"Nobody? That's a fairly large generalization," Mephisto let her drink at her leisure, it wasn't as if she didn't deserve it. "They're mortals, they are stupid and fickle. They do not understand, they cannot comprehend us. They try, and fail to understand that they are not the only beings with emotion. We were created first, we were given more feelings than they could possibly see. And when they treat us as they consider they should, of course, they're complete assholes about it. That poet," He hissed, obviously seething over the way that mortal idiot spoke to Satan, "should be punished for speaking to you in the way that he did. His groveling only makes me more contemptuous. And the musician," He shook his head. "Is a moron. A fickle moron. I think there's nothing you can do about them other than enjoy punishing them little by little." He crossed his ankle over his opposite knee and folded his hands before him.
"However, that, I doubt, will make you feel completely better. It wouldn't sate my emptiness in this case."
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