“You are so damn wide, Cyril,” commented the man on the appearing of the dark creature.

“Oh, I didn’t notice you, you are…”

“...dressed in all black, blending into the darkness,” finished Darnell for him. “How old is this witty joke of yours?”

“Are you downing whiskey again?” Cyril grabbed his interlocutor’s glass and stuck his long crooked nose into it.

“Give it back,” answered the man taking it. “And yes, smoking as usual.”

“Just look at you!” sniveled the demon. “You are only 32, but look like you are at least 40 years old! Do you know how long you will last out acting like this? Do you want me to tell the date of your death?”

“No,” Darnell slowly shook his head pouring himself another glass of beverage. “I’m not going to pay you for the information, we’ve discussed this a million times.”

“Too bad, too bad,” Cyril grinned with sharp, even, yellow teeth. “Hey, barman!” he waved his hand, and Mik approached him, casting a sidewalk cautious glance.

“Yes, sir?”

“Oh, look whom we’ve got here! Are you the new worker?” the demon propped his chin in his hand with long black nails. “Do you wish to get an immediate promotion? To earn money quickly? This will make your girlfriend really happy.”

The barman stared at Cyril in surprise. He had probably guessed the reason due to which the guy risked taking a job in the mixed bar for both people and demons. Darnell coughed and when Mik shifted gaze at him, slightly shook his head.

“Oh, thanks, but no,” Mik roused himself. “So, what may I offer you?”

“Pour some brandy with ice,” answered the demon saddened with the refuse.

“Why ordering an alcohol if you don’t get drunk?” asked Darnell watching Cyril dipping his long snaky tongue into the glass at first and then sipping from it.

“To bear you the company, of course!” resumed he happily. “Cause when you drink alone - this is an alcoholism, but when you do this together with someone - this is an informal rest!”

A succubus passed by them, waving her hips seductively, dressed in a black hugging grid costume put on a naked body. Cyril waved her naughtily with his fingers and murmured:

“Hi, Morra.”

She looked at him with a haughty glance from under long eyelashes, shook her carbon-black hair and went away.

“Still tells you to go whistle?” asked Darnell compassionately taking out another cigarette. “For how long have you been obsessed with her?”

“Maybe for 200 years… I don’t remember exactly…” answered Cyril in a sad voice following the succubus with his eyes as she was walking away. “Oh well, forget it. Let’s better play our game! Maybe today the luck will be on your side, and you’ll guess whose minion I am?” The demon turned to the man and propped his chin in his hand again. He fixed his amber-colored eyes on Darnell.

“Well,” the man moved the glass away and turned his broad black finger-ring on the left hand. “I’ve already named Procel.”

“Right,” the demon nodded.

“And Naberius too.”

“That was really abusing.”

“Nybras?”

“Oh, missed again,” Cyril smacked the counter with disappointment.

“You do understand that it is impossible to guess whose minion you are when you call yourself some made-up name and look almost like a human, right?” commented the man in a bad temper knocking another glass of whiskey.