jackofallgeeks | Dinner with the Devil

"You really aren't getting it, are you?"

The man sitting across from Adam was of average height and a slight build, with a Mediterranean-bronze to his skin and slicked-back black hair. His features were sharp and angular. His green eyes were focused and intense, giving Adam the impression that, once alighted on a subject, nothing escaped their observation.

The man pulled his shirt-sleeve back a bit as he reached for another olive.

"Let's try this, shall we? You see, I am 'Satan' in much the way that you are 'Technical Supervisor.' It's a position. It's my job."

Adam watched the man as he rather nonchalantly took a sip from his wine, as though he had commented on stocks rather than admitted to being the Devil. For a moment, those eyes were off of him, and Adam felt a physical pressure lift from his chest. But only for a moment.

"It's my job, Adam. It's what I do. It's a fact among us angels that we are rather defined by our jobs -- I am nothing but my job, Adam -- though I suppose you men are not so much different. Not without effort, at least."

The man chuckled as though he'd made a little joke, ate another olive. Adam tried to sip from his own wine glass, fumbled it a bit, and dribbled a red stream down his tie.

"The point is, Adam," and it seemed as though there were steel in the man's voice, "it is my job. I am assigned as the adversary. 'For what is light without the dark, what is warmth without the chill?'" He sounded the way a televangelist might, as though quoting a holy text.

"I was put here, in this position, in this job, because it is a necessary function. After all, God gave you free will, yes, but what use is being able to choose if there are no choices to make? I give man those choices, Adam. I give him the opportunity to reach for the divine. I'm supposed to give him an alternative. No one walks into Hell but willingly."

He reached for another olive, then stopped.

"You're not eating, Adam. I thought you said you liked Italian food."

"I..." Adam's throat was more than a little dry, he tried again, but the man went on.

"I am called 'Prince of this World,' and it's the truth. I'm on par with Micheal, they have that much right, though we rarely actually fight. That is, no more than, say, two competing tech firms."

He smiled, but it was an expression without warmth, a predatory expression.

"But that's the real kicker, Adam. I was put in this position by God. I didn't 'Fall' for my pride. There was no great war, not the way you beastly creatures would envision it, anyways. I was assigned to this duty. And no matter how the stones land, He's the one who collects in the end."

He took another olive.

"You really should eat more, Adam; you look awfully pale."