Kitchen Boy

II

Sebastian curls up his lip, the dusty pantry before him repellant. It disgusts him, the little specks of dust on the overhanging, rarely used equipment and the floor that hasn't been mopped in at least a day! He hovers like a phantom at the door whilst Clause telepathically calls on the triplets. "That Master of yours certainly is pedantic for you to have become so obsessive about cleaning," the Trancey butler snidely comments, picking the ingredients from the cupboards.

"Unlike some, I take pride in my work," Sebastian smiles with closed eyes, one that could almost be genuine. The other demon knows better. Whoever a demon smiles, even at something they find genuinely pleasing, there's always a sinister warning behind it. The promise of bloodshed and brutality. A smile is a threat back home in Hell. "I mean really, how could you allow these stains to remain?"

The stains are minuscule and invisible to the human eyes. However, the demons see them perfectly, standing out like neon flares against the dark oak tables. The triplets invade the kitchen with their mirror-reflective natures. Sebastian wonders what kind of creatures they are. Certainly nothing he's come across before - nothing native to Hell and not likely to Heaven either. They confuse him, and being unsure isn't something he's felt in a very long time.

Claude gathers some onions, washing them in a basic before beginning to efficiently and expertly chop.

"His Highness barely notices what's right in front of his eyes,"

"I bet," he steps forward, the cracking of his shoes audible on the hollow wooden floor. "He certainly remains deluded about your motivation. Come on, his soul must seem so dry after tasting that of my Master,"

The knife slips before his fingers. Claude stands stiffly. He simply stares at his chopped onions, fangs piercing through fragile human gums. He salivates, but under of human spit, black demon vile pours from his lips to form a grotesque dark puddle on the floor, the colour and texture of spilled ink. There's no sense in composing himself. He couldn't if he tried. "Please," he chokes. "Can yo make a start on the meat?"

"Of course," Sebastian acquiesces, walking over to the counter. The triplets bundle through the main doors, whispering briefly between one another. Their scent is spread between three, too erratic to discern a species or even an origin. "Spider, your lap dogs have arrived,"

Two gloves hands clap. "You two," to the ones on the far left. "Go and inform the young Masters that dinner will be prepared shortly. You-" to the third. "Clean up this mess," he points in feigned disgust and deep shame. For a demon to expose himself that way...it's dishonourable. Obscene. Compared to he blood dripping from the fangs of a vulgar vampire, or the scythe of a scumbag reaper.

Sebastian watches, thinking mildly to himself, so as not to be too optimistic. This may be more pleasant than expected.

"Well you've seen me at my most grotesque," Claude wipes his hands on a spare serviette. "How would you like to see something more perverse?"