The demon beast was the one to receive such messages; angels werenâ€™t built for it. And the demon beast thought in pictures, replying shortly with only the image of dead Jace mangled in its jaws the very instant it had a glimpse of the wordy, irritating message. The demon beast didnâ€™t care for words. They were hardly a medium which it would deign to use. Pictures were so much clearer anyway.<br/><br/>Now that was a boost to the ego, wasnâ€™t it? Not that he needed it. He seemed momentarily baffled by her reply, as if heâ€™d forgotten what heâ€™d even asked her. Instead, â€œfreedomâ€¦,â€ rolled from his tongue in a semi-amused purr. As if the concept was foreign to him. Maybe it was, though he wouldnâ€™t let on if that were the case.<br/><br/>Satanachia didnâ€™t know where she meant to go, but he brushed the hand from himself and followed anyway, if a bit hesitantly. It was reflexive. A human should not be touching his royal personage. Shouldnâ€™t be calling him her friend either, but heâ€™d already come to the conclusion that she might be just a little bit mad. â€œMany things? Like cleaning up after beasts that have no function. Yes, Iâ€™ve seen that.â€ The little balls of fluff called pets â€“ cats and dogs seemed more numerous than humans. â€œIt serves no purpose.â€ Likes ants to himâ€¦ â€œDo humans do anything that serves a purpose?â€