the hostage and the kidnapper have a tea party

The real issue with purchasing industrial amounts of tea wasn't (merely the) debt, but that Sionn kept placing gift baskets full of tea leaves, cups, and cookies in the lobby, yet none of the servants ever took them. After he got tired of dusting them, he compressed the baskets into black holes, watched them evaporate, and stored the explosion for later. He stopped only when he turned a collector's edition bookmark into an information paradox by accident.

And so he was left with a chamber full of tea. One of its bookshelves had been degraded into a showcase for cups. Fortunately, not only was the hostage cooperative, but she also looked poor, so she'd probably accept a box of these or two.

Upon taking a stack of books off one of the couches to sit, Sionn rang a bell, after which a couple of maids flocked in to prepare tea. Reem's expression was either disgust, or she was holding in a fart. "I can't believe this is where my taxes go to," she mumbled.

Speaking of which, he could file those boxes as charity. "What an ungrateful lass," Sionn replied. "Who do you think keeps you safe from strays?"

"Neo-feudalism is illegal."

"Oh, please." One of the maids placed two teacups on the coffee table while the other brought a tray of cookies. Once done, they sprinted off. Sionn gestured at the snacks. "Enjoy."

Reem leered at them.

"They're more expensive than all of you combined."

"Yeah, no, I'm not disputing that, but like... they're not made of human meat, right?"

Instead of responding to such an unintelligent remark, Sionn leaned against the headrest of the couch, arms crossed, closing his eyes.

There were no traces of that hunter's presence.

Nothing.

He, like many other bounty hunters, had been roaming the area for a few days. Word had spread about the local demon lord bearing the mark of the black moon. Some had it on their wrists or their neck, or other such body parts; with Sionn's luck, it was only natural for it to have shown up on his face.

Despite her alleged worries, Reem stuffed her face with the cookies anyway. "Not human," she confirmed, then took a sip from what was supposed to be Sionn's cup. To be fair, he should've made that clear beforehand. "Hmm... this flavor... peanut butter, maybr?"

"No," he said. Sionn stared at the roof. He still couldn't sense the hunter. "I'm allergic to peanuts."

"Oh."

He'd said that without thinking. "Would you mind if I tied you up and hung you on a tree?"

"I thought you guys were allergic to salt," was Reem's non-reply.

"Yes or no?"

"Y—no. Please no. I thought you were nice."

If he could've laughed, he would've.

"I'm leaving," Reem said.

"Is that so? Good luck."

So she didn't budge. "The castle has one of those spells where doors lead nowhere unless you have access keys, doesn't it? I'm starting to feel like a prisoner."

"You are one."

"What for? You can freeze, uh... localize... do that thing where you move very fast. You could've easily beat the gunslinger already. But you didn't. And. You also included me in the spell?"

"Yes," Sionn said. "I believe I've answered enough of your invasive questions by now. It is my turn to ask: why are you here? Your accent is still untainted by this place."

"Pass."

"Answer me or I kill you."

"Kill me then."

Based on her insane reaction from that last night, she probably meant it. There he was, admitting to peanut allergies and loneliness, while she couldn't respond to something as simple as 'where are you from'. With that said, to eat her would mean having no one to talk to again, save for Elial, the 'ambassador' the knights' order had forced upon him, or else.

Or else?

"Sorry," Reem said. "Sensitive topic. You can ask anything else, though."

"Color of your—"

"Why aren't you eating or drinking anything? Also, pink."

A woman of her word, she was. "I will, soon. I'm scouting the area."

"Ahh." Sionn could feel the stare. 'How?', was the question, yet she didn't ask it, and it got on his nerves. "He's not coming. Or did you mean scouting in general? For anyone? I guess you must have lots of people trying to kill you right now. Must be rough. Have a cookie."

He did. Not that they were poisonous or anything, but with a carnivore's sense of taste, there wasn't much to enjoy. Three servants stood outside the door, gossiping, while the fourth was being ostracized as usual. They, possessors of common sense, debated on the reason behind Reem's perceived agreeableness. Didn't she know about the curse? Did she not know what he was? Did she not fear him? Yes, yes, and yes. Yet...

A party of novice hunters, unaffiliated to the kid back at Reem's tavern, wandered at the edge of the woods. "Is he here?" Reem asked, probably because he'd glanced at their general direction. He could still feel the stare. "Or is it someone else?"

"Someone else. Other hunters. Rejoice, human. You're about to be rescued." Sionn stood up.

"Yayyy."

"Follow me."

"Can't that wait just a bit? Just a bit. One more cookie."

"Are you unhinged?" Sionn asked. "Must I remind you of your role?"

"...yeah." With a sigh, she stood, too. Sionn's tea remained untouched. Either Reem had an unmatched talent for dramatic arts, or she was actually... sad? It wasn't even about how she looked, but how she smelled. Fear, ire, hatred, sadness: all bitter, yet distinct. Most humans couldn't fake the scents of their emotions—at least not to that degree. "Whatever," she said. "Let's just get it over with."

In the past, back when demons fed on emotions, these had been a delicacy. Happiness was too sweet, love too dense, serenity too airy. With each passing cycle, the night of the black moon corrupted them more and more. After the cursed one awakened and died this time, bringing thousands down with it, what would the demons left look like? Would they turn into monsters, grow more violent, lose all rational thought, just like the one cursed to end things?

Now that the impromptu tea party was over, it'd be Sionn and his thoughts again, again and again and again, until...

"Reem," he blurted out, as he placed a hand on the doorknob. She walked behind him. She said nothing, and he had nothing to say, unless... right. The gifts. "I've been attempting to get rid of all this tea for some time. Would you fancy some?"

"Huh? Really? Yay!" Now it was sincere. "How much can I take? Which? Where from?"

Sionn let the knob go, watching her instead. "Wherever. Whichever. However much you want. In fact, the more, the better." He watched her stuff the pockets of her attire until they almost tore at the seams. "You can..." He trailed off.

Reem was grinning. "Thank you, Mr. Demon. You are most selfless. So posh. Thank you thank you. I'll do my best piñata impression. Promise."

Sionn opened the door. Instead of just heading outside, he had them walk down the hallway, past the literal heaps of books and rare buttons and postcards and other such garbage he compulsively collected. Reem asked about none of those, which baffled him, given how little control her brain seemed to exert over her tongue. The hunters were almost done traversing the woods. "You are to fake as much distress as you can muster. I will test their strength in the meantime."

"...and take a limb?"

If she knew the answer to a question she didn't like, why ask it?

"I'm not judging. I mean, I had rabbit salad for lunch, right? To the rabbit, I'm what you are to humans. So. You have to eat is what I'm saying. And you're not killing anyone, right? So you can belong."

As if demons would ever be able to belong.

"What's wrong?" Asked Reem.

"I'm sorry?"

"No, just. Your face. You looked sad. Never mind."

Sionn had to stop, so suddenly that Reem bumped into him. Startled out of her theatrics, she cowered.

He shouldn't have smiled, but he did so, anyway.

It should be fine; the gesture held no warmth. "Remember what I am," he told her, and himself, "And what you are."

Reem nodded, averting her gaze.

They walked in silence.