Y/N gets more than she bargained for when getting to know the mystery creature that's been living in her shop silently for the past few years. She never would've imagined the sort of adventure he would lead her to, nor did she expected to be close w...
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There was a slight difference in walking around outside of the castle. For one, instead of full out bowing to Mephistopheles as we passed, a majority of Hell's denizens chose to ignore their king all together with a select few being courteous enough to give an acknowledging nod of the head. However, I do not believe their lack of presentation when greeting him was out of disrespect. Mainly, it just seemed like they wanted to stay out of his path. Phil was unbothered by it, anyways— as he had told me when I inquired about them trying to avoid us.
His answer was that they know he is a stronger individual and don't want to risk insulting him or unintentionally make him angry. Most figure it's better to stay out of his way altogether. Other than that, I spent our stroll admiring the scenery and unique architecture of the buildings. Everything is actually quite beautiful down here, though I'm sure Phil is guiding me through safer sections to avoid any potential incidents.
"Why don't we take a small break? There's a café up ahead if you're thirsty."
"All right." Giving a small smile, the male nods and guides me to a grey building composed of bricks. It has multiple levels— the upper ones seeming to be a living space, while the bottom appears to be the café Phil had mentioned. Through the windows of the restaurant, I can see the dim glow let off by the light fixtures inside along with the burgundy drapes pulled open to the sides. I note the people and tables as well as a front counter before gazing up at the wooden sign the color of blood hanging above the entrance on a black, metal pole that juts out from the building.
On it reads something in a language unknown to me— a majority of the golden lettering looking more like symbols than actual words. I hum, having no clue how to decipher them as I'm taken in through the dark red door. Along the wall to my right lies the long counter, where "lambs" race back and forth to grab their demonic customers' coffee orders. There are a few waiting in line for their drinks, while others sit at the round tables or booths with red cushions. Over the sound of mild chatter is the crackling of a warm fire burning in a stone fireplace in the back of the establishment, which casts a nice glow onto the dark, hardwood floors.
There is a television mounted above the fireplace that's currently off, but it does make me wonder what sort of channels exist in Hell. Phil doesn't have a T.V. in his room, though, so I guess I won't know the answer unless I ask. I don't, though, unable to imagine it's anything too different than what's in the human realm. Though, I can imagine the presence of probably more explicit programs. We walk up to the counter, where the smell of coffee was the strongest, and are greeted by an older man with a rusted chain around his neck and a head of light brown hair cut short to his scalp. His chin is covered with patchy stubble, and his eyes appear worn and tired behind his slightly-cracked glasses. He wears a uniform, the same as the others behind the counter: a red button up with sleeves that go down to the elbow and fold, black pants and a black apron. His gaze is pinned to the counter as he speaks to us in a monotone voice.
