Post by Alexander Rostat on Jun 14, 2011 13:50:13 GMT -8
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=style,border: 1px dotted #3b607f; border-top: 3px solid #3b607f; border-bottom: 3px solid #3b607f; padding: 20px; text-align: center;][bg=c9c7be] LET ME introducemyself I'M A MAN OF WEALTH AND TASTE STOLE MANY A MAN'S SOUL & FAITH  Ker was a black Rottweiler with "a bit of red eye in photographs, and the stunning ability to both play fetch excellently, and wag his tail at petite, large-chested Asian girls that adored him when he was walked in the morning." He was also the Hellhound at Alexander's heels, a large bulky animal of pure muscle and evil intent, but it didn't mean he didn't roll over and like a treat every now and then. He was a dog, and he couldn't help himself. It was the domestic instinct in him. Alexander rather liked dogs though, and so he didn't go around complaining to Dad that his Hellhound became something of a glorified Bitch in the last X hundred years they'd been together. (Satan, however, Was Not So Pleased upon the news. Astaroth's argument was a blunt, "At least I didn't magic him into a lapdog. Imagine hell's minature poo-chi, my Lord.") He was his house pet-turned-guard dog, and he served his purposes when he needed to—maiming, biting, beheading, and all the duly cliched actions of devil's best friend. Scratching below his muzzle, Alexander stopped to take a seat on a park bench that edged the stone stage snaking the fountain, and assumed he'd done enough walking for one half an hour. Half an hour was peachy keen, as far as he cared about it. Contemplating a good—and long, he needed it, since he'd recently been the recipient of a verbal beating from a very unhappy letter that belonged to his landlady—smoke, he rustled through his trench coat pockets and tugged a box of cigarettes free. Fire springing to life above the lighter, he pressed it between his teeth and blew while Ker stood vigilant. Even worse than annoying humans, however, were uppity demons, and Devil's Alliance was brimming with expectations he should have been meeting but didn't have the ambition (or whatever else he called it) to spend time on. Given his exceptionally large age gap, Astaroth had been an unwilling participant in plenty of wars—and here were these kids, making as though they had the right to dictate him. Didn't they teach them to respect the elderly during all their years in Hell, and he shrugged it off easily, figuring they were just very attached to the idea of fighting for a cause. To him, this was primarily an attempt to find out more about his brother, and done because Satan still couldn't get the stick out of his ass about tying with their bastard, saint of a Grandad yet again. Nothing new, even if some aspects weren't necessarily exactly the same. Dutifully indifferent to the idea, he watched the smoke tumble and scatter into the air above his head. Alex loved the predictability of wars between Heaven and Hell. God and Satan would get in a bit of a tussle over land rights, instigate an accidental hundred-thousand death or two, build an empire—and lose the whole fucking empire by the end of the war. 'Almost like a badly organized game of Risk. Excusing a sorrowful lack of respectable drinking games after. Ours are something more akin to a confused pity party, unless the Germans get involved somehow.' |
Honestly, he didn't know what they were fighting over. Heaven might have advertised itself wonderfully, but hell? Hell filled up much quicker. No good priest goes around preaching that "there's too many of us in God's Realm! Not enough space, convert somebody into a sinner over yonder to get points, and be at peace. God messenger out." Or another such thing, as Alexander was not an expert on the etiquette practiced in churches for obvious reasons, and he yawned while idly fixing his tie.
'. . . Daemon, you're making my life harder than it needed to be. Here's to the idea that you're all right,' and Alexander took another drag—perhaps more nervous somewhere deep inside him, but no one could have known from the perky look on his face. He was a man of carefully crafted expressions, after all; the Devil always needs to go incognito.[/div][/td][/tr][/table][/center]
