Demon who is here to collect on your promised payment of your firstborn.
Emmeline Prestwick's doorbell rings, and she answers the door to find two women on the doorstep; one beaming and bouncing with excitement, and one a step behind, scowling and looming — and vaguely, disturbingly familiar.
"Hi!" the one in front says.
"Hello?" Emmeline squints at them. "Can I help you?"
"August twelfth, 2004," the taller one says. "Golnaarth," and the sense of familiarity crashes in on Emmeline. She clutches at the doorframe, blood perceptibly draining from her face, breath seizing in her chest. "Soul, firstborn, a hundred bucks not to track down your crush," the succubus continues. "Here to collect on the second one."
"I don't—" Emmeline falters. "I don't have kids?" and the demon scowls harder and holds a phone up in front of her face.
"Facebook post," she says. "Grandbabies, four exclamation marks," and gives Emmeline a glare.
"My — my dog had puppies!" Emmeline says. "There was a picture—"
"Good enough," the succubus says threateningly. "Gonna take your dog. Unless."
"Don't take my dog!"
"Unless." And the succubus stands there, just glaring at Emmeline while the — other one? — takes the phone from her and swipes a couple of times and then turns it around, beaming, to show Emmeline one of her own puppy photos.
"I want that one!" she says, and Emmeline looks at the puppy she knows her cousin wants, and swallows.
"They shouldn't really be separated from their mother yet—" she croaks.
"We'll be back," Golnaarth says, and when Emmeline hesitates, gestures at the engagement ring on her hand. "Speaking of the crush, how is Patricia?"
Emmeline hides her hand behind her back, as if that can hide her fiancée from the demon. "No," she says sharply. "You can come back for the puppy. Leave her alone. Leave us alone."
"Puppy, and we'll call the firstborn thing square," the succubus agrees, settles a pair of aviators on her nose, and turns away.
Emmeline slams the door.
"It's so hot when you're mean to people!" she hears the other one say, outside.
"Not fucking you up against some rando's front door right after shaking them down for the dog you want, Bernie," the succubus says, faint but crisp. "Get in the fucking car, at least."
