Vinny Tong (uni grind)

There was a bell sounding like a twinkle of stars carried around in the translucent wings of fairies, coming from outside the cottage, and Gerard sprung up from their seat, a frantic look of panic on their face.

“Shit! It’s my brother.” They hissed, turning their head to look over the open space of the sunroom.

“Great.” Patrick drawled out sarcastically with a roll of eyes, crossing his arms and tapping his foot in annoyance. It was bad enough dealing with one, but now there appeared to be two of them.

He watched as they hurried around, pushing the evidence of his summoning anywhere they could fit to hide. Annoyance turned to full blown offense when the salt that made up the circle with his invocation sigils was swiped into a dustpan. Patrick loathed the composition but still, its deserved more respect than a fucking dustpan. He could see leaves and hairs still in that thing, for Satan’s sake!

“Quick, quick, quick.” Gerard urged, as he kicked the ancient copy of Clavicula Salomonis.

Seemed like they had gotten their elvish hands on one of the well copied Latin versions. Those had a few working conjurations on them, and were overall a pain in the ass. Patrick thought he had gotten rid of all the legit ones in the early 14th century, when suddenly a broad arrange of nobodies were summoning him out of the blue all day long.

Great.

“On the cauldron!” They gestured to the cauldron in question, ancient, with the iron black and full of grooves in its worn down, frenzied as they checked the place for any incriminating evidence of black magic.

“Excuse me?” He hissed back, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. Surely this low grade, wannabe warlock, is not asking him to get into a cauldron.

“Please, please get into the cauldron.” They begged, looking desperate.

“I’m not getting into the fucking cauldron!” He seethed, “Also. I wouldn’t fucking fit!”

“You can transform yourself, right? Be a snake, curl up in there. Just until my brother goes away. Please.”

“I am a Lord of Hell. I have commanded legions choke full of the most vile, despicably depraved demons the fiery pits of damnation can conceive.” He argues with hatred, face twisted inhumanly, eyes glowing, the very same fires he came from rising from his stomach to engulf his very presence.

“You can be Lord of Hell in the cauldron, maybe?” Gerard suggests gently, wincing like it pains them but still trying to coax the demon towards the pot.

The chiming bells sounded again, impatient, and it was only the force of the binding spell that moved Patrick towards the damn thing.

He wasn’t going down without a fight, though, so he stepped into it, but all the while muttering angrily to let Gerard know his displeasure.

“Fucking summonings. It wasn’t enough with the witches, now I also have to deal with fucking elfs? Just dandy. I am a busy entity, you know? Seemssso fucking eassy being commander of the undead armies, but you deal with the goddamn paperwork, being interrupted by half asssed invocationss and whatnot-” His voice grew more hissing, until his form wasn’t any longer a man standing ridiculously inside of a medium sized witch cauldron (not owned by a witch) but rather a white snake with red eyes barely dirtied by the ashes inside. Did the elf just never clean that thing?

Meanwhile, Gerard opened the front door to find a frown on their brother’s face.

“What took you so long?” He complained before they could say hello, or anything for that matter.

“Uh…” They faltered under Mikey’s scrutiny, “I was summoning a demon?”

With a click of his tongue and a roll of eyes, Mikey pushed past them into the house.

“Whatever.” He said sarcastically, going straight through towards the kitchen.

wake up everyone dia served again wehehe (someone please remind me to draw this out)

MARK ROTHKO, UNTITLED, 1968, ACRYLIC ON PAPER