Mephisto and the Killer JamIt was a normal day - or evening - in Hell. Not that anyone would be able to say what time it was exactly - the lack of sunlight being evident enough not to ask why. Anyway, it did not mean that demons did not have any notions of time. It has strictly nothing to do with this story, really. But it was so our readers won't wonder how do demons know when to have breakfast.
Indeed, demons have breakfast. And now, it did not exclusively consist of roasted babies, slices of liver fried in champagn, topped with virgin's blood. Though a higher demon would usually enjoy his share of human soul, if pure and filthy enough. It did not mean that Lucifer had a fridge. He just sent his slav- servant to get him what he wanted for breakfast. Today was strawberry jam, coffee (super-duper blacker than black, because yeah, he's epic like that) and toasts.
Sitting at the huge table for his food to arrive, Lucifer was tapping his claw- nails on the polished wood, trying to follow a tune he only half remembe
Arrowed be thy pantsCount Sandwich was lying on the counch in a most dignified manner - no, he was not strawled on the plushy cushions like a regular couch potato. And no, he was definitely not shoving pop-corn in his face like a kid in a cinema. No, he was definitely not behaving like some uncouth street urchin. He was just being his normal self away from the world, in a place where no one would see him. He knew that Ruthberg was away to do whatever he did in his free time and Dashwood was probably out with his sweetheart. The sheer thought almost made him spit out his junkfood. How dare this little punk go around and have fun while he was alone in that goddam house quite ? Still, it was not to say that he was not happy about those development. He was in fact pretty happy about it since it gave him plenty of time to watch TV and catch up on the latest fashion shows he could not watch because he was too occupied disciplining one or the other. Really, did those boys know just how tough it was for him to ed
Gamigin in his pantsCertainly, all great rulers have had their own share of dilemmas and inextricable situation. Pope Gamigin was no different, even though he was on many levels. Different, that is. Dilemmas usually went unnoticed, the Pope having a tendency to get rid off of anything contradicting his plans, be it men, necromancers, idiotic councillors he was a 'tyrant', so yeah... he doesn't exactly need any... - soldiers from other countries thinking they would never rise again under his orders should they get killed... even pieces of furnitures were not safe from Gamigin's wrath as this unfortunate mirror that ended up out of the window simply because he didn't like what he saw in it.
Strangely enough, his current lover stared at him in disbelief before shaking her head, muttering something under her breath. Luckily enough for her, she was indispensable to him notably on the field, so he did not rip her to shreds like he normally would have. In fact, there was something she could
Of Sweet Roses and Thorns 2 A young man in a crisp, white lab coat stepped into a pristine, white corridor, his shoes clicking quietly upon the stone floor.
St. Germant paused for a moment to enjoy the warm beam of sunlight that fell upon his shoulder from the lofty atrium above. His narrow chest widened as he took in a deep breath of the afternoon air. It was heavy with the pungent odor of disinfectant, an aroma unpleasantly sharp yet strangely comforting in its familiarity to him. It tickled his nose.
The royal laboratory was filled with sound. Chatter and the clinking and rustling and whirring of test tubes, documents, and machines behind the closed doors echoed throughout the bright, white hall in which the young mechanical engineer stood. Even the grand chandelier hanging above shook slightly from the commotion, the beautiful glasswork sparkling brightly in the beams of sun. Each glittered beautifully.
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