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Apollyon


"Dr. Onstead," said the woman behind the bar, smiling.  Plastic smile.  Her long sharp pink acrylic nails scratched his hands when they shook in greeting.

 

He was hungry.  Focus, he thought, count-think-taste.  The office was cold, a little below a normal temperature for a waiting room for humans.  Deliberately uncomfortable.  The walls were eggshell and hung with sub-par nature paintings.  There was a very faint smell of blood from the carpeting, which the shampoo aroma did not quite hide.  Though, he doubted anyone except a demon, a vampire, or a werewolf would have detected it.

 

Or a dragon such as himself.

 

The woman smelled like deception.  Sweat and fear underneath her Chanel perfume, her saltwater pearls, her watered silk suit and the little dip of a different perfume between her breasts, perhaps intended for a lover.

 

Paul smiled and leaned his hip against her desk.

 

He didn't like shaving.  There was something disgusting about the way the coarse hairs of his human form bent and clung to the razor.  He disliked putting on deoderant or aftershave even more: a reptile intended the scents it provided, his own pheromones were sharp and sweet and heady... and he did not need them ruining his attempt at a new life.  So he had some sort of Oldspice antiperspirant slathered beneath his arms, and a very expensive aftershave that came in a bottle with a gold cap dabbed on his annoyed and freshly shaven cheeks.

 

He still wore the simple suit, the gloves, the glasses.  Anything to hide.

 

But despite the simplicity that this job had produced online, on paper, now that he was here, he was certain that something was wrong.  And the plastic smile in front of him did not make anything better.  Her eyes roved his body as if he were a cow she was planning to carve into steaks.

 

She licked her pink lips.  She was human, but by her body language she didn't want to be.  She couldn't scent him, detected nothing out of the ordinary.

 

"Just through there," she said, and gestured, and Apollyon-  Dr. Paul Onstead- considered walking out.  Leaving whatever this twisted game was for some hunter to tear apart, some werewolf to smell the wrong blood on the carpet...

 

But he'd come all this way, and he was rather irritated that he'd shaved for a job that was nothing more than a Demonic Ponzi scheme.

 

Done.

 

He smiled like a reptile and headed toward his 'interview.'
January 30, 2019 08:29 pm
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