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The little purple demon crawled up onto the back of his chair, which didnāt really please Cyr, but he said nothing. An argument broke out between the little demon and the tall woman, but it quickly simmered into quietness. Bez hopped up, cheerfulness taut on her face, and wandered into her room. It was as if a bubble had burst, and the gravity that had gathered them all here suddenly set them loose. The tall woman, Vivian, trailed after her. The white haired one, Myut, also got up and returned to his room. Cyrās eyes flicked back to him, watching him leave. Myut. An interesting name. The small purple demon, Ino, also climbed down from the back of the chair and returned to his room. The angry little demon, Eris, seemed content to stay put, however, shooting another glare his way.
Cyr sighed, leaning back in his chair now that someone else wasnāt occupying it. His eyes swept over the room. He was the only one who hadnāt said his name. Not that it bothered him much. Perhaps it would be fun to be a little mysterious.~ Cyr felt his mind begin to wander. Now was not the time, but he really couldnāt help himself. How would it go? Leaning against the wall, letting himself loom just a little over the other. Watching his throat bob prettily. The tip of his tongue, perhaps, poked out just slightly, as if hesitating to wet his lips. Asking his name in that low voice~ Or perhaps the woman? Sheād take the lead. Her hand would ghost over his bicep, catch his wrist, force him to turn towards her. Sheād push his shoulder and demand it. She did have such a pretty mouthā¦ Even the little purple demon~ who knew what heād do? Hook a finger through a belt-loop and look up at him? Settle a dainty hand on his lower chest and beg for it with those large eyes?
Cyr shook his head. They were in a serious situation. Now wasnāt the time to be thinking about romantic interludes and playful flirtations. Even though he was missing the last night of the gala. The one that was always the best--the rowdiest, the drunkest, the most handsy night. And he was here, sitting on a chair, instead of drunkenly getting himself ready for another night of debauchery before he was debachelored. Cyr sighed, but his sudden moodiness was interrupted by Bezabelleās voice. Asking him for a shirt.
āWhat,ā he called out teasingly as he crossed the room to his door. Hers was across from his, next to where the door had opened up and spat everyone out. He didnāt like the thought of her being so close to the front, but he knew she could handle herself. She was strong and smart, even though he couldnāt help but think of her as small and delicate and important to protect. Cyr dug through his suitcase, which had been haphazardly filled--probably by the guards--trying to find a clean shirt for her. Heād packed enough for two weeks, since he seemed to go through shirts here like wine. He tossed all his already worn or stained shirts into a pile in the corner, and spread out the three he still had that were clean, not including two t-shirts from earth heād packed just in case. So he brought Bez a black button down with a long line of small ivory buttons, and also a paint-splattered navy t-shirt with a stylized cityscape sprawled across it, sharp, jagged words stamped across the chest in English. āCrunchy Steven.ā He wasnāt sure exactly what that meant to the humans, but he liked to snag those shirts with strange sayings whenever he could on Earth. Whichever one she didnāt pick, he tossed back onto his bed. They were both large enough that theyād probably come down to her knees. It was a charming look.
When he returned to his room to drop off the other shirt, he took a few minutes to sort the rest of his things into the wardrobe. If the guards had thought to bring them their things, certainly they were going to be here for more than a night. Best to not let his things get too wrinkled.
It didnāt bother him, the open door, as he slipped off his rumpled shirt and dropped his pants, changing into a loose pair of flannels. For politenessās sake, he pulled on an undershirt--a tight white tank-top. No need to run around the main room without a shirt. The little purple demonās head would probably explode. He also grabbed one of the books heād brought with him. There was little downtime at the galaās, but this year, heād decided perhaps it would be wise to fill any quiet moments with distractions. And these books had been his favorite when he was younger. Pilfered from Earth or gifts from humans heād encountered there.
