>>5632254>>5632257>>5632291>>5632309>>5632322>>5632333>>5632361>>5632424>>5632717>>5632800>>5632825>>5632829>>5633049>I resent that, what does me being an Imp have to do with anything?"Resent it? What are you, a demon rights activist? You Imps are pests in every sense, don't tell me you've forgotten! Just 'cause you trot around with a hot piece of ass doesn't change that. Typical Imp, thinking they're hot shit the second they get a lick of power..."
Headys snorts as her tongue splits back apart and wriggles back into her mouth one bit at a time. Jubilee's brow furrows as he wings flap to hold her upright in the air. She crosses her arms and glares down at the Axe Mass with a face holding nothing but contempt.
"Do you know who you're talking to? I am <span class="mu-r">Jubilee</span> of the Second Circle, and wretches like you will address me and my subjects with respect. Bow, and beg forgiveness."
As Jubilee invokes her name, both you and the Axe Mass shiver from the mere sound as it demands your respect. Despite her large stature, Headys' head sinks low as her many legs kneel in submission. Power is the law, and not one to break lightly.
"Forgive me, Lady <span class="mu-r">Jubilee</span>... I-I spoke too freely..."
>I'm going to pretend I didn't hear any of that and move on. What've you got for me, Headys?You can't help but smirk at the sight of the Axe Mass brought low. Still, you have better things to do than bully Headys some more. That can always come later.
"A-Ah, right, your package."
The Mass' eyes tentatively look upwards to Jubilee, who waves a hand for her to get on with it. A selection of arms dig underneath her ratty collection of cloaks, tarps, and such which keep her decent --If she can be called such in any state--
"I was going to ask for something in return, but I can hardly make demands from a slav- er, high s-subject like you, yes...?"
Hedd sheepishly present to you...
>A strangely shimmering greatsword with a curious eye on the hilt. While a larger demon might be able to easily wield it with two hands, for you it's frankly ridiculous. It feels like it understand what you're thinking.>A leather-bound tome, clasped tightly shut with a lock. It bears a familiar sign on the cover, not that you know much of what it means. It smells of blood, smoke, and alcohol. All ingredients for a good, witchcrafting time.>A silvery revolver, held safely by a leather-gloved hand. Holding this looks like it'll hurt without proper protection, but you bet it'll hurt whoever's down the sights a whole lot more. It's true that God created all things, but Samuel Colt made them equal, pardon the phrase.>Write-in