Mephisto
The King of Swing
Mephisto kicked his legs back and forth as he hovered in midair, prone and unbothered. He cast a snarky glare at Iri as she closed out her little gripe about her unfortunate demise during one of their games. He laughed with his full chest as he remembered, turning over onto his back and clutching his stomach in the ultimate gesture of sarcastic glee. He scowled at her and twirled his finger around in the air in a taunting motion.
"Oh you! You never did have a great sense of humor, did you Iri? Don't you remember: when you told me that you didn't want to be chopped up into little pieces and incinerated down to ash and bone... I only did so ironically~! It would only have been funny if you survived, you silly little twerp~"
He booped her on her intangible nose with the very digit he extended earlier, turning around and ascending invisible steps and clapping his hands. Zarathiel snarled at the very existence of the Patron, who paid him no mind in return despite their very apparent and dangerous power gap.
It was the equivalent of a wolf standing idly next to a grizzly bear - and yet, Mephisto played along well.
"Attention to all current combatants of this crude cavalcade of carnal sin and curmudgeonly carnage: Zarathiel is a good friend of mine,"
The table Mephisto orbited around was smashed into oblivion in response, yet the Patron didn't so much as flinch.
"And I would like to turn your bloodthirsty gazes towards the chains holding our ghoulishly beautiful Irihi hostage. Aren't they vulnerable? Aren't they just so wonderfully tantalizing to hit with all your might? Granted, I'm not entirely sure if she would be sucked into the void that awaits us all - but hey! That's just showbiz,"
He tossed another particularly ghastly smirk at Iri, chuckling just under his breath. He'd tap his staff with his claws, altering her speech patterns to be much more gravely - almost like she had smoked an entire carton of cigarettes every day for her entire life... along with all the other lives she's led.
