"Is that what you're having with Izaya right now?" One blond says to the other, his lips turned in disgust and teeth baring. "Fun?"
The other pauses in thought, face flattening into neutrality, as he stares back at the glare on him with stony eyes. "Who knows?"
Shizuo growls back at the ambiguous non-answer while rising from his fall.
Celty steps towards the stairs, unable to place herself between the two. Something in her gut feels askew, twisted in one direction as if she's bending awkwardly. The look they're sharing makes her feel invisible and, though she's slightly grateful in this case, she worries about a one-sided fight breaking out. The dullahan is unsure if even she can take on a full-bodied demon. As far as she can remember, she's never had to.
Shizuo's body is taut, spring-loaded for whatever action he might need to pull, and deceptively calm to the neglectful eye. Delic's posture lacks the other's tightness, shoulders more lax in their straightness. His eyes are steel, despite his outward pose. One unfamiliar with Shizuo Heiwajima's fierce abilities and temper would akin him to an animal backed into a corner, poised to fight for their lives, instead of a more correct assumption like that of the tempted watchdog, itching for their cue. A human familiar with Dēloun would never be so brash to instigate a fight, regardless of the thing, person, or place at stake.
"Tell me, Shizuo Heiwajima, why do you care to stand there between me and the man you profess hatred towards?" The demon's voice is cool and inquisitive. The verbalization could be taken as a blessing. He could find out for himself, pierce through the human easily like a needle through cloth. Pulling everything he could ever desire to know out of the man like loose thread.
"Why do you care about me at all if you can just walk through me like I don't fucking exist?"
Delic snaps into laughter, rigid expression crinkling into one of relaxed amusement. "I like your bark, Shizu-chan."
"Something about hearin' that shitty nickname in my own voice makes me wanna rip my tongue out and shove it down my throat."
"Who would service our cute little informant then?"
Instead of lunging forward, Shizuo grips the railing. It bends in his fingers, worthlessly thinning and crumbling like discarded paper. "I got a pretty good idea of your game," revulsion bleeds through his voice, "and it's fucking vile."
"Oh? Do you now?" Delic's curiosity boils. He actually considers finding out for himself, foregoing any good merits he might be creating and ignoring Izaya's soft mumbles. Positive terms are more convenient than negative terms, but self gratification is something he cannot always pass up on, and he's certainly not known to. Delic's hand waves an urging gesture, static quickly snapping off of the flesh, and leans forward. "Do tell."
"I'm not playing games with you." Shizuo knows that the more he speaks the more he'll be lead around. Magical powers notwithstanding, this thing's got the same schtick as Izaya, and no one has more experience dealing with his games than Shizuo himself. If he doesn't explain himself, he can't be adapted to.
Delic clicks his tongue loudly. Either way, it doesn't matter. Shizuo's assessment is correct or Shizuo's assessment is wrong, Izaya still isn't around to string up. The outcome would be more enjoyable if everything unravels while he's awake and at the center.
Shizuo's body jolts in place instinctively when Delic turns, unexpectedly walking towards the kitchen instead of to the bedroom. He blinks, sharing a confused look with Celty, before following carefully.
The demon scours the kitchen, opening all of the cabinets and lifting up the smaller appliances as if there will be a written label on the bottom of each one. Namie is the only cook in Izaya's apartment and it shows with the barest amount of essentials. There are plenty of plates, cups, utensils, and the like for a group, as if Izaya actually throws dinner parties here. Shizuo and Celty don't exactly know what to make of the unusual actions, especially in regards to the previous. The dullahan is the first to address it.
"[Can I… help you find something?]"
"I've never needed help finding anything, but you can tell me what you use this thing for exactly." He replies, gesturing briskly at the microwave. "I understand that it is small, but what does the wave entail?"
Here is where Celty would find herself staring rudely, had she had a pair of eyes attached somewhere. "[The microwave heats things up for you.]"
"So a wave of heat. Fascinating." Delic goes about pressing various buttons on the appliance, managing to turn it on and gazing at the glass bottom as it spins.
Shizuo watches the childish curiosity with open disbelief, face almost comical from the sudden shift in behavior from the creature.
"[You didn't know what a microwave was for?]"
