be curious."

Fál's eyes rested on Shearen. His apathetic nature was trying to bring down the king's mood. And he would rather have the rest of his eternity in wretchedness... Then another thought came to him. "If you're suffering already, what's the point of returning to the infernal world?"

He had begun mentally preparing for a leave of this town. It was nearing time to return to Divinous.