Chris is very uncomfortable. It's understandable I suppose, being in someone else's body takes getting used to. Controlling it even more so.

"Adjust the shutter speed."

"W-where is that?" I sigh and get out of my pose. I walk over to Chris and move aside the shaking hands of the 34 year old white evangelist painter he is inhabiting. I adjust the aperture and the shutter speed to compensate for the low light. I could stand still for a full minute if I needed to, I didn't have to breathe after all.

Chris looks away as I stand next to him and I sigh. I'm nude, of course. It's kinda required for a nude. How humans are still uncomfortable with their nudity is just insane. Humans are so stupid.

"Look at the fucking camera Chris. Press this button when I say to. This one. Top right."

"Why are we using this application? It makes you do everything manually. The camera on the phone auto"

"Because I want to, because that's the point. Because anyone who actually wants to control the photo and not edit it later uses manual settings. Now shut the fuck up, I need to finish the painting."

I had seen it only briefly. His face. A hot second. But I had seen it. The stereotypical red hair, the cleft chin, the wild sideburns that framed sneering lips and teeth that spoke of a time before the toothbrush blessed every modern home.

Fergus.

Crowley had worn the face for but a moment, absentmindedly slipping into it, but I had seen it. I pause. What would piss him off more. A painting of his face, or me wearing it. On my body even.

… The painting. As disturbing as the later would be, a painting lasts longer, and a photo of me wearing the face would just be considered manipulated. The painting could be passed around, shared, and would be more likely to be shared if there was a naked lady standing next to it. And if anyone actually recognized my face there would be numerous wild theories as to why it was used.

I smile, content with the drawing and stand back nodding. I hold the brush to the canvas and snap my clothes away before nodding to Chris to take the photo. He's nervous, but I guide him through it.

"So, th-this is your real face."

"Or as close to it as I can get. It's been a long time. Now, show me the images." I go through about sixteen of them before selecting one, slapping on a filter I like, and uploading it directly to photogo, the newest place to post artistic photos. Anonymously or otherwise. I sigh and grin, and looking at Chris quickly make a round trip between bodies to grab his soul.

"Ok. Now to send it to Crowley." I download the photo from photogo and text it to the well known hotline for his majesty along with the link to photogo and a quick comment.

"Enjoy the show." I nod and look around at the room, and Chris's temporary body. I'm hungry, but I might not have a lot of time before-

It's then I feel a tap on my shoulder, and my stomach drops about 20 feet past my shoes then keeps going.

"Hello love." I raise my fingers to snap but my hand won't move. "Running away already? Let's fix that. I feel a burn on my arm and look down. A symbol. One I saw in the courtroom many times, the one that prevents self teleportation, is burned into my arm. I look back to Crowley as I feel his hold lessen. "You've hurt my feelings. I mean, really hurt my..." I roll my eyes as I'm spun around to face him. He looks at the painting and then at me.

"I see you're not just making art on the canvas. That is not the body I remember being stuck in for over a month."

"Oh like you wouldn't take liberties if you could, besides, I was 18 once. I looked like this for a brief shining moment."

"Brief being the operative word. Unlike what you've put online just now."

I chuckle at that, my slight annoyance of his plan to remain unknown.

"You think this is funny? You think putting My face out there, My Faces out there, wouldn't ruin me?!" He points over my shoulder in a rage and there is immediately the sound of crackling as it bursts into flames. I feel his concentration on holding me lift, slightly, I quickly snap myself and move the terpentine faaar away from the open flames.

"Seriously! Were you not listening all those years ago when I said turpentine is flammable!"

"Why should I care?"

"Big ball of fire? Singed suit?"

"Ah yes, because this is my Last One!"I grin."it's not funny! And now my faces are out there! Again! With my symbol!"

":- No one gives a shit Crowley."

"Of course they give a shit. It's me. It's art. It's confusing and people like a riddle, something to pick apart. I stayed mostly underground for a good fifty years."

