After a while of standing in line behind the man-shaped thing at the desk, Luna decided to get a head start on her search for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. She resisted the idea of tapping him on the shoulder, seeing as he had just materialized out of a ball of fire afterall, and instead settled for a polite,
"Excuse me, Mister, but have you heard of any sightings, or possibly even seen, any Crumple-Horned Snorkacks around here?"
Beelzebub blinked twice. Mostly out of horrified fascination that a seemingly normal* human girl would randomly strike conversation.
"The Crumple-Horned Snorkack izzz not indigenouzzzz to this area, exzzept during rare celestial alignmentzzzz when large groupzzz of them appear all over the world to breed," he rattled off, completely deadpan. "If you leave out the intezztinezzz of a sturgeon in heat, fried with the eye of a ceolocanth, and stewed for sixxx weekzzz in a pot of plain goat fat, you might pozzzzibly be able to tempt one into manifezzzting out of cycle, but don't get your hopezzzzz up."** He turned away and dinged the dingybell. "Thrice-blessed daughter of a turnip."
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*Except for the radish (or were they turnip) shaped earrings, those were just odd.
The Metatron had been nearly asleep -- not that he would mention it to anyone; angels didn't sleep -- at his desk when the Lord of the Flies made his grand entrance. He looked up abruptly at the rush of heat and hurried to his post, tie still crooked. "Hello, how may I -- "
Beelzebub, having been Lord of the Flies and Prince of Hell ALMOST since time began, was quite experianced in the nuances of not showing various emotions that would cause anyone who might happen to be watching to think that one is anything less than the suave, on-fire, extremely evil immortal that one was*.
So he let the smile slither over his mouth like a Discworldian dawn, and the ends of his lips to curl inwards ever so slightly. The result would not only have stopped a raging elephant at twenty paces, but also turned it around and run it in the other direction.
"Metatron. Why, yezzz. Me."
*And one ESPECIALLY didn't let anyone find out about the secret love for petting fluffy kittens, either.
Comments 18
"Excuse me, Mister, but have you heard of any sightings, or possibly even seen, any Crumple-Horned Snorkacks around here?"
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"The Crumple-Horned Snorkack izzz not indigenouzzzz to this area, exzzept during rare celestial alignmentzzzz when large groupzzz of them appear all over the world to breed," he rattled off, completely deadpan. "If you leave out the intezztinezzz of a sturgeon in heat, fried with the eye of a ceolocanth, and stewed for sixxx weekzzz in a pot of plain goat fat, you might pozzzzibly be able to tempt one into manifezzzting out of cycle, but don't get your hopezzzzz up."** He turned away and dinged the dingybell. "Thrice-blessed daughter of a turnip."
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*Except for the radish (or were they turnip) shaped earrings, those were just odd.
**Thanks be to John for inspiring this bit.
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"..."
He stared at Beelzebub. "...you."
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So he let the smile slither over his mouth like a Discworldian dawn, and the ends of his lips to curl inwards ever so slightly. The result would not only have stopped a raging elephant at twenty paces, but also turned it around and run it in the other direction.
"Metatron. Why, yezzz. Me."
*And one ESPECIALLY didn't let anyone find out about the secret love for petting fluffy kittens, either.
Reply
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