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Vassago always wore glasses. The glasses were large, with thick amber glass, which reliably locked his ability in a yellow distorted light. He could see the truth, regardless of any circumstances, that is, whenever he wanted. If necessary or out of pure avian curiosity, he could look into the head of any demon and find out what was on his mind, but it would never slip his jaws.
And that ability was known to those around him. Not to say that the Goetia aristocracy, steeped in secrets and intrigue, was happy about such an ability. Too compromising, too uncontrollable.
That's why he was shunned. There were false rumors about his 'unhealthy perversions', which he could practice at any time he wanted, prying with his scarlet eyes the secrets of the vulgar Goetia. But for some reason in these rumors, the aristocracy was the poor and unfortunate victim, whose personal boundaries were allegedly constantly violated by the parrot. Though to tell the truth, the most tender word characterizing the thoughts of these birds — abomination, that even not much squeamish Vassago shunned them, afraid to accidentally see the thoughts and secrets of the representatives of the beau monde. However, who cares about the opinion of the demon of truth?
It came to the point that his official visits were canceled, and his authority spontaneously fell after the cancelations.
This could not last long, and so one day he ordered glasses from an optician. As lenses was used an ancient artifact, whose properties are well known to every Goethian — neutralization of psychic influences. Only when the demon-bird appeared in an unusual, rather extravagant form in public, he began to be believed. He was no longer seen as a polygraph in tall white boots, but as an almost equal demon. Almost. Vassago had severely limited his potential and had become somewhat weaker in comparison to the other Goetia. No wonder, when his main weapon — the candy of truth, which he put into the mouth of a falsifier with one glance and then gutted the liar with his speeches — was under the glass.
"Put them back on, now," Andrealphus barked too sharply, even for himself, when he saw the parrot push the glasses down the bridge of his nose with a slight movement of his hand and then remove them.
Today they had an audience at Vassago's Manor. The occasion was a reckless owl, to whose defense the macaw came forward. More accurately, it was only a thin screen that hid a deeper, more keen reason — the peacock's ego.
"What's wrong?" Vassago scoffed, "You know, when you wear glasses all the time, your eyes get tired." In confirmation of his words, he covered his eyes, creasing his eyebrows painfully. Though this is all drivel, of course. Folly.
Parrot had originally wanted to reprimand him for the impropriety of taking all of the star prince's lands into his possession. He had wanted to, but had considered the idea stillborn, since it was pointless to bicker with an icy, very avid bird about riches.
" 'What's wrong?' ", the peacock frowned nervously at the red demon's condescending tone, "You filthy voyeur, you know the 'what' perfectly well," Andre didn't even think to choose his expressions as he usually did, so he expressed himself perhaps unnecessarily vulgarly. It's because of Vassago.
"Huh?", the parrot opened its left eye in surprise, which made the snow-white bird squirm and turn away from him, trying to hide its eyes, "Why this particular perversion?"
"You're sticking your beak into something that doesn't belong to you. Always! And also your second-rate ability," Andrealphus kept going, " 'perfect' suits you."
"Just I can't stand to see the mess you're making!" he turned to a recent memory from the courtroom, when the peacock demon had accused the imp. At first, Vassago could hardly believe that the whole farce was centered around the Prince Stolas' horned fucker. It was too much out of Andrealphus' style. He wouldn't waste his precious time on some imp and his motley crew, who were engaged in illegal, but too low-grade activities. Oh no. He carefully arranged everything so that Stolas, not informed in advance, would find out everything from the live broadcast and, without any preparation, would run to save Blitzo. That was the name of that little glib imp, wasn't it?
"That's what I'm saying," the edges of his beak sharpened upward, reflexing in a bitter and cold grin, "mind your own business, Vassago."
"Argh! As you say, as you say!" irritation came over the parrot. The whole situation was repulsive on every level. Not so for the peacock, who was clearly savoring that day and was insanely proud of himself. One more word about that trial and he, the parrot, was ready to get up and leave, leaving Andrealphus alone with his triumph. Again. "A disgusting trial."
The peacock chuckled, clearly pleased that he had been able to suppress the parrot with an caustic flashback.
"I agree with you. It was wonderful," the snow-platinum head pleasantly spun a new, increased number of legions, which warmed the demon's icy and greedy soul; which allowed him to forget his vulnerable state now.
"By the way," the redfin macaw interrupted the pompous silence in their meeting room, "you've been slacking off."
It was his turn, and he would make a knight's move.
"Don't you want to try my ability on yourself?", that sounded like a threat, not a suggestion. It was a dare. "You know, I'm an excellent psychologist, and I can get at the hidden things and make sense of them," the macaw closed his eyes again, and rested his chin on the hand on the table. He looked at the snow-white bird from under his eyelids and felt a rush that threatened to be a good entertainment.
"I want one thing, I repeat" Andrealphus' gaze returned to intensity. The claws that had been methodically tapping out a rhythm became stiff and wooden again; clenched now on the armrests, "put on your glasses. We're only fifteen minutes away from the end of the audience, and there's no reason to make a show of it." He glanced at the wall clock, which was counting down the minutes as it should, but suddenly slowed down a little. Leaving early would be a loser in their little game. And afterwards he would have to stand on the doorstep as if he had been kicked out, not himself, and wait for the limousine, which should arrive just in time through the kilometer-long traffic jams.
The prince said nothing to this. He grinned and closed his eyes softly; he fluffed up his cheek feathers slightly. Then he smoothly opened both of his bright, scarlet ruby eyes and dragged his gaze to the Marquis.
"Oh, interesting," the faint ripples in the bird's eyes shimmered like foam on the surface of the ocean.
"Interesting to dig around in someone else's head?" Andre irritably reached a hand to his own eyes to try to cover them that way. As if that would help avoid the piercing stare.
