Re: Second Class; Theater smoking room
So the flickering man was real after all. The devil took the fool briefly between his fingers, rubbing the ribbed fabric. The reality of his conversation companion brought him just a little close, though he released the fabric of his suit.
He placed the cigarette back between his lips again, too practiced to simply be an artifact of a demon's flair for wickedness. He glanced up. The closer he came to the film star, the more his dark eyes seemed to lighten, just a little, just a tiny ring of scarlet light on a black field.
The devil sucked in another lungful of cigarette smoke, and it was as comforting a balm as a warm, clean breeze might be to a human being. The thready circles of fire inside his eyes lit a little brighter. "I should warn you," he said, with a vague twist of apprehension. "I bring out the worst in people." The horns pulsed, faintly. "I can, I mean." It was not at all a metaphorical proposition. He could feel it, the power to tilt someone's will and self-resolve into damned deeds and the headiness of mad, bad acts. He shouldn't, but oh how he would like to. He wondered what bad things the film star might want to do, and hesitated, a needle sharp fang resting against his lower lip. He ought not to, but he still couldn't remember why not. This wouldn't be any different than usual, would it? Every day, he brought out the worst in everyone. Himself included.