Writing Prompt:You meet the Devil and he's not what you expected.

Originally posted on Reddit, where r/writingpromts has been keeping me amused.

One of the few luxuries you have when you're tied to an enormous pentacle, or maybe pentagram, is that you can review your most recent mistakes with huge clarity. I have come to the conclusion that I will never again accept a ride from someone with a panel van no matter how wet or cold I am.

I turn my head and cough politely to the man guarding me. He's got the most intimidating haircut I've ever seen and it's in competition with a collection of gruesome tattoos and piercings. I'm so scared that the only thing I can think of is how difficult it must be for him to board aircraft.

"Excuse me..?"

He offers me a glare.

"I just want you to be aware that, despite appearances, I'm not a virgin."

He nods, apparently considering this carefully.

"Can you bleed?" he asks. Before I can stop myself, I nod. He smiles. "Good," he says "that's the only qualification you need."

There are quite a few people in the congregation. Clothing appears to be optional. There's quite a lot of hedonism happening, judging by the noises some people are making, and there's quite a lot of sweet smoke in the atmosphere. I'm new to being sacrificed, so I'm not sure what's going on.

"Excuse me..?"

Another glare.

"Sorry to ask, very embarrassing and everything, but are you Wiccan types supposed to sacrifice people?"

I have to downgrade the last two looks I was given, because this is a glare. His brows are so furrowed some of his piercings are in danger of becoming interlinked.

"Oh that's just typical, that is, " he says "honestly, if I had a pound for every time someone confused us with that bunch of namby-pamby vegetarian reiki practitioners..."

I'm sure he would have explained further but that's the moment the high priest decides to make his entrance. There's music, and burning torches, and the hedonism stops - apart from one group in a corner who are probably too invested in what they're doing to pay attention - and then in he sweeps wearing a flowing red robe and a mask with horns. He's accompanied by two women wearing an awful lot less than he is - basically just masks- but they have those swingy things that the Catholic church burns incense in. They also have incense and this, combined with all the other sorts of smoke in the air, makes me sneeze.

Fortunately for everyone else, the High Priest is a professional and doesn't let my sudden violent sneezing fit and subsequent mucus production throw him off his game. The next few minutes scoot past with him making gestures with a huge knife that I'm trying very hard not to look at or think about, shouting in Latin, and getting responses from the crowd. I would have paid more attention but the presence of the knife has me entirely focussed on trying to remember the parts of my life that I'm pleased with or proud of. There aren't enough of them, and I'm very definitely getting stabbed, or slashed, or both in the next few minutes and I really, really don't want to be. Panic is just starting to set in when the crowd starts to chant various names. The first one out of the gate is "Satan". I can't move and I can't breathe properly and he's going to take that knife and...

...and then there's light everywhere.

A voice says "I heard you the first time."

The light fades and I open my eyes. There's a man standing in front of the altar. I could tell you what he looks like with two words - he's beautiful- but that doesn't really cover it. He...look, imagine this:

At least one of your friends can sort of draw. He, she, has just enough grasp of perspective and shading to make everything they draw look like the work of an enthusiastic eight year old who has no talent for art but lots of passion for it. Take that person and give them a box of crayons. Make them low quality crayons. Make most of them brown. Now have that artist with his or her dull and ugly tools draw everything in the world. Everything in the world is now a sort of muddy or contents of the toilet bowl brown. None of the lines are straight. None of the curves flow, nothing meets where it should and everything seems flat.

Have all the actual people drawn by someone slightly less talented than your friend, but using the same tools.

To this milieu, this dull and drab palette, add one person. One actual three dimensional human being. Make him one you find irresistibly attractive. Not necessary in a sexual way, just someone you'd really enjoy looking at, one who draws your attention away from everything else just by being in the room.

That's pretty much what's happening: everyone is looking at him and everything that isn't him appears to be made of mud and twigs and depression.

The High Priest is rather flustered.

"But...but...we haven't even sacrificed in your name yet!"

"You called me. I answered. Isn't that what you wanted?". Even his voice is gorgeous. It has the same effect - the High Priest sounds like a whining child and all the other sounds I can hear seem either muted and dull or scratchy and distorted in comparison. I just don't want to listen to anything else, ever.

"Well...yes...but..."

"Oh, Kevin," he says and the disappointment in his voice makes me feel completely worthless even though I'm not Kevin, "did you just want to kill someone? Is all this just the justification for you getting to play dress up so you can have sex and make people bleed?"

"Huh? No, well, I mean, of course not....all in Your Name....glorying you!" flails Kevin the High Priest.

"Is that just an excuse, Kevin?"

Kevin writhes on the hook.

"It is just an excuse, I know it's just an excuse and I know this, Kevin, because I have never once asked anyone to do anything to anyone else in my name. No matter which one you use. Not once. Do you know why?"

The atmosphere has changed quite a bit. Every single one of us feels like we've just been whispering with our friends at the back of the class and the teacher has unexpectedly asked us a question, and now in front of the entire school, we're going to look really stupid. Props to Kevin, though, for having balls enough to try an answer.

"We always thought, you know, it was implied in that thing about it being better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven?"

You know how people sometimes say that the temperature in the room drops and it's a metaphorical way of saying that someone has taken offense but is still being polite or diplomatic about it? I don't think Lucifer does metaphors. I can see my breath in front of my face. I'm also looking at a room full of gooseflesh and shrinkage. Not fun.

"That's Dante," says Lucifer, "that's fiction, Kevin." The red wine in the ornate chalice thing on the Altar in front of me freezes as I watch it. "I can see I'm going to have to take this back to the very basics."

The wine thaws, people's teeth stop chattering and the room warms. Lucifer leans against the altar as if he were propping up the bar.

"Please allow me to introduce myself," says Lucifer (turning momentarily to flash me a huge wink, very much to my surprise) "I'm a man of wealth and taste. My name is Lucifer Morningstar and my job title is Satan. If any of you had paid attention at school, you might know this term means 'Adversary'. What you might not know is that it's a legal term. I am, by profession, a lawyer."

He waits, for a moment, and seems pleased that no one feels the need to say anything about lawyers and evil being inextricably linked.

"My job is not to punish the sinful or the wicked, my job is not to torture the damned or to swan about the place being evil, promoting evil or revelling in evil. I am not responsible for the things that you do and I have most assuredly not got time to go about telling random human beings to murder one another. But you will definitely see me on Judgement Day, and you'll be glad I'm there.

Officially, I'm the counsel for the defence. Your defence. Individually. When you face God, with the account of your lives in his hands, before he passes final judgement."

Quite a few people seem confused about this. The ones who get it are crying.

"Yes, Mrs. Lockwood, " says Lucifer, pointing an exquisite finger at one particularly unhappy woman, "I'm preparing the case for your defense. And between you and me, it's not looking good."

He pushes himself away from the altar and gazes around the room.

"As your legal counsel, I advise you all to be very, very concerned" he says "If I were in your position I'd stop all this macabre nonsense and get involved in a bit of volunteering. Working with the elderly always goes over well. Although, given your history Mrs Lockwood, perhaps you should stick to working with animals...no, sorry...perhaps you could just help out at a charity shop."

He waits while people come to terms with what he's saying. There's some resistance. His voice rises over the hubbub.

"I'm saying you all need to go home, look long and hard at yourselves and start making better life choices. I'm saying you need to do this now, and without further delay, and you can start by taking this poor man down from the big star shaped thing on the wall."

It's nice to be remembered.

Lucifer favours me with another smile and I can feel my position on the Kinsey scale shifting.

"Be seeing you," he says "be good."