A Demon's Bargain

I stared balefully at the smoke fumes coming from my cigarette. I was consumed by that horrid guilt feeling, that new affliction that made my chest hurt. I hated it!

I knew, rationally, that it made perfect sense for (Y/N)’s energy to be a blue of some shade. She’d surely inherited it from Lola at some point in her ancestry. And yet, like an ass, I’d found myself hoping against all logic that (Y/N) wasn’t just a relative, that somehow she was Lola herself!

I snorted, disgusted with myself. Of course, nothing had happened when I had pleaded for Lola to come to me! I’d known logically it was impossible; that I had even tried was a fool’s errand. Thank the Big Man that (Y/N) hadn’t gathered my intentions!

My disappointment still stung, like icicles biting into my entrails. But the shame that I still had thoughts of Lola around (Y/N), my sweet, luscious nectarine, hurt even more! Why must I suffer from such foolish notions! Perhaps I was still becoming a woman after all...

But (Y/N) was so beautiful and vivacious, delicious and perfect. She deserved better than I could give her, I was totally unworthy of her affections. That I had the gall to hope for anything other than what she was already giving me was an atrocity!

It was strange. It wasn’t that I was dissatisfied with (Y/N). That simply wasn’t true, she was absolutely a goddess among her kind. I simply wasn’t able to shake my memories, to reconcile the turmoil within me and find peace with the part of my past that I had tried endlessly to forget.

Regardless of my tumultuous mental state, I was clearly failing at upholding our contract; it was undeniable. It didn’t matter that I was so taken by (Y/N) (she captivated me more than any other human woman ever had), if I still foolishly pined away for someone else, related or not, in her very presence. I was contractually obligated to fulfill (Y/N)’s every desire, to give her romance nonpareil, and I had been completely inadequate.

Why I had not yet ceased to exist wasn’t clear, but it was doubtless imminent. Though… perhaps there was a bit more wiggle room than I dared believe? If I truly dedicated myself to pleasing (Y/N), in every way, and said nothing again on the matter, I could yet squeeze by? The thought of death, of nothingness, terrified me!

In a foul mood, I torched my cigarette in my hand. Very well. I resolved never to mention anything regarding Lola to (Y/N) again, come what may. It was my duty and, indeed, privilege, to serve (Y/N). I’d not sully our time together. Every thought I had of Lola, any reminder, would get no external acknowledgement. I owed that much, and more, to (Y/N). It was with her affections alone that I could survive. Any other existence wasn't worthwhile.

I shifted into her bathroom and washed my hands before brushing my teeth. I decided that I hated brushing my teeth, after having done it a few times recently. It was such a menial chore! For the first time in my life, I toyed with the idea of no longer smoking.

Dubiously, I eyed the toilet. Soon I would pay for my indulgences in human food, but gratefully, the time was not yet upon me.

When (Y/N) came into the bathroom and asked if I wanted to shower, I was instantly put in a finer mood. We cleansed off the previous night’s sweat from our lusty coupling, and I was pleased that (Y/N) allowed me to lotion her again afterwards. She surprised me by following through on her earlier proposal and lotioning my now once more flat belly in turn, making me hum with pleasure.

For the rest of the day, I managed to persuade (Y/N) to remain scantily clad by working my charm to the utmost, but in exchange, I had to abstain from any clothing at all. I certainly didn’t mind. It amused me to see (Y/N) blush whenever I started to get an erection around her, which seemed to happen far more frequently than was the norm.

(Y/N) remembered that I was fond of fountain pens and the art of writing. This time, when she offered to show me her collection, I eagerly assented. What I found as we went through her assorted writing supplies was more than a little uncanny, however.

She did, indeed, have a small collection of lower-end demonstrators, both well made and the cheapest of the cheap. But my heart skipped a beat when she shyly showed me her box full of dip pens… She had both glass and metal pens, a few feather quills she had cut by herself, as well as some old-fashioned nibs to fit feathers with.

Now, the odds of finding a woman who used dip pens, in this day and age, were exceedingly low. But to have found a woman who cut her own quills… Those odds had to be almost nonexistent.

I held to my earlier resolve, and said nothing about the eerie familiarity of her love of antiquated fountain pens. My gut took another hit almost immediately, however, when she let me look through her collection of inks.

(Y/N) had some of most every color, but she had a massive collection of deep reds, blacks, and grays. When she smiled and showed me some of her favorites, including J. Herbin’s Stormy Grey (a dark grey with a gold shimmer) and both of the red inks I’d requested of her, it was hard to keep my head.

