Ignoring his aide’s comment, Winston blandly explained his department’s process to me. He commanded a staff of demons who were given strict instructions on how to determine the appropriate punishment for each soul. Their rulings were reviewed by an immediate superior, who passed along reports on these decisions to Winston, who perused them at random to check procedure and occasionally sat in on a ruling, blah blah blah.
It started out pretty interesting, but Winston kept getting more and more detailed and his already boring voice took on an even more monotonous tone until I told him that I’d heard enough.
“You don’t want me to continue?” Winston said, feigning lazy disappointment. “Oh, okay then, if you insist.” And he stopped, staring at me expectantly. Dramien did the same, only with a little more poison in his gaze.
“Well, that all sounds good,” I said awkwardly. “Thanks for your time.” And I turned around abruptly and walked out. Gus followed, closing the door behind us. He gave me a frank stare of amused disapproval.
“What?” I said defensively.
“You’re the Devil,” he reminded me. “The Devil doesn’t say ‘thanks for your time.’ You’re a fearsome figure, a powerful player in the eternal world, a force to be reckoned with. You don’t do common courtesy because it’s not important enough to matter to you.” He shrugged. “But I can’t tell you what to do. It’s just a suggestion. I’m just your aide.”
“Right,” I said, moving on to put my embarrassing actions in the past. “I’ll keep that in mind. Where do we head next?”