WHO: Satan and Wrath WHAT: The Devil takes a holiday with his woobie WHEN: December 25ish WHERE: A cabin in the middle of frozen nowhere North Dakota
Satan was sprawled rather haphazardly on a rickety old couch that had seen better days and might have still been worth something if not for countless cigarette burns stamped into the fabric. He traced the dark circles, playing a game of connect the dots until he realized that there was no pattern, no hidden message to divine from the careless person who had so thoughtlessly scarred an innocent inanimate object.
There were more important things that he should be dwelling on. More important things he should be doing then running off to the middle of the nowhere to fuck and be fucked by his own special vice. He had never been a workaholic. Had never over exerted himself in the task of turning man’s face away from his God. He had, however, taken a certain pride in his work. Quality over quantity was one of Satan’s favorite mottos and after the Garden and Lucifer’s fall there were more than enough worker bees and soldier ants to take on the business of damning the common fool.
The one and only perk of being upper management meant that he only had to step in when the shit really hit the fan.
Lately the shit had been hitting the fan a lot and rather being concerned or even remotely interested Satan had taken a hundred steps back. No quantity, no quality. No pride. No anything.
There was only one thing he had these days (there was her of course but she didn’t count because she was him and not even the Devil could count himself twice) and that was just fine by him.
He heard a jingle in the hallway and Satan smiled.