So I'm guessing they didn't treat you too nicely? Oh, the stories we could exchange. Mind telling me who's winning the war? I'm afraid news rolls in slow.
"It’s not that they treated me badly…it’s that they left and…it doesn’t matter." She said softly. "It would seem the advantage is with Crowley. He was released from the dungeon and Abaddon has the fear of God in her, so to speak."
Abrupt laughter followed the brief pause, laughter that could be neither held in or forced out. It was completely unexpected to hear that name; Crowley, of course, but—
—“Abaddon? Abaddon?" News apparently rolled in slower than anticipated.
Either that, or his sources were just feeding him lies. Not that he cared. He just wanted his coffee to be brewed perfectly, for the climate to stay warm, for his favorite comedies to come in on-demand. Information on this war, however, seemed to be better than any comedy he’d sat down to review. “There’s just—” he gasped, “—no fucking war down there— what— Ab— no, I’m— excuse me?”
I’ve been called a Genie and a Fairy, and a mortal. Can I please just say my name? This is getting ridiculous.
Luci the fairy. Luci the genie.
Does that make me a genie?
I’m here. Now what were your other two wishes?
How about a bed with you on it?
May I introduce: The Seven Prince’s of Hell