"It's been too long. The people who know, know. The people who don't will think it's a coincidence. Except for the conspiracy theorists and no one listens to them."

"They really should, the illuminati were a nice group of people while they lasted."

"Well, anyway. How'd you find me?" Crowley smiles and puts his hands in his pockets, looking at me held in place with his will alone.

"When my mother remained unconvinced by your lackluster performance she watched you a bit to see what you'd do. Then-"

"Cast a fucking tracking spell. Lovely. You know she thinks-"

"We should be lovers? I never could account for her taste."

"She really doesn't understand our relationship."

"We have a relationship? I was unaware of this, please enlighten me."

"Everyone has a relationship with everyone else. Stranger, friend, enemy, lover."

"That type of relationship. And we are?"

"I believe I'd have to re-read Homestuck to explain that."

"What?"

"Old webcomic with like 4 different types of relationships. I tried to read the wiki on it ages ago and my brain hurt. Still, none of them match and I got past Stockholm syndrome a while ago into some state of nirvanic joy that I get to annoy you for eternity."

"Your mouth is making sounds and none of them important." My body aches as his mental grip squeezes me.

"Ow! Mothercuntingfuck!" I send a jolt of pain down to Christo to shut him up before realizing there's no need. I'm not sharing him. He's mine, and I won't let Crowley use him. I moan and writhe letting the pain wash over me and 'enjoy it' as a woman who just wants sex to be over 'enjoys' her 'orgasm'. Crowley watches, I don't know what he's thinking, but he watches as if he's considering the new dynamic between us. If he's seeing through my ploy and watching me act. If he's enjoying the sounds. I don't know. Either way, it's a distraction as I take the time to pull what is probably my last meal apart.

"Tsk. Do you really think I'd fall for that poor display of acting?"

"Eh. It feels nice, could be better, could be worse. It's like you're not even trying. Have I annoyed all the 'love' out of our relationship? It seems like something I'd be able to do."

"Oh no. Every stunt you pulled only made me want you more." I can practically feel the sarcastic lies hit me like a physical thing, preparing me for what's obviously about to come. But… do I want to play the part? I feel Christo screaming, breaking apart and begging for me to stop, or go faster. I decide on the later. I look at Crowley staring at me with eyes showing false boredom and smile.

"I know what you want me to say. In what way did you miss me? And I know your response."

"Really? Do tell?"

"All of them, but mostly the painful ones." Crowley shakes his head.

"Only the painful ones. Well, for you."

"Boooooring. It's predictable."

"Me! Predictable!" I scoff at his anger as I pull another part of Christo off and feel it vanish as if it were dropped in acid. I ignore how it feels and the mental scream accompanying it, I can't let Crowley know I'm doing anything.

"Demons are. Cmon Crowley. For once, since you stopped being a tailor, create something new. If you can I'll-"

"You'll what? Shit your pants?"

"Ew no."

"Then what? You can give me nothing I don't already own."

"Eeeeeeh. No. There are things even you can't take away. Maybe someone outside the game, but not from here. Free will for example. You can stop it, replace it, overcome it, but you can't take it because then, well, it wouldn't be me doing things anymore would it?" Crowley stares.

"So what? You'll ' freely' suck on any part of me?"

"Like hell. I know where you've been. Eugh."

"And like I'd let your teeth near me."

"Then why mention it?"

"It's usually what people offer me, that or money, or servitude, or other demony things."

"All, so, fucking. BORINGLY PREDICTABLE."

"All right miss artist, miss unpredictable, what would you do in my position? What could you possibly do that would surprise me, that hasn't been done, that I haven't done!?"

