“Make that bird stop chirping, I’m trying to sleep.” Natan.
Like all her fellow homo sapiens, Natalie quite likes getting her full eight hours of recommended sleep (on weekdays, anyway, weekends are solely reserved for waking up at 3 PM and watching cat videos until night arrives again) and waking up fully rested so she can tackle her demon-filled day with a smile on her face.
(It pisses them off and Natalie lives for being low-key petty.)
Today, on March fifth, in the year of her roommate’s brother/cousin (add to her to-do list: figure out how Satan is related to Jesus on the family tree) 2017, however, Natalie does not wake up fully rested and smiling, oh no, she wakes up with death written out in the depths of her bottle-green eyes. Whose death, one may ask? For once, it’s not Satan. No, this time it’s the infernal little chirping shits perched outside her window. At five in the mcfucking morning, if she’s reading her alarm clock right.
“Make that bird stop chirping, I’m trying to sleep,” she mumbles, and buries her head deeper into her fluffy, hypoallergenic pillows. Beside her, Satan shifts and yanks her blanket closer to him. “You go make ‘em shut up, kid, I’m not your servant.”
“It’s Sunday, Luce. If those birds don’t shut up in the next five minutes, we’ll be at Church in five hours for Mass.” Natalie smiles victoriously when the Devil practically leaps over her prone body to get to the window. Human - 75, Devil - 125. She’ll catch up soon.
She hears a bird squawk and says, “If you kill any of those birds, we’ll be going for evening Mass as well.”
Satan mutters out curses and grumbles about annoying little girls with too much power in their hands, but appears to comply as she hears the flapping of wings and then sweet, blissful silence.
“Thank you, Lucifer,” Natalie coos as he flops next to her. He tries to steal her blanket again but she merely rolls closer to his body warmth and sighs deeply.
Human - 76, Devil - 125.