Cyr curled up comfortably in his armchair again, one leg under him and one leg hooked over the arm of the chair. He read for a while, fingers tracing the worn, annotated pages of the novel. Other demons flitted in and out. The little angry one, Eris, vanished into her own room, and the banging that followed attracted Bez and Val. Cyr glanced up, watching a sheet fall over the doorway. Perhaps a clever idea. The conversation within became muffled. He shook his head. Seemed like Bez knew the little angry girl too?
Exertion sounds from the other side of the room then caught his attention. His eyes quickly took stock of who was still out, and he slowly rose with a catlike grace that contradicted his size. Seemed like it was coming from Myutās room? Cyr crossed to sit at the large table that took up the middle of the floor, catching a momentary glance of the white haired demon working out on his own in his room. Well, that would help explain why he was so fit, wouldnāt it. Cyr settled down in the chair, occasionally letting himself get distracted from his book. Before long, however, the tall woman approached him, distracting him properly.
She proposed an arm wrestling competition. Cyr smirked up at her. She was quite pretty. She had to be a pride demon, though judging by the tilt of her head and the set of her jaw. Cyr agreed. Her cocksure attitude was just as attractive as the slender but solid curve of her hip. So they arm-wrestled. He gave it a good fight, but he wanted to see what sheād look like if she won, so he slowly gave way to her. But she saw through that, apparently, and whacked his arm, demanding they go again. The second time, he could feel her giving it her all, but he remained firm until she slaked slightly, then pushed her hand down. She frowned and glared at him.
Was there no winning?
When she stalked off, Ino approached, stealing her seat. He smiled slightly wanly. What did the little demon want? Just to talk about exercising. Apparently he liked to run, but he was impressed by Cyrās weight lifting. Cyr let his gaze wander over Inoās shoulder, where he could still occasionally see Myut moving around, but then it snapped back to the smaller demonās face, and he smiled. He could still feel all that energy wavering off the other, but it seemed he was trying to remain polite this time. Cyr relaxed slightly. In return, he let himself become a little flirtier, playfully responding, letting his gaze linger over the smaller demonās fine-boned features. He really was quite pretty.
After Ino seemed sated by their discussion, he bid his leave, though he lingered nearby. Cyr went back to his book. He was almost finished with it when another distraction appeared in the doorway to Myutās room.
Cyr felt his mouth go slightly dry as he watched the white haired demon wipe his face with the bottom of his shirt, showing off his abs, which gleamed lightly with sweat. He couldnāt help the soft sigh that escaped his chest. Damn. He could feel his heart twist in his chest. Why did it always betray him in situations like this?
Not too long after, he couldnāt help but trail behind when Myut wandered over to stare at the fire, tea-cup in hand. After some sleuthing, he discovered that the lack of hot water had the white-haired demon down. So he took it upon himself to knock on Erisās wall and ask her to heat the water. Which she did, after some snappish complaining. The soft, dreamy look the greed demon gave him, the steam from his freshly heated tea wreathing his face, made Cyrās heart twinge. He wanted to see that face more. How was it that someone could be so fit, but still have such a pretty face?
Their eyes met for a moment, but then Cyr jumped slightly as Myut made an anguished sound. There were no books on the bookshelf. None at all. Before he could really remember that all the books heād brought were fantasy romance, with damsels in distress, mythical creatures, and strong men with big swords to save them. Some of them were from earth, and others from hell, but theyād all been well worn and well loved over the years. They were like comfort food to him now, he couldnāt help it. Some of them still sported scribbled writings in the margins that pined for that sort of romance. ...maybe he should have pruned those ones out before he brought his whole little satchel over to Myut so he could take any if he desired.
