Chapter 43: Fast Friends

"The church didn't raise me to be a coward."​

"How much time has it been, exactly?" You're more than a little nervous about how long you've been with the demon lord for.

"From what I heard, you came down here half a fucking day before stepping into my cozy little shithole. Another day and a half to get your sickly ass through my woods— probably no thanks to the bitches— and another day here with me! You sleep like the fucking dead, alright. Can you hear it, Richard? The sands? Falling, carrying you away from me!" Yech puts a hand to his temples, dramatic, as always. He follows it up quickly with a retching sound, straightening his bones upright and staring into you with the utmost seriousness. "I suppose I do even disgust myself. Look, you've got four days left for Idonea's fucking errand. I could wait another eternity for all I care, but, well, you know how she is."

The glass next to you fizzes. You were so preoccupied with your angst over Ofelia's and Celegwen's behavior, you had scarcely noticed it. The mixture is a deep burgundy, with a frothing head that's poured perfectly. You don't have much of an eye for drinks, but even to your untrained gaze, it's evident that this is beer is something strong and terribly high quality. Yech leers at you, seeing you eyeing the glass.

"Ante-up."

"Can't it be something lighter—?"

"Fuck off."

Somewhere deep in your soul, you long for a fruitier (possibly less alcoholic) drink.

You grimace— and looking straight at Yech— you swipe up the glass before you.

You quaff the entire thing without any further hesitation. It's delicious. The beer you're used to is watered down, thin and devoid of any flavor. This is rich, smooth, and full-bodied. You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn't enjoy it. The demon lord empties his mug far faster, but cheers you on as you finish the entire glass before you without pause. Slamming it back down onto the table and wiping the foam off of your face, you try to wait at least another moment to catch your breath.

To your surprise, your head doesn't immediately buzz. The room isn't quite tilting, though you're warm and already uncomfortably full. Part of you suspects that the entire mug contained less alcohol than some of the shots Yech gave to you yesterday, but it's hard to tell. At least the last bits of sleep have left you.

Gesturing to Ray, you command him to go and rest a bit of a distance away from you. It's not that you're worried about him getting hurt. You're simply self-conscious of your best friend watching you sin. You mean it when you murmur, "the church didn't raise me to be a coward, Yech. Let's get this over with."

"That's more fucking like it! Come on, then," Yech drawls, sliding the dice firmly over towards you. He's already conjuring more drinks. "Let's see if you have some better luck today. That last roll was such shit, I'm still laughing about it—"

The grimace you direct at Yech is enough to get him to stop teasing. Your absolute lack of hesitation as you sweep up the dice silences him further. You mean business.

Mercy, guide these dice!

With a no small measure of dread, you cast the dice before you.

A five.

Your heart skips into your throat.

A six.

A win.

You don't know how to feel. You don't know what to say. You're smiling— you're smiling harder than you think you ever have— but you're not entirely sure what to do.

Yech is shockingly a great sport about it. He leans over, goes to pat you on your shoulder, and then seems to think twice about it. Maybe he realizes how little you appreciate being covered in wine. He pulls back to drawl, "not bad, kid. Not bad! That's a fucking win. Maybe you fudged yesterday to spend some quality time with my ass? Ahahaha!"

You're still smiling. You don't really know what to say.

Mercy, does it feel good to win at something.

"Listen, you're free to go. I'll clear a path through the woods for you back to the door. Should be a lot smoother that way. You need anything? Some drinks for the road? Another shirt? That one isn't doing you any favors. I might have gone a little overboard— don't really know how to fucking restrain myself— here—"

Before you can protest, Yech is already setting to conjuring you a small pile of supplies. Your smile doesn't waver, though you're still at a loss for words.

He plies you with another change of clothing, some flasks of water and a small stack of packaged, dried food that seems like it will keep well. You both look to each other.

You make no effort to go and change or ready yourself to leave. You're not going anywhere just yet.

Despite loading you up with traveling gear, Yech seems to share the same sentiment. He's lounging back, now idly staring at the ceiling and knocking back more beer without saying any further good-byes.

The silence that hangs between you and Yech isn't uncomfortable. It's rather pleasant to share the company of someone who only cares to look at you when he has something pertinent to say. Someone who speaks with respect and honesty.

I have to say something. I can't leave another ally behind. Yech may be a demon, but he's my friend. He respects me. He trusts me.

Mercy gave me this mission, and I've literally followed it to the ends of the earth. No amount of evil should be able to hinder my path. No matter what this demon has done, or what he is now, I need his help. I know I can handle him.

I've known members of the clergy who have done far worse than a few nights of gambling or binging, and they haven't been forsaken by the Gods. Father Barthalomew certainly has a worse figure than I do now— and I'm much better off for it, anyways. I would have died at the rate I was going.

I've gotten myself in this far. It doesn't make any sense to not reap the benefits of all of my work.

