#whatroughbeast

Grace felt excited to be at a carnival, even if it had been a small add-on to Santa Monica Pier. In reality, she had missed Cheap Thrills. The haven had allowed her to blend into the background, fade away into the crowds. However, the flashing lights of the Ferris Wheel and booths filled with games were enough to make her feel at ease.

She found herself at the fishing pond table, noticing it was one of the few that didn’t have a waiting line. The starlet glanced around, wondering if she could convince someone to play with her. Much to her surprise, she spotted her not-so-favorite hotel manager.

Deja Vu. 

It felt like blackjack all over again, except this time, she would win. Feeling courageous, she tapped his shoulder, wondering, “ -- care for a rematch?” 

closed to: @whatroughbeast

“You want to what?” Belial hadn’t particularly been the most avid ‘frat boy’ the university had ever had, but he knew how to play the game. He wanted to have a particular job, and he’d researched and found three-fourths of the people in management and presidential positions all came from the same fraternity. It’d been going well, he’d been accepted, dealt with the constant male posturing, and enjoyed the constant amount of partying. In the beginning he’d been just as innocent and pliable as many other freshmen, shaped by the older fraternity brothers into what he’d become. Only now, in his final year, one idiot deemed it necessary to upset the status quo, and Belial was having to deal with the fallout. It wasn’t fair, but it never was when it came to Satan and he dropped his head into his hands with a groan, “I am not helping you put Nair into his shampoo. That shit doesn’t even work.”

Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text.

sent → literally satan: santa heysent → literally satan: how’s rudolphsent → literally satan: and by rudolph i mean the little stuffed reindeer that was on your doorstep that was definitely not my doingsent → literally satan: lol ;(

Send “%” for a CURIOUS text.

sent → literally satan: there’s someone at my bar being grosssent → literally satan: can i borrow something from what i’m sure is an impressive collection of knives and weapons i don’t even know the names to?sent → literally satan: preeeeetty please with a cherry on top? yeah i went there and added the cherry yeasent → literally satan: levi would let me i bet

Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text.

Other demons might not believe it, or choose to understand how Belial's mind worked, but he was a paranoid mother fucker. If it wasn't a top of the line security system, it was a group of hooligans who hung out on the street corner every night. Paid in booze, and drugs that helped them navigate the underground, and keep Belial's interests safe. This time the extra money he'd spent on the security system at his place in Vegas seemed to pay off, because within seconds of the front door being opened without his permission, Belial got an alert on his phone. One look at the handy-dandy security camera, and he was off.

In a fraction of the time it would've taken him to drive, Belial was arriving to the penthouse he hadn't seen in months. From the very moment he entered the building, he caught signs of his interloper throughout the hallways. A bloody hand here, a splash of blood there, and it all lead to his penthouse at the very tippy-top. Belial had to hand it to the demon, his stubborn streak was as miraculous now as it'd been millennia before, but the knowledge that Satan had come to his place, above all others, created a small frisson of promise that raced down his spine as he opened the battered door and found an even more battered body at his feet. 

“Oh, darling. The least you could’ve done is clean up after yourself.” Belial let out a delighted little laugh at his personal joke, and crouched down beside Satan’s unconscious head, tilting his own to the side as he took in the state of affairs, cataloging each and every wound on Stan’s form. Only one other creature in the world would have the power to best Satan in such a way, and he let out a soft chuckle, “What are we going to do with you?”

Challenge 019: Journey Mentor

WWSD: What Would Satan Do?

Where: A Restaurant? When: April 2017 Who: @whatroughbeast​

Belial had shown up in the middle of the night (uninvited, as always), and dragged Satan from his apartment by the collar of his shirt. Satan hadn't enjoyed that method of delivery, of course, but Belial was thorough, and he knew if he'd texted Satan the address of where they were meeting, the other demon never would have shown his face. So here they were, with a minimal amount of grumbling, and only a few stray elbows in certain kidneys, sitting across from one another at the one and only Mexican/Italian fusion restaurant in LA (and probably America). He had the menu flipped up in front of him, the rather...dive-y aesthetic appealing to the miscreant in him, and peered at Satan over the top, "What are you going to order? And do not say a plain quesadilla, or I'm going to flip this table over."