On that night he goes to Gaap, knowing that suicide is better served than this embittered confidence he keeps with the Prince. It is self-flagellation, self-immolation, and all other particularly nasty ‘self’s that he cares to think of – yet, this fast becomes the only reprieve from the weight of poorly made decisions. A horrendous little friendship, struck on tentative ground, and nurtured by a sense of kinship and those sordid encounters that Shax would sooner like to forget.
“Well, this is all very unpleasant.” Outwardly there is a chuckle. His expression tells of boredom – how nasty this must seem, and the subject of break-ups is hardly an appropriate one to speak of over drinks – legs crossed neatly, fingers idling through his golden locks. He is silent, for a time, content to watch the meandering of a cat across the hall, knowing that this is not Gaap’s pet. “I had not thought you the type to take up living with anyone other than yourself. It must be quite the challenge to make room, what with how big your head is – and to keep them hidden away while we sit here, enjoying drinks together? Tsk.” The smirk on his lips is, at least, genuine. Ridiculing Gaap helps him to forget the pain that has driven him here – however briefly his callous humor may last. “But I suppose I can’t really blame you. It would be quite damaging, I expect, for a Great Prince of Hell to be thought of as domesticated.”
“Two princes, in fact.”
@incitare
“It’s Seere’s.” He says pointedly not sparing the animal a single glance as he instead casts his eyes to his company - not expected but always welcome - which now occupied the seat adjacent to his own. He raised the glass in his hand to his lips as his eyes roved over the form in front of him, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “She leaves them here - terrible creatures the lot of them.”
Even if they were beginning to grow on him - little by little.
It was curious - Shax’s presence. Recently he didn’t often indulge in Gaap’s own marvelous company, much more interested in that pet of his. The angel that Gaap so often teased him about. Definitely earning Shax’s ire multiple times over for matters involving his little winged guilty pleasure. The ring in particular had definitely been one of the better ideas, watching that play out had been worth all the trouble afterwards.
“Speaking of terrible creatures -” he paused fixing Shax with a smug look trying to incite some sort of reaction from him. It was after all, so amusing to see his face grow fierce at just the mention of his little angels name being run through the mud. Choosing - much to his own displeasure - to ignore any comments about him and domestication, though the concept was an entertaining one. “I trust your - how did you say it, sweet? - sweet Suriel is doing well.”
“Or - is he the cause of all your unpleasantness? I can only hope so.”
"Yes, this was the implication of 'two princes' -- or is she a princess, now?" He doesn't bother to mention how fitting it seems, that the most angelic of their lot would wish to appear so soft and girlish -- because this is unkind, and unfair, and he's certain there would be nothing soft about Seere if she happens to overhear.
A hand lazes over the edge of his seat, attempting to coax the animal to him, and the demon lapses into a thoughtful silence for a time.
It doesn't last.
"Suriel and I have decided to part ways." Shax's eyes grow hard. "Beyond incompatibilities that made our coupling impossibly frustrating to tolerate, I thought it better for him to be away from my-...influence." He is almost convinced of himself, if not for the tremor of his fingers as they clutch his drink. In his misery Shax forgets that it was the man before him that planted this seed of doubt in his mind. "He was never fully seduced by sin, but nor was he repulsed by it. There was nothing more for me to do with him, once the novelty of screwing an angel had gone." Shax surprises himself with his straightforward words. He does not waste precious moments dancing around what he means, composing long winded poetry about what is as simple as sex. 'Screwing an angel' -- yes, and that leaves him with a dull ache in his stomach. Misery does not suit his handsome face. He is made uglier for it.
But the gin helps.
"So if he is doing well, I am not privy to it."
