“C’mon, let’s go get some air out on the balcony,” Orias announced, tapping Zuureth’s chest along the way.  “This bar reeks of debauchery and pleasures, and it’s fucking turning me on.”  He laughs as he slides the glass door open, and even his tormented companion cracked a smile at that remark.  Gesturing toward a barstool, the demon advisor stated, “You may as well make yourself comfortable, Zuureth, as this may take a while.”  Shaking his head at the offer, he leaned against a railing instead.  “Suit yourself,” Orias commented.<br/><br/>The barstool must have looked inviting enough as Orias sat on one, facing Zuureth.  “Now pay attention, boys and girls.  Get out your spiral notebooks with sharpened #2 pencils.  This could get complicated,” he stated with a chuckle.  The demon opposite was overjoyed he was having such a good time; he just wished Orias would get on with it already.<br/><br/>Just like that, Orias had shifted into a more serious tone of voice and demeanor.  “You will take note of how the only exposed areas of your body are your hands, head, and the upper part of your neck.  It would be wise for you to make sure this is always so.  And when I say always, I do indeed mean always.”  He paused in his explanation, in case Zuureth had any pressing questions.  With none being asked, he continued.  “I’m about to show you why you should never deviate from a wardrobe of long-sleeved shirts, long pants, socks, and shoes.”<br/><br/>Zuureth found this extremely annoying, as now he was being told what kind of clothes to wear.  What the fuck was that all about? he thought bitterly.  “Please, humor me, old friend,” Orias implored as he rose from the barstool.  “Kindly lift your shirt from your waist to your chest, and also roll both sleeves up.”  Following through on his simple but weird requests, Zuureth now gazed upon strange, unreadable markings.  From those he could see, they all resembled intricate tattoos of some sort.<br/><br/>Satisfied, and having made his point, Orias motioned for him to return his shirt to how it was before.  “What you were just looking at were the names of all who have somehow reneged on their bargains with our Dark Highness.  I do not know how many names are etched on your body, nor am I able to read any of it.  Only He is able to translate what they all mean.”  He stroked the stubble on his chin before proceeding.  “Those names, markings, or however else you care to refer to them will be your guide as to whom you need to hunt, and return to our almighty Lucifer.”<br/><br/>Indicating the time-out sign with both hands, Zuureth inquired, “Hold on a second.  Now you want me to kill all these people?”  A shake of the head with his eyes closed, and a knowing smile were Orias’s initial responses, and then he ventured, “I never said anything about killing.”  A flick of his right wrist later, and Orias was now holding what appeared to be a fountain pen.<br/><br/>Unable (or unwilling, you pick) to mask his amusement, Zuureth snorted in derision.  “Oh, I get it now.  You want me to write some fucking poetry to these people.  Or, perhaps love letters.  Or, maybe even. . .”  It was then that Orias vigorously ceased his humorous escapades.  “You dare mock the chosen weapon of our Prince of Darkness?!  Shall I return to Him now, alerting Him to your refusal of His offer for your possible redemption?!”<br/><br/>If he wasn’t already, the last two questions sobered him up immediately.  Near panic, he blurted, “No, no!  No need to do that.  Forgive my stupidity, as I meant no offense.  I just don’t see how a meager fountain pen will be able to complete the job.”<br/><br/>Bemused, though mostly amused, Orias produced just one word, “Meager.”  His handmade Italian loafers emitted no sound as he approached Zuureth.  Already leaning against a railing, there was nowhere else for him to back up to, so he stood his ground and waited for the inevitable.