Work Text:
"Oh, not again," said the demon as he surveyed the cluttered workbench. "Before we start negotiations about the relative value of your soul, I'll just tell you I don't have the formula. It does not involve any sulfur whatsoever."
The alchemist grinned. “Know all about the uses of sulfur, do you?” He sniffed the air above the meticulous pentagram. “Less about lab safety, though. Never mind. I wasn’t calling about that lead to gold thing, anyway.”
That was new. What else would an alchemist be interested in? The demon took the offered cup of what was hopefully tea and listened.
Something was chewing on his shoes, and he was relatively sure it was not a hellhound pup. Could his day get any worse?
“I have questions about a creature,” the alchemist began. “Oh no, stop that, we talked about leaving shoes well alone!” And he picked up a little pink...
The demon blinked, sighed. Indeed, his day could.
“How in all the nine realms did you get a dinosaur? In your dimension, they should be dead. Extinct. Not biting shoes.”
“Oh, so that’s what it is. I wondered.” The alchemist cuddled the small creature and made some disgusting cooing noises.
“Say the word, and I will correct whatever went wrong with your personal timeline, at a special discount. Its bones could be preserved in this sandstone over here, a very nice specimen...”
The dinosaur growled. Since when did these beasts understand human speech? Oh. It was the alchemist who was growling. No deal today, then. That was okay. He’d always felt bad about the dinosaur issue. As much as he was capable of that, anyway.
“...or not.” He gave the creature a quick pat in farewell.
The alchemist’s merry laughter rang in his ears long after he’d returned to hell.