To Hell With It

Tuesday, August 23rd, 2016 08:56 pm
sunsetmondays: salad (Default)
[personal profile] sunsetmondays posting in [community profile] mindcracklove
This short thing shall be my contribution to AUGUST. The premise was inspired by Arkas' rather, ahem, 'artful' Dutch rapping during a stream, and a prompt from /r/writingpropmts. Once I get some other more monstrous fics out of the way, I may end up making a short series of this. If that happens, this can safely be assumed to be a preface of sorts to said series. Til then, it stands as is.

Enjoy!


The first thing Arkas does is scream, although squeal would probably be the more appropriate term. Then, in a flurry of splashing water and flailing limbs, he procures a false sense of decency behind the shower curtain he hastily wraps around himself and promptly fails to come to terms with the fact that a man has just promptly appeared in the middle of his bathroom. Interrupting his leisurely shower and highly questionable Dutch karaoke nonetheless.

"It's about time," says the stranger who interrupted his shower, "and a pleasure to finally meet you my humble master."

Arkas stares, wide-eyed and speechless. The shower continues to spray upon him, leaving him looking somewhat like a very soggy and frightened kitten. "Your what?" he eventually manages to squeak out, after a good minute of staring.

"My humble master," says the man. He crosses his arms defensively. "What else am I to call you? You are the one who summoned me after all."

"Summon you?"

"Summon me," he confirms, mouth falling to a perplexed frown. "You spoke the words and spilt unclean water upon a desecrated holy symbol, didn't you?"

Arkas looks down at the tiles underfoot. "You mean that one cracked tile that kind of looks like a cross someone attacked with a chainsaw? That was Pyro's fault, ya know," he defends rather boisterously.

It is only then that the man takes stock of the room and notices the very naked state of his summoner and the rather unconventional ritual ground. He shakes his head and sighs. 'I just had to get the post-modernist wixen, didn't I. Well, I guess you'll do. I'll let you clean up and then we can start discussing your plans."

He exits the room, leaving a very perplexed Arkas still clutching the shower curtain like a makeshift shield. "Okay…" he says to his reflection. Weirder things have happened, right?

When Arkas finally makes his way out of the shower, after a long period of self-reflection and a shocking bout of cold water, he finds the stranger examining an assortment of drawings that were tossed across the coffee table. 'These buildings, are they where you plan to undertake your nefarious deeds?" the stranger asks.

Arkas makes a leap for the papers and tries to brush them out of view. Rough sketches of various buildings peek between the sheets. "Oh! They're nothing. Just some designs I was working on."

The stranger lifts an eyebrow and goes to pick one up before Arkas knocks his hand away. "Unholy designs?"

"Err, some like to call them that, especially when trying to get me fired but who are you anyway?"

"Oh, where are my manners," says the man, looking rather offended at his apparent lack of courtesy. He promptly reaches out a hand for Arkas to shake. "I'm Pakratt, lesser demon of the seventh hell."

He shakes Pakratt's unusually warm hand, feeling heady from the heat of his shower. "I'm, uh- Arkas. Budding architect and slave to my supervisor?" He rubs at his temple and contemplates actually sitting down.

"Enslavement?! That's no place for a budding lord such as yourself. Is that your first order of business? To destroy this supervisor of yours?" The man pulls a notebook out from inside his suit jacket and begins making notes in a bright red ink.

"I mean, that _would_ be nice but-"

"Then we shall send him to the deepest pits of hell," Pakratt says matter-of-factly. His eyes gleam, looking unnaturally orange for their amber shade.

"- I kinda need him to get that promotion."

"New order of business: get you a promotion, then destroy the supervisor." He claps his hands and rubs them together. "It shall be done."

Arkas slumps on a nearby couch with a heavy thud. The morning sun casts an oddly unearthly glow across his skin. Pakratt sits himself in the wicker chair opposite. "What did you say you do, again?" asks Arkas, his mouth feeling suddenly dry.

"I'm a lesser demon of the seventh hell, of course," he answers without missing a beat. A steaming mug with 'Hell's #1 Demon' printed on the side in plain black text appears in his hand. He holds it towards Arkas. "Coffee?"

"Demon… of the seventh hell," Arkas repeats. "I'm think I'm gonna go back to bed."

Pakratt smiles a knowing smile and takes a sip of the coffee. "By any chance are you a vampire?"

~ ~ ~ 
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