The two men sat at the seedy bar in a darker side of Boston. One from this realm, the other not - both walking the delicate line of between.
Charl pulled out his deck of playing cards, dealing the Demon in. The Demon always won, and no one was certain if it was because Cort was that good, or if Charl simply let him.
“I concede,” the Demon raised his hands in surrender, his green eyes glinting in the dim lighting.
He was handsome - the type of good looking that expanded across all types which saw men and women offering themselves to him on an almost religious basis - such was the nature of being a Demon of any worth.
“I underestimated your girl, she pulled through and landed exactly where we wanted her to.”
Charl grunted, narrowing his gaze on the five cards in his hands.
“Are we really going to pretend to play cards?” Cort moaned, “You know I’m going to win anyway.”
“As long as you hold your end of the bargain, we won’t have any problems,” Charl pushed forward, bringing them back to the crux of the conversation.
“Why, Charlain,” Cort purred, “It’s almost as if you don’t trust me,” he winked.
The two played cards until the early hours of the morning - such was their custom. Friends, and yet not.