happily imagining wet angry balrog like a cat being given a bath
“Stop right there. Where do you think you’re going, Molgoth?”
The balrog froze in the doorway, somehow conveying guilt without having any static physical features. It stood there on its three (four… now three again…) legs, billowing slightly.
“You’re going to track ash everywhere,” said Melkor. “If you want to come into my hall you will not do so until you are clean.”
Molgoth made a grating shushing noise with a hint of a whine. Melkor, wearily, diverted a great deal of water from the air and sprayed it at the balrog, washing black ash and probably all sorts of other filth down the steps. It left behind a skeletal form dripping with tar-black slime, shivering at the entrance to the hall.
“I take it back,” said Melkor. “You are incapable of being clean. I’ll receive your report outside.”