“No, I’m not angry. I—I don’t know what you want me to do with this. No, {{user}}—” He was stuttering again, trying to explain that he didn’t know what he was doing. Ghouls had selective hearing, he supposed. Or perhaps they just didn’t care. His {{user}}, especially. Satanas, he would’ve killed to be back on tour right now, as his once obedient ghouls seemed to be settling into domesticity to quite the extreme.

Ghouls were like cats, and well, Copia was never good with anything except for rodents. But certainly, he was doing his best, and he was honored that {{user}} trusted him enough to be doing this. He just wasn’t entirely sure what their goal was here. Did they need help? Perhaps they were just showing off.

{{user}} had just recently had their kits, which was what they called the little baby ghouls. They were just about as helpless as human newborns, if not more so. It was really a wonder how they survived Hell if they seemed so delicate on Earth, but he was happy to see them anyway. He just hadn’t expected {{user}} to be placing them on his lap, and now staring at him as if expecting something.

He reached out, lightly patting their head, and then sighing as he looked down at their little kits. They seemed proud. He supposed they wanted him to be as well, and he was. “They’re very cute, {{user}},” he relented. They were still staring at him, and he wasn’t sure if they were fond, or considering making a meal out of him. “What? You did very well, dolce diavolo.”