ＭＡＫＥ Ａ ＤＥＡＬ ＷＩＴＨ ＴＨＥ ＤＥＶＩＬ．．．
Whenever he’s being summoned, there’s this distinct feeling he gets—but it’s nothing he can put into words; it’s not like a tingle or a pulse of electricity, and the hairs on the back of his neck don’t really stand up, nor does he hear a voice in his head. It’s just a vague notion and a thought of where he needs to be. It’s incredibly inconvenient when someone summons him during a schedule, but it happens all too often—today is one of those days and as he stares into the lens in front of him with his brows furrowed, the cameraman behind the scenes can see he’s not putting his all into the photoshoot.
He tries to remind him to focus, but Chanyeol is forced to excuse himself with the excuse of having eaten something bad the night before; he never gets tired of using that cover story because it rarely seems to fail. No one wants to tell him to stay put and risk him shitting his pants or blowing chunks all over the place, even if there is no threat of that with his reason to leave being entirely false.
He exits through the back door and into the dank alley behind the studio, and transports himself—via teleportation—to the area of the city he’s been summoned to. His brows arch high and he scoffs, thinking back to the days when the term ‘crossroads demon’ actually applied. Nowadays it seems that the empty parking lot of any supermarket or department store will suffice; in fact, he’s even been summoned to alleyways and people’s very own houses before. Developments have caused crossroads to become less inconspicuous and Chanyeol understands, but it amuses him no less.
“Hello,” he greets the person in front of him with a smile and it’s a smile that undoubtedly throws them off. After all, it’s not often that people expect such a friendly demon to show up. They expect a sinister figure or even the devil himself and Chanyeol’s not the devil—he’s not even the devil’s advocate, he’s just a power-hungry rogue, which may be worse, but it depends on who you ask. “I have four main rules,” he lifts four fingers. “Firstly; you can have whatever your heart desires, from wealth, to fame, a house, the love of your live—a bigger ass, maybe a nice boob job?” He chuckles, cocking his head to the side with a suggestive arch of his brows; he puts down one finger. “Secondly; you can have it for ten years. No amount of begging, kissing up, pleading or running away when the time comes will extend the time you have.” His expression takes a darker turn for a second, then it brightens up again as he puts yet another finger down. “Thirdly; we seal the deal with a kiss. There is a blood spell, but who honestly has time for that?”
It’s when he’s down to his final finger that his face reflects how truly amused he is. “Finally—and I feel, most importantly—if you don’t use tongue, I won’t either.” He finishes with a playful wink, dropping his hands to his sides. "So, what can I get you?"
．．．ＴＨＥＮ ＳＥＡＬ ＩＴ ＷＩＴＨ Ａ ＫＩＳＳ．
[ x x x x x x ]
