The Pompous and The Prick

Chapter 1: Last Night

Their last conversation didn't end well. This was a rather common thing for Blitzø and Stolas, but it had been particularly awkward and Blitzø was feeling a little nervous approaching the mansion's front steps. All day as he worked in the living world, the full moon had loomed overhead; an unwavering reminder of the promise that had been made and the deal that had been struck. Time waits for no demon, and a deal was a deal, so he was determined to make Stolas forget all about his f**k ups and woo the pants off of that big bird . . . For the book, of course.

One hand held the book, while the other sported a rose. It had come from Stolas's own bushes of course, but even if he figured that out, it'd probably still have the desired effect. Blitzø stood in front of the door, checking his coat for blood. There was a lot, but it was all dry, so he wouldn't be staining the carpets with it. He practiced leaning on a pillar, and putting the rose in his mouth. Blood began to fill his mouth as the thorns pricked his gums. Well, not a great start. Gritting his teeth, he began taking the thorns off the stem one by one.

"Come on you little-" he stopped as the door suddenly opened in front of him, revealing a very sad Owl in a tattered old robe.

"Oh, uh . . . Hi." Blitzø said, quickly standing up straight, and shoving the rose into Stolas's face.

Sh*t, I wasn't ready.

The prince plucked the rose from Blitzø's hand, but no smile appeared on his face. Without a word he turned around and went back inside, leaving the door wide open with Blitzø standing on the other side. He gave a nervous gulp, and followed him in.

Stolas led him to the fancy-*ss dining hall where there was already a bottle of wine and glasses. Okay, Blitzø thought to himself, not too late to turn this around then.

"So, Stolas. . . What's cooking, good looking?"

Stolas took a seat at the head of the table, and began pouring himself a drink. It was then that Blitzø noticed the one already empty wine bottle on the floor. Ah. So maybe not salvageable after all.

"You know, if this is a bad time-"

Stolas gestured to the chair next to him, "Please, sit."

Blitzø complied, but found himself getting more nervous as he got closer to Stolas, who was staring at him with such sad eyes. He sat a couple chairs down.

". . . Did you get into another fight with your wife? That b**ch. I barely know anything about her, but she's seriously got a few screws loose. Whatever she said or did, you shouldn't take it-"

"It's not about Stella." Stolas interrupted, now looking like he was about to cry.

"Sh*t. Well, teenagers are tough. She probably just needs time to cool off-"

"Via is fine." Stolas said, looking away.

"Well, shoot. I'm out of guesses. Uh-"

"Really?!" Stolas stood from his chair with a burst, "Really. Is there no one else you can think of, in all the circles of hell I might care about enough to cry over?"

Ah, so he had been crying. What was Blitzø meant to say? What name was so important for him to know? What words could he give to Stolas that might comfort him? He'd say whatever he needed to if it brought a smile back to his face. . . So they could f**k and then he could keep the book, of course.

Stolas let out a long, weighted sigh, "Of course, not. It's my fault I suppose. Oh Blitzy, if I could go back and do it all again, say the right things, do things in a better order . . . I would." He reached out and touched his hand, "But no matter how much I can manipulate space, time will forever escape me; slipping through my fingers." He let go of his hand, and Blitzø felt like he was missing something that was staring at him in the face.