(Untitled)

[subreptitious]

How dull this place is, nowadays. Will no-one speak?

Comments

[ebonydrift]

Hardly anyone comes here anymore...

[subreptitious]

I really must wonder why; this place has always treated its guests with such kindness...

[ebonydrift]

Some of them, I suppose. Others have been not so fortunate. Whether it is the room or its occupants, I couldn't say.

[subreptitious]

Truly? It has always offered me readily my desires. Save for company, these days, I suppose.

[ebonydrift]

There was one who received only chickens. One who was perpetually lonely, as well...

There have been far fewer visitors of late. I don't know why things changed, but it's been quiet. Perhaps waiting for the next generation of souls...

[subreptitious]

Chickens, really? Loneliness, I might understand, but that is strange...

Yes, I do miss how this place once was, full of amusing encounters. Full of life.

[ebonydrift]

Most odd, but yes. Chicken everything.

There were so many people in and out from every time you could imagine. I suppose the quiet could be relaxing, but I find it dull.

Even meals are endless alone.

[subreptitious]

Yes, odd. What about things that cannot be made of chicken? Pencils, for example.

Very dull indeed. You ought to eat with me.

[ebonydrift]

He had a pen made of rubber. Shaped like a chicken... I would imagine he found other things that way as well. Ad I said, very odd...

I would be pleased to. If the room would be so kind?

(A table appears, most elegantly set, with covered dishes at each chair)

Please... (he pulls her chair out and holds it)

I've only realised. I don't know your name.

[subreptitious]

[He laughs, quietly delighted.]

How novel! Thank you, it is kind of you to oblige me, stranger that I am.

You are very beautiful; identical, in fact, to an old lover of mine, though your hair is rather more fancy.

My name is Belphegor, though friends refer to me as Bel. And you, darling?

[ebonydrift]

Belphegor. A pleasure.

My name... Unused for far too long. Those who would call me anything call me Snow.

(He sits and lifts a silver cover to reveal deep red soup and a goblet of what could be burgundy wine, but of course, is blood)

I hope my meal does not upset you. Many would be repulsed.

[subreptitious]

Snow, then.

I have lived in Hell; what some of my brothers there consumed does not bear repeating. Blood does not repulse me in the slightest. I expected such when I asked you to dine. Unless, of course, you would rather my neck.

[ebonydrift]

Well then. To Hell and less unpleasant places.

(He lifts his glass, then drinks)

I would prefer a meal from the source, as a rule, but it might be rude as we've only just met.

[subreptitious]

That, I will drink to.

[Laughing, he lifts his own glass of red wine, drinking deeply.]

Rude would be to take without permission; this, I offer gladly.

[ebonydrift]

Taking, I've done as well. But I've gotten old, I suppose. Patient.

(He sips from his glass, leaning comfortably)

And the Room is usually willing to provide what I want, making the need much less intense.

So. Tell me of Hell...

[subreptitious]

Then you may take from me.

[He brushes honey-gold waves from his neck, baring the pale flesh.]

Pleasure often trumps need, I find.

And Hell is hardly good dinner conversation; tell me, instead, of yourself?