Imp was making a journey these last few hours. He'd made his way from Eridanus to Tunnel H to check out his old artwork, and met Aethril; then he'd gone to Cetus to talk with Dragon. With that out of the way, he was coming here--and then heading for Cepheus, afterward. It actually hadn't been that bad, really; most of the caves were en route from one to the next, right beside one another, so it wasn't like he was backtracking or anything. Plus, everything was a lot easier with eyes.

But he had gotten a little lost and gone the wrong way on the way here, and seen Cepheus--so at least now he knew how to get back there easily enough.

Right now, though, he had one other visit to make. The gate guard had let him past, with some questions, which Imp had impatiently answered. When he'd said he was here to speak with Vargas, they'd finally waved him past. So, here he was.

Imp took a deep breath, eyes glittering with mischievous, hateful malice. "VARGAS?" he yelled.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

He came in with tilted head, his strides long, his gaze quizzical. It took him a moment to actually recognize Imp, and he let out a short, harsh laugh as he did so. "I almost did not recognize you," he said, allowing himself some mockery, for once--this little shit had stung him, repeatedly, and made a bit of an ass of him at the time. "Not without a broken tail, and not with your eyes. You have more, now, I see," he observed, looking them over.

He wondered what Imp wanted, but truth be told he wasn't all that concerned. A little concerned by the creature's lack of proper address--he was Master Vargas, after all--but he did not hate Imp.

He hardly thought of Imp at all.

The creature was one he'd classified as annoying, but tough--a Champion of Hydra at least twice over, once blind, and that counted for something in Vargas's books. Clearly rebellious, but also absolutely undaunted.

Which was fine... as long as he knew where to muzzle himself in the Master's presence.

"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.

Imp grinned fearlessly up at Vargas.

At least, it was fearless on the surface.

Deep down, there was terror, a thrill of horror at the memories of being pinned and torn into by the fuckhead monster that loomed above him now. But there was so much hatred there that it had turned to a sort of wild exhilaration, a ferocity that drove the venom that thickly laced his words. "I came to ask what you'll give me in return for not drawing you with dicks all over the Cepheus palace," he answered, his grin turning shit-eating. He'd rehearsed that line in his head, again and again, and he was damn proud he hadn't botched it out of fear--hadn't stammered or something.

For a moment he basked in the glow of having said that shit to Vargas--to a Master, and to this fuck in particular; it was probably the high point of his life.

Or one of them, at least.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas's reaction was instantaenous--he didn't consider, but simply lunged. "I will give you," he growled, "the mercy of not tearing you limb from limb." He snatched for Imp, aiming to pin him down, and Imp-... made no move to avoid him. In fact, Vargas missed, and Imp sidled in, flopping over as if helpless--with a grin.

Vargas's eyes narrowed.

He looked the little beast over.

Fins. Spines. Glowing spots. Scales. Slowly, his mind put it all together, the realization trickling in. "Do you think that because Master Farina has remade you, you may address me with such insolence-? I will still kill you, Imp," he growled.

When Vargas lunged--and missed--Imp snorted. He then flopped over, inching in, throwing his wings out dramatically as if helpless. It wasn't a good feeling, really--wasn't at all pleasant to be back in that situation--but he knew it'd be worth it in a second.

Even as he helpfully tapped Vargas's hand, and tried to maneuver the Leviathan's thumbs around his throat.

Talk about dancing with death.

"Farina-? Nah. No, I'm Aethril's official artist now. I've been hired to paint all over the Palace." He stopped, staring up with that same shit-eating grin, letting that sink in. "She said that if anybody hurts me, they'd answer to her. And she told me to ask the Masters if it's true that you have to obey her. So I'm here to check, really," he added, batting all four eyes up innocently. "Is it true?" he asked, at last. "Does it really mean that you can't touch me?"

...Of course, if Aethril had been lying, this was about to end really fucking badly--but Imp didn't think she was.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas stared, his uncertain grip (what the hell is Imp doing?) releasing hastily at the mention of the Hand. Ahh, he thought; now he understood Imp's game.

He snorted, pulling back, sitting down. "Bold of you, beast. Bask in it while you can," he added, mostly indifferent. He mused, for a moment, that he seemed to be far more important to Imp than Imp was to him: he'd barely thought about the creature, and apparently, Imp had obsessed over him.

It was a little wretched, really.

