There’s a glint of something, a dangerous hint in the window to a soul that hath cast poisonous glances on the souls of happiness cause, no such pretty merry in that souls depths as in the wind a slightest tremor of threat permeates the eruptive air. The beast edges closer with a heavy set hoof, a swagger of angel gone rogue in the confident stride “Y’looking for an angle, but don’t play sweet on the deal cause I know what you got” John Wayne in the voicing to play it assertive but cool, the man who hides a devilish glint slithers across his face a hideous grin.
A cool hand delivery of a smoke to the mouth with right hand, an effortless left hand bringing the refined flame to bring smoky goodness to the scene, the man casually relieved as he draws in the sweet tobacco kick that temporarily hides the hideous grin “Angles? I got’em all in the deal of the cards, an ace on side if I need to kick the pot my way” distractedly casting eyes on a passing blonde, such slim line curves to make a sports car cry “if only they could see I’m throwing back words at a seven foot tall demon in the sweet afternoon rain” as by curious occasion an opening salvo of drizzle falls down like full blown storm born rain.
The demon matches with even more grotesque glory a grin to make less strong loss their lunch, eyes heavenly aimed to silently, respectfully, acknowledge the great sunny weather that’s putting everyone else in a jitterbug rush to any shelters in what’s become a shit shower of a storm “Y’know I’m a great friend if the cards fall favourable on my sides corner of the ring, we got you a five star contract with all the perks” an offer in ever versant tones to sell it to the ever jaded façade of a man looking to beat his crappy shot at hell “might even be an opening for that classy looking blonde you spied in glorious dress!”
The man takes a step, proudly formulated in every second of a slow methodical movement to stick it to hell, cigarette cast wide to the right as to the ground it reduces to ash “I ain’t no fool and the contract too rich to sin, I got my eyes on mortals that would better be a prize” a slim eye with a laser point targeting to the seven foot tall counter “and that blonde, I’ll have by a charming grin and pleasant time, a posh bottle of something pure to boot”
The demon takes a bow, a grandiose exhibition of defeat in the awkwardly staggered act of bending it’s seven foot form, the man casts a lazy wave, each immune to sheets of falling water that cause the hordes to run and moan “Till next my demonic friend, may the fates give a crap and shift your luck to the better side of the street” as the man faded into the manic crowd.
As to whom held the power, a mystery to be left to the winds…