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"You brought BARACK OBAMA down here to Hell?"
Most of the time Zanmu's rage burned deep below the surface, bubbling below miles of cursed flesh like the blazing Hell they resided within. Not this time. Upon being presented with the report of Hisami's newest spectacular job, her anger was now palpitable.
"Why, of course! Convinced him to make the trip, I did. What's wrong with that?"
Hisami gave the oni an exaggerated shrug. Her eyes hidden by oversized petals, she wore her mischievous smirk loud and proud. She knew exactly what she had done. Guilty as can be.
This was the angriest Hisami had ever seen Zanmu. Despite this, she was also the calmest she had ever seen an enraged oni. Right there, that was that calm, level-headed collectedness she admired.
Zanmu sprung up from her seat and angrily brought her fist down upon her desk. The entire thing broke in half with a single blow. An ear-shattering bang echoed from wall to wall, muffling the sounds of tortured souls outside the office.
"Dammit!" the oni barked, looking down at her fist. Not even a scrape. She needed a new table, though. Panting silently, her sudden outburst made them both quiet. The oni didn't even need to look up to know that someone was reveling in being the object of her ire.
Her head snapped back up. Hisami looked down at her with an absolutely entertained expression. Her eyes darted over the remains of the table, beneath Zanmu's fist. Her mouth was agape, with a look of anticipation.
The oni shot up and seized her subordinate by the shoulders, then shoved her backwards into the wall. The sheer force of her push carved an indent into the wall, bits of plaster raining from above. And then, she angrily kissed Hisami on the lips.
Damn, Zanmu thought to herself, she hated how much she enjoyed kissing her. This wasn't professional, she scolded herself internally. She shouldn't be doing this to a damn employee. But she couldn't help it. Hisami always wore dresses that caught her eyes the most, always showed up to the office looking beautiful, and spoke to her in that sultry, intriguing tone that she loved to hear.
Zanmu was sure the woman was out to earn a death sentence from her, but even then, Hisami always overperformed. She could never complain about her work. Getting in trouble this way was instead a feat. It made her feel like the victim, being targeted like this. None of this was fair. Why couldn't that damn hag just love her normally? They were kissing so endearingly; did it have to be inside a hole she'd punched her into?
Their lips part. Zanmu glares at Hisami. In return, the youkai's grin becomes shaky, antsy.
"B-Boss, p-please, s-smack me up... Please, j-just do it..."
The oni shakes her head.
"Absolutely fucking not. Kiss me like a normal person, you damn freak."
Their eyes close, and their mouths shoot back together for another bout of kissing.
The door opens, causing a few crumbs of plaster to trickle from the ceiling. Barack Obama comes in and looks at them.
"That's uhh, two women kissing."