Who: Mammon (never_enough) & temporary loan of Big Oil (refining) What: Aftermath of a productive Satan When: May 23rd (Backdated like crazy) Where: Exxon Mobil's Corporate Offices - Dallas
The downside to living on the mortal plane, is that life did not stop just because one was away. The unexpected vacation in Hell had raised quite a few eyebrows when the vice president of one of the world's supermajors had disappeared, especially with all of the world's cameras focused in on a neighboring company's massive fuck up in the Gulf.
It was just damned bad timing all around.
A small bit of the bile had been purged with the destruction of Lux, even though the delivery of her minion's eyes had only leveled the playing ground once more.
But there was work to be done, and Isabella Cartier had too damned much invested in the company she helped to run. There were stockholders to meet with, chairmen to see, press to sit down with. A coup if only for someone else to pull ahead with the most devastating oil spill within the country's borders, a perpetual headache as America held it's breath with the summer traveling season looming upon them. There was much to be done, and the Hell king couldn't afford to breathe and wait for her idiot minion to hurry back before she dug her claws in to help her pet heathen save face and keep their company in the forefront of the recovery efforts.
It had come in the middle of a crucial meeting. The chair heads, publicists, heathen god -- everyone of import had been pulled together to keep all necessary people within the loop, as now was a crucial time for their company and the industry that had the world on it's ear.
She'd been standing at the head of the table, going over a power point when the air rushed out of her lungs and a darkness edged her vision. Her knees very nearly gave out had she not flattened her palms against the table to bolster herself up. There was a distressing hollowness that lingered, even as she evened out her breathing and struggled to keep her temper under a tight control. A warning glare was shot from beneath lowered lashes to the smirking asshole two seats down, but then she was straightening once more with an apologetic wave to her employees.
"My apologies, gentlemen. A touch of vertigo. Now, if I can direct you back to page forty-two..."
The professional overrode the demon, for the time being.