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The party was in full swing, demons from all over the realm in attendance. Another event he had to "be on his best behaviour" or else he'd "suffer the consequences". Lucifer didn't know fun these days, neither did these galas. Pretentious, stuffy things filled with nattering royalty looking down their noses. But there was an open bar with a stool calling his name.
Nursing his second demonus, Mammon watched the partygoers. He recognised many, familiar faces he couldn't put names to. Maybe they talked once or twice, idle banter and schmoozing his way through events. Tonight, he found something else had his attention. Or rather, someone. The way he weaved effortlessly through the crowd. Fluid as water, flowing from one guest to another. Pace unfaltering, smile unbroken.
He needed a pen.
Everything faded away, chatter softening to a hum against the scratching of the pen. Even among the crowd he stood alone, arm outstretched and feet mid turn. It could almost be a dance. Practised and choreographed for each eventuality. A glimpse of the smile over his shoulder, subtle and refined. A grace and mystery the lines just couldn't capture. Not yet.
Downing the rest of his drink, he felt heat prickling his cheeks. He shook his head, crumpling up the napkin and pushing the borrowed pen back across the bar. With a thanks he stood up, disappearing into the crowd. Bartender busy serving drinks, the pen and the napkin went unnoticed. That was, until, Barbatos came over to refill a tray of demonus flutes.
What would have irked him instead intrigued him, making out part of a sketch on the crumpled paper. Deciding to spare a few seconds, he smoothed out the napkin, greeted by a remarkable likeness of himself etched in pen. Surprised, he pocketed the drawing. While time to dwell on it wasn't on his side, he swore he recognised that style, that composition, from somewhere. Though one thing was for certain.
The pair of eyes watching him from the bar hadn't gone unnoticed.