To ride to Hell between those thighs

Oh, my beautiful liar
Oh, my precious ( whore )

[Eisheth Zenunim has been working hard on her little priest and every night while he sleeps she is there inside his dreams, whispering her violent passions. In dreams he does the things he wants to her as well as the things he doesn't. His mental state under her careful guidance is fracturing nicely.]


I think it's almost time for a vacation somewhere warm. Hopefully by the end of next week I'll be back in the Second Circle.

When you consider that Our side is the far more interesting and entertaining one, it's almost unfair to the poor mortals to ask them to choose.

Tick tick tick, is it Armageddon yet? I suspect though that we still have plenty of time to do our work.

Do you know what would be simply superb? A sexy little dress made of feathers. Obviously it would have to come from a really big sort of bird, but I'm sure something could be found.

[voicemail for Gabriel Kemp]
"I'm sorry that I'm not there. I needed to be with God but I couldn't stay there in the church when- Gabriel, do you think that He can forgive me? I broke my wedding vows when I left that house. Whatever my husband is like... he's still my husband and- I shouldn't have called. I'll see you whenever I arrive back there. I'm just so confused."

Why are those pups on the loose?

Someone is paying for that mirror.

It's a sad state of affairs when an immortal even stand up to the simplest of tortures. I'd almost be disappointed to see someone break this easy if it wasn't so fun. My house may be covered in the blood of a moron, but so far it's completely worth it.

Besides, I'm nowhere near finished.

( Zepar )

How sweet to see the Saints getting married.

But I found this funny old book lying around. I don't know if you've heard of it but the Man Upstairs goes simply mad for it. Let's see what we can find here...

( quotes cut for length )

What can it all possibly mean? Angels, have you really let your side fall to this so soon? Good show, old chaps. I can almost hear the thunder of hooves from here.

I have a new pet abbess and while the wrinkled old thing is a delight in her chain I can't really take her below until she sheds this skin of hers. A slight annoyance to wait but she can't have long left. In fact, now we've met and really bonded I'm quite sure of it.

I've taken her eyes. She looks better without them anyway and they were such a sea-green I couldn't resist. After all, I don't want her seeing the light of Him when she finally goes. That suggests an idea of comfort we simply can't encourage.

[Said eyes have already been dispatched to Agrat without any sort of note. Eisheth presumes that the post will explain enough for her sister when she sees it.]

Priest, slow roasted over a lake of fire.

I should really share the recipe somewhere. They just come out so tender.

New York City has a definite chill in the air.

( Delivered to Étaín )

[ Zepar has made his move and laid down the challenge. Challenge happily accepted, El Presidente.

Eisheth has been watching Saint Jude from afar and now she sends him two dozen red roses that, while beautiful, will be found to be infested with aphids and rose slugs once the wrappings are drawn back. The note, unsigned:
The course of true love never did run smooth.
Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love. ]

[Zepar]
Silver is really more my color, sweetness.

( Delivered to Metatron: )

Back on the surface once more and I'm already loathing the smell. (It's always the stench of humanity that gets to me first. It permeates all my clothes.) But there are quotas to fill and Saints to meet with.

I've been apartment shopping, something which humans claims must have been invented by our side but finding an estate in Hell is far easier than in New York City. Someone offer to take your Queen out for dinner before I start removing body parts with my fingernails.

While I was out having dinner with a truly delightful gentleman, my apartment building burned to the ground.

The irony of all my mortal possessions being destroyed in flames is not lost on me.

With that said, I'm returning downstairs for a time. I'd much rather be luxuriating in Hell than here filling out some sort of insurance claims.

If you can't stand the heat, stay out of the Hellfire.

Personally I think I'd rather be there than here again. Came back above only yesterday and I already miss the flames.

I am going to need a fresh manicure though.

The art of fire breathing feels a little like cheating when one is immortal. (Not that I have anything against cheating per se.) I spent yesterday teaching a young woman the skills and being human means she'll have to deal with all the dangers inherent. The poisoning, the mouth blisters, the illness, the burns, the cancers, the internal combustion. But she's a determined young creature and I admire that in the mortals. Most of them are so terribly lazy and content to be nothing. Those that show any desire to better themselves are always more interesting.

I toyed with the idea of crucifying her in the evening in celebration of the Christ's beautiful passing, but I think I'll keep the child around for further training. She may turn out to be a very fitting servant if all goes to plan. My own virginal little dragon.

Disgusting drunken morons in their fluffy top hats and green shirts. They followed me down a dark street, calling out the sort of things I'm sure scare their little college girl prey but only amused the likes of me.

I left their bodies in a church in Brooklyn, one of them wrapped up around the crucifix like he's fellating the Christ. I hope there's photos.

Why don't I do this sort of thing on all the time? Sebastian, when is your day? I can make it a themed slaying.

Foolish little heathens, have you not yet learned that we answer only to our own?

Recently I've caught the eye of some sort of porn producer and he's proving to be quite entertaining. It's not my usual - my weakness for the clergy is well known - but there's something intriguing none the less. He thinks himself a great sinner, a man with a fine taste in pain and perversion. He had no conception of true violence, however, and I long to give him a glimpse into the Pit.

But if he cannot go yet to Hellfire, then the Hellfire shall just have to come to him.

I really do love my job. If only impalements and lacerations provided a suitable monetary compensation.

( Delivered to Satan on Christmas Night (warning: icky description beneath) )