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Abaddon (first_woe) wrote in forgotten_gods,

At the smile, Abaddon’s gaze turned away, to the left and down, where the creature was. Soft words meant only for the little one left him then, spoken in that slightly twisted angelic speech that seemed to be native to the locusts. The little one – only a baby in comparison to the monsters the Fallen has domain over – cautiously scoots back out of his sleeve and down into the glass to continue its drink.

He nodded at the gesture, though he seemed to wait for Beelzebub to choose a seat first. He seemed torn for a second, between taking the seat beside him, and lowering himself – despite the clearly expensive suit – to sit on his knees on the floor at the Chief’s feet. After considering, he chooses that route until being told otherwise. The higher demon seemed to appreciate the formality of his actions so far and Abaddon was keen to stay in his favor. The old practices needed to be kept, even when in possession of one of these mortal meat bags.

The ashen shadows of his wings arranged themselves as he sat back onto his feet, his hands lowering into his lap with the glass still cradled between them, the long scorpion-like tail of the locust curling lovingly around his pale thumb.

“What would you like to know, Sir? I should request a place to start, if it would please you.”