Illian the Dilopuff

At my remark, Valerian chuckles to himself, brushing his fingers carelessly over the knife strapped to his calf. It's obvious from the wide smirk on his face that he realises my comment it who heartedly in jest, but he gives me an answer anyway, perhaps to satisfy my burning curiosity.

"Oh, I certainly wouldn't dream of stabbing you, chérie. You are in safe hands. But my associates, however, are very rowdy and often need a little incentive to keep themselves under control," he adds with a wink, seeming to imply he is joking, but there is a more stern tone in his voice that seems to suggest otherwise.

It is no secret that the demon lords and ladies of hell are rather a handful to say the least- even my meeting with Dreyfus and Tarquin was filled with ups and downs, largely due to their blatant suspicion of me. But although they have come to settle on the fact I am both genuine and mean no harm to them, I cannot guarantee that same notion will be true of the others.

Shifting on my seat, I brush over the statement, not quite ready to process the fact I am not going to be meeting two demon lords, but four, two of which have already proven almost too tricky for Valerian to fully handle. Or maybe they just really, really didn't want to meet me yesterday.

Finally, when the gurgling anticipation has ceased to tear holes into my stomach, I finally look up at the awaiting Valerian, wearily adjusting to reality.

It takes me a moment to realise Valerian's eyes have not shifted from my form, his lilac orbs scanning me up and down, brows furrowing as he leans himself back on the stove. Pancakes bubble away behind him. Grinning, he waves the spatula in my general direction.

"Are they my clothes?" he prompts, leaning forward now, a huge grin beginning to spread across his face. "Oh, they are, aren't they? Well, I suppose my wardrobe was right there, it was rather easy for you to help yourself," he laughs, turning back to the stove to flip the pancake onto an awaiting plate, before resuming his gaze. Now it is my turn to shrug.

"I didn't think you would mind. Me being your consort and all now," I say simply, sticking my tongue out playfully as I rest my hands behind my head, leaning back against the chair, daring him for a response. But the Devil does not take my bait.

"Fair enough, they suit you well. Red is such a rich colour, it looks rather beautiful on you," he says, neither confirming nor denying my suspicions as to whether he cares or not. Then his eyes flicker upwards, settling on the round, black dilopuff that lumbers on my shoulder. Realising it has been spotted, the creature begins chewing absently on the top of my clothing, as though hoping to disappear right into it.

"I see you have found Illian," he muses, eyes glittering as they settle upon the little black ball of fluff for a second, Then he diverts his attention away to attend the pancakes on the stove, and I swear as he does I can catch a laugh. Lazily, he flicks another pancake over onto a plate, pushing it towards me across the counter as he rustles in the draws beside him, the metal clang of cutlery filling the air. Then he pushes a knife and a fork across the counter, gesturing with his head for me to eat.

But my mind isn't on the pancakes.

"This is… Illian?" I ask, indicating to the little dilopuff on my shoulder, who raises his head to bump my finger, a little chirrup of happiness escaping from his tiny little maw. For such a strange creature, it is awfully cute. Valerian nods, dipping his head once more in indication for me to eat, which I do so with a feigned reluctance, trying to ignore the hungry clawing at my belly.

"Illian is my dilopuff. He has been here longer than I have. He has been my companion for a long, long time now," he laughs, making his way around the counter to take a seat next to me, chair screeching against the marble floor with the motion. He leans over gingerly, ruffling the top of Illian's head with his fingers, and once more the little dilopuff glowers with happiness, the fur on its body ruffling as it closes its little yellow eyes with joy. The smile on Valerian's face is infectious as he sits their in blissful happiness, and so quickly I find a smile spreading over my own face too.

Nervously, I glance over to him, chewing over mouthfuls of fluffy pancakes and enjoying the sensation of having food in my stomach after such a prolonged time without it.

"I thought you said dilopuffs were for, like, depressed souls or something. To help them with their life in the Downside?"

"I did," Valerian says simply, turning away now as he picks over a plate of half eaten pancakes- presumably his, with a dull and uninterested expression. But underneath it all, there is a hurt that aches away at his heart, a fleeting expression of longing that douses his features, enough to make me ask:

"Illian isn't yours, is he..?"

Valerian shakes his head, turning to me once again, the previously mournful look wiped off his face, replaced with a small smile that is clearly a mask for his pain.

"No, Illian is not mine, at least not originally," he murmurs, holding out his hand for the little dilopuff, who staunchly refuses to move from my shoulder, settling against me as it rams its eyes shut, body hardening. I have never seen such an attitude from something so little before, the prospect of it certainly is amusing to say the least. In that moment I get the feeling that the little creature and I are going to become good friends in my stay here, we share the same… stubbornness. Giving Illian a small tickle on the top of his head, I query:

"Then whose-"

"It was my… companions. Lyla. I adopted Illian after she was taken by the angels. I don't think he quite understood what happened to her. He is quite recluse really, he only ever really trusted her, and eventually me but…" he pauses to inspect Illian once more, the smile on his face growing, real and genuine. "It appears he is quite attached to you. I am glad, Illian has needed another friend for a while now, he is getting quite fed up of me, isn't that right Illian?" Valerian chuckles, throwing a casual, good natured wink to the little Dilopuff, who proceeds to ignore the gesture was ever made. The only acknowledgment of Valerian's words at all is a small airy sigh as Illian settles back down into my shoulder, puffing out a tiny breath. Valerian rolls his eyes.

"Drama Queen," he whispers into his palm, knowing full well that Illian is in range of hearing, not that Illian seems to care much. Inwardly, I chuckle at this, looking my well dressed companion up and down, my eyes trailing over his glittery golden suit and the spectacular array of glossy sheik feathers that splay out behind him. He is one to talk.

Just as I am scooping up the last morsels of pancake from my plate, belly full and happy with the prospect of finally being able to process some food for sustenance, Valerian clears his throat, catching my attention. Scraping my knife and fork to a standstill against the plate, I glance up.

"Yes?"

"I don't mean to interrupt," says Valerian, quite obviously interrupting. But I lean back on my seat anyway, content to listen. After all, I am rather pleased at the notion that for once I got fed breakfast- a rare treat indeed, and something my mother would never indulge in. Some manner of kindness must be paid in tribute. "But I believe I need to give you a rundown of the schedule today, I am afraid we have a lot to get done."

Raising my brow, I motion for him to continue. Valerian does so, his tail flicking casually by his side as he relaxes into his seat, all at once assuming a posture of tranquillity.

"Well, I am afraid I will have to introduce you to the remaining demon lords to start things off. Then once we are all acquainted, we have the matter of the prophecy to discuss, your involvement in it and-" he pauses, rethinking his words. "Well, we will get to that later."

I give him a look of puzzlement, but refraining from adding any more questions to the already piling amount I have. Hopefully, my trust in Valerian's word will be substantial enough, and that whatever appears to be troubling him is little more than a spec in my other pools of worries.

"So," I start, putting my knife and fork together, pushing my plate away from me as I straighten myself up in my chair. "When do we go?"