Thankfully, his bashfulness over his books was quickly distracted by watching Myutās long, slender yet firm hands caress one of his books. He almost missed the demonās thanks, the claim that he owed him now. Cyr shook his head with a faint smile. āReally, Iām not keeping score,ā he murmured. And if he was, heād probably owe Myut, considering how he couldnāt help but steal glances of him whenever he was nearbyā¦speaking of which, his eyes traced Myutās back as he strode away, back into his room. Cyr returned to his own room as well, managing to hide his grin until he was putting his satchel back into his suitcase. He covered his face with his hand, feeling giddy. It went so well! He hadnāt realized how fast his heart was beating until just now, when happiness overwhelmed him. Everything else could be terrible, but he had this for now, and that was enough.
He needed to figure out what else this demon liked so he could bring him more gifts.
Cyr returned to the sofa, now that it had been vacated. It seemed some of the others were retiring properly to their rooms, perhaps, to sleep, and it felt too strange to be peering directly into someone elseās bedroom. Without permission, at least. Cyr felt himself nodding after a while, hardly able to focus on the words on the page. The fire had died to embers, and the only light in the room were the half-dimmed ones above. Once heād finished, he looked around, as if emerging from a deep sleep, to realize that he was alone in the main room. Everyone else had gone to their rooms. Perhaps to bed. He should as well. Cyr shuffled off to curl up, enjoying a fitful sleep, full of uncomfortable dreams of half-whispered, unintelligible words. He woke to the same half-dark heād fallen asleep to.
When he lumbered out of his room to check on the others, see if anyone else was awake or in trouble, he spotted Bezās head backlit against the sputtering remnants of the fire and the soft moon-lit glow from the windows. He joined her on the couch with soft words. He could tell she was worried, even if she kept a cheerful attitude up. He understood that. So they just chatted quietly about nothing and everything. Her new beau. Everything that had happened since the last time they talked. As it turned out, she knew everyone here. But yet, he couldnāt convince her to tell him more about the white haired demon. Heād just have to figure it out on his own. Tragic. After some more quiet conversation, he left her again, with a last reminder that he was always there to support her if she needed it, as she had done for him in the past. He couldnāt tell if she smiled in the dark.
After another restless sleep, Cyr woke and tried to fix his hair in the bathroom. Which was made far more difficult by the fact that he had no mirror, and the sink was far too small to stick his head into. Eventually, he came out, hair wet, still wearing the tank top and soft pants he had been the night before. Today seemed like a comfort over beauty kind of day, after all. Some of the others were already out, and he offered them smiles as he crossed the room to look out one of the windows, into the pretty little garden beyond.
Cyr sighed, leaning back in his chair now that someone else wasnāt occupying it. His eyes swept over the room. He was the only one who hadnāt said his name. Not that it bothered him much. Perhaps it would be fun to be a little mysterious.~ Cyr felt his mind begin to wander. Now was not the time, but he really couldnāt help himself. How would it go? Leaning against the wall, letting himself loom just a little over the other. Watching his throat bob prettily. The tip of his tongue, perhaps, poked out just slightly, as if hesitating to wet his lips. Asking his name in that low voice~ Or perhaps the woman? Sheād take the lead. Her hand would ghost over his bicep, catch his wrist, force him to turn towards her. Sheād push his shoulder and demand it. She did have such a pretty mouthā¦ Even the little purple demon~ who knew what heād do? Hook a finger through a belt-loop and look up at him? Settle a dainty hand on his lower chest and beg for it with those large eyes?
Cyr shook his head. They were in a serious situation. Now wasnāt the time to be thinking about romantic interludes and playful flirtations. Even though he was missing the last night of the gala. The one that was always the best--the rowdiest, the drunkest, the most handsy night. And he was here, sitting on a chair, instead of drunkenly getting himself ready for another night of debauchery before he was debachelored. Cyr sighed, but his sudden moodiness was interrupted by Bezabelleās voice. Asking him for a shirt.