"I warn you, though--consider this a gift... I doubt that Aethril will enjoy your form of... 'art.'" No; the Hands liked sophistication, class; Imp drew masses of crooked penises on bad sketches of the Masters. "And I warn you, too... those who serve the Hand are intended to treat her other servants with respect. Should you go around insulting them, you, too, will have to answer to her. And I can assure you... the wrath of a Hand is far worse than the brief anger of a Master. You may hate Nemean... but she chose to spare your life. Aethril would not be so forgiving of your disrespect."

There. He could take that warning, or he could leave it; but Aethril might blame Vargas, even, if he'd left it all unsaid. Though really, he was being kind.

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

strong language

sexual themes

"Aethril-?" Imp asked, surprised. "She loves my dicks." It was said with total certainty, and with utter innocence as to the other potential meanings of that phrase. "That's why she's hiring me," Imp added.

He came upright, pulling away, staring up at the Master with a thrilling sense of invulnerability. He can't do shit to me. She was right, he thought, ecstatic.

As for the Master's other warnings? Imp ignored them, because it almost did sound like Vargas was doing Imp a favor. And anyway... the mention of Nemean had him grinning yet again. "Merciful, huh-? Merciful like when she left Farina boiling underwater for, like, a billion years-? Which is where she is now, by the way," he added, gloating, studying Vargas intently for any sign of distress.

He hoped for it. He craved it.

"Stuck down underwater, boiling forever. As punishment. Wake up... drown... boil... go back into her stone. That's her new life now, the fuck," he added, bitterly savage. "And she deserves it."

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas stared, nonplussed.

...All right, was all his mind could settle on, at last. He wasn't very privy to the whole genitalia thing, either, but so far as he could tell, Imp was even more clueless than he now was. He almost laughed along with Imp's retort, at first, until he told her of Nemean's fate. If it were true.

His expression darkened, and he went still.

Nemean-... had overstepped. Of that, there was no question. Traitor or not... she'd overstepped. And ever since Farina's return, he'd expected something like this. But... he and Nemean had a history. They'd been sadists together, certainly. Had laughed together over the most incredibly dark scenarios. Had shed blood together.

Hell, he'd even let her dress him up for tea parties.

But this-..? Somehow, he hadn't expected this--even after seeing Astraea obliterate her once with fungus, seeing her return to her gemstone melting and screaming, he hadn't expected this. And realistically? There was nothing Vargas could do for her, even if he were so inclined.

"Is that why you have come here-?" he asked the little wretch, directly. "Do you imagine that you will somehow hurt my feelings with tales of Nemean's fate, as retribution for your eyes..? Did you know that she kept them?" he added, tilting his head a little to study him. "As decoration, for her home." There--let him stew in that. "In the meantime... was there anything else?" he asked, working to keep the growl from his voice.

If Imp kept pushing him, he'd haul him the entire way back to Aethril for delivery, and he would most certainly not be gentle.

Oof.

The reminder fucking hurt--ignited another smoldering hatred in his gut--but Imp fought it down. "Yeah, I know that, dumbass. I was there, remember-? She said to 'keep them intaaaaact,'" he went on, his voice a mockery of her own. He was annoyed that Vargas didn't show more reaction, but... "Anyway, if I get upset-? I can just think about her boiling alive, forever," he added, with a sneer.

Eat that, shitheap.

"Anyway-... I've got a real good idea for a painting. Full-sized. Right in the main hallway of Cepheus." He was bluffing--Aethril hadn't really given him permission for this, explicitly--but he wasn't about to let that slip. "Your head, see--it's shaped a lot like a dick."

What penises Imp had been seeing that resembled Vargas's bizarre hammerhead, he left unsaid. Likely he was bluffing.

But there was a kernel of truth in it: he fully intended to draw Master Vargas in full, glorious, turgid color, with a penis for a body and its tip for his ugly head.

- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas considered snagging Imp by the throat and dragging him roughly the entire way to Cepheus, presenting him to Aethril and politely requesting she explain how cave dynamics worked. But truth be told, he was rather in a pickle, here. Aethril would undoubtedly expect him to handle his own problems; storming off to tell on Imp was akin to a child's tantrum.

He took a breath. "My name is Master Vargas, Imp, and if you choose to forget that, I do not mind ripping your eyes out again. You have four, now, after all; surely you only need two to paint. If you are uncertain, you can always ask your new benefactor," he growled, and then narrowed his six eyes, simplifying for the idiot. "That means Aethril," he added.

"I do not care about your paintings. Consider them your righteous vengeance, if you must," he added, genuinely indifferent to this, pushing up and turning away. "But if you waste my time with this disrespect again I will deliver you back to Aethril in your chrysalis."

He strode off, then, but it was telling that he offered only words.

This new Hand is proving to be a nuisance, he thought, at times.

exit Vargas