It had been a long day in Hell. He had been raking in the sinners lately, and of course it was her job to keep a record of them all.
"So none of them slip away," he would explain with that toothy, sleazey smile when she asked, for the millionth time, why she needed to chronicle each soul that entered his fiery domain.
"The clipboard is getting heavy," she pointed out, and he was courteous enough to look back at the wagon and the panting demons in it's harness. "I will need another."
"It's on my to-do list," he promised, patting the digital-personal-organiser in the pocket of his shirt. She'd given it to him for Christmas. She knew he didn't use it.
"I'll be needing another shipment of pens, too," she added, "The scribes go through so many that it just isn't funny any more."
"Then make them write in blood!" He snarled. "Money doesn't grow on trees, you know!"
Mirith sighed. He would bring it back to money.
"Don't talk to me like you're on a tight budget," she replied firmly, straightening his tie despite his protests that it was fine, not too loose at all, was she trying to kill him or something? "I'm the one who oversees the accounts, after all."
"Mir, honey, darling," he crooned, pushing her hands away and putting his arm around her shoulder. "What would I do without you? I know you work hard and you just don't get enough credit for what you do. Would you like a raise? I think I need to give you a raise."
"Please," she rolled her eyes. "You can't afford a box of pens but you can raise my salary? What's the point? I'm going to be here forever anyway. And don't try to charm your way out of this, either."
"I am charming, aren't I?" He smiled widely, white teeth gleaming in the bloody light. Someone not so far away screamed.
"And handsome," she replied, because they both knew it.
"Would you say I was - devilishly handsome?" He prodded, and she couldn't help but laugh, even though it was far from the first time he'd made that same joke. She could remember the first time, if she concentrated. It was a long time ago, countless generations ago; she'd been alive, then, and foolish enough to frequent shady bars after dark. He'd been masquerading as a mortal man that night (he often did) and had like the 'cut of her jib', as he so eloquently put it. She'd been little impressed by this supposed drunken sailor, but he really was handsome, yes devilishly so, and she had always been a sucker for a flirt.
"Pens," she repeated firmly, "And a new clipboard."
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2 comments:
Hahaha.
I always like relationships like there where they both can verbally spar to one another.
It was delightful and it didn't seemed forced, but it didn't feel as if you had the luck of a flow.
Flow is something that either happens or doesn't :)
I don't tend to put a lot of effort into my wordfill posts, since they're more about getting something written than writing masterpieces.
I'm glad it didn't seem forced, though, it didn't feel forced when I wrote it which is always a bonus. :)
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