Naturally, once I got out of hell there was ample discussion between Buer, the demon in my right arm, and Gavr, the angel in my left eye. I've kept a diary of their conversations in my journal, "The Dark History". I don't find it embarrassing at all. I've hidden it in a safe in my newly acquired mansion on Earth.

I laid on the bed, arm outstretched holding a remote control for the television in the stately room I secured. There's a corpse nearby with a pentagram on it. I clicked. Alaskan Troopers? This show... it is very entertaining. I've never seen so much snow in my life. Not a lot of snow in hell or my father's kingdom either. However, because I spent the years from 12-15 murderhoboing around Earth for fun and profit so I could remain as lazy an existence as possible both Buer and Gavr gained more control over my vastly weakening will. As such, the conversations that would go on in my head were constant and banal at first, mostly each of them calling each other names and using angel and demon puns. Until they watched enough TV, played enough games, observing and sometimes manifesting out from my eye and arm respectively as I slept or laid on the couch in philosophical repose. There were that string of murders I committed, the secret organization that I fought off(continuing to this day, bastards are tenacious), my first girlfriend, and(most importantly) that one VRMMORPG I played in which I escaped a death game that left me the only survivor.

And, their conversations were often thus during these events:

"Can't you snicker and click your tongue more?" complained Buer from my right arm. He looks like a wheel made out of goats legs and a smug lion face in the center. Quite the regal tone. "Where's the evil grin? The duel-wielding? The last time I saw you impale a demon army was all the way back in hell! And, this accursed angel! I hope you keep her around to analyze that woman's breast size and calculate the volume of blood you can spill when killing mooks. Gavr's not good for much else, besides whining."

"Pick the green tea! It has antioxidants! I read antioxidants were good, so it must be true!" Gavr in my left eye would say. Always reading. Always recommending health advice. It's annoying, but I'm too lazy these days to tell her to shut up. "Call Michelle! She's worried about you, the last time you both went on a killing spree was half a year ago. Does she mean nothing to you?"

Now you might wonder why Gavr, an angel I happened to "save" from eye and seal in my missing eye socket is so concerned over petty things like these when my daily diet is murder, mayhem, and lounging around furniture with some entertainment device around me. My only guess is, her expectations have lowered a lot since we met. She knows I have a sore spot for Michelle, after all it's an older woman, after all she didn't get turned off by the constant murdering and hoboing, nor the traveling. Nor the laziness. The perfect girl for an ex-hellboy satan slayer like me.

"Are you listening. Hey. Pervert. I can see what you're thinking. Pervert," said Gavr.

I wasn't thinking about her breasts.

"You should be thinking about her breasts, Laom, that's the only thing she's good for!" Buer jumped in as he grabbed my face, making sure to have one eye peek out through my fingers just in case someone was watching. He's good about that. However, Buer, let us not deny the truth. Indeed, Gavr is a beautiful angel that I found being tickled for eternity by horny lesbian succubi. Indeed, her breasts are amazing. However, if you had to ask me, and you didn't but I'll tell you anyways because I feel like it, it's that smile that never goes away that keeps me cheered up between murderhoboing events, during murderhobo events, and when I'm depressed because I've murderhoboed too much or too little. Or Michelle is too far away to have astral blood sex.

"And the boobs?" Buer felt the need to remind me.

And the boobs.