Random Encounter

Certainly, the horns were impressive, but the wingspan was what made the biggest impression, at least for most people.  He needed to stoop on his crooked legs in order to enter the hospitality suite, where he accepted an offered can of lager with a jaunty "Cheers," before positioning himself with his back to a wall.

I found myself standing next to him a short while later.  Looking at the long black claws that culminated each fingertip, I wondered if he had used one of them to open his beer, or if someone had done it for him.  "I gestured with my own drink towards the can in his hand, saying, "Nice choice, that."

His red rimmed eyes gazed down at the can of Foster's, then back at me.  "I don't take your meaning."

"It seems appropriate that you'd be drinking a beer from, you know, 'Down Under'..."

His brow furrowed for a moment, then a toothy grin lit up his face, highlighting the dangerous looking canines.  "Australia, right, right!  I hadn't thought of that."  He lifted his can in a short toast, then took a long swallow.

"It's an impressive look," someone else said.  "Especially the wings."

"Cheers, yeah," he said.  He set his beer on a nearby table, and bent his legs at the knee, once, then twice.  My eyes, looking at his hooves to see if they were truly cloven or not, were drawn up to his wings, which had reacted to the gentle up and down motion of his legs and unfurled ever so slightly before retracting back to their original position.

A friend in far more mundane attire entered the suite and beckoned him with a crooked finger.  "C'mon, there's quite a party happening on the 7th floor, and I told them I'd bring you," he said.  I think you mean conjure, I thought to myself.  Or possibly abjure, I can never keep them straight.

The fanged mouth dropped open incredulously.  "Seven?  This is only the second floor, right?  Damned if I'm taking these goat legs of mine up five flights of stairs.  You fixing to carry me?"

The friend shook his head, saying, "We can take -" but was cut off mid-sentence by the black talon pointed at his chest. 

"Before you say elevator," the horned one growled, "Take a closer look at my friggin' wingspan."

The new arrival did, and nodded.  "I'll maybe see if I can bring them down here then," he suggested helpfully.

The wings fluttered as the horns nodded. "Much better idea."

The friend turned to go, stopped at the door, and turned, saying, "Sure you're all right then?"

The red-rimmed eyes rolled over, coming to rest on me.  I looked at the friend and said, "He sure seems to be."  With a nod, he was off.

"Thanks, man," the demon said, holding his can of Fosters in salute.

I tapped my plastic cup to his aluminum can.  "Don't mention it."