Demons Don't Discriminate
Rage. Pure, volatile rage was what he returned to his flat to come face to face with. His young master-turned-equal had thrown a fit the second he saw him, eyes lighting up a vibrant red, and fingers twisting to mentally break bones. Sebastian had loved every second of it, and, of course, just to spite the ex-lord, had told him exactly that.
"Bastard! What in the name of Satan were you doing in Russia!?"
CRACK!
"Do you have any idea what would have happened if you killed someone? Those reapers would be on us in a heartbeat!"
SNAP!
"This would be the fourth flat in five years! You know I hate moving because of your asinine ministrations!"
A purr.
"Ah— Young master~"
"Don't 'young master~' me! How am I going to explain this? How, Sebastian? How!?"
A growl.
A pleasured whine.
"Why are you so mad~? Clearly it was among the best times for me to do such a thing, was it not?"
The couch frame shattered.
The power went out.
"Sebastian, this was different! How can you describe a meteor hitting Russia,—"
"Coincidence?"
"and only Russia, 3 times in nearly 100 years?"
Silence.
A beat.
"Fix it."
"'Fix it'? Young master. One does not just simply 'fix' a natural disaster. It's like that volcano I assisted back in the early 1900's~"
"Sebastian."
"Or when I spread the Black Plague by dropping rats in the fou—"
"Sebastian!"
A sigh.
"Yes?"
A pause.
"Just... Don't hit Russia again... I know you don't like them, but as demons we shouldn't discriminate. And fix the couch. I like sitting there."
A chuckle.
"And the electricity?"
"Electrocute yourself."
"Yes, my lord."
How cute.