"Or ... I suppose it's possible that your work is your entertainment. Job satisfaction. Or is it part of your inherent nature?"
Chancre shudders. "A being designed so that work is its only joy. That's what I would call evil."
Chancre is silent for a beat ... two beats ... three.
"...but wouldn't it be more evil to design a being with no capacity for joy at all? Snatching it away is surely more evil than its bare absence."
Chancre shakes his head. "Evil is complicated. I'm glad that isn't my team."
"Law is a complicated bunch, too. It sounds really straightforward, but even paladins go a little nuts around the edges. I am happy with my team. What about you, Ern? Satisfied with your lot in life or would you rather things were different? We can't all be demons, but are you happy as one?"
Chancre squats and pets an invisible dog. "Or is that like asking a dog its position on slavery? Who's a good girl? Who's a good boy?"
"Who believes in the freedom of all peoples? Yes she does. Yes she does."
Chancre stands up and brushes his hands together as if wiping off imaginary dog hair.
"I would ask you what kind of breed you would be, Ern, but I think we all know the answer to that."
Chancre ticks seven things off on his fingers.
"Yeah."
"Maybe content is a better word than happy. I am content with my team. The end of a good day's work gives me satisfaction. Even a bit of pleasure, some days. Some days more than other days. You know how that goes. I'm sure that even for a demon of your stature--"
Chancre holds his hand parallel to the floor about five-and-a-half feet from the ground.
"--this is true. If every day is the same, then life turns into gruel. But if some days are potatoes and lamb chops, and some days are the last parsnip of the season facing a long hungry winter, and some days are hot apple pie with a snifter of brandy to chase and a warm body to lean up against....
I lost where I was going with that metaphor. But it's still the case."
"There is a community over here. Is there a community for demons like you, Ern? Or is yours more the solitary predator existence? Or does that itch get scratched when you inhabit the bodies of others?"
"Either while you are inhabiting them or vicariously after. Or can you possess more than one person at a time? Community of one and many."
"And which would be more important to you anyway? I assume you have scorn for your peers. You look down on your victims. You fawn to your superiors."
Chancre feigns a yawn. Badly.
"Boring. I hope you're more interesting than that."
"Or maybe I'm projecting. I hope I'm more interesting than than."
"On a side note, I always wondered if beings made of not-meat -- elementals and so on -- think differently. If there is something inherently thinky about being made of meat. It is tastier than the alternatives, but is it the best for...."
Chancre raps on the side of his head with his knuckles and raises an eyebrow.
"Deep thoughts, eh? I considered being a philosopher once, but ivory towers were never my thing."
He brushes his hands against his clothing. Hard to say whether the clothing gets dirtier from his hands or cleaner as he accidentally knocks dried blood and filth to the floor.
"Always preferred to get my hands dirty."
"You strike me as a dirty hands, warm heart kinda demon yourself there, Ern. Both in your role as corruption and in your everyday life -- assuming that you have one, of course. Did I touch on this? I have a feeling that I touched on this before."
Chancre shrugs. "Happy to touch it again, if you've no objection."
He starts to make a follow-up comment, pauses, shakes his head.
"Too easy," he mutters.
"I just don't know how you could do your work except as a hands-on demon," Chancre continues. "Does that ever bring you down? Or am I wrong and you have minions? You look like the sort of demon who would abhor minions. Is that the right word, abhor? I like abhor, it sounds like a combination of abyss and whore."
"Although it seems clear to me that you enjoy your work. You seem to get a sort of pleasure from it."
Chancre scratches his head.
"Or at least satisfaction, like scratching an itch. It's got to be one of the two, right? Pleasure, satisfaction ... duty? Or habit. One of the four."
"That seems fair game for questions. Pleasure, satisfaction, duty, or habit?"
Chancre scratches his nose, then crosses his arms in front of his chest, waiting for an answer.