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"No," Nisroc snapped, pulling the sugar loaf out of the Legion's hand. "Do you know how expensive that is?"
"But it's so sweet," he said, looking disappointed.
"That's the point," she said, and sighed bitterly. It wasn't that they were stupid, and it wasn't that she disliked them, it was that she was supposed to rule something like sixty of them, and it was hard to do that while also catering some stupid duke's stupid feast. Technically they were supposed to be helping her, but she didn't trust Legions around fire or knives, and they always got into all of the food. "Please tell me you didn't lick this?" she demanded of this particular Legion.
"I didn't lick it," he said, his eyes wide and innocent.
Nisroc had doubts, but she chose to believe him. "Go and check on if the meat's arrived again," she told him. "It'll take a while to cook. And check to see if they've started digging the cooking pits."
"Oh, all right," said Legion. "I still don't see why you had to special order hearts from Earth, s'not like we haven't got plenty of humans down here. The mutton, obviously, but the hearts?"
"They taste better fresh," said Nisroc, firmly. "Go and see." She was so damned tired. She wrapped the purloined sugar loaf back up, and put it in its box, and locked --
No. The key was missing. Some sticky-fingered demon had taken it, and of course both lock and key were protected against demonic powers, because what was the point of a lock that opened at anyone's command? "And when you get back here you'd better give me back that key!" she shouted after the Legion. It was hard to threaten a Legion, and she wasn't sure she had the heart to kill any of them right now. There were people she wouldn't have minded ripping limb from limb, but the Legions had been kind to her when she'd come here first, and that was hard to find in Hell.
And anyway, maybe they couldn't help the sugar thing. Nisroc was pretty sure they were ant demons.
She turned her attention back to mincing garlic viciously. Maybe after all of this she could steal some shit from Ligur's larder and make herself a big batch of qullupu, and hide in a corner somewhere to eat date cookies and cry about Grendel. She felt the tears welling up already, and tried to will them away. She didn't really even have a body anymore, but the one good thing about Hell was that whether you had a body or not, you could always cry and fuck and feel pain. You could always find catharsis, if catharsis was there to be found.
She heard the door open behind her. "The key?" she demanded of the Legion.
"What key wazz that?" said a distinctly non-Legion voice, and Nisroc froze.
She recovered herself enough to put down the knife and give Beelzebub a low bow. "Your Lowness," she said, quietly. When she straightened, she saw that Beelzebub was leaning on the doorframe, giving her a proprietary smile.
Most of these assholes Nisroc didn't respect enough to show deference without a thick protective coating of irony. Beelzebub was a different kind of asshole altogether. "How goezz the cooking? The entreezzz have been exzzelent thuzz far."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Nisroc, flashing her a bland smile.
"No you aren't," said Beelzebub. "The fog of grief izz zztill thick around you. I don't know how you can tazzte anything like that."
"I'm relieved, maybe," Nisroc amended.
"You are not even that," said Beelzebub.
"Why are you here?" Nisroc asked. Grief had made her reckless, to ask so bluntly.
"Becauzzze I owe Duke Ligur szome favorzz, and it would be more convenient if he owed me thozze favorzz," said Beelzebub, like she was stupid. That was fair. She kind of was sometimes. She had cultivated the reputation deliberately, but she had first come by it honestly enough.
"No, I mean, why are you here, talking to me in the kitchen instead of out there doing whatever it is Princes of Hell are supposed to do at shitty parties."
"You aren't enjoying the party?" Beelzebub asked, with feigned surprise.
"This Ligur wouldn't know a good party if it slit him open and ate his liver," said Nisroc.
"Are you volunteering for the job?" Beelzebub asked, their eyes glittering with genuine interest.
"I don't think I have the heart," Nisroc admitted. "And I don't actually outrank him." That didn't mean there would be harsher consequences for her cruelty, necessarily, but it meant that there would be harsher consequences for Ligur for losing the fight, even if she was substantially stronger than him, and the fallout from that might unbalance everything Nisroc had worked towards in the past few millennia. Hell prided itself on being a meritocracy; only the worst demons got promoted, and Nisroc just wasn't there yet.
Not that it really mattered now what happened to Nisroc.
There was something like pity in Beelzebub's eyes, and part of Nisroc wanted to kill them for it, and part of Nisroc wanted to cling to them and weep, although that hadn't gone well at all the last time. "How the mighty are Fallen," they said, with a wry smile. "I came to tell you about an... opportunity."
Nisroc turned back to mincing the garlic. "What kind of an opportunity?" she asked, suspicious.
"Szatan needzz a perszon of... particular skillzzz for the Apocalypszze," said Beelzebub. They sounded almost nervous, Nisroc thought. That was fucking weird. "The... recruitment effortzz are... not particularly within your domain, but I thought you might be... interezzted?" Definitely nervous. Nisroc scented genuine worry from Beelzebub, and that, in turn, worried her, because Beelzebub was difficult to knock off balance. "It izzn't -- there izzn't anything wrong," they added quickly.
