#anonymous: skirtingboard people

[paradisecost]

"Johannes! Johannes!" squeaked a tiny voice on the pillow beside his head at shortly after four in the morning. "People on glass bridges shouldn't cross when they come to it! Speak of the Pope and he shall appear!"

It was seventeen minutes past four. Cabal knew better than to open his eyes, being relatively fond of having functioning ones. He lay there in the dark, sighing sharply through his nose at the high-pitched whisperings by his ear. It was bad enough that they had to wake him at such a despicable hour–did they have to do it with mixed metaphors, too? 

“It’s Devil, you ingrates,” he said irritably, voice rough with sleep or the lack thereof, “Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. ” 

Cabal paused. He didn’t open his eyes, but he turned his head slightly towards the voice. He’d already dealt with Satan twice. He had absolutely no desire to do so a third time, though when he thought about it he considered that Satan might be better company than the Pope.

“–Wait. Is this a warning?”

#asks #ic: johannes #[ oh jesus christ i have to figure out fucking verse names ] #v: tbd #[ ILL DO THAT... LATER ] #anonymous: skirtingboard people #Anonymous #[ i also cant remember if the number was seventeen or not and im too tired to check ksdnfkjn ]