InsaneJournal

It might have been odd for others, but Asmodeus, demon of lust, was no stranger to being a prostitute. He'd been the first holder of the world's oldest profession, and he was fairly certain he'd last to the end of time with it, too. Prostitution took all the parts of sex that Asmodeus found distasteful—attraction, love, human emotion—and tossed them out the window. So though he owned, as much as anyone owned anything here, the Brothel, he was also an employee.

He'd just finished with some nameless schmuck, one of a thousand ready to explode all over any of the prostitutes. It was a nasty business, most of the time, because of course it was. He strode down the hall, for once wearing clothes (though it did very little to hide the very erect member of the party). Although a robe was clothing only in name, and not at all in general, actual usage.

Still, he was clothed for the most part, which was convenient, because at that point, one of his whores stuck her head into the hall and said, "Boss! There's a redhead here. Asking for Dea."

"Mm." Asmodeus tugged on the belt of his robe and moved faster, slipping into the room she'd come out of. "Go take a break, Kelsie." He turned to the redhead, holding his arms wide. "Brynhild. A delight to meet you in person."