Duck's Tale Greaser
Hell's Head Arsonist was growing more sullen by the minute. His lips quirked in irritation, and he drummed his fingers on the table, tempted to set it on fire. Aym, Captain of Hell's Guard, had woken up early, once again, for a big writhing pile of nothing. Like the mediocre coffee Samael provided the Lords, his offices were subpar, mostly on account of Aym's temper flaring every month, give or take, and the Guard having to relocate. The cinderblock walls were plastered with corporate procedures and WANTED headshots, mostly horned and be-tentacled. His police scanner buzzed with static, lagging this early in the morn.