The demon of chaos basked in glee. He'd overstepped his boundaries, however, the god's couldn't punish him this time since he'd sidestepped the code in doing so. He hadn't committed the murder. He hadn't lay one hand on those people. He hadn't even rapped the red haired insane man. The kid had given it up willingly. Granted Verkur had gotten him drunk first. Surely his god could appreciate the art within that scheme.

He sat in his cave of a home. A half finished building in an area between Bayfield and Newcaster. The room was dark, the curtains drawn over the windows and the room lit only by two candles on a shelf above the mattress that sat in the corner on the floor. There was, in addition to the makeshift bed, a book case packed with books, a single wing-back chair, a pile of clothing in the corner, a half dead pillow and a single blanket on the mattress. Verkur sat in the chair, one leg swung over the arm, the opposite foot was planted in the seat, his knee in the air. One arm rested across his stomach, claws extended, the other hung down, claws just scraping the wood floor. His large leathery wings were extended and his hair let loose from it's holder, long and a little messy. He wore a pair of black jeans, unbuttoned but zipped up, and a black silk button up shirt, entirely unbuttoned, showing his grayish white skin and muscles. He was lean, not too muscular, and as mentioned, pale and almost grayish. His glowing white eyes are closed and he's not breathing. He doesn’t really need to, given he is basically dead and alive. The only sign that he is awake is that he is humming an incoherent tune.

He wondered idly at which god's attention he'd caught with his little stunt. Probably all of them, it is rather hard for the 'almighty all seeing' to overlook the chaos demon coming so close to breaking his code. But which ones had he really gotten their attention. Surly he'd snatched a moment of his god, San's, attention, since Verkur did worship him, and possibly death, because he had to deal with those souls of the ones that were dead. He wondered if maybe he'd be paid a visit by an angry god and he'd have to point out that he hadn't broken any rules. Maybe Viol would come and reprimand him, be cross with him for a while. Pity. Or maybe he would compliment his loyal worshiper. A smug smirk crossed over his lips at the thought, a break in his humming. Then it continued.

Verkur was feeling overly powerful at that moment. Cocky, even, one might say.

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Now Degla sat on a bench just outside of the Redway park. Usually he would go in but right now all of the gates were closed and locked, wrapped with bright yellow police tape. He sat there, bent forward with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. His long red hair was still at that impossible to deal with length, his blue eyes closed. ((OCC------->To Murder or Not To Murder))

"Well, obviously this was a cry for attention," A deep and hoarse voice said, from somewhere between light and dark. "Kind of a pretty one, though..." It droned on, the owner finally stepping out of smallest space between blood and screams.

Sanguis stretched elegantly, looking like the usual seventeen year-old tanned beauty. He collapsed casually on the sad bed, lying down with his hand behind his head.

"You make things interesting for me Verkur..." He said almost reluctantly, eventually beginning to inspect his fingernails. "And now, what to do with you? I mean, it seems redundant to fiddle with your damned code again. Peeling off the muscles on your body doesn't seem to have the same lustre...Tell me, my demon doll," He sat up, putting his legs over the edge of the bed and looking over at the demon with threatening red eyes, "What should I do to you?"

For all his little words of threatening, he seemed pretty amused. However, Violence being amused is probably not the best thing in the world. He cocked his head slightly, looking curiously at Verkur's wings. He had always found them somewhat entrancing...

He wondered how delicate they were.

How long had it been since he’d seen his God? The humming ceased. It was a breathtaking sight to watch him step out of nowhere and into his home, just like that. Even though the demon knew it was possible, more then possible, for Sans, it was still startling to someone who can’t do it themselves.

The demon pressed one foot on the floor to turn the chair to face the bed, his white eyes falling on the God. Interesting. Was interesting good for a god? Or should Verkur begin to worry more about staying out of his interest. But he’d certinaly wanted Sans attintion. Despite pretending that he’d be happy to have any of the Gods, it was Sans he’d hoped for. It had been a cry for attintion.

How delicate were his wings? Not very. But that didn’t mean he wanted them fucked with anyways. When the God’s eyes fell on them, they pulled tighter to his back protectively and his lips twitched in one corner. Verkur knows the Amusment or Threat isn’t good when it’s coming from a God. Especially if it’s got something to do with punishment.

“Viol.” He’d been chided for calling him divinity last time. It had put an end to that. The word was breathed in complete devotion, a devotion that would take more then life to evoke from Verkur, a devotion that had taken Sans only minutes to earn.

((Welcome back Tao))

"Yes, yes..." San slurred almost drunkenly, eyes refocusing on the demon's. He suddenly grinned, lightly sharpened canines predominant. He stood up and began pacing slowly back and forth, not as one who is in deep thought, but as one issuing important commands.

"I keep hurting you, Verkur, and you keep loving me," he began, "And it makes me feel..." He quieted slightly as he eventually slowed his pacing to stand directly infront of the winged demon. "...Malicious."

He paused for a moment.

"But I do love the blood you spill."

Verkur's eyes followed his master's, his god's, path back and forth across the room. He didn't miss the implication of issuing comands rather then deep thought. He remained seated, sloched over his chair and sprawled out in comfort. It occured to him that he should offer his God a seat, but he didn't.

He would think that Viol liked to feel in control of him in such a way. But then, Viol was in control of whatever he wanted to be. Why would one demon make a differance.

I do love the blood you spill.

"As do I, Viol."

As much of it as you will allow. Which is a lot, but when compared to the damage he could do without the code, it was a minute amount.