As she went through her inks, happily chattering about how long each took to dry, whether it was waterproof, and what she thought of each color, something caught my eye. Laying loose in one of the boxes of red inks was a metal bauble.

I picked it up, curious. Seeing it had her first initial emblazoned on it, I blinked heavily. (Y/N) mistook my pause as jealousy. “Andy, I can get you a seal, if you want one? I already have sealing wax, so you can use mine, if you like. It’s red, and... it smells like roses. Is that-“

Pits! I shook my head and quickly replaced the seal in the box. “-No, no! I mean, thank you, my lady. I, uhm, already have one. But thank you kindly for your generous offer.” Unnerved, I decided to show a keen interest in her modern demonstrators, as they weren’t connected to any difficult memories.

(Y/N) had an older, classic Sheaffer No Nonsense salesman’s demonstrator I especially liked. She had converted it to an eyedropper, and it looked posh! I didn’t have one of those! To showcase it, she filled it with a brand of ink I certainly knew of, but had to admit she was a real expert on, “Noodlers.” It turned out to be as eclectic as (Y/N), with many of the colors having deep meanings or special properties.

I liked listening to (Y/N) tell me the stories of the inks and the artwork on their bottles. For example, though I had known the ink she had filled the Sheaffer with, Black Swan in Australian Roses, was a shading ink (obviously), I had previously had no idea that it made a poppy-like symbol when blotted. She told me that the maker of Noodler’s ink felt the black swan was the dark center, and the roses were the lighter-shaded outer color.

Apparently the artwork on the bottle had an incredible backstory, as did many of Noodler’s inks. She pointed out that the ever-present Noodler’s catfish was inviting the black swan to dinner with a little fork and spatula. The black swan, emblematic of Australia, was skeptical of such an invitation, as catfish in the American South were notorious for becoming large enough to eat migrating birds. And thus, the catfish was even tearing up at the rejection, and reassuring the black swan that it wasn’t the Greek god Zeus, and that it only ate, ‘yabbies.’ Yabbies were blue crayfish that were actually very soft bodied, that were also native to Australia. Zeus was even depicted in the far left background as a white swan, laying with a nude Leda!

As I held (Y/N)’s Shaeffer in my hands, and watched the dark ink in it flow, I marveled. I had only seen it as a beautiful color. She had similar stories for other colors from the same brand, and finally I grew curious as to how she came to know so much.

That was when (Y/N) showed me you tube dot com! While I did not consider myself a luddite, I had generally avoided availing myself of the internet when at the homes of my prey. However, I had no idea there were videos about ink to be watched!

Though, apparently, one had to navigate through videos of cats and screaming people to get to them. I tried to watch for a consistent pattern, but it wasn’t obvious how to access the penmanship section. I decided to remain silent and be content with receiving (Y/N)‘s guidance, as we watched a video on conversion of a cartridge pen to an eyedropper pen. It was just as she must have done to the Sheaffer I held in my hands! Fascinating!

I was pleased when we spent some time just writing random things on some very nice paper. Of course, I required no practice with penmanship, but it was very fine paper, making the experience enjoyable. I noticed even the medium nib of the Sheaffer was smooth and gratifying to write with, and (Y/N) blushed, tasting scrumptious, when I told her so. I was perhaps even more satisfied that, when we were finished, she emptied and cleaned both of the pens we had used immediately. I loathed maltreatment of fountain pens; it was a pet peeve.

(Y/N) seemed a bit antsy, and offered to take me out to see a film. I reassured her that I was content, and wanted nothing more than to curl up with her in the comfort of her home. And, oddly, it was true. Though I knew her love of writing was probably just passed down within her family, it had still been an unsettling coincidence. I felt a bizarre need for tactile reassurance.

After (Y/N) had eaten something horrible and full of greenery, and I had eaten a little candy and some cheese, we sat on the divan and looked through her at-home cinema service. Naturally, I encouraged her to get something terrifying, so that she would squeeze on to me all the more tightly. We settled on ‘Candyman,’ which achieved what I had set out for. By the end, (Y/N) was in my lap, and I was quite distracted by her delicious aroma.

Notes

Black Swan in Australian Roses (I believe pictured with a Noodler's Nib Creaper demonstrator):



J. Herbin's Stormy Grey:

A Sheaffer's No Nonsense demonstrator:


Swatches of the two inks Andy requested earlier:



Great horror flick with undertones of social commentary: