"I suppose the King of Hell has a point," Voldemort observed coolly from his bar stool. "Put something else on, Time Lord. Attempt to amuse me and the rest of our guests."
.
"Fine!" The Master pouted, making his most adorkable way, moving to shove the plug to the speakers back into the outlet. "I'll turn on something else…"
Crowley rolled his eyes, going to the bar where he nodded to the bartender, who wordlessly poured him another glass of Glenncraig.
Nursing his new glass of whiskey, he returned to his lounge seat to attempt to soothe his nerves.
"Don't stop! Believing! It goes on and on and—" The speakers now boomed as The Master thumbed the controls on the DJ stand.
"No," Crowley barked over the music. "This is supposed to be inspiration for the most diabolical among us! Not some pithy glurge fest!"
"But—" The Master protested.
"No buts. Something else!" Crowley shouted, making a nervous shrug as Voldemort stared coldly at him.
"As he says, now, Time Lord," The Dark Lord pressed, taking a slow sip of blood red wine from a fluted glass.
The Master grumbled as he switched soundtracks yet again.
"Carry on my wayward son—" The speakers now boomed.
"Oh, for the love of Hell!" Crowley shouted now, jumping up, face reddening rapidly. "What don't you get about decent music?! I am not listening to that drivel. Why, I might as well hang around those denim clad nightmares who so love pestering me on Earth! What good is this supposed 'Villains Club' if you lot are in charge of ambiance?! Class, this place has no class!"
The Master whimpered, pouting heavily now as he turned off this song as well.
"Enough!" A cold voice barked from across the room. Voldemort, Crowley turned to see, had stood from his stool, and was making his way over to them, the long black sleeves of his cloak wooshing through the air as he walked.
"You," He snarled, "have done quite enough for tonight. Now, unless next time you want to be the subject of a course in the use of the Cruciatus Curse, I'd suggest controlling yourself." The Dark Lord pointed his wand menacingly at The Master, who quivered ever so slightly under his gaze.
"Yes, yes of course, Your Darkness," the Time Lord muttered.
"And you, demon," he continued, turning now to Crowley, who was standing, slack-jawed at the display of dissatisfaction on the part of the usually impassive Dark Lord.
"Yes?" Crowley asked anxiously.
"You seem to have a better idea of appropriate arrangements for our little group. Next week, you will host us."
"Me?" Crowley asked.
"Yes. Anyone but him, really, but perhaps the setting of Hell will do us nicely for a change."
"Yes, yes, of course," Crowley stuttered nervously. "I will assure you, there won't be this nonsense to put up with..."