Impish

CHAPTER 8: FAMILY LUNCH

The inside of the diner reminds me of an Italian-themed restaurant like an Olive Garden or a Buca di Beppo, or some commercially-generated Texas-themed steakhouse, only more authentic. The sepia-toned photographs in mismatched frames on the wall seem real; the rusted signs on the wall seem like they were picked out of someone's grandpa's back shed. There's still a very corporate sense of being preyed-upon, but it isn't as intense as I would have expected from a place like this.

When we walk through the doors, it becomes increasingly clear that Doug is at home here. Despite his mostly-open shirt, waxed chest, and white bell bottoms, he looks like he stepped out of the photos stuck to the wall. It's something in the way he holds himself. It's hard to deny.

The bell chimes to signal our entry, and someone pokes their head out from the kitchen through a swinging door. I see a brief glimpse of horns before it shifts immediately to normal hair.

"I'll be right with you!" he calls. His voice is deep.

So that's the reason we're here, then. Doug has driven us into another pit of vipers and demons that might not be all too accepting of the mortality Roux and I share. He's brought us to another place that one of his little demon friends owns.

"Take your time!" Doug calls back. He looks at Roux and I and whispers, "The chef here? He makes the best goddamn milkshakes and burgers. They're always rich and full of flavor. I can't recommend it enough. I don't know what it is about demon-owned diners, but they're always great."

The other demon doesn't listen to Doug when he says to take his time. He sticks His head back out almost immediately, quickly followed by his body. He slinks out of the kitchen and approaches the host-podium near the front.

This demon is short and Karkat-like. He wears a long, white, pristine apron with a nametag pinned to it, reading "Ozunkalor" in straight black letters. The rest of his clothes, from his kitchen-safe no-slip work shoes to his t-shirt with the sleeves torn off, are different shades of black and different degrees of worn and frayed. The shirt seems to be the biggest contender in this category. That's understandable, though; I catch the edge of a Rancid logo on his chest as he walks over, led by his knees.

"Well, I'll be damned," Ozunkalor says, looking delighted. "Dugmithz! How the hell are you!"

"I'm good, I'm good! How's the missus?"

"Dead, actually. Dead and reigning over our little corner of Hell." He nods and his tongue burns a little as they say, "God, I miss her."

Doug nods, as well. "Well, give her my love when you see her next." He turns back to me. "Ozun fell in love with a human woman, much like your old man. Only difference is, she had a contract to become a demon when she died."

"She escaped eternal torment thanks to this guy, here! He manipulated all sorts of things for her." Ozun grins and leans on the podium. "But you didn't hear that from me. So, Dugmithz. Mithzy. What can I do ya for?"

"Well, I'm here with my kid and her-- sibling? Friend? Roux, what are you?"

"Both. I'm both." Roux is tense. Their shoulders are straight and their eyes scan every portrait on the wall as if they are looking for evidence or answers.

"Cool." Doug doesn't pause before turning back to Ozunkalor. "My kid and her sibling. That's who's here."

"Good to know. What can I get you?" Ozun grabs two menus from under the podium and starts walking backward toward a booth.

"You still have those special wing burgers on the menu? The ones with the other red meat?"

"You know it! Those are our best sellers!"