Satan's Little Helper

X X V - [ C H R I S T I A N A ]

"SO YOU ARE the one appointed by my son to be his right hand." Daemon's father—Draven—says, looking me up and down. "I'm impressed, you've survived the first three circles when no one else have."

"So I've heard—" I start, but he doesn't seem to be finished and cuts me off.

"And you're a human nonetheless," Nodding in approval, he lets a grin that is strikingly similar to Daemon's creep onto his face. "I see that my son's capable of choosing what's best for him now."

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow at him.

Draven looks somewhat taken aback by my words, but instead of getting furious, the amusement in his eyes seem to grow instead. "My, you've got quite an attitude there, haven't you? I didn't know that Daemon had a liking towards girls who fight back."

"Neither do I," I deadpan, not understanding the point of this conversation. "So what is it that I'm supposed to be doing here, again?"

"Ah, yes. That." He replies, looking as if he had genuinely forgotten about my purpose in the Circle. "You are here to—"

"DRAVEN!"

Draven takes in a deep breath before sighing and raising one finger out in front of him to indicate that I should wait. He then swivels his head at the direction of the sound and says, "Yes, father?"

My eyes widen in alarm. Another one from the Lucifer line?

"Are you talking to yourself again?" Comes the reply from... Daemon's grandfather?

"No, father, I'm talking to Daemon's right hand." Draven answers, a light shade of pink tinting his cheeks.

"Daemon's right hand, you say?"

All of a sudden, a figure appears beside Draven and he scoots over to make room for his own father. As the dark mist clears up, it reveals a man who looks about the same age as Draven himself, but with stronger features that perhaps make him look a couple years older. Still, though, the first thought I get when I see him is this: Daemon's grandfather is handsome.

And as wrong and utterly strange the words sound, there is no use denying it because it is, in fact, mere observation that I presume no one would be able to argue with.

"Hello there, my dear. I am Draven's father, Lucifer." He introduces himself, one hand extended towards me.

I take his hand and shake it. "So you are... Daemon's grandfather?" I reluctantly ask, not wanting to agitate him.

"Yes, I suppose you can call me the grandfather of your lover. Though I must say, I despise being called a grandfather, it makes me feel so old."

I want to point out the fact that Daemon isn't my lover, but Draven states first, "Father, you're over two thousand years old. You are old."

Daemon's grandfather ignores him and turns to me instead. "Dear, do I look old?"

"Uhm, no, Sir." I answer immediately, because in all honesty, he doesn't look that old, not really.

A smug grin appears on his face as he turns to Draven. He pats him hard on the shoulders, saying, "See, boy? Just because I'm two thousand five hundred and twelve years old doesn't mean I look it."

"Of course not, father, we're demons. We don't age." Draven sighs, rubbing his temples as if he had gotten a headache.

Just like Daemon, I think, but quickly shake my was to drive the thoughts away.

It's weird that these demons seem so... Human, what with all their oh-so-normal conversations and humane actions. They don't even particularly appear to be that threatening, so it's rather hard to imagine them as former rulers of Hell. I've got a feeling, however, that when they don't get things the way they want, I will eat my words about them not being a threat.