"Yech—"

You were so deep in thought, you hadn't even noticed that the demon lord had already grabbed a bag of things. He grins at you. "Don't get any ideas. I needed to get out of this shithole anyways. It's been a few ages, hasn't it? I could stand to air out. I can practically feel the fucking mold on my bones. Here—"

You have a bag shoved at you, made of an impossibly fine fabric. You can't help but admire it. It's all black with gold buckles. They're not garish, just small and extremely tasteful. It's lighter than the backpack you've been carrying, but looks to be capable of holding much more.

"Get your shit packed up and don't fucking thank me."

Genuine laughter falls from you, as you immediately comply. "I was— I was going to ask if you would like to accompany me back to Idonea's domain."

"That old, crotchety bitch? What for? I've got everything I need right here."

"When is the last time you saw anyone, Yech? Face to face."

"I'm looking at a pretty beat up mug right now—"

You frown back at Yech, not letting him ignore the question.

"I can't remember," he admits. "Maybe all the liquor isn't helping. I don't fucking know, don't give me that shit. I don't need any company. Fuck off. You're too chummy anyways. This is bullshit. I have half a mind to not even leave the cave."

"I really— I sincerely appreciate your company." Your confession sounds even more sincere than you intended for it to. You aren't trying to lay it on thick, but the altogether empty mug of beer next to you and your incredibly full stomach reminds you that it might have taken a minute to properly hit you. "I would be lying if I said— if I said that I wouldn't want you to join us. At least for a little while. You don't have to do anything, but I wanted to make the offer. It— it would be nice— to have someone to properly talk to."

"You don't need my ass to come along for that. Malimos keeps me posted on everything and... I don't know, Richard. It's been awhile. A couple hundred fucking years really does something to your social skills."

"You're fine. Really. Maybe we could try and clean you up a little bit, before seeing Idonea's daughters? Surely they would be happy to see you—"

Yech looks away, and puts his face to another glass. Just as you think he might be ignoring your suggestion, it appears that he was merely thinking.

With a frown, he looks back to you. "Fine. Fine! Alright. Fine. I'll get cleaned up— you go fucking put on something decent— and I'll see what I can do. Absolute fucking bullshit. Can't believe this. What the fuck am I even going to wear...?"

You can't help but smile at him as you get up with your new supplies. A quick pat on Ray's head on the way to a more discreet corner of the cave and some privacy only takes a moment. You hear the demon lord tossing a fair amount of fabric around on the opposite side of his lair. Though it's dark in the cavern, you do manage to get a proper look at the new clothes and yourself while you change.

Yech gave you a far nicer pair of trousers and a dressier shirt. It reminds you more of something to be worn to a party than what's appropriate for a man of the cloth, and you hesitate. Your robes are not just scuffed and terribly filthy, but you suspect they won't even fit you anymore. A quick attempt confirms it. More than that, a number of your scars glare back at you, distracting you further. Flesh and Mercy have been unbelievably kind to you, and you're altogether ashamed of not having made more attempts to look after your body sooner.

You resolve to honor your promise to Ofelia, to the Gods, and to yourself to do something with Yech's gift.

To your extreme irritation, slipping into the newer garments provides an immediate contradiction. They're fairly tight. You can't help but dread what Ofelia might say when she sees you.

Nevertheless, you step out from privacy and seclusion. The demon is right across the way, making a show of tapping his foot. A pile of bags and an entire keg of liquor are next to him. Yech seems to have conjured a set of wheels for the brew, alongside a pile of other bags and bottles. He's wearing an utterly ridiculous hat, and even more audacious clothing than what he's made for you. It's all quite nice, but it seems of a strange fashion that you're unfamiliar with. The sleeves are poofy, his vest is striped, and his shoes are pointed. You almost want to laugh, but you don't dare to question his fashion sense.

"About fucking time. Do you always check yourself out when you change, or am I just that good?" You open your mouth to protest, and he cuts you off. "I'm joking, Richard. Relax, for fuck's sake. I think I might have done a bit too much for you, honestly— but you'll work it off. The short bitch seems to appreciate it, anyways! You going to take that shit from her, or do I need to—"

"Don't." You sternly walk over, calling Ray to your side as you sling your new bag onto your shoulders. "She means well, Yech. I imagine she's just surprised. She's been trying her hardest to help me from the first day we met. I think— I'm certain that Ofelia— and probably Celegwen as well— are just as surprised as I am."

"By what, you little shit? Are you implying that you didn't expect the best from me?"

"Far from it, Yech. They— they both might be feeling—"

"Inadequate? Fucking typical. Jealous bitches! They all want to be me, but they don't want me! Ahahah! Come on, you fucking lunatic, let's get going." The demon starts to wheel the enormous quantity of supplies he's gathered forward, waving his hands about in haphazard motions that you assume is a particularly ugly spell.

"Fuck. Malimos is going to kill himself when he hears about all of this."