“Gloves? Check. Lead smears? Check. Formaldehyde? Check. Books? Check. Solenoid? Check. Solomon’s gold bars? Check. Defibrillator? Check. Recorders? Check. Barbed wires? Check. Mutated daffodils? Check…”
At this point, the rest of Brandon’s words are like white noise in Llearth’s ears. The messenger demon wonders, for the life of him, why he still puts up with the younger demon after all this time. Because he’s not just a worthy scion of your highly revered ancestor, but also your ticket to unprecedented glory, fame like no other, and most likely your saving grace, just in case you piss off someone you’re not supposed to, which is something you always do, his subconscious replies him.
After reassuring himself- something he’s had to do from time to time to remain the clearheaded, bigger person amongst the two of them- he does a mental scan of the room to be sure that they haven’t missed out on anything.
Although they packed everything four days before and were raring to go for the past forty hours, Llearth sees nothing wrong in crosschecking for the umpteenth time. It is always better to be safe than sorry; as a Supreme Messenger, he learned this the hard way. Besides, this is not a trip to some random island like Barbados. If anything worth taking is missed out, it could spell potential doom for them.
Not you, him, Llearth’s subconscious, and the older demon tries not to roll his eyes. You just said that he is my ticket to success. If he’s screwed, we’re both screwed.
Dealing with Brandon Läwst can be quite exhausting, and Llearth sometimes converses with his subconscious to get a reprieve from the former’s overbearing and sometimes troublesome personality. Otherwise, he would have lost his mind or done something insane by now.
Like getting him to fall for you and then breaking his heart into tiny pieces to show him that life doesn’t go as planned, right?
Llearth shrugs that thought off without much ado, choosing to instead focus on something productive, like going over the plan they agreed on. The plan is good- as good as one made by two geniuses, considering the fact that there are several variables at play here, such as Lust acknowledging his lost seed.
Don’t get ahead of yourself. He’ll have to survive on the other side first to even stand a chance. Which Sin acknowledges a dead heir that is about as useful as a figurine?
Llearth huffs but still continues his inner battle, refusing to be bested so easily.
Are you on my side or against me? These days, I don’t even understand you anymore.
There is no side, dunderhead! I’m you after all. But sometimes, we have to face the truth, even if it’s ugly.
Lost in his monologue, he does not notice that Brandon is no longer saying anything, having observed the dazed, barely present look in his companion’s eyes. He always does that. Is that some sort of communication or just another way of acting cool? I should conduct further experiments to find out.
Then, feeling a bit mischievous, he decides to tease his traveling companion. A round of teasing before they left wouldn’t hurt, would it?
“Heath, come over here for a minute, will you?”
“Yes, of course. What is…”
The lesser demon trails off after realizing that Brandon has, as usual, mispronounced his name on purpose. His face contorts in annoyance.
“What did you just call me?”
Brandon inwardly does a fist bump, but the expression on his face remains unchanged. Strike one. A win for Brandon, and a loss for Llearth.
“I don’t have the habit of repeating myself, you know. Besides, it isn’t my fault that you were not paying attention.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“Then why did you…”
Llearth is exasperated at the younger demon’s antics. Were they not on a journey to Hell, he’d surely teach the latter a lesson or two. Instead, he quickly thinks of the most effective way to prevent this conversation from turning into a full-blown argument. Trying to defend himself will only egg the younger demon on, so he settles for tacit acquiescence.
“Never mind. Why did you call me?”
One thing Llearth realized in the time he spent with the younger demon is that arguing with or trying to correct him is of no use. The other party would only exhaust himself, with nothing to show for it. Such actions more often than not, lead to arguments that almost never end.
The younger demon simply never knows when to be quiet or how to let things go. He not only insists on his opinions at all times but also never rests until he has managed to get the other party to either agree with him eventually or acquiesce with his point of view.
This is an unmistakable trait in most rulers and rulers-to-be. Llearth knows this, but he understands that if the young scion is to best his counterparts and further increase his chances of being acknowledged by his father, he must possess something that most demons do not have- a listening ear. It may sound strange, perhaps even utterly cliché, but the mark of true strength lies in the ability to also take the suggestions of others into consideration.
There is strength in many, but this strength has remained mostly untapped because the typical demon is a know-it-all who thinks it beneath him to take advice from others; he can almost never be wrong. Llearth understands this because he was once like that, but centuries in the land of the ghouls opened his eyes to how narrow-minded that belief is.
Llearth is of the opinion that if Hell is to continue to advance and actually stand a chance in the upcoming war, the new generation of rulers, who will most likely be in power then, must understand that no man is an island of knowledge.
Otherwise, war aside, they might not even remain the overlords of Hell for much longer.