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[sub][i]15 Arevi-Yun, 1182 PCE[right]Ahriman's Estate, Sheol[/right][/i][/sub]
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	[color=lightgray]When he was but an emberling, Ahriman couldn't picture this: Satin and silk sheets, brimstone countertops, ebonspires to pierce even into the brightest of days, ever-replenishing cellars, full entourages of loyal servants. It was odd to picture that the sprawling mega-complex Ahriman had called his estate was considered awfully modest by other lords of Sheol. Even with so infinitesimal of spaces to work with, Ahriman had prided himself on his heuristic approaches. It may have been crude, yes, but sometimes the simplest solutions were really the best. He may have been a lord of his soul and countless others, but Ahriman would be hard-pressed to confess that he, perhaps, preferred it more when he was but a humble landsman. [/color]

	[color=F88379][b]"His Highness, Lord Macharian has said-"[/b][/color]

	[color=BE4F62][b]"That fool could nary navigate his own estate without the aid of his centurion of lapdogs."[/b][/color]

	[color=F88379][b]"-your plans for Hyusis are - and I quote - 'foolish, overcocky blubmlings only a dilettante the likes of Ahriman could devise'."[/b] [/color]

	[color=lightgray]The constant arguments were a nice touch. Especially with the likes of the Seven other lords of Sheol. Ahriman had prided himself on his status as their latest addition: His same pride was so equally wounded by his proclamation as to the position likewise of, "weakest". [/color]

	[color=BE4F62][b]"And I would trust that you have returned with my proposition, then?"[/b][/color]

	[color=lightgray]His mistress - one of countless - curled her lip in acknowledgement. By demonic measure, she was but a young thing, and by that same mortal metric, she was far older than any being had any right to be. They were confidants, Ahriman placed no doubt, but discrepancy was the crux of etiquette. For a demon, Ahriman possessed a sense of sentimentality that would have been considered odd by any manner of his station. Collection of the past always prepared for the present, he would tell. 

	She snapped her middle fingers, and with the puff of ebony smoke appeared a papyrus scroll - signed and sealed with the purplish-crimson of Lord Ahriman's seal. The Lord, in turn, gazed upon the state of his appraisal in scorn, and turned aside in scathing dismay.[/color]

	[color=BE4F62][b]"How fitting."[/b] [/color][color=lightgray]he commented, [/color][color=BE4F62][b]"He'd barely read the thing before sealing it right back up. Typical."[/b] [/color][color=lightgray]That would make the seventh presupposed rejection of his idea to date. Out of eight, of course - but Ahriman held little esteem for the most esteemed of the Demon Lords to view his proposal with any more enthusiasm than the others. 

	His servant and companion dithered in place slightly, modding over the scroll as she glared past it and unto the Lord. [/color]

	[color=F88379][b]"If I may, Lord-"[/b][/color]

	[color=BE4F62][b]"You need not ask."[/b] [/color][color=lightgray]he interrupted, curling his hand over in hurried display. Her query was, clearly, nothing short of unnecessary, given his harsh tone: And he believed by now that she should have well-learned he far preferred poignancy to etiquette. [/color]

	[color=BE4F62][b]"Out with it."[/b] [/color]

	[color=lightgray]She paused. His mistress looked straightly back at him, a glint in her eye to remind Ahriman that she was capable to lie.[/color]

	[color=BE4F62][b]"Well?"[/b][/color] [color=lightgray]He probed.[/color]

	[color=F88379][b]"Oh, forgive me."[/b] [/color][color=lightgray]she apologized quickly, [/color][color=F88379][b]"It's nothing. Please - forget that I said anything."[/b][/color]

	[color=lightgray]Ahriman narrowed his eyes back at her. He knew something was beneath her - something within her. And, perhaps in reciprocation to such kindnesses he had bequeathed unto even the lowliest of his servants, she had come to the good senses not to return his kindred spirit with so uncouth an inquiry. Yet one did not rise to such prominence without good sense, and Ahriman had long acquired a knack for sensing out others. What he might perceive here was not perjury - at least, not immediately - but he knew she had something she had left unsaid. It may not have been a lie, he knew, but the thought plagued and picked at the back of his mind all the while. [/color]

	[color=BE4F62][b]"Is the banquet set?"[/b][/color] [color=lightgray]He asked - if only to break his unsettled mind. [/color]

	[color=F88379][b]"Yes,"[/b] [/color][color=lightgray]she confirmed,[/color] [color=F88379][b]"You called for them at eleven-"[/b][/color]

	[color=BE4F62][b]"Fifteen."[/b] [/color][color=lightgray]Ahriman completed. His mistress, keeping to her collective, simply nodded. She took but a moment to readjust herself to a more dispassionate disposition, returning to a more oft-a'gaze. [/color]

	[color=F88379][b]"Have you need more of me?"[/b] [/color]

	[color=BE4F62][b]"That will be all. You are dismissed."[/b][/color] [color=lightgray]Ahriman ordered. He would have preferred to call his mistress by name. But, that would have been rather patronizing, wouldn't it? He'd need to attend to his group of his "favourites", he'd call each of them. Ahriman was sure it'd cause some manner of discontent in his circles...but all the better to encourage a bit more competition, wasn't it? In the meantime, he'd wait in his grand reception hall, the dining table set with all manner of exquisite feast and decor, and cling along his fingers to the rim-tim of a wine glass tap. He'd go over the rest of his findings with the group as they all made their way over - no use in reiterating what he himself had long known, of course. And from the distance did his mistress convene with the others in their gaggles, confabulating to each other in hushed whispers on things which no doubt had just recently transpired, and from the eminent hushes of giggles and laughter, Ahriman was no fool to discern that he was their subject of honor. 

	He'd forgotten - in all his splendor - that he'd told his band of "Heartbreakers" at eleven-[i]fifty[/i] and not eleven-fifteen, but so he waited in gleeful misunderstanding to glass after glass of his finest reserve. Nothing but the best, for the best, after all, and so it was that Ahriman most merrily consumed his time away.[/color]