Azazel laughed as he and Bartimaeus approached the young woman. They could have easily killed her by now, but they preferred to take things slow. Azazel's favorite thing in all eternity was to watch his prey's aura as their doom came closer and closer. Strident reds of anger mixed with with yellows of desperation, perhaps whorled with the black of resignation or streaked with the deep blue that came as they realized they would never see their loved ones again. All over the blindingly bright white of pure, unadulterated, animal fear.
Azazel loved fear, of course, but what he loved most of all was the ever-changing nature of the auras. Maelstroms of colors, so chaotic and haphazardly arranged that they would give Jackson Pollack wet dreams, reflected the inner turmoil that humans suffered at all times. Of course, being about to be consumed by the Things that go Bump in the night didn't help, and...
Azazel jumped in shocked. Well, more like billowed in shock, jumping being difficult as formless clouds of Terror and Madness tended to be, well, formless. But it was a very shocked billow indeed, for in that aura Azazel had glimpsed a hint of that rarest of all exotic emotions: hope. And when that hope of salvation proved false (as it inevitably did), oh! what a delicious experience that would be. Witnessing firsthand the destruction of false hope and the bottomless despair that followed was a delicacy of even the most discerning of connoisseurs seldom experienced.
Wait 'til all the other demons heard about this! Luci was going to be so jealous!
Azazel had to know. What possible reason could this pathetic little meatbag have to feel hope in the presence of Azazel, Demon of the First Order, Lord of the Black March, Duke of Despair, Prince of Panic, and 4 time All-Hell Intermural Badminton Champion? So he extended his tendrils into her mind, to see what he could see.
He'll save me, Azazel saw in her mind, He's almost here, and He'll deal them!
"He"? Who could she possibly expect? What power did could he possibly possess that would not only cause her to believe him capable of defeating two demons, but cause her to think about him in capital letters? The shiver Azazel felt then was certainly not due to fear. It was cold here in the Mortal Plane, and he would take a nice, relaxing soak in the Day-Spa of Damnation when he finished with this woman and her supposed "savior". Just then the front door opened, with a jangling of keys.
"Lisa?" a male voice cried out. There was a pause, then then the sound of footsteps as the voice came closer. "Lisa, I'm sorry to bother you, I know you only gave me the keys for an emergency..." The footsteps grew louder as the voice closed in. It took an effort on Azazel's part not to think about it as The Voice. "...but I didn't get a chance to return the pen you loaned me today at work, and I didn't want you to think I was inconsiderate or..."
The voice abruptly stopped as the man making it appeared in the doorway and saw the scene in front of him. Azazel was relieved, and nearly laughed at his own foolishness. He had been afraid of this balding, forty-something year old man, whose most intimidating feature was a slightly pronounced paunch?! And yet, there was something... off about him. What was it? Bartimaeus must not have felt it, as he suddenly charged towards the man.
"Wait!" cried Azazel, and Bartimaeus extended his tendrils towards the man's mind. "There's something weird about..."
And Bartimaeus screamed. A scream of such terror as Azazel had never heard come from a demon before. What horrors could be in that head that could cause a demon such fear?
"What is it, Bart?! What do you see?"
The screaming didn't stop, even as Bartimaeus tried to answer. "It's horrible! It's not right! It's too... it's too... Normal!"
And It came to Azazel, as Bartimaeus died before his eyes, what had bothered Azazel about Him. It was His aura. There were no reds, no yellows, no blues bright or dark. There was not even any white. There was only one color in His aura.
Only beige.
As he drove home from Lisa's, Norman thought about his day. It had been rather too exciting for his taste. He had thought about calling into his favorite classic rock radio station this morning, when they were giving away free concert tickets. But the concert was on a Saturday evening, and Norman was worried about who would feed Norman dinner while he was away. Norman supposed he could leave out extra food for Norman before he left, but then Norman might eat too much at one time, and Norman wasn't sure that was healthy for Norman. So he had decided against it, and the day had gone downhill from there.
As Norman pulled into his driveway, he felt better when he realized it was almost time for Wheel of Fortune, and he and Norman could watch it before he fed Norman. A good ending to a bad day, thought Norman.