<div style="background-color:#353535; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-weight: bold">"Vivienne. How pleasant it is to see you again."</span></span><br/><br/>Oh, no, really? Really? Like it was not already bad enough to be in a place that stank of smoke and had a more than suspicious floor, <span style="font-style: italic">of course</span> His Royal Pain In The Ass, Mathias Lazaahn, had to stop by to let everyone around him bask in his glory. Or rather, choke them with it, as was his way. Everything annoyed her about him, right from his clunky boots to his ridiculous goatee. It only added to the annoyance that he fit much better with the people in here than she did, but no way would she sacrifice fashion for the sake of blending in. Not in this place. She had her dignity, unlike him, who was dressed like a sad, wannabe-punk caricature of Dumbledore. It really was too bad he was a Prince.<br/><br/>"Hello, Lazaahn," she replied coldly without looking at him, instead keeping a fixed stare on the makeshift band that was assembling in front of her. "You know, if you must invade my privacy, you could at least buy me a drink." She knew that even having a casual conversation with him was like walking on the edge of a knife: one small misstep, and your entire body suddenly underwent involuntary mitosis.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-weight: bold">"My dear Vivienne, your charm is only exceeded by your natural grace," came the reply, spoken in a genial manner that came as no surprise. "But you're right, of course. How rude of me." Seemingly out of nowhere a young man came hustling over to them, bearing a tray of drinks, although there had been no sign of Lazaahn signaling him over.<br/><br/>"Now," he continued with only the faintest trace of a businesslike tone entering his voice, "I presume you have not come here merely for the ambiance."</span></span><br/><br/>"You're right." She took her Manhattan from the tray with a silent nod towards the boy as a way of thanks. It far surpassed her expectations of its quality, but if she was honest that would really not take all that much. "I'm a working girl, after all."<br/><br/>It would be absurd to assume that he would not have heard of level nine souls if she had. In Vivienne's mind that still did not explain what Mathias was doing here. He was a Prince, for Hell's sake - he did not <span style="font-style: italic">need</span> to go a-hunting for souls to maintain his place in the hierarchy. <span style="font-style: italic">What the flying fuck are you doing here, King Cactus,</span> was what she wanted to ask, but she did not.<br/><br/>"And you? I didn't know you liked - whatever this is," she said instead, gesturing towards the band, which had begun playing something far too electric for her taste.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-weight: bold">"Yes Viv, always hard at work, and yet somehow you still manage to disappoint me," Lazaahn responded with a note of displeasure now evident in his speech. He indicated the cluster of people standing on the stage in front of them, just as she'd done, except for the fact that he was pointing somewhere specifically. <br/><br/>"This music is reminiscent of the screaming of the damned, but I am not sitting here because of that. I assumed you weren't either. Surely you see him?"</span></span><br/><br/>Vivienne was about to reply with a more than rude outburst when she realized he was right - she had been too busy hating everything to notice what was right in front of her. She balanced her glass precariously on the edge of the table and leaned  forward. The Roman numeral, <span style="font-style: italic">IX</span>, was hovering in the air above one of the mortals on the stage. He looked so out of place in his boring, white shirt and sad mop of hair that Vivienne felt an unthinkable rush of brief sympathy. Here was someone who was just as much an odd man out as she, even if he was not nearly as good-looking. <span style="font-style: italic">Easy target.</span><br/><br/>"I see," she replied breathlessly, and she was almost certain that every single demon in here knew as well. Maybe there were angels, too, but she doubted that. They were even more snobbish than she was, after all. She almost wished Lazaahn had not pointed him out for her; sitting here was now even more unbearable - there was no socially acceptable way for her to make him sign away his soul now, but waiting was agony - any colleague of hers could swoop in at any given moment and steal her prize. She turned her head to look at her boss with disbelief.<br/><br/>"That... That hasn't happened in centuries. Why is it here?"</div></div>