"Crowley Crowley Crowley. There's innumerable answers to your poorly worded questions." The pain feels like a hot iron dipped in salt, the suddenness of it causes my delicate dissection of Christo to falter and he vanishes in a blinding light of indescribable sensations. I've ceased to ponder whether they are good or bad any more, pleasurable or painful. The clarity of understanding the difference has turned to mud. I grunt in reaction and squirm with frustration at the inability to understand physical sensations anymore, then push the self examination aside as I shake my head and smile at the demon across from me. He stands, suit dusty, face bloody, but his aura of calm as immaculate as ever when he wants to give the pretense of control. I smirk, he's boiling with curiosity and satisfaction behind those eyes, as well as enjoyment and annoyance at the game we're playing. Emotion, twisted by years on the rack and more as a demon, but a little, just a little, slightly human. Would it help here? Who knew… I cough and straighten and wipe some cold blood from my mouth.

"Crowley, when was the last time you experimented with Anything?"

"What, like the new sex-"

"Oh shut up about sex, it's boring. No. Like torture, or… or science, or magic, or an artifact? When was the last time you took a class? When was the last time you learned anything From someone who actually wanted to teach you? When was the last time you made something, like a physical thing? Not since you were being tortured into a demon I bet. Not since you watched others being tortured? I dare you, I fucking Dare you, to make a fucking suit. Can you even do it anymore? No, I don't think you can."

"I am perf-" I cut him off before he can start a tirade of protests and get close and closer to the point.

"When was the last time you learned or tried something that didn't have to do with your fun new powers, or Dragoness, or your games? When was the last time you did something new?"

"There isn't much new left."

"Really? What happens when you drop a demon or ghost into the salt flats?"

"I... hmmm."

"What happens when a demon gets summoned into space? What happens when a ghost that's been on earth for 200 years goes to Hell, or Heaven, now that Chuck isn't around being a dick. In fact, where the fuck did he go? Do you know?"

"Why would I tell an inarticulate piece of-" I cut him off again. If he did know though… Another time.

"Filth, yeah yeah. So, again, when was the last time you did something original or different that didn't have to do with your powers? When was the last time you schemed, created new laws, reogranized hell, had a stupid plot just to have a stupid plot? Crowley…. You're boringly predictable. Maybe you can think ten steps ahead, but if someone knows you, it's not hard to figure out what they are." The gaze that meets mine is piercing and daring me to prove it, irises filled with latent fury in a face that shows nothing but disinterest.

"I'll stop being predictable when my methods stop working." I pause, and shrug. "If it's running smoothly, it's because I worked HARD to get it that way. The 'boring' is my reward." I blink. I suppose that 's true.

"So how long until that becomes-"

"Boring? My idiotic little excuse for a demon, that's what I have you for."

"Uuuuuuuugh-"

"What? Did you swallow a fog horn?"

"Yeah, but I'm not bored when I create, and do you have any new things for me to create? New problems? Will you let me paint, or draw, or write?" Silence. Either he didn't have problems for me… or he did and didn't want me to know about them. "So-"

"Maybe I do- but in this …" His eyes judge me with distaste he looks at my form, a false version of my old body and I can feel myself wilt, just a tiny bit at his displeasure. "I trust you even less than normal."

"Like you trusted me to begin wi-" The movement is so fast that I can't even react. The needle sinks into my arm and the plunger pushes down with such force that I find myself on my knees. I can feel the blood this time. It burns a bit. I look up at Crowley and snarl. He just smiles.

"Sorry the repair process takes so long."

"I thought you said you might need me like this? Change of plans?"

"Oh no, I'd like a little pet demon, I don't need one. No one's been able to tell if I'm a demon for years now, remember?" I curse, I had forgotten that.

"So you said that to confuse me?" The syringe is twirled between his fingers before he snaps it away and another takes its place, still twirling, liquid swishing and dancing inside it.

"Oh, I might as well be honest with you. I had forgotten for a moment. I haven't felt the need to hide in decades, I forgot I could do that. Why would I? You're right after all; all the Who's who know me." I snort, imagining him fighting off paparazzi. I'd love to paint that. I test my invisible bonds, to no avail. I'm held right in his grip. I really didn't want to change back. It would suck sooo bad. It's really nice not having anxiety, or regrets, or a conscience. Sooo….what do I have in my sleeve? What can I use? I'm grasping at straws mentally, I may as well pull a random one out and hope it isn't the short one that breaks Crowley's back. Or temper.

