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"So... why are we doing this again?"
Mephisto gives a sigh, dragging out his frustration from deep within his chest and letting it out in a rush of air. He's almost sure the human is doing it on purpose - he wouldn't put it past anyone from that family.
"For the fifth time," he says strained, eyeing the way they sit straightbacked on their chair, knees pressed together and hands on them. He has never seen them sit like that before, he's almost sure it's meant to be mocking. "The student body wants to know more about the exchange students. You - for some unknown reason - have caught a lot of eyes. And as RAD's primary source of news it's our duty - my duty - to expose you."
"Ex...pose?"
"Interview."
"R...ight, okay... so? The questions are -"
"What were sent in by the students. Yes. Like I told you before. Five times now."
"Right. No. I heard you."
"Then why did y- Nevermind. Let's start. What's your name?"
"You know my name."
"For the record, what's your name."
They give a long sigh of their own as they slouch into the chair and stretch out their long legs. "Eliza Ramskin."
"Okay and Eliza is short for?"
"A-Lizard."
He blinks at them, takes a moment to look at their blank deadpan face. "That can't be right."
"Sure it is," they say with a nonchalant shrug.
"Then why is 'Eliza' spelt with an E?"
"Artistic choice."
"That's-"
"Do you want to see my legal documents?"
"...No. Let's just move on. What's your age and official position here?"
"Twenty-five. Exchange student turned council member."
And he can't stop the way his face wrinkles in distate at that - what was Lord Diavolo even thinking, it was bad enough with those Fallen Angels but a human. And it must show, if the way their mouth stretches in a smile that is nothing but smug is any indication. And that's disregarding the way large honey-brown eyes seem to light up with almost sadistic glee.
"Twenty-five is a bit young isn't it?"
"It might seem that way when one hasn't been able to make council member for hundreds? thousands? of years."
He wants to wring their neck.
They smile sweetly back at him.
"The questions?" He asks through a smile that is more of a grimace.
"The questions." They say through a smile that shows too many teeth.
"Which," he starts with his most composed professional voice, because he hadn't been lying - this was official, "of the other Council members would you stab?"
"There's no way that's on there."
"It is."
"There's no way-"
He flips the paper around.
They lean in and squint at it, the action scrunches up their little upturned nose and squishes all their numerous freckles together. He follows the path they make all across their face and down their neck into their open shirt -
"Huh," they say, leaning back. "Why's it written in there twice."
His face burns. "More than one student had the same question."
"You're not trying to bag me for treason are you?"
"If I was, it wouldn't be such a meager attempt. I know you are used to the low quality messes of the rest of our esteemed Student Council, but rest assured, one such as I, would never lower myself as to falsify evidence and bring into question the integrity of -"
"Lucifer."
"What?"
"I'd stab Lucifer."
"...just like that?"
"Yeah. It wasn't a hard choice."
"But... you seem," had he misjudged them this whole time? Could there be some sort of common ground they could bond over? Someone he could look to for inside information on whatever plans Lucifer had? "close?"
"We are," they say with a shrug, blowing at their bangs and only managing to displace the chocolate brown hair enough for the long scar bisecting their thick left brow to be visible.
"But you'd stab him? If given the chance? With no more thought put into it?"
"Sure," they say with another shrug.
"And are you worried about what he might say when this interview comes out? I won't censor the truth for you."
They frown lightly as if they are only now realising the severity of what they had carelessly revealed. He might not have gone into this expecting to uncover treason and he may not like the position Lucifer fulfills in Diavolo's life but he still can't imagine that either Diavolo or Lucifer would be pleased by this revelation from their dear little huma-
"Yes?" Lucifer's deep voice comes over the speaker of the human's D.D.D. held aloft in their hand.
They stare blankly straight at Mephisto as they say, "Out of everyone in the Council I would stab you. Hypothetically."
"I know." Lucifer says without missing a beat.
"Neat."
"Is that all?"
"Yeah, I'm doing an interview."
"Ah, Hello Mephisto - "
Mephisto scowls at the device, "Lucifer, have you been ignoring my calls? We need to discuss the policy abo-"
"I lost my D.D.D."
"You're speaking on-"
"And it seems I'm entering a tunnel - SHHHPPFFZZZ - I will see you at dinner, Eliza."
"See ya."
The D.D.D. goes silent.
"Maybe he fell into the underground labyrinth that runs below the city," the human says placatingly.
"Second question," Mephisto grits out, "how long did it take you to adjust to your life in the Devildom?"
Eliza shifts, face growing oddly serious. "Not long," they say after a moment that stretches past what Mephisto was expecting.
"And why's that?"
They shift again, scratching one of their bright mismatched sneakers against the floor. "I've always been good at adapting to new situations. Moved around so much as a kid - between so many different places and families - guess it became the norm. And." They stop frowning and finally look up to meet his eyes. Their usually bright eyes are dull, he could almost mistake them for being bored. "And I've got nothing up there waiting for me. So, so it was easier to settle down here. Finally find a place where I just...fit. ...Sorry, is that okay?"
"Yes," he clears his throat, "Yes. Third question?"
"Sure, hit me."
"What."
"Shoot?"
"What?"
"What's the question, Mephisto?"
"Which of the Sins do you align with?"
"Oh... which Sin do you think I align with?"
"Just... answer the question so we may be done with this."
"That doesn't seem very professional."
"Ramskin."
"Probably with Beel."
"Beelzebub? Gluttony?"
