How Valerian became the Devil (part one)

"These," he says slowly, likely for my sake, as he gestures around the room. "Are my quarters. Unfortunately, I didn't think you were going to make it to yours- the maids will be so disappointed. But if you protest in me keeping you here, by all means you may leave. Of course, that would probably be a questionable decision for-" he cuts off, jolting in alarm as I lie on my back, beginning to conjure little tiny sparks from the tips of my fingers, giggling at the patterns they make as they whizz through the air. Gently, Valerian closes his hand over my own.

"...for obvious reasons," he finishes, his brows furrowing as I hiccup once, before feeling a gorge rise in the back of my throat, my head spinning like a roundabout. Quickly, I swallow down before whatever threatens to spill from my throat can actually come up with an audible gulp, giving him a dizzy and unconvincing smile. To this, the Devil looks only more concerned.

Sighing, he shakes his head, clucking his tongue in a way that I cannot decide is humorous, or alarmed.

"No no, I'm fine," I giggle, enjoying the bubbly sensation of warmth that runs through my body, slipping away into the intoxicating and numbing bliss of alcohol. The Devil raises a brow, stepping back to survey me.

"I see you are much more approachable drunk, amiable one might say. You really did drink a lot, didn't you?" he chuckles with a sweet, honeyed tone, pacing out towards a door on the side of the room and disappearing inside it.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I sniff, calling after him, my only response being a deep, husky laugh and the clinking of glass. The sound of a gushing tap fills my ears as I recline back against the velvety couch, soon forgetting about the whole ordeal as I lose myself in the oil paintings on the wall, in the crystals of the high hanging chandelier and the flicking, fluffy purple lights that twinkle around the room in tiny, chittering clusters.

A few of them come to bob in front of my face, so I lazily stretch my hand out to grab them, curling my fingers mid air to capture these fluffy glowing balls of light, but finding myself evaded every time. Perhaps I am just far too drunk for my own good, but I could have sworn one of them had a tiny little face.

Poking his head cautiously back into the room- perhaps afraid that I might have stripped down naked or something, (though I can hardly see him caring,) the Devil makes his way back in, trailing his black wings behind him in a fine array of mist and shadows.

"Shoo, shoo, what did I tell you about disturbing our guests," he says insistently, but not angrily, waving off the purple balls of light that scatter at his command with a series of gleeful chirrups. Dizzily I smile at him, then realise after a couple of seconds delay that he is offering me a glass of water- at least I think it is water, because drinking vodka right now would be a fucking bad idea, even for me.

Valerian rolls his eyes sarcastically.

"Yes, it is water," he says, shaking the glass a little to indicate for me to take it, guiding my hand up towards it. Gratefully I do so, humming to myself as I take a sip, relishing the cold sting of the water on my tongue. "I'm not trying to poison you or anything, Elowyn. You are here as my consort, not my mortal enemy."

Vaguely aware of his words, I continue humming, swaying back and forth on the couch as he comes to take a seat next to me, leaving a sizable gap between us, enough space for his wings to splay neatly behind him.

For some reason, however, the thought of that only serves to upset me, so I continue sipping my water, eyeing the little balls of fluff- which I am now absolutely certain have eyes.

"Do you have enemies?" I murmur drowsily, glancing up at him through another sip of water, suddenly aware that the room is beginning to sway before me. All at once I feel like I am being spun, rolling through waves of sickness like clothes in a tumble drier, then I jolt as a warm hand steadies itself on my back, channelling me back to reality. Curious.

Valerian gives me a sideways look, his expression blank and unrevealing. His tail flickers against the leg of the couch, curling in a series of unvoiced words.

"I do," he admits softly. "There are a lot of cruel, unjust people in this world, a lot of bad ones too. And a lot of people that hate me for what I am, for what I wish to make of the world."

I blow a few bubbles in my water, pondering.

"Bad like demon hunters?"

Valerian shakes his head.

