#(blackstar.)

“Beast...?”

   Ugh. Had been hoping to avoid this, for much the same reason the Prince had opted to remain clear of the company of scarlet swordswomen and foxes playing house: there was little to discuss. Worse still, for she and this nun-wear enthusiast bore some minor similarities in origin. Too much to be asked to enjoy the privacy of the library to carry out a bit of bureaucratic work; so long as the writers were plied in liquor, they were happy to leave her be. Would that Ri-- sorry, Legion could ward off even more petitioners, but this one could prove persistent. Better to bite the bullet now. 

   Leaning back in her chair, the Prince crossed her legs, waving away the Mystic Code’s projection to focus on Kiara. Didn’t love the look, but conforming all of Chaldea to her standards of clothing was a job beyond even her. Casual and unassuming, the cambion gestured with magnanimity to an open armchair. Could offer some refreshment, but, uh. Nah. 

   “Hi.” Chaldea, late lunchtime. Not that Riley’d know for certain, but perhaps it spoke to the madness of the Order that her surreptitiously popping into existence at a table wasn’t quite so unexpected. “Figured now would be a good time to stick my head in, introduce myself. ‘M Riley, Prince of Hell. Acting Asmodeus. Already spoken to Da Vinci (or Caster, as you’d have it. How formal), so y’don’t need to be all tense. We’re still in talks about formalizing trade, but...” She waved a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter. Wanted to get a look at you, the regular ol’ Servant, who’s been such a big deal. Suffice it to say, you all caused a helluva lotta problems Downbelow. Landed elite droppin’ left and right. Mean, most of ‘em weren’t happy to be bound by שְׁלֹמֹה, but that ring’a his was a good one.” 

   The landed elite of Hell are, ultimately, expected to march Above during the End of Days, ordering their legions of demons to wage war against Jehovah and His heavenly host. Though, in time, Riley, the Prince Deceit, secedes Lagneia from greater Hell, she is still expected to wield a weapon in her territory’s defense. Inveterate pacifist -- and worse still, a coward -- for some time, she was content to utilize her sire’s weapon, a curved Khopesh blade hewn of black stone and hilted in leather. Perhaps a remnant of Sitri’s time masquerading as the god Set, the Egyptian blade is strange, unwieldy, as if posing a question in its very design. It is -- was -- known to impart courage to the legions under Sitri’s command.

She stared. Judging. Visiting other worlds had introduced her to so many…colorful individuals, but none had ever gone so far as to touch her so suddenly. But, Aqua reigned herself in. What if this was a normal greeting in this world? She couldn’t know, not yet, anyways. And the woman always prided herself on her politeness with strangers. She folded her arms across her chest, pensive, but, not closed off entirely. She couldn’t bring herself to reciprocate the odd gesture, and so she droned, “..Hello.”

  ”Hello yourself.” It wasn’t even cruel, borne of a long forgotten slight and repaid in kind, just bland. Disaffected. Riley trusted her eyes -- while they weren’t great at telling blue from purple, they’d never mistake a face. When an impling drone had warned her of this particular kind of dimensional shudder (the likes of which were rare and usually bore unpleasant harbingers), the Prince had been all too happy to leave the throne unattended and head upward to track a long-distant friend down.

“For some reason… I have my doubts.” She took in her surroundings as she spoke. The person was trying to re-assure her for a reason. Why though, was beyond her for the moment.

   “And here was me thinking that a nicer greeting than ‘O intruder upon sovereign land Dis, ruled fairly by her Prince, submit at once to official registration or else be sent back from whence you came.’ Fool on me, I suppose.” No grand ceremony; nothing but a yawning chasm of Somewhere Else looming behind this out of place woman. Around her, a rather quiet, stately boutique downtown in the process of construction -- and, moreover, a handsomely garbed woman perched atop a low brick wall. It was this singularly eye-catching Prince that greeted the visitor (visibly, anyhow), her drawl relaxed and easy-going. Preferred to meet most newcomers to Dis personally, when she could.