Ascension Sickness
The door swings open so hard the room seems to shake, the knob hitting the wall with enough force to produce a sharp crack like an animal yelping. Gula moves in like a storm, taking heavy steps, muzzle creased into a snarl that displays pearly rows of sharp teeth, his ears flattened back.
“The disrespect!!” his already cutting, resonant voice has been raised to an inadvisably loud yowl “It’s indelible!”
It is clear he is talking to Sophia, who was asleep on the couch. She is not asleep anymore. At the cacophonous bang of the door opening she shot up, eyes wide, baring her teeth. Realizing it’s just Gula, no matter how loud he may be, her tail stops lashing defensively.
“What happened?” Sophia has a warm, warbling voice, made softer and almost sappy by her heavy rural accent, and speaking around her pronounced canines causes a subtle lisp to pad her words.
Gula sputters at this, stopping short in his warpath, and gestures wildly with his strange talons. As a shapeshifting breed, most demons will standardize to a certain size that will allow them access to most places while in settled areas, use hands that can easily grasp objects, and speak with lips that can be read. This can give them a deceptively human appearance, barring signifiers they prefer to leave present, such as horns, tails, and fangs that let other demons know not to mess with them. Gula does not abide by this etiquette. He is hulking, and hog-headed, with the muscular haunches of a boar. His hands are grotesque and made only for hurting. He has just four fingers on each, two at the top and two thumbs on each side of his meaty palm, all with curved claws like hunting knives.
“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this promotion?” his porcine nose flares with anger, though he speaks now in a way that is uncannily measured, reminding Sophia of the still before a cat pounces “I’ve dealt with ascension sickness, the- the unhelpful way everyone has seemingly deemed fit to speak to me-! I did not fight tooth and nail for this just for- for upper management to waste my time with fetch quests!”
Gula’s porcine head is propped up on a clawed hand as he reclines in an overstuffed and somewhat funny smelling armchair, his nostrils flaring with indignation as he thinks, his dark eyes narrowed. Sophia, a thin but sturdy young imp with bushy black eyebrows and short horns protruding from her forehead stands over him, her expression unreadable as she brushes his hair with her fingers, seeming very focused on this task. Her spade-headed tail makes broad sweeps back and forth around her ankles as she works. All that can be heard is Gula’s irritated breathing, the ticking of a cuckoo clock out in the hall, and the quiet work of the imp.
Her hand comes to cup one of Gula’s pointed ears, and brush the side of his face. She pauses for a moment, feeling the tautness caused by his clenched teeth, and then slips her hand forward more to attentively massage where his sore temple meets the powerful muscles of jaws. Gula bristles for a moment before letting out a long, low sigh, and finally eases into his seat. Sophia makes a stifled noise of surprise, drawing back in response, and at this the archdemon turns to face her, looking now even more tense and annoyed than before.
“What? What is it?” he has a distinct, resonant voice that carries a clear impression of self importance, and an impressive diction despite his inhuman mouth.
The imp purses her lips, her deep blue eyes flickering to take in her boss’ terse expression.
“You’re just a bit worse for wear, sir. About as stiff as a board. Do you mind if I touch your shoulders?” she inclines her head towards him, the at-ease position of cow-like ears showing Gula that she means him no offense, and was reacting to the pained, rigid way he’s found himself moving these days.
A bit caught off guard that she would even notice, the demon cocks an eyebrow, scrutinizing her for a moment, and then nods tightly.
“I suppose I could use the help unwinding,” he adjusts to give her better access to his broad back, almost sounding something close to polite now.
Gula releases a low rumbling noise that sounds almost like a purr, though his broad mouth flattens with dissatisfaction, revealing sharp canines tucked into the corners of his grimace. The steady hands of the smaller demon run firmly along the back of his sturdy neck and then across his scalp, up through his loose curls. He appreciates how thorough the imp is, her attention to detail impressing him a tad as she carefully moves with the pattern of his thick, wavy hair to avoid pulling, but he is well aware that this is a waste of time till the next waste of time.