"Worse. May I?" he asks, leaning over to bring a hand up to my forehand to check my temperature. Slowly I nod, too drunk to really care. My mind is too busy wondering what on earth out there is worse than demon hunters, at least, in consideration to the demons of hell. What enemies could Valerian possibly have acquired over his millennia of existence, and more pointedly, should I be afraid?

The slight scowl on his lips tells me he has already procured the thoughts that are flitting through my head, but doesn't say anything of it, instead choosing to push aside a few strands of my white hair behind my ears and lift his hand up to my head.

Lightly he presses the back of his hand to my forehead, lingering there for a second to assess my temperature, frowning, before curling his hand back in on itself with an affirmative hum.

"A slight temperature. Nectar can do that sometimes- those unaccustomed to it tend to get a fever afterwards, but you seem to have an iron stomach, Princess. Just keep drinking some water and you will be fine."

Snickering to myself, I roll my eyes at him.

"What, are you some sort of a doctor now?" I say with a garish grin, reclining back on the couch as I continue to giggle dizzily into my water. Lifting himself up from the couch, Valerian brings forward a coffee table next to the couch, positioning a small coaster on it before slinking back off into the adjacent room calling:

"Yes, that and many other things."

Pretending not to hear, I spread myself lengthways across the couch, watching him as he goes and finding myself blithely amused by the fanning flick of his tail with each step, like a cat or some great, mountainous lion, swimming with the emotions the face cannot describe. I am not particularly sure how wise it is to make myself so comfortable and carefree in the Devil's personal quarters, or whether he held any disdain for me for doing so, but as he walks back in with a pitcher of water, grinning at the sight of me sprawled across his couch, I quickly decide to dismiss the notion.

I am too drunk for such serious thoughts, anyway.

Popping down the pitcher on the coffee table beside the couch, Valerian perches himself on the arm of the sofa, watching me with a mixture of bewilderment and awe as I raise my hand to bat a stray strand of his raven hair and missing by a mile.

A stray feather catches on the velvety black couch, floating down to my face with a mesmerizing motion of elegance. Dimly aware of my actions, I swat it out of the air, holding it between my fingers for a moment, before blowing it out of my palm, giggling as I watch the little fuzzy balls of light scoop it up, dancing. With a woozy and slowly faded cognition, I smile, stretching out towards Valerian as I flip around my stomach. I barely even notice the remaining droplets of water that spill from my glass.

All of this Valerian watches with a careful consideration, his lilac eyes tender, his full lips pulled into something that might be a smile. He doesn't seem to care that I have ruined his nice silky couch with water. If anything, he looks rather pleased.

"You are like… an animal," I say decisively, my speech slurring as I point a finger up at him accusingly, waving it around in the air. For all his credit, Valerian plays along with my drunken daze, his hand clasping his chest, pulling back with a mock gasp.

"Animal? Come now, I am more refined than that, chérie," he jokes, plucking the glass out of my hand at long last, though much too late to save his couch from its watery ruin. Angrily I wave him off, rolling back around on my back to gaze up at him, my brows furrowed, breathing heavy. Then all at once his eyes meet mine. My breathing stops.

Perhaps it is my drunken state, but there is something inhumanly beautiful about him in that moment. Some picturesque perfection in the planes of his face, the luscious sooty eyelashes that bat against his cheek like feathers on a breeze. The gentle curl of his raven hair, to the surprising softness of his gaze that makes me tingle with a strange and unfathomable emotion. Something in that moment manages to steal my breath, leaving me speechless there for a second, quite unable to think.

This however, seems to worry the Devil.

"Princess?" he queries, raising a brow marginally as he shifts himself over to sit on the floor beside the couch. Carefully he braces his arms on the side of the couch, the expression of worry deepening by the second.

"Can I get you anything, are you feeling okay?"

Then without thinking, I lean over drunkenly, and sink my fingers into his wings. The devil freezes.

"You have wings and a tail," I insist, murmuring in stilted syllables, closing my eyes firmly as my fingers continue to slide over his silken feathers. "Like an animal. Why is that?"