āWhat,ā he called out teasingly as he crossed the room to his door. Hers was across from his, next to where the door had opened up and spat everyone out. He didnāt like the thought of her being so close to the front, but he knew she could handle herself. She was strong and smart, even though he couldnāt help but think of her as small and delicate and important to protect. Cyr dug through his suitcase, which had been haphazardly filled--probably by the guards--trying to find a clean shirt for her. Heād packed enough for two weeks, since he seemed to go through shirts here like wine. He tossed all his already worn or stained shirts into a pile in the corner, and spread out the three he still had that were clean, not including two t-shirts from earth heād packed just in case. So he brought Bez a black button down with a long line of small ivory buttons, and also a paint-splattered navy t-shirt with a stylized cityscape sprawled across it, sharp, jagged words stamped across the chest in English. āCrunchy Steven.ā He wasnāt sure exactly what that meant to the humans, but he liked to snag those shirts with strange sayings whenever he could on Earth. Whichever one she didnāt pick, he tossed back onto his bed. They were both large enough that theyād probably come down to her knees. It was a charming look.
When he returned to his room to drop off the other shirt, he took a few minutes to sort the rest of his things into the wardrobe. If the guards had thought to bring them their things, certainly they were going to be here for more than a night. Best to not let his things get too wrinkled.
It didnāt bother him, the open door, as he slipped off his rumpled shirt and dropped his pants, changing into a loose pair of flannels. For politenessās sake, he pulled on an undershirt--a tight white tank-top. No need to run around the main room without a shirt. The little purple demonās head would probably explode. He also grabbed one of the books heād brought with him. There was little downtime at the galaās, but this year, heād decided perhaps it would be wise to fill any quiet moments with distractions. And these books had been his favorite when he was younger. Pilfered from Earth or gifts from humans heād encountered there.
Cyr curled up comfortably in his armchair again, one leg under him and one leg hooked over the arm of the chair. He read for a while, fingers tracing the worn, annotated pages of the novel. Other demons flitted in and out. The little angry one, Eris, vanished into her own room, and the banging that followed attracted Bez and Val. Cyr glanced up, watching a sheet fall over the doorway. Perhaps a clever idea. The conversation within became muffled. He shook his head. Seemed like Bez knew the little angry girl too?
Exertion sounds from the other side of the room then caught his attention. His eyes quickly took stock of who was still out, and he slowly rose with a catlike grace that contradicted his size. Seemed like it was coming from Myutās room? Cyr crossed to sit at the large table that took up the middle of the floor, catching a momentary glance of the white haired demon working out on his own in his room. Well, that would help explain why he was so fit, wouldnāt it. Cyr settled down in the chair, occasionally letting himself get distracted from his book. Before long, however, the tall woman approached him, distracting him properly.
She proposed an arm wrestling competition. Cyr smirked up at her. She was quite pretty. She had to be a pride demon, though judging by the tilt of her head and the set of her jaw. Cyr agreed. Her cocksure attitude was just as attractive as the slender but solid curve of her hip. So they arm-wrestled. He gave it a good fight, but he wanted to see what sheād look like if she won, so he slowly gave way to her. But she saw through that, apparently, and whacked his arm, demanding they go again. The second time, he could feel her giving it her all, but he remained firm until she slaked slightly, then pushed her hand down. She frowned and glared at him.
Was there no winning?
When she stalked off, Ino approached, stealing her seat. He smiled slightly wanly. What did the little demon want? Just to talk about exercising. Apparently he liked to run, but he was impressed by Cyrās weight lifting. Cyr let his gaze wander over Inoās shoulder, where he could still occasionally see Myut moving around, but then it snapped back to the smaller demonās face, and he smiled. He could still feel all that energy wavering off the other, but it seemed he was trying to remain polite this time. Cyr relaxed slightly. In return, he let himself become a little flirtier, playfully responding, letting his gaze linger over the smaller demonās fine-boned features. He really was quite pretty.
After Ino seemed sated by their discussion, he bid his leave, though he lingered nearby. Cyr went back to his book. He was almost finished with it when another distraction appeared in the doorway to Myutās room.
