hmm, i don't actually seem to be making any headway on vampire erotica today
whaddahell do i write
Djulnael knocks on the door again, hard, and finally somebody opens up; a drunk twentysomething with glitter in her hair, in a pink plastic tiara and a plastic sash reading HEN PARTY.
"Hi!" the drunk woman says loudly. "Are you the pizza guy? You don't have any pizza!"
"I'm not the pizza guy," Djulnael says. "Special Angel Djulnael, ma'am," and flashes her halo. "Have you or someone on the premises been summoning demons tonight?"
The woman's eyes go very large, and she slams the door. Faintly, Djulnael can hear her squealing on the other side of it: "It's the cops! It's the cops for summoning demons!"
Djulnael knocks again, then walks across the lawn to peer in through a window at a roomful of drunk argument.
"—Told you—"
"—Tell them to come back with a warrant!"
"Do they need one for demons?"
"Hey! Hey!" Djulnael relaxes infinitesimally at a familiar voice. "Was it a lady?" Pause for muttering. "Tall? Arms like...arms, you know, biceps? Moody in a hot way?" Another muttering pause, and then someone patters over and flings open the window.
"Hiiiiiii," Bernadette says, propping her elbows on the windowsill and her chin in her hands, flashing the most beautiful smile Djulnael knows. "I got summoned again! But they're cool, they let me out of the circle when I asked, and I've had a whole pitcher of margaritas!"
Djulnael sighs. "The puppy got scared when you vanished," she says, trying to sound stern. "Juleia had to call me because he wouldn't stop crying."
"Oh no," Bernie whispers with her hands over her mouth, and looks over the top of them with big, sad, serious eyes. "I'm a bad dog owner. I'm so — I should have — oh no," and Djulnael can't help cupping a hand round her jaw.
"He's fine," she says gently. "He's asleep in the back of the car. Just got a little worried without you."
"Sorry," Bernadette whispers.
"You don't need to beat yourself up."
Bernadette closes her eyes for a moment, then reopens them, sparkling. "You should bring Puppy inside," she says. "Everybody will love him. And we've been painting each others' toenails, I can't go until mine dry."
"You just want to show off my biceps while you hang onto me to make sure everyone else knows they can't have them," Djulnael says. "It's too noisy for Puppy."
"It only got noisy when you showed up," Bernadette says, leaning into her hand. "We were just watching TV before that."
"Uh-huh?"
Bernadette tries to pull her up on tiptoes to see far enough into the room for a view of the television. "Wildlife documentary," she says.
"How are you such a nerd?" Djulnael says, soft and fond, not even trying to see it, looking at her instead. "I'll bring Puppy in just until your polish dries, and only if everyone promises not to stress him out."
Bernadette leans out of the window to nuzzle into Djulnael's hair. "You're the best," she says.
"Succubi are a type of anglerfish," Bernadette says solemnly, carefully wielding a nail polish brush, Djunael's feet in her lap, the puppy curled up asleep in Djulnael's own lap.
The bride-to-be, still daubed in ritual summoning symbols, and confused but cheerful about the direction the evening's taken, looks tipsily between Bernadette and the TV. "Nooooo?" she says doubtfully, and makes a face of appeal at Djulnael.
"You summoned her," Djulnael says equably, cocktail glass in one hand, the other idly scratching between the puppy's ears. "You get to deal with whether she's bullshitting or not."
"They've got lures," Bernadette says earnestly. "You know, dangly ones that glow on the end—"
Djulnael gives her a look.
"That's why," Bernadette continues, face perfectly straight and voice perfectly serious, "the first thing you do when you summon someone and you want to make sure you got a succubus, you ask them to take their pants off—"
