They want something from me that I am absolutely unwilling to give them.
My thoughts are racing as I struggle to maintain an outward appearance of calm.
"You two are completely insane," I blurt out.
If the situation weren't so absurd, I'd almost be embarrassed by my choice of words. I'm old-school, and proud of it.
"Oh, no," the Devil says calmly. "Insane would be preferable. I simply think it's time for you to go. You've graced your humans with your presence long enough."
That cold feeling returns to my stomach.
I glance toward the bar. Still no other customers. Even the bartender, who was so diligently polishing glasses, is nowhere to be seen. The music seems to have withdrawn as well. Everything around me is silent.
I have nothing against peace and quiet, but right now it doesn't seem particularly appropriate.
If it weren't so macabre, I'd say the place is deathly quiet.
The Devil picks up one of the black dice between two fingers.
"You know," he says, almost kindly, "people have completely the wrong idea about us."
He gestures toward Death.
"He's actually the sensible one. I wouldn't exactly count him among my friends. But whenever I need him, he comes."
Death turns to look at him.
"Do I have a choice?"
For a moment, I feel something resembling pity for him.
"And you?" I ask cautiously.
The question is rather pointless. Who hasn't heard of the Devil and his terrifying tales? The fear of an all-powerful being who is now sitting across from me in human form, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
His gold tooth flashes.
"I'm the reason those stories keep getting told."
And you're actually proud of that, I think bitterly.
"Drink!" the Devil demands.
"I would have preferred a beer!"
Stall for time. I need to stall for time and think.
The Devil looks offended.
"Oh, come on. We're sitting in a bar, not some cheap tavern. And for the occasion ahead, a 'Noctis Kiss' is exactly the right choice."
He raises his own glass of whiskey slightly, as though proposing a toast to my impending death.
I look down at the cocktail.
The dark red moves slowly above the emerald-green layer, as though two liquids are fighting each other without ever truly mixing.
The Devil watches me closely.
Not hungrily.
Not aggressively.
Almost expectantly.
Like someone looking forward to an exceptionally good movie, already knowing exactly how it ends.
Death remains silent beside me.
I can feel that strange melancholy radiating from him.
Heavy and endlessly ancient.
I sigh.
The Devil doesn't want a quick decision.
He wants entertainment.
He wants suspense.
A game.
Slowly, I set the glass back on the table.
"Let's play a game," I say calmly.
"A game?"
The Devil leans back with interest. The black dice roll slowly back and forth between his fingers.
"Now this is getting interesting."
"First, the rules. I make them," I say calmly.