Cyr felt his mouth go slightly dry as he watched the white haired demon wipe his face with the bottom of his shirt, showing off his abs, which gleamed lightly with sweat. He couldnāt help the soft sigh that escaped his chest. Damn. He could feel his heart twist in his chest. Why did it always betray him in situations like this?
Not too long after, he couldnāt help but trail behind when Myut wandered over to stare at the fire, tea-cup in hand. After some sleuthing, he discovered that the lack of hot water had the white-haired demon down. So he took it upon himself to knock on Erisās wall and ask her to heat the water. Which she did, after some snappish complaining. The soft, dreamy look the greed demon gave him, the steam from his freshly heated tea wreathing his face, made Cyrās heart twinge. He wanted to see that face more. How was it that someone could be so fit, but still have such a pretty face?
Their eyes met for a moment, but then Cyr jumped slightly as Myut made an anguished sound. There were no books on the bookshelf. None at all. Before he could really remember that all the books heād brought were fantasy romance, with damsels in distress, mythical creatures, and strong men with big swords to save them. Some of them were from earth, and others from hell, but theyād all been well worn and well loved over the years. They were like comfort food to him now, he couldnāt help it. Some of them still sported scribbled writings in the margins that pined for that sort of romance. ...maybe he should have pruned those ones out before he brought his whole little satchel over to Myut so he could take any if he desired.
Thankfully, his bashfulness over his books was quickly distracted by watching Myutās long, slender yet firm hands caress one of his books. He almost missed the demonās thanks, the claim that he owed him now. Cyr shook his head with a faint smile. āReally, Iām not keeping score,ā he murmured. And if he was, heād probably owe Myut, considering how he couldnāt help but steal glances of him whenever he was nearbyā¦speaking of which, his eyes traced Myutās back as he strode away, back into his room. Cyr returned to his own room as well, managing to hide his grin until he was putting his satchel back into his suitcase. He covered his face with his hand, feeling giddy. It went so well! He hadnāt realized how fast his heart was beating until just now, when happiness overwhelmed him. Everything else could be terrible, but he had this for now, and that was enough.
He needed to figure out what else this demon liked so he could bring him more gifts.
Cyr returned to the sofa, now that it had been vacated. It seemed some of the others were retiring properly to their rooms, perhaps, to sleep, and it felt too strange to be peering directly into someone elseās bedroom. Without permission, at least. Cyr felt himself nodding after a while, hardly able to focus on the words on the page. The fire had died to embers, and the only light in the room were the half-dimmed ones above. Once heād finished, he looked around, as if emerging from a deep sleep, to realize that he was alone in the main room. Everyone else had gone to their rooms. Perhaps to bed. He should as well. Cyr shuffled off to curl up, enjoying a fitful sleep, full of uncomfortable dreams of half-whispered, unintelligible words. He woke to the same half-dark heād fallen asleep to.
When he lumbered out of his room to check on the others, see if anyone else was awake or in trouble, he spotted Bezās head backlit against the sputtering remnants of the fire and the soft moon-lit glow from the windows. He joined her on the couch with soft words. He could tell she was worried, even if she kept a cheerful attitude up. He understood that. So they just chatted quietly about nothing and everything. Her new beau. Everything that had happened since the last time they talked. As it turned out, she knew everyone here. But yet, he couldnāt convince her to tell him more about the white haired demon. Heād just have to figure it out on his own. Tragic. After some more quiet conversation, he left her again, with a last reminder that he was always there to support her if she needed it, as she had done for him in the past. He couldnāt tell if she smiled in the dark.
After another restless sleep, Cyr woke and tried to fix his hair in the bathroom. Which was made far more difficult by the fact that he had no mirror, and the sink was far too small to stick his head into. Eventually, he came out, hair wet, still wearing the tank top and soft pants he had been the night before. Today seemed like a comfort over beauty kind of day, after all. Some of the others were already out, and he offered them smiles as he crossed the room to look out one of the windows, into the pretty little garden beyond.