The full image can be seen by tacking LEbVYWb onto the end of Imgur dot com.
I must admit, I am filling my own prompt...
Concrit and suggestions are welcome.
Like any other demon, it offers deals in exchange for souls. (It can be summoned on 11th and 49th, where bankruptcy stopped the construction of an entire development dead. It's all hollow half-buildings, cinder blocks and plastic floating in the breeze, and the dust of unfinished paving and vacant, grassless lots instead of the desolate scrub of the stereotypical Midwest.) It grants "wishes" to children for free, though. Like a drug dealer giving out samples, making sure they'll come back later for the harder stuff. (But you suspect it really just has a soft spot for children.)
The people that spend their days sleeping and their nights at bars and in seedy warehouses know it wanders the city, but to what extent they don't know. You can catch it at dawn or at dusk sometimes, one in a great while, when the darkness has yet to blot it out like a letter under ink. It's just quiet enough that businesspeople can pretend it doesn't exist. Newcomers assume it's a myth sprung out of the neighborhood's colorful name. But mothers can be seen walking their children to school, hand in hand, giving them half-frantic speeches about 'stranger danger'. The rumors are peppered with flashes of horns and bleached bone, and it's hard to believe a child would go anywhere near it. (Some suspect black magic.)
Naturally, desperate men wait until the cover of night to make deals. It's just in bad taste to do it under broad daylight. A drunk, a dirty blonde (or perhaps just blonde and dirty) with stubble on his chin and mismatched clothes comes into a dingy bar that evening, saying with breathless incredulity and confusion that it didn't work. That he'd rolled out of an abandoned apartment he'd been sleeping in at 2:00 PM and tried, unsuccessfully, to summon it. "Maybe it has a day job," someone jokes. They laugh, smacking beers together over the man.
In these circles, view of the demon is somewhat light, most of the time. They live alongside it. That's it. These are not the people with goals in mind, children to care about, very much to lose. They are the transients crushed by the world, and have no choice but to roll with the punches. It's difficult for them to take much of anything with serious fear, a strange wisdom imparted by having no choice but to simply survive, and scrounge out whatever pleasures they can. There's no room to waste being paranoid. No motivation to bother thinking that it might deviate from what the old stories about demons tell them.
Most of the time.
If they play it safe, if they stay away from the darker, sharper underbelly of the Kitchen's organized crime, stay quiet on small jobs and don't make enemies, the demon won't bother them. Regulars at the bar do disappear every once in a while. They know it was probably their own fault, toed too close to the line, and it's never talked about.
(Suzy just wanted to be safe from the scary man that lived next door, the man that made her mother scared, whose stained doorway exuded a smell like smoke and something sour she couldn't name.)