"Yes there is," said Nisroc. She looked over her shoulder. "You're anxious. You're anxious about something and -- fuck!"
The pain of slicing through one of her own fingers had reminded her that mincing garlic on autopilot was not a great idea. She sucked on the stump of the finger briefly, the iron-salt taste of her blood doing nothing for the pain, then retrieved the wayward finger and stuck it back on.
"Sorry. Sorry about that." She put down the knife, very deliberately, and turned away from the pink-stained garlic. "What's this about the Apocalypse? Is it coming up soon?" she asked.
"No! No," said Beelzebub. "No, we'll be lucky if it ever happenzz at thizz rate. No. There is... a body of prophezzy, which szzuggestzz szzomeone will have to be -- I don't want you to take thizz the wrong way -- the right way? The, the --"
"The way you don't want it to be taken," suggested Nisroc.
"Exzzactly," said Beelzebub, relieved. "Szzeeing azz how you and I -- ah. But I think it would be g-- uzzeful for you to have a project, sinzze your previouzzz one wazzz... cut short."
They meant Grendel.
A project cut short.
This was probably as well-intentioned as Beelzebub got, Nisroc reminded herself. Not that she would ever accuse Beelzebub of good intentions to their face.
"Right," said Nisroc, keeping her eyes wide so that the tears that flooded them might resist the urge to slide down her face. "Yeah. Got to get... back on the horse."
"Horszze?" Beelzebub looked confused.
"It's just an expression," Nisroc assured her.
"Do you like... horszzes? Or riding beaszztzz?" Beelzebub asked, more hopefully.
"What the fuck kind of question is that?" Nisroc asked. Then she remembered a poster she'd skimmed while waiting in line to get the forms to fill out so that she could get the forms to get in line for a recorporation application. (She still hadn't heard back on that.) "Is this about the Whore of Babylon posting?" she asked. There'd been something about riding a seven-headed beast there. Nisroc didn't think there was any kind of animal with seven horns but maybe they could make one specially for the occasion, and it occurred to her that that might be a fun job. The actual riding of said Beast... she had not put much thought into.
Beelzebub, for all their evilness, looked guilty. "It. Might be?"
"Is this because we haven't fucked?" Nisroc asked. "Are you all weird and awkward about it because we haven't fucked? Is that all?"
"No!" said Beelzebub. "I only -- I juzzt wanted -- I did not want my -- pozzition -- to, to make you feel azz though --"
"You know I'm down to fuck, I don't know why you're like this," said Nisroc.
Beelzebub's cheeks colored, and Nisroc grinned as she tasted a heady spike of lust. And honestly, wasn't that just what she needed right now? Sex in Hell was usually shitty, at least for Nisroc -- she liked being degraded in fun, but she didn't want people to actually think less of her for it, and nobody would take her seriously if it got around that, more often than not, she liked giving in to someone she could've beaten in a fight.
But Beelzebub had been her patron and her protector for ages now, and given their history, most people probably assumed sex had entered into their relationship at some point. And Beelzebub was strong enough that it wouldn't occur to most people that Nisroc's submission had been willing.
So when she knelt in front of Beelzebub and licked her lips, she was leaning into that lust, and thinking, Fucking finally, and anticipating the thrill of burying herself in a body not her own, giving her thought and her will into someone else's hands for a few moments. She felt Beelzebub's hand rest on the top of her head, and thrilled at that.
"No," said Beelzebub, pulling her face up slightly by the hair, being as gentle as they could and still maintain face in Hell. "Fuck'szz szzake, get up."
"I guess if you don't want to do this in the kitchen," said Nisroc, getting to her feet, "that's understandable. Do you prefer a dick or --"
"I want you to apply for the Whore of Babylon pozzition," said Beelzebub. "I don't want..." You, Nisroc assumed. The desire was there, but the will was clearly not. "Thizz izz not what I want, right now."
She wasn't heartbroken over it -- she hadn't any more heart to break -- but to be turned down brought out in her a petulant sulkiness. "I don't think it's going to look very good on my resume if I haven't even fucked you," she pointed out.
"You're more than qualified without that," said Beelzebub.
Nisroc remained skeptical. "Won't they be favoring the incubi and the succubi?"
"They will," said Beelzebub, "but I think you would bring a czzertain... szztyle to the role. And you do have... the necezzary exzzperienczze. On Earth, anyway."
"Does that really count?"
"Well, there wazz alzzo the time Michael had to zzend two angelzz to haul your naked, drunk arzze off of my throne and back to Heaven," Beelzebub said, slightly peevishly, "but I thought we weren't talking about that."
