Painting with Luci

[Kuzuru]

The demon stuttered as he listened to Luci’s invitation. It had been a long time since someone had openly solicited his wrath, and to do so in such a laissez faire manner sent tingles down his spin. He chuckled, clapped his hands together, and tilted his head backwards. For a moment he stood there, his mind swimming with possibilities. Kuzuru turned his head towards the Sage and spoke in as innocent a tone he could muster, “and what say you, mysterious stranger, would you be so kind as to willingly offer up your location?”

The Sage, who had been eyeing the demon with an equal mix of trepidation and curiosity, answered, “I have no desire to expedite any encounter with one so openly after my throat.”

Kuzuru sighed, “oh very well, I suppose the hunt is indeed part of the fun, and don’t you worry your pretty little head mister, you’re definitely on my list.”

“How thoughtful of you,” the Sage replied.

The demon turned his attention away from the party pooper and towards the tie-dyed dreamer. Her skin was the inside of a kaleidoscope on LSD, a constant shifting of colors and hues that the cool kids would refer to as “groovy”. He wondered what color her blood was, although he figured the more appropriate question was “what color wouldn’t her blood be?”. Kuzuru slicked back his hair and found that his hands had picked up some errant pigments and he had sent streaks of purple, green, and blue through his black locks. He inhaled. This place felt like a subatomic slumberland, only conscious in the back of some stoner’s mind and kept alive with half-measured breaths. “Well, darling, in case you were holding your breath waiting for an answer, I graciously accept your offer,” Kuzuru said, dipping his head into a slight bow before continuing, “I’ve never heard of Princess Hellstab or the Deathblades, but I assure you I’d never dream of disappointing them, now shall I bring you a rose and some chocolates, or would that be in bad taste?”

“Well I love flowers,” she said, and then added, “and the Deathblades love chocolate, so that would be wonderful.”

“Perfect.”

The demon scooped up a stray paint can and began to paint once again. His hands, however, were unfit for anything besides battle and his portrait slowly became a jumbled mess of shaky lines and unkempt angles. Were one to stand sideways and squint, perhaps there was a method to the demon’s madness, but as it stood he just simply sucked at painting. He shrugged and looked over his shoulder at the other two. “Don’t mind me, I’ll be gone soon enough,” he said, “I’m a light sleeper, I doubt I’ll be asleep for much longer.”