"So if you haven't done that for decades, wouldn't it be weird to do it now? Wouldn't they notice?" Crowley raises a brow.

"Sammy might, but would the other two listen even if he did?" Fuck, he's right. It's not like they learned. Hopefully. Maybe.

"What about…" That's a reason to change me back to human. I shut my mouth. However, would the result be that terrible? It's not like it'd be permanent. Crowley would be too pissed off. If I died like this, I doubt even the Empty could stop him.

"Well? Out with it already. Or do I need to pull it out of you?" Could he come and mess with my soul right now? If he wanted this procedure to work? "I've got eternity, but I haven't got all day!" I miss direct, hopefully.

"What about all the souls I have? What will happen to them?"

"Why should you care?" He questions with a pause in his regular pacing that as always accompanies such a situation. I curse mentally. I shouldn't be showing empathy, or anxiety at this point. However...

"They're mine!" He scoffs.

"No they aren't. They aren't even mine. Yet. Or, weren't." He stares at me a moment and then continues his pacing. "I suppose they'll just absorb into you as you heal. All those little bits. Maybe they'll replace some of the parts you've lost over the decades. Fill those little gaping holes that were your hope and dreams." I roll my eyes. This was going to be a long evening.

.- / .-.. .. - - .-.. . / ... . .-.. .-.. / - - / .-. .- .. ... .

I'm beginning to sweat. I haven't sweated like this since…. Well I was alive. It's disgusting. My entire body is tense, not from the telekinetic hold I'm in, no. Mr smug and smiley barely has to put any thought into that. No….no… I'm tense from the twitching, the cold and hot flashes as the body I've stolen is deciding whether to be me, or what it was born as. It's not painful, but I feel like I'm being hugged by a bear that hasn't decided if I'm dangerous or food.

That, however, is not the worst of it. I haven't watched the show in decades, but I remember the scene well. The one shot in sequence, the one lauded by Crowley and all the other actors as one of the best, most emotional scenes in the show. The one I'm going through now. Feeling. I hate it. I don't want to feel. I don't miss it. These past few months of blissful anxiety free chaotic I don't give a fuck have been refreshing. I've been dreading this moment. The moment I start feeling regret, self loathing, fear, sorrow… the deep unrelenting waves of the darkest emotions that predate any depressive suicidal episode I've ever experienced.

I can feel it itching at the back of my head. Scratching like a prisoner with a spoon pushing through cracks of bone. Widening them. Toying and teasing and caressing edges as he finds the best angles and ways to strike and dig and pry open. Letting twinges of feeling through like jolts of electricity. Alien, memories, unwelcome ghosts.

And all I can do is wait.

The horrible anticipation of the negative future that will no longer be black and white. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach, deep down in that empty space where you drop and feel sick when you think of what a human mind really is. Where existential angst and fear of the unknown like to copulate and give birth to panic attacks.

But all I can do is wait.

Straining does nothing. There isn't anything to strain against. There is nothing I can offer this demi-god that he doesn't already have. Or won't have soon. … The only thing I can provide is possible relief from boredom. …. In the long run, I'm sure I'm doing fine right now, what with the spasmodic facial expressions and full body twitches.

"So, you really-y-y think that I'll be better at-"

"No. A demon is limited by their inability to feel. I'm pretty sure art is based off how things make you feel."

"Doesn't explain how you've been able to be an actor then-n-n-n."

"You don't have to feel to be an actor, you just need to know how things Should make your Character feel."

"You should be even b-b-better at at at it now then, now that you're starting to f-f-" My air is cut off before I can finish the sentence.

"Don't know who's listening in darling, so swallow that thought and be careful not to choke. I know you haven't had much practice." I splutter and cough through my laughter as my body seizes. I may not need to breathe, but I need air to talk.