"Very," the tips of his beak curved into a curl at the peacock's reaction. One thing was certain, he had something to hide from Vassago, "especially when in that head..." Vassago didn't continue, because he was surprised at the very first episode that came out of the ice ocean. "Do you... hate Stella?" probably the most inappropriate question he could have asked, but truth be told, the words came out without his knowledge, and Vassago was beginning to regret them.
"I..." his breath caught, and his eyes, blue as the earth's sky, opened wide. Oh, shit.
Vassago caught the ambiguous notes in the unusually trembling voice and quickly moved on to another episode floating just beneath the surface of the marquis' cruel soul. He had never liked inflicting pain. Neither physical nor mental; anyone. Therefore, the prince on the instinct of kindness in a moment stopped gazing at the ice floe, in the center of which stood the peacock's sister.
"And you also like tea with sugar," said the macaw quickly. His eyes frantically locked on the episode where Andrealfus sat at the table and drank tea with pleasure on his face. The Marquis looked extremely informal in that segment: his plumy body was covered only by a light robe tied at a thin waist with a ribbon, the feathers on his head were sticking out chaotically, without perfect styling, and on his paws with blue claws hung slippers of some delicate pastel color. Andre sipped a little from his cup, frowned, and reached for the sugar bowl with the palm of his hand — dropped in a spoon and stirred it jingling. Again he drank and again he frowned; again he repeated the action. "You love the sweet taste that you put in as many as four spoons,” Andrealphus's eyes narrowed again and he sighed heavily. The peacock had already stretched his legs to get up and go to the parrot, "but for some reason you don't add sugar when you drink tea with someone. How cu-u-ute, do you want to seem even harsher? Beyond hope, so tragic!"
"All right, that's enough," Andre barked in his face. His alabaster-gloved, snow-white hand reached for the pedestal beside Vassago's chair, where he placed his amber visor.
Vassago's hand intercepted his arm.
"Come on," the parrot cooed, "I like sweet tea too, but I think four spoonfuls is a bit much."
The corners of the aquamarine beak moved downward even more. He snatched his wrist out of the parrot's clawed paw, immediately picking up his glasses with his finger and raising them high so Vassago wouldn't have time to grab them.
"Give it back!", the macaw jumped up from his seat, but still couldn't get a hold of his item.
"Take it!" the peacock put the optic on the bird's head with both hands, pushing it as close as possible to the wave-covered sclerae. So that he could definitely 'neutralize' the deadly-infarct gaze. Then he exhaled, "You're unbearable."
"And you're shy," the parrot chuckled, but suddenly he sensed the thin ice that was forming a crust around his chin, about to encase his mouth. "I got it!" Vassago's mind flashed back to a memory of his dispute with Andrealphus. It seems that it was a party organized by Stella in the peacock palace, which he had coincidentally attended. They started bickering over some silly matter — the guests were laughing at Andrealphus and Vassago as if they were clowns, but the two of them were not paying attention. The polemic went on for far too long, until Vassago hit on the Marquis' taboo field (especially when the two of them are at the attention of dozens of eyes) mentioning his cute 'weaknesses'. So, in retaliation. Immediately, a massive cube of cloudy ice grew over his beak, which not only silenced it, but with its weight pulled the parrot to the floor, causing him to crash face down, unable to balance his head. To the bursting roar of laughter of the crowd, Andre leaned over a little and whispered so that no one but Vassago would hear: "Next time I'll freeze you for two hundred hell years."
Vassago was silent, watching another episode of Andrealphus's secrets, partially hidden by his glasses - the peacock did not close his eyes completely and through a small slit the parrot continued to see the lowdown of the white bird. On that iceberg he recognized his own figure — contrasting scarlet against the background of icy hills and black cold water. Inscriptions were visible: "...freakster...differently...not hateful...infuriating...Vassago..." and most intriguing "...interested...". It's a damn hurt. The goddamn glasses blocked out the details!
"Me not hateful to you, "
"...even on the contrary" almost came out in addition, but the parrot stopped in time, seriously fearing the threat of being frozen for two hundred years.
"You think so highly of yourself," the peacock had already taken a couple steps away from him. He was heading for the door.
"Para nada, solo tengo un concepto alto de ti," expectedly, the peacock did not understand his words and only raised an eyebrow questioningly. Vassago was glad that Andrealphus had not learned Spanish. "hah, maybe."
"I didn't realize you could speak the truth for yourself as well."
"I'm not a hypocrite, unlike-" Vassago fell silent. It felt lousy to call things by their proper names, especially after a little unfair trick.
"Go on, continue," Andrealphus stood half-turned and looked at him expectantly.
"I don't want to continue," the macaw admitted honestly. His eyes, somehow ashamed, lowered from the tall figure of his opponent.
The peacock said nothing, only snorted meaningfully. The Marquis raised a graceful hand to the level of his face and flicked his claws into the air, so that a whirlwind swept across the room and flicked the prince's beak. He aghast and clutched at the site of the slap with both hands — through his clenched fingers Andrealphus could hear an offended chirp of ache.
"For what?!" the macaw shrieked when the pain subsided a little.
"For all the good things," the Marquis said in a tall tone. He tapped his heel on the tiles and opened the massive door. "If you ever do something like this again, I promise you that all your tropical lands will become a taiga with permafrost for ma-a-any years."
The peacock slammed the door shut. The loud sound echoed unpleasantly in his beak and caused another wave of pain. The parrot hissed again.
The pain stayed with him until the moon rose, and for the rest of the sunny day, frosty needles shot into his head as a reminder of his foolishness.
"Perhaps deservedly so," a traitorous thought ran through his feathered head, "...but it was worth it."