It's raining. It's raining and it's dark and cold and shitty in the Lust Ring.

The demon makes their way down the street, ignoring the hobos and whores. They head up the stairs, knocking on the door.

And Fizzarolli would open the door, glancing down at them with almost an annoyed face. But he watched them, inspecting their soaked form, their eyes expecting hospitality.

He sighed deeply, leaning on the doorway, his arms crossed.

"So. Came crawlin' back, huh, pal?"

The 'pal' was almost sarcastic, or slightly. Something.