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“But, despite all that, you can’t say ‘shit’. You can kill people, but you can’t swear. In Hell. Where you don’t get anywhere without licking a few holes.”
Lauren?iu frowns, back into his completely serious demeanor. “That’s crass.”
“It’s crass, yes, but it’s true. The truth isn’t always pretty and clean.”
“You don’t need to be crude to tell the truth.”
“Yet, I think we’d both agree that the truth often is crude. Is it not?”
They receive odd looks from other patrons, and some linger.
Lauren?iu replies crisply, “Yes. My mother would kill me if she ever heard me say filthy words.” Aloud, at least. Paimon contemplates what must go on in that pretty head.
“I don’t understand this...” Paimon omits the last word. “Reservation you have, and I’m not sure I can ever quite entirely change my vocabulary.”
“I wouldn’t ever wish for you to, my king.” Right. A reminder of where they stand. “I only know that I can’t entirely change my vocabulary so easily either.”
“That’s fine. As long as you don’t try to go for sainthood and splash holy water on me.”
“It’d hurt me, too.”
There’s a coolness to Lauren?iu, a piece of him that’s impenetrable.
It must be precious to see him entirely unguarded.
The demon explains, “We ex-angels don’t always understand the different rights and wrongs humans place on themselves.”
Smoothly, Lauren?iu retorts, “Would God let you say ‘fuck’?” Thinking back on it, most of the fallen are more verbose and prone to purple prose than strings of expletives.
“See, it sounds nice when you say it. How does it feel?”
Lauren?iu blinks once, considering. “It doesn’t feel like anything.”
“Exactly. Words are words. There isn’t one more sinful than the other.”
As Paimon slips a C-note under his empty coffee mug, he looks up to observe the fly-killing stranger.
She’s gone.
Chapter 7
Lauren?iu
With the thrilling events of their first day of the quest and the deal, Paimon and he agree to stop at a motel for the night. Though they can travel by night outside the city, they imagine that they might receive more scrutiny from the militia. While they are in Terminus, they figure they must keep a low profile...ish at night.
As if he needs Paimon to kill somebody else, but he can’t deny the thrill when it happened. If he feeds soon, he’ll increase his powers, and they’ll be practically impossible.
If he feeds.
Otherwise, he’ll have this tinge of ennui, where the space behind his eyes is heavy.
And if it gets too much...
I’ll need to, sooner or later. The more I wait, the weaker I’ll get, and the less control I’ll have over myself. If I’m chiding King Paimon for killing someone, if I make myself go ravenous with hunger...
On a personal level, that’s the most frightening part. Losing himself, relinquishing control. His need to slake his thirst is like a rusted chain. Eventually, the chain will break.
It’s much more serious than Paimon’s own prodigious appetite, which he’s always found a little cute, if “cute” can be used for an ancient being. Which, well, it has now.