"No, you're right, we're not talking about that," said Nisroc, quickly. She'd still been a seraph at the time, and had been going by Inanna to the humans. She'd been drunk and sad, and arrived at the gates of Hell dressed to kill, only to lose all her clothes to minor demons too frightened of her to actually put up a real fight, but needing some sort of trophy to show that they'd tried.
Nisroc could still remember lying sideways on the throne, wailing "Why didn't you tell me you were gonna have a rebellion? I thought you liked me!" while everyone but Beelzebub avoided eye contact. She was actually only moderately embarrassed about that, though; the real gut-churning thing had come after, when she had been in Heaven, nauseous and unable to vomit, and Michael, of all people, had insisted on taking care of her. Michael, who adored her, and who she could not adore back, who did not know how to take care of things unless it was to polish and sharpen them, and who should have kicked Nisroc out of Heaven then and there. If anyone else had done what Nisroc did they'd be out, but Michael made endless excuses for her, and only saw what she wanted to in Nisroc's grateful and terrified politeness.
Better to serve in Hell where you could be a messy bitch in peace than to know you were only serving in Heaven because somebody thought you were perfect.
"It wazzn't... perzzonal, you know," Beelzebub said. They were worried again. It was unnerving.
"What?" she asked.
"The -- the rebellion. We didn't tell you -- well, I didn't tell you becauzze --"
"No, no, I get it," said Nisroc. "I wouldn't have participated anyway."
"Because you were in thozze meetingzz," said Beelzebub.
"No! Because I'm a fucking coward!" said Nisroc. "But also, yeah, I was in those meetings," she added, because Beelzebub looked awfully uncomfortable again. They'd probably violated half a dozen HR guidelines anyway in coming here and making a suggestion that could be construed to be an attempt at emotional support, and Nisroc felt bad about putting them into that kind of position. "Listen, I'll look into the Whore of Babylon thing, okay? Just, um, one question, because I wasn't really sure -- when I read the description... it sounded like, okay, so, the job title is Whore of Babylon and apparently you have to ride a beast, yeah?"
Beelzebub nodded, looking mystified.
"That sounds... possibly metaphorical?" When Beelzebub didn't answer, she clarified. "What I'm asking is, would I have to fuck Satan? I don't wanna fuck Satan. If I have to fuck someone representing Satan, could I fuck, like, a stand-in?"
Beelzebub froze. Then, dutifully, they said, "Well, it would be a great honor for any demon to --"
"I just think he's probably a shitty lay," said Nisroc. "Like, he has that kinda look, you know? I mean I like a big dick but not, you know, in a figurative sense, he's way too much of a dick for me. You can tell him I said that," she added, trying not to laugh at the look of horror on Beelzebub's face. "I mean, if my name comes up during the decision process, and it's a dealbreaker, please tell him I said that. Or just, you know, at your next meeting, if you wanna bring it up organically..."
"Do you want to be erazzed from exzzistenzze?" they buzzed, appalled. "Don't anzzwer that. I'm not going to tell him that. I don't know whether or not what you zzugezzt izz true."
"You don't know whether he's a shitty lay?" Nisroc asked.
"I don't know whether you'd have to zzleep with him!" said Beelzebub. After a moment they added, weakly, "I alzzo don't know about the other thing. I am not interezzted in finding out."
"I think you agree with me," said Nisroc.
"I think you zhould go back to chopping whatever that aromatic thing izz," said Beelzebub, scowling.
Nisroc glared back. "Fine!" she said, turning back to her garlic-mincing. "Fine. If you don't have any more orders, I'd thank you to get out of my kitchen."
Beelzebub's presence lingered behind her, a dark cloud of worry against the backdrop of Hell's general misery. "Juzzt... think about it. You need to do zzomething. If you apply I'll... I'll fazzt-track your new bodiezz," she said. "All of them, indefinitely."
That was a big promise.
"What if I don't want that?" she asked, eyes watering again. Fuck, fuck, goddamnit, why hadn't she had the foresight to be chopping a goddamn onion?
"What do you want?"
My baby boy back, alive and well. My lover's arms around me. Anyone's arms around me, really. To forget this whole mess. "Access to the lower circles of torment," said Nisroc.
"For what?" Beelzebub asked, sounding absolutely baffled.
"I just want to find --" Her voice went wobbly of its own volition. "I don't know, where do you think they'd put a -- a -- s-sort of accidental cannibal?"
There was a long moment of silence as Beelzebub absorbed this information. "I don't know," they said. "That... would take longer, you underzztand? You'd have to show szzome szzeriouzz viciouzznezz in the field, to justify being allowed to szzpend time there. More than thezze little griftzzz and cultzz and inzpiring luzzt."
"I'd do anything to see him again," said Nisroc.
"I'll... zzee what I can do," said Beelzebub.
