サタン

☽. “Yes, that’s more like it.” Good to see there’s more to this one than a face full of tears; Bayonetta doesn’t intent to mother any sullen egos. Of course the spunk is nice, too.

“We’ve all got our bad hair days, dear.” And she absently flicks back a lock of her own.  

A pensive eye would lay upon him, as she listens. “So that would make you a fallen, then, hmm?” A certain bartender/dealer briefly comes to mind. It makes her shrug. “That makes us ‘cool’ as far as I’m concerned.“

Head cocks to the side, and she offers a grin. “So… Did daddy give you a name?”

Satan didn’t know why, but her way of speech made him smile a little, a notable feat considering his loss. Perhaps it was her brand of honesty. Perhaps he was just eager for distraction. No matter the reason, he latched on to her company, her complete disregard to treat him in reverence or loathing a refreshing change.

“I do not have bad hair days.” He quipped, taking one last deep breath before pushing to stand on his feet. No matter how weighted he felt, he didn’t want to cry anymore. He had an eternity to mourn his Akira, but it was his pain and his alone. To show it to others exposed him in ways he hadn’t known before.

   Brows rose in response, little shame felt when his eye drifted down over bare form. He didn’t offer much that would suggest any interest taken, however a smirk smug in nature set upon his mouth, “Wouldn’t say that though don’t get me wrong, darlin’, my dick has an appetite for – well, dick. That aside, what in the ever lovin’ fuck are you? Some kinda harpy?”

Satan tilted his head, and wondered what the boy was insinuating. Not that it mattered whether the child thought him a woman or a man. In fact, it was a bit refreshing to meet a human who didn’t gawk between his bosoms and his genitalia.

Satan looked up from the gigantic pot of curry Miki had asked him to stir. He blinked at Akira, a little surprised by the question.

☽. “You’ve got to be shitting me…” This is actually happening. An angel is sobbing before her. He couldn’t be barking up a worse tree, right now. 

Looks like words alone won’t get it through his skull.

Pistol is whipped out, once more, flipped on palm before taking aim. She FIRES– not at the angel but somewhere on the blood soaked floor near him, in an attempt to snap him out of this embarrassing display. “I said… No. Blubbering.” She blows the barrel, palm resting on sassy hip. 

“I don’t know a damn thing about love. Making love,  however… well… that’s a different story.” A careless flip of the hair.  “Listen; crying about the past solves nothing. AND it ruins your makeup. Absolutely dreadful…”

She puts her gun away again, walking over so she may kneel before the angel–getting him at eye level. “So dry those tears and have some pride. If you continue to act like a baby, I will put you over my knee and spank you.”

The gunshot roused a glance to the ground, where the bullet hit. Satan wondered if it could kill him, but knowing his Father, he doubted his end would come so easily. He didn’t want this feeling, this accursed pain that was too entirely human.

“You’re right. Love does not exist.” He whispered, eyes still downcast. The same words he’d once believed sounded hollow, even more so when spoken, but he latched onto the thought, desperate for it to once again be true. “...I don’t wear makeup.” He mumbled and sniffed, lifting a hand to wipe the tears from his chin.

Broad wings twitched when the stranger knelt down before him. He looked at her once more, eyes slightly widened. The pistol had not startled him, but her gesture did. There was something intimate in her action he didn’t know whether or not was intentional. It reminded him of Akira, of the child extending a hand towards him only to embrace him a moment after.

Akira...

Another wave of tears welled from his eyes, but he brushed them away like she instructed. Pride was familiar. He could do pride. A quivering sigh of laughter left his lips.