"Kind of hard to swallow when you don't have a body. Besides, with the size your head is I doubt a leviathan could swallow your load, bullshit or otherwise."

"See, this, I missed this. Two girls having a catty chat over a bit of casual torture."

"I wasn't aware you were torturing me."

"Oh, I'm not. I'd join in, but you seem to be doing quite well on your own. If you smiled I could get a camera and sell this, what with all the twitching." He raises an eyebrow. "Why are you twitching?"

"You think this body originally looked like this-s-s? Did you have souls with you when this happened the first time?"

"Well, lucky you that you get to find out what happens."

Yeah, lucky me.

My body feels like it's being crushed, torn apart, rent, but it's not enough. Nothing is actually broken, it's just pain. It's not enough. It will never be enough. No matter how hard I strain, I can't move voluntarily. I can't claw at myself, rend my skin, open something so maybe just maybe these yelling minds of burning life will spill out. I can't take it. I can't do anything. They can't hear me, can they? I'm sorry! It will never be enough. I know in my mind it wasn't my fault, fully. But I could have chosen…. I could have. Bobby. Oh dear god.

"Bobby."

"What was that love?"

"You." I glare at the man twirling a full syringe between his fingers. His nonplussed attitude at my expression just pisses me off more. "This is your fault. How could the king of torture not realize that all the fucking torture he was putting me through would turn me into a Demon! Were you not paying attention? Did you really not notice my growing apathy over the years?!"

"I just thought you were adapting. It's 'what humans do' after all. Adapt." I spit as he throws my own words back at me.

"Of course that's what I was doing. What do you think turning into a demon is but adapting to survive torture? It's that or go insane, and when all that's left is a blob of thought, insanity is death. So adapt or die. You fucking moron."

"Really now, base name calling, I thought you were better than that."

"Fuck you C-c-crowley, you ass munch-ching hypocrite."

"Only if I'm asked nicely."

"It's not the 2020's anymore, it hasn't been in vogue for 2-2-200 years."

"Doesn't mean it-"

"Oh just shut up. Your fucking anti-platitudddes are tiresome, blase, and boring right now. One of my friends and your 'toys' is gone because of you! Not to mention numerous others you couldn't give a flying fuck abouttt!"

"My fault? You weren't even a demon yet when you killed Robert, that's who I assume you're talking about? Just because I made the gun doesn't mean I pulled the trigger darling."

"I!... I…."

"What, werewolf got your tongue? Maybe some stuck between your teeth?" I hiss and spit, in anger, in disgust; maybe to even get a memory of a taste out of my mouth.

Like most actions done in rage it doesn't help a bit.

"Fuck you you fucking cunt."

"Darling. Who's boring now? Can't even think of a proper insult."

"Cursing alleviat-ties streesssssss-s-s." My mouth clamps shut in pain as my body spasms again, flesh realigning to what it looked like before, but not quite. Looser, older, the muscles don't work quite as well, the skin hangs and sags in odd areas. Bones aren't quite long enough, or are too long in some areas, and the muscles don't contour to them, each movement is jerky, and my words are tight, or slurred. I feel akin to an icicle that melted and refroze… while the wind was blowing. Trying to find some semblance of its original form and the new one it gained, some medium ground… and failing.

And of course, there's the pain. Pushing through my pores, the energy, souls, people. Ones I had killed. What would happen to them? I can feel them reforming, I can feel them tearing out of my half almost soul, the prisons I had made and that unnamed dimensional space. Finding themselves in another prison of flesh, they fling themselves at the walls and my body jerks more unsettlingly.

Crowley sits across from me, interested. He had created something new, unintentionally, but still. I could see it in his eyes, I was the answer, this performance piece I was unhappily a part of. I sneer and my right eye leaks blood from a ruptured vessel. A performance piece that would last at least 7 more hours.

(I'm still here, I'm still here, I'm still here!)