"Without my Department," Diseppia argued, "The Department of Torture would become so disorganized and so backed up that Hell would basically fail to meet its simplest objectives."
"How dramatic," I mocked. "Maybe we should both dispense with the theatrics."
"Wow, you sure showed me," she said lazily. "A teenage human who assumed command of Hell by birthright and after a little experience and a string of dumb luck thinks he knows something about something really put a six-hundred-year-old demon in her place."
"I don't like you," I told her.
"I'm comfortable with that," she replied. "It was difficult, but I've, you know…made my peace with it. Counseling helped. Support of friends and family. Prayer really got me through it."
"Can you not have the last word?" I requested through gritted teeth.
"Oh, I'm sorry, am I being difficult?" she asked, pressing a hand to her chest in feigned innocence. "I know how annoying it can be when someone wastes your time. You know, by interrupting some arrogant blowhard's speech or by calling an immediate mandatory meeting of people who have much more important things to be doing."
"As difficult as you're trying to be," I replied with a smirk, "we both know you wouldn't have come here at all if you weren't at least a little bit afraid of me."
She shrugged. "What's there to be afraid of? According to Kivra, all I gotta do is touch my boobs and bat my eyes and you get all weak in the knees and agree to whatever I want." As a visual aid, she rubbed one of her nipples between two fingers. I looked down and away quickly, hoping to avoid the full impact. I heard scattered chuckling from my audience.
I was beginning to regret calling this council.