It wasn't like Sal hated Bal or anything – on the contrary, their bond was unbreakable – but if they travelled together for every waking moment of their lives, they would only get under each other's skin. Of course, Sal was dedicated to Bal – reverse the names and the statement was still true – but sometimes, Bal was infuriatingly stubborn, unnecessarily proud, and too angry to remember the real reason why they were stuck on Le'raana. He had to find Stolen Cross – and until he did, he was stuck here, binding Salazar to this world as well. It was times like these when Salazar could only wonder, how many High Demons does it take to find one stupid little kid?
Sal groaned under his breath, hands in his pockets, shaking his head. An evening stroll always cleared his head, and he was glad to leave Bal back home, for once, hoping that the alone time would help him better formulate a plan to find someone who could cloak themselves, and their life essence, completely.
While most regular denizens of Zantaric knew Salazar just by looking at him, the High Demon normally kept his antennae and suppressed the amount of flies that followed his person – such demonic traits were saved for strolls that were saved for night. When normal folks were tucked away in their beds, sleeping soundly without a care – that was when the Lord of the Flies came out to play.
Sal was not someone who aimed to attract attention, or so he claimed. While he tucked away his antennae, he still sported his usual high-collared white shirt, along with his black breeches and cape, which made him come across as an eccentric lord, or sorcerer maybe – unless people could read auras, it would be hard to guess that Sal was a High Demon just by looking at him – which was exactly the way he liked it.
He strolled past the marketplace, wondering how long Bal might need clear his own head, when he noticed someone – someone who was a lot more colorful than most denizens of this area – swipe a peach, only to direct the seller inside to the tavern, saying that his 'fae bitch' had his money. Sal quirked an eyebrow at the needless thievery, and shook his head, amused. Judging by his appearance alone, he just might be a demon – perhaps he had enslaved this fae, and only did things like this to remind her of her place. Sal had seen such things done before - only in Zantaric could one openly boast about such things, though.
The High Demon had been taking care to walk in the shadows, to go unnoticed, for the most part, but now, he stepped out in the open, hand on one hip, tilting his head. "Do you normally keep mortals around to hold your money for you?" Sal asked, purely curious. "One would think it would get old, after a while." Sal had never had much fun with mortals – they came and went, like the wind, and weren't much fun in his opinion, even when it came to enslaving them. He had tried it a few times, but got bored far too quickly...
