Oh Diary! What have I done?
I slept not a wink last night, but tossed and turned until my sheets wrapped around me like a shroud. I fear worse than a shroud, now; I fear I have made a deal with the devil himself!
Let me speak (or write, as it were) more plainly. Mr. Plutonian, you see, is not the gentleman he paints himself by his manners. Instead, his appearance has it right: he is a demon! In my eagerness to overlook appearances, I let myself be drawn in by one who cannot hide his true form! His predatory gaze, his glinting fangs, his devil horns… how could I be so stupid?!
Last night, we met to discuss my loan, and the most awful thing happened. He vanished. Into the aether or the underworld, I know not which, he simply disappeared mid-sentence. He returned, moments later, in a cloud of smoke! The servant whom he brought with him, a man in woman’s clothing, seemed utterly unfazed. He said this happened often. When questioned on the strange occurrence, the man (or demon, rather!) himself admitted his demon side to blame and imputed his misfortune to an error made during a ritual of some sort. Later, he and his servant engaged in mildly inappropriate intimacies in my very presence. As I am desperate for the money and as he agreed readily to my terms without alteration, though, I felt forced to accept the loan. He marked his signature with what he called a “special blend” of ink, this the color of dried blood! I used my own pen. To be certain, I felt no small degree of trepidation upon signing. I shall not default on this loan. I should sooner starve!
Before the deal was struck, his servant attempted to intercede. In my haughty pride, I did not urge the man forward. Instead, I eyed him most warily. I even felt a sense of relief when his master rebuked him. In truly devilish form, the cat demon let the man speak only after the documents had been completed. Then, the servant wondered if I knew the penalty for default… the “alternatives,” as it were, to debtor’s prison. From heavy hints that the beast let drop, I gathered that the servant was a former spice importer foolish enough to enter into the same sort of fool’s bargain. Again, I vow, I shall not default on this loan!
I think I should sooner choose debtor’s prison, that racket of recurring debt and penury, than service to a demon. What more than mere cooking and cleaning must such service entail? I saw just a hint of poor Gordon’s punishment in his feminine manner of dress and in the aforementioned shameful display of… what? Affection, perhaps? Or was it mere indebtedness? My poor parents would turn in their graves were they to see their daughter so reduced as to provide sexual favors for a demon! I cannot imagine what poor Gordon suffers. I have heard most horrible things about the anatomy of male cats, you know. Based on what I saw when I was a child and a virile Tom courted my childhood pet, I’d wager that the rumors are true. Under no circumstances that I can imagine, even were I to default, could a cat demon convince me to engage is such actions! I shudder at the very thought.
Fortunately, there are things about me that this demon does not know. I seem to have an unusually high level of natural ability when it comes to slaying dangerous monsters. I have several air kraken to my name and am an excellent and enthusiastic marks-woman when it comes to defeated the zombie hoards that so often attack New Toulouse. And one must not forget those dreaded nanobots. My supernatural companions from Dee may also be prevailed upon to assist me. Indeed, I believe I shall ask them to train me in melee combat (just in case).
Well, Diary, that is all I can write for now. Until next time, I remain —
–Miss Palabra Puddlegum–
OOC: Mr. Plutonian’s account of the same can be found here.