story...
Seth's appetite proved to be his undoing, just as Reflex had known it would. He was supposed to be standing look-out while Reflex explored another storage compartment, this one closer to the galley and so hopefully containing snack supplies. Unfortunately, Seth quickly found himself bored on top of already being hungry, a dangerous combination for any demon. He wandered off, aimlessly following his inner compass, the one whose magnetic north always found weirdness and trouble. Eventually his compass gave out and his nose took over and he followed it to another sumptuous buffet.
Halfway down the hot-food side of the table, an authoritative hand fell on Seth's shoulder, asserting that attention should be paid to it. This was the security officer's first mistake, but no one had ever thought to tell him not to touch a demon.
Outside of the dimension of Hell, Seth didn't really possess a lot of special abilities. In Hell, he could cause pain and suffering with a glance, manifest all manner of demonic implements of punishment and even teleport to any spot in the realm where his particular talents might be needed (though they never had been), but beyond the boundaries of that specific plane he was basically useless unless you needed a snarky retort or a scathing critique of your singing. Useless, unless you touched him.
All demons are psychic in one way or another, and while these abilities are amplified in Hell, they are innate to each demon. Seth, if you touch him, instantly and intimately knows your deepest source of shame and guilt, the thing that keeps you up at night for fear that someone might find out or, even worse, that you might do it again.
When the muscular hand of the ship-board authority figure fell on his shoulder, he became aware of two things. First (and most disappointingly) that he would not be enjoying any more buffets on this cruise. Second, that the person attached to this hand had good reason to fear the truth. He turned and looked at the uniformed ruffian, meeting his eyes with a practiced look of withering disgust.
"Your cousin, and her puppy? It's no wonder you have trouble sleeping at night." The man's hand withdrew as though it had received a jolt of live current, which wasn't too far from the truth.
"H-how" he began, his mind reeling from the realization that he had been found out. He couldn't meet Seth's gaze, and yet couldn't look away. "How could you know that?" he asked in a voice that was barely a whisper. Seth gave him a few more seconds of the penetrating glare (another innate demonic ability), then handed the man his plate.
"Get away from me you piece of grothurg." Using the most vile and degrading expletive he could pull from the man's memory. Then he turned and walked away from the buffet, leaving the stunned and horrified officer holding his half-full plate of food.
Halfway down the hot-food side of the table, an authoritative hand fell on Seth's shoulder, asserting that attention should be paid to it. This was the security officer's first mistake, but no one had ever thought to tell him not to touch a demon.
Outside of the dimension of Hell, Seth didn't really possess a lot of special abilities. In Hell, he could cause pain and suffering with a glance, manifest all manner of demonic implements of punishment and even teleport to any spot in the realm where his particular talents might be needed (though they never had been), but beyond the boundaries of that specific plane he was basically useless unless you needed a snarky retort or a scathing critique of your singing. Useless, unless you touched him.
All demons are psychic in one way or another, and while these abilities are amplified in Hell, they are innate to each demon. Seth, if you touch him, instantly and intimately knows your deepest source of shame and guilt, the thing that keeps you up at night for fear that someone might find out or, even worse, that you might do it again.
When the muscular hand of the ship-board authority figure fell on his shoulder, he became aware of two things. First (and most disappointingly) that he would not be enjoying any more buffets on this cruise. Second, that the person attached to this hand had good reason to fear the truth. He turned and looked at the uniformed ruffian, meeting his eyes with a practiced look of withering disgust.
"Your cousin, and her puppy? It's no wonder you have trouble sleeping at night." The man's hand withdrew as though it had received a jolt of live current, which wasn't too far from the truth.
"H-how" he began, his mind reeling from the realization that he had been found out. He couldn't meet Seth's gaze, and yet couldn't look away. "How could you know that?" he asked in a voice that was barely a whisper. Seth gave him a few more seconds of the penetrating glare (another innate demonic ability), then handed the man his plate.
"Get away from me you piece of grothurg." Using the most vile and degrading expletive he could pull from the man's memory. Then he turned and walked away from the buffet, leaving the stunned and horrified officer holding his half-full plate of food.