Chuckles

Apparently, head minions were good for one thing: serving girls.  I fumed in the smoky drawing room Samael and I had arrived at an hour before.  He ignored me, grinning at some witticism his colleague said as I held his stupid tray of wine and cheese.  The only reason I did so was because he promised me cheddar, and lots of it.  He'd been leading me on a tour of Hell's offices, and I was enslaved as the wine-and-cheese girl.  He reached for another cheddar cube- my cheese- and his fingers carelessly traced my breast.

“Whoops,” he said, smirking.

I was on the verge of smashing the damn tray over his head.

After the boat, he'd allowed me to see nothing, blinding me with his stupid cloak and whisking me off through a dank-smelling area that bustled with eerie sounds.  “Security reasons,” he'd said.  Voices raised in argument had echoed above, alongside laughs and the possible beep of a coffee machi