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ARGOSS
Briarwood’s community center could do without two things if you ask me. First, the deep blue party streamers tacked to the carpet walls, since the illusion does not make us guests believe we’re ‘under the sea,’ just poor and on a budget. Which we are not.
And second, the orphaned children doing the tacking. Let’s change that. Because ripples happen at the surface, not beneath the depths.
Garbage aim and lousy focus, that's what I’m looking at. And neither of these things has ever crushed an enemy. What are these foolish adult humans thinking, delegating to the orphaned younglings like they have?
“When it’s our turn to be served, wipe the RBF off your face,” Greiko, my business partner and friend, suggests as we wait in the serving line. It’s a common enough complaint that I already know RBF stands for Resting Bitch Face. “Try not to look everywhere when they talk to you, either. We’re supposed to be schmoozing with the other elites tonight. Best behavior.”
The swamp monster, or swampster as they prefer to be called, points around to the other guests. They’re mostlybusiness owners like us, those with deep pockets and an image to maintain.
“Elites is such a strong word,” I grumble, gesturing to the crowd with a hand.
Well, theillusionof my hand. An illusion that I have come to perfect to the point that I can barely see beyond it to the marbled, black-silver skin beneath. So far, very few supernaturals or humans can see through my illusion without great effort, though my demon origin is no secret.
“Just fix the dead eyes,” he insists.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes, which does nothing but add fuel to the fire when we’re in public like this anyway. Greiko is an easy dude, he’s just got this obsession with looking good to everyone. Or what he calls, ‘moral.’ Which I call ‘a personal decision that’s open to interpretation.’
I take a slow breath in and try to look like I’m magically not what I am. A demon with only so many facial expressions in his repertoire so far in his Topside experience. I could be doing worse things. Tons of my relatives did. They’re some of my favorite family stories growing up.
“Want to hear a cool story?” I ask.
“Is it about a demon you know who forced some supernatural into serving in the underworld?”
Force is such a strong word. He asks this as if these customers aren’t getting something in exchange.
Mostly extended years Topside, which isn’t much of a hard trade for a High Demon. We can live half a dozen millennia or so easily. And 12,000 years average means everyone I know is, or was, rich to these people.
“No,” I reply, happy to tell the truth and break stereotypes.
“What about a human?” he asks. Damn it. I hate follow up questions.
“Fine. Don’t learn about Picasso.”
“Fine, I won’t.” He smiles a cheesy, toothy grin my way.
I can’t believe we’re waiting in line for food like we aren’t the guests of honor. Sure, we’re not serving ourselves, which is great, but would it hurt anyone to plan in advance? Take orders ahead of time and let us sit?
“The way my father courted him for tutelage is a masterclass of strength and fortitude against all odds.” I gaze into the crowd, then back to the buffet table in the near distance.
“I just said I didn’t want to hear it,” Greiko snaps.
“You have the loudest scowl in the world.”
Greiko tells me to hold his place while he schmoozes with a few peers. I watch and wave but make no move to join the trio of humans laughing at Greiko’s jokes.
Briarwood is a blended big-town-turned-small-city, where supernaturals and humans have been cohabitating for centuries. And mostly to the benefit of all.
It’s good and bad for my kind in the end. A High Demon living Topside, casting a human illusion or not, is hardly a nightmare. So rather than appearing as a towering, chiseled warrior with wings and horns, I’m the human version of tall, dark, and handsome.
Some demons do leave home without a human projection. Most supernaturals are more or less okay living side by side with the likes of us. So long as we can’t – or won’t – use the worst of our gifts aggressively. There’s no need to banish something back to the underworld that isn’t a threat. Unless you’re a bigot or something.
But maybe a secret is the reason I’ve only strengthened my façade, while others like me embrace their true forms. I do have something to hide. And I welcome no one to figure it out.
The only reason I’m here is because I’m an incredible friend. The piano bar is doing great and so are both the clubs we own in Leviathsport. Our other joint investments, mostly stocks andbusiness loans, are getting better every day. They’re the ones who should be schmoozing with us.
