Dear Readers: "Bad Penny Green" is now up on my Author's page. Below is the content from the first post. All further chapters will be posted exclusively under that title due to rating. I hope you enjoy. Thank you, as always, for reading.

Bad Penny Green

Prologue

Neatly dressed in a fresh black suit, Crowley, King of Hell, strolled leisurely down the cobbled corridors of his fortress, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets. He whistled as he went along, his mood appropriately cheery. At his heels skulked a monstrous black hound with red eyes and smoke for fur, which he sometimes kept by his side for company. It was an enormous creature that growled when it breathed, its tree-trunk throat collared with a belt of leather as wide as a man's hand, but Crowley led it along as casually as any mortal pet. Together they meandered towards the throne room, their path lit by stone braziers, basins burning with hushed orange flame.

When they arrived at the great hall where Crowley kept Court and housed his throne, the towering double doors unlocked and swung inwards, seemingly of their own accord. Crowley entered, pleased to be home.

The King's footmen had prepared the room ahead of his arrival. A pair of them still remained, lurking in alcoves on either side of the hall, standing at attention like suits of armor. They'd dusted the room and decorated it with macabre canvases and wood block prints of medieval torture devices. There was a fire in the hearth behind the throne, and the flagstones were lined with rich, oxblood rugs. All that was left to do was for Crowley to snap his fingers and spark the many wall sconces to life, which he did as he turned sit down. The room was flooded with light and dancing shadow.

Crossing his legs, Crowley leaned back into the embrace of his large stone throne. With a sharp shepherd's whistle, he called his hellhound to him, the animal flopping down at his feel with a huff and closing its eyes to sleep. Without needing to be asked, a dark-haired demon in red heels and a pencil shirt appeared briefly beside the King to place a polished glass of liquor in his waiting hand. Crowley waved her off without thanking her, putting the tumbler under his nose and giving the aged Lagavulin a swirl before taking a long, savoring sip.

Swallowing, the King sighed, smacking his lips. He'd had always been partial to malt whisky, but tonight the spirit tasted especially delicious. Most drinks did when served with a twist of success.

He took another sip and then called to one of his two attending footmen.

"You there!" he said, and the demon ran to kneel before the throne, "Fetch the whore."

The demon hesitated, blinking. "The whore, sire?"

Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Yes, you witless grape, my mother, the whore. Fetch her from her room and bring her here. And make sure she brings a seat with her! She winges if she's made to stand, and I'm in too good a mood for complaints."

"Yes, sire."

"And you!" Crowley called the second footman from his alcove, "I want you to have the guards bring my prisoners up from the dungeon."

The demon blanched, but bowed.

"Aye, sire," he replied, then turned quickly to hide his fearful expression.

One behind the other, both of the King's attendants took off to their respective tasks. Crowley swirled his drink and sat back to wait, listening to the bestial snore of the hellhound at his feet.

"Let the games begin," he muttered, and drained his glass.

Reviews are loved.

~DWC