Delic's lips hint a pout, "Izaya Orihara refused to even tell me why it is called a telephone though it contains small pictures and texts rather than sound."
Without her helmet on, no one is aware that she's cocked her head. "[When was the last time you were in the human realm?]"
"That would depend on many things; like the current state of Greece."
"[Greece?!]"
The blond ignores her, examining the refrigerator next. He gasps as he opens it, revealing the earthly delights he'd been searching for. Izaya is a man of healthier choices and a small appetite and, unfortunately for the one most excited by the prospects of what can be held inside of a refrigerator, all that it is contained inside are two dishes prepared by Namie, sitting forgotten by the day's events, and enough fixings for a meager salad.
Pathetic, Delic, Celty, and Shizuo think in unison.
Delic leans back towards Celty, keeping his eyes on the cold, barren shelves as he stage-whispers. "So, where do the humans keep their wine these days?"
Shizuo blandly and eloquently interjects, "What the fuck."
"[I've never seen Izaya drink.]" The demon's face twists in abject horror. "[Do demons need to eat or drink?]"
"My sustenance is provided by humans, but why would I ever answer a summons if I do not get to enjoy their food and drink?" The blond turns to Shizuo, who is still gazing back with absurdity. "Humans still gather to drink and be merry, do they not?"
"Uh, yeah? But Izaya's not one of those people."
"Tragic."
"His life or his personality?"
"I quite like his personality."
"You're a demon."
"That devalues my opinion?"
"Kinda, yeah-" Shizuo growls, realizing he's been pleasantly conversing with Delic and snapping out of it. "The fuck?! Are you only here, torturing a guy with my face and body, to get wasted and gorge yourself?!"
"Of course not, there's also the delights of the flesh." Delic replies silkily as Shizuo sneers in disgust. The bile sitting in his stomach threatening to rise.
Shizuo shakes his head sternly, eyes staring back cold. "He doesn't want you touching him."
Delic reads it all easily, Shizuo's honest and blunt nature bleeding through his posture like cotton tissue against a hemophiliac's wound. I won't let you touch him, it says. It's cute. He wonders how much he could poke and prod the tough little human in front of him. Then, he immediately wonders why he isn't already doing so. Perhaps he already knows Shizuo's type and how boring it can be to mess around with. Perhaps he cares more to find out where the alcohol and gatherings with music are located at. Perhaps it is a five foot nine brunet, whose face goes rosy when his eyes tear up and whose voice and breath hitches when touched in just the right places.
"You're right; not me. Not yet."
Shizuo glares as Delic's pink eyes are avid. He's advanced upon slowly, refusing to move or bend under that dangerously bright gaze.
"Would you like to watch," the demon asks smoothly
Shizuo spits back, "Don't screw with me."
"Voyeurism is wondrous for someone not into threesomes."
As Delic prowls closer, his voice lowers in volume and tone. "Listen to every whimper, whine, and moan that slips from his lips."
Shizuo heart beats quicker. He refuses to back up and show that the words are affecting him, allowing the creature with its mimicking appearance to stand a hair's length apart from himself.
Delic leans in, their breath mingling together. "Do you think that he'll cry out for you?"
Shizuo swallows, voice coming out low and biting. "I've never wanted to wring my own neck before."
The other blond exhales a laugh. He's neither disappointed nor enthralled that the man isn't reacting. A curiosity he's not allowing himself to indulge in isn't being replaced by boredom either. The demon's at a standstill and greatly dislikes it.
"Do something nice to thank him when he wakes up."
"What?"
"It's only my suggestion." Delic shrugs his shoulder, dismissing Shizuo's confusion entirely.
Shizuo watches his own blank face as he's addressed with a piqued monotone. "I usually do not rein myself in from my own desires, Shizuo Heiwajima." Shizuo's stomach lurches and his chest seizes, he's entirely unsure of what to make of the information and the delivery.
Delic turns, the other blond of no use to him. Shizuo finds his voice quickly without those shocking eyes boring into him. "Why would he do that?" He's not sure if he's accusing Delic of lying or asking a genuine question.
Delic tips his head over his shoulder to look back at Shizuo with one apathetic eye. His smirk is sharp and serrated by a grin creeping out. "Who knows?"
Shizuo grits his teeth, murmuring under his breath. "Bastard."