"Then I'll consider it," said Nisroc. "Even if I have to fuck Satan, I guess. Ugh, I bet he'd expect me to fake it like five times. I mean I can do that, you know, I'm a pretty good actor, but also --"
"I zhould go," said Beelzebub abruptly.
"Probably doesn't even know what a clit is," Nisroc added.
"I'm not having thizz converzzation," said Beelzebub.
She heard the door swing open. "I bet he doesn't even wash his dick!" Nisroc shouted after them.
The door swung shut, and Beelzebub was spared Nisroc's further ideas on the theme. She giggled to herself, only somewhere in there it started to feel a lot like crying, and then she was sobbing into her already-bloody garlic. Well. Maybe this recipe could use some salt. What the fuck was even on the menu again? She didn't remember. Mutton and human hearts?
The door swung open again. "They're not done digging the pits, but the delivery came," said a Legion, brightly. "Loads of sheep, but I din't see any hearts --"
"They'll be, uh. In special containers. You won't be able to see them. Don't worry about it," she said. Technically this was true. Nisroc had found that sheep hearts tasted better than human hearts, but demons preferred to think they were eating human hearts, so she just... substituted sheep hearts in whenever possible. "Can I have the key back?"
"What key?" the Legion asked.
Nisroc turned, and gave him a hard look.
"Thought you said you had a way to cut onions so they wouldn't make you cry," said the Legion.
Nisroc sniffed. "The key," she snapped, holding out her hand.
The Legion looked sheepish enough that his heart probably would've been fine for the recipe. "Sorry, sorry, I know I shouldn't've took it, I know you've been having a bad century." He handed her the key and continued emitting mild guilt and also irritation, probably that he wasn't going to get to steal any more sugar. She knew she ought to kill him now. She knew that was standard.
She really couldn't do that today. "Don't apologize," Nisroc snapped. "You need to be meaner, you know that."
"Right, yeah," said the Legion, trying to stand up straighter. "Sorr-- or, I mean --"
"It's fine, sweetheart," she sighed. Knowing she was going to regret it, she opened the sugar box back up, cut the tip of the sugarloaf off with a pair of nippers, and gave it to the Legion before locking the box and putting the key very securely on the keyring at her belt. The excitement in the Legion's eyes was reward enough, except that it also made her weepy again. "Now get out of here and don't tell anyone I gave you that."
"Of course," said the Legion, delighted. "Oh, oh, but, hang on, before I go, I was wondering, um. D'you know any... any good names?"
"Names?" Here was a mystifying request, one that did not fit into either her sorrows or her foggy and indeterminate future. She liked it. "What kinds of names?"
"I dunno. Names that sound... good. No, no, I didn't mean that, not good! I meant, names that are -- names that you like," he said. He looked hopeful and smelled anxious.
"Um." Most of the names she liked were names she liked because the people who had them had been kind to her, but she did not want to let on which demons she was fond of, lest they be punished for being too nice, and reciting a list of angel names was definitely dangerous.
She thought back to her last assignment, to the human names that had surrounded her and Grendel. Those ought to be safe, but her circle of human acquaintances had not been large, mostly because getting to know people meant she felt bad about eating them later. "Well there's... let me see. I knew a lady named Dagmær, and I think Ingi was her husband's name, although I never met him. Their kids were named, um... Snorri, Hildi, and Eirík, they were all super cute, although I only met them a couple times -- actually, I got a flower crown from Hildi and Eirík, it was very sweet of them to make that for me. I wish I could have introduced them to --" She stopped herself before saying Grendel.
"That's plenty!" said the Legion, not seeming to notice her sudden silence. "That's loads more names than we have!"
"Well, yeah, but..." It was better not to try and reason with a Legion, Nisroc reminded herself. "Anyway. Go on, get out of here. I'll go and see that the sheep are butchered properly and then yell at them about the pits. Honestly, how hard is it to dig roasting pits for human hearts in Hell?"
"They said they were having some trouble... distinguishing 'em from the surrounding landscape," said the Legion, looking like he was trying very hard to remember someone's exact wording.
"Well, that's not going to be my problem," said Nisroc.
"D'you need any help?" he asked, eyeing the ingredients with interest.
"Nope!" said Nisroc, quickly. "Go on, get out of here."
"If you say so." He shrugged and wandered off, cheerfully crunching on the bit of sugar she'd given him.
Beelzebub was probably right; she needed a new project. A project she could leverage into finding her baby boy and getting him the hell out of here when she did. And as Nisroc made her way over to actually finally chopping the onions -- without crying, actually, which she was very proud of -- she mentally revised her resume to make herself sound ideal for that Whore of Babylon gig. She wasn't excited about it, but she was willing to put up with Satan's cosmic dick cheese for Grendel's sake. There were plenty of demons who put up with worse for less. And, after all, it was Hell.