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And today, there was a crowd buzzing away, though it was one not forthcoming with any interesting information, outside signaling the arrival of fresh blood--a good batch today, it seemed. It was in Hell that she positioned herself to observe the day. She had nothing to specifically watch out for, merely seeking to soak in the energies, animosity, sounds of voracious slurps and contented, shivering sighs through pointed teeth--not much different than sun bathing. She found she did not mind the atmosphere too terribly either, perched as high as she was. Although "perched" may be the wrong word, for she lacked the intimidating leer and coiled-to-strike readiness of a gargoyle or a cobra. Instead, she was on her stomach, legs crossed and bent at the knees, sprawled about arms barely concealing the lower half of her face. Even her tail was mainly stagnant, flicking only from time to time like a zebra batting away flies (which may have been precisely what it was doing). Illustrating the very picture of sloth was the succubus's goal in life, it seemed. Her ankles switched positions, other above the one.
She did not budge (though there was a determinedly slow movement between the eyelids) even when a damned one meandered unsuspectingly, dangerously, into a crumbling shack her current roost was likely meant to safeguard. Oh, he was certainly a baby among longer legs, still in clothes barely unkempt--and she should know of unkempt clothes. It would be much too easy to pluck him free of a pulsating organ should he be lacking that glint of a weapon. "Best you be on your way, beloved," she crooned quietly.
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