They stretch, long and languid, and he sees the shift of muscle under their baggy uniform, he knows for a fact there's unexpected strength to be found in them.
He remembers when they'd first come here to the Devildom, over three years ago, thin and underweight, drowning in an oversized uniform, always stuck to Mammon's side even as they bickered. They had never cowered, even back then, had always pushed back even with the way they hunched into themself under layers of clothing.
But there had also been so much...less of them.
No matter how bright their soul had seemed, they themself had seemed a spectre - distant and quiet unless spoken to.
He had watched, as they slowly came out of their shell. They had changed, physically as well. They'd never be able to completely shake that scrappy quality they had about them, he thinks, but they no longer look underfed. Their shoulders are broad and relaxed, thighs thick and muscles coiled. They're comfortable with themself and the world they live in, they have been for years now. They're settled in a way that only people who know they're a threat can be in the Devildom.
It's a little startling to realise and he's never quite sure what to make of them. But he can understand where the intrigue of the other students may come from.
They're nodding, their short, floppy hair bouncing around.
"Yeah. Food's good. I mean it's a comfort isn't it? Being able to eat whatever you want whenever you want. And having your favourites at hand. And sharing food is a way to show people you care. Making something for someone because you thought they'd enjoy it - there's no better way to show you care. And with enough food you have enough energy to do whatever you want to. So food. Can't get enough of the stuff."
They're a busy person. Always on their feet, always running around, always tangeld in some project or another, with still enough energy to spare to be a general menace along with the rest of their family. So yes, he can understand why they may value whatever excess energy they can gain.
Offhandedly he wondered what kind of life Eliza Ramskin lived before they had come here.
He looks down at the script absently and perks up at the next question. "What do you think of Lord Diavolo?" He asks with a razor sharp focus.
They straighten as well, meeting his eyes. They know. They have to know, just how important this question is.
"I think he's admirable," they say finally, "strong, brave. I think what he's doing, his vision, I think that's what the world needs. And I know there are many here in the Devildom who don't agree with him - not the civilians but," they look at him steadily, their eyes sharp. "the nobility, those worried his changes might affect their status quo. And yet, he continues to push against them and work towards where we can all understand each other, where it won't matter what our species is, where we'd just be people - equals. Where we can share our culture and our food and not worry about a war breaking out at the smallest misstep. He cares about his people, he wants what's best for them, a world where their blood won't have to be spilt to satisfy a feud no one even knows the reason of. He doesn't always do the right thing, even you know that. But he's been learning to listen to the counsel of others, he's growing, changing just like we all are. He's going to be a great king, no matter what the House of Lords believes."
He watches them quietly, while they stare back, not quite glaring, but shoulders squared and ready for a fight.
He doesn't want to think about what they said, not right now. He'll have to listen to it again, to their strong, steady voice thick with conviction and just daring him to disagree. But now, "You're quite blunt," he says shuffling his papers.
They blink, deflating. "I'm a bad liar."
"One virtue at least."
"I have many virtues," they don't quite snap but they aren't as collected as they usually are. The topic had riled them up it seems.
He thinks about that lanky, hungry human, quiet but stubborn. He thinks about shifting families and places and he thinks about I've got nothing up there waiting for me. He thinks of their smile, bright and beaming and mischevious, as they press in close with the rest of the Council as they all loudly argue with each other over another inane topic.
He wonders how much of the human's life depends on the success of Lord Diavolo's program. How much they're willing to fight and sacrifice to selfishly cling on to the threads of balance just so they can keep their happily ever after. He sees the fire in their eyes, the hunger, the Greed.
Anything, he knows, and everything. Nothing would be too much for them as long as they got to keep their home.
Balance, peace, Diavolo's dream. Those would be the ideal outcomes. But not the only ones they'd be willing to settle with if it meant their family stayed together and safe.
He thinks about his own brother's big eyes and smiling face and he thinks he understands them - even if just a little. He wonders if their master knows just how well his pupil fits in with the Sins.
"Last question," he says instead of asking them.
"Really?"
"For now, at least."
They nod and settle back, pulling their legs up to sit crisscross on the chair. He frowns at where their shoe meets the cushion and almost asks whether Lucifer never taught them any manners but instead he takes a breath - just one more question, they're nearly done.
"Have you ever gotten detention?" He asks.
They stare at him.
"Nooooo," they say at length, "never."
"You're right, you're a terrible liar."
They cackle.
"And we're done," he says with more than a little relief, using his cane to stand up and wincing at the sharp pain that zips up his leg from his knee.
The human grimaces in sympathy, pushing up and stretching out their own arms and legs, pulling their body up onto their toes until their back cracks and they settle back onto their heels.
He can see the compression braces peeking out from the rolled up sleeves on both of Eliza's arms. Knows there are similar ones on their legs, hidden behind their uniform trousers.
He knows that unlike his own, more or less, constant pain, Eliza's ebbs and flows. That there are some days that are better for them, days on end where the braces don't make an appearance, and there are some where a week will go by without their presence in RAD. Days where the lines on Lucifer's face are tighter and Mammon stays just as missing for the duration of their leave.
Days where the rest of the Sins are quiet, walking on eggshells, even around each other.
Days where Belphegor stays glued to Beelzebub's side, even more hunched into himself than the usual.
He knows the braces weren't always a part of them. Knows Eliza spent most of their first year without them. He wonders if it was an accident like his or - he watches as they come back, Mammon at their side like an overprotective guard dog, how it takes Belphegor days before he can meet their eyes again - if it was something else.
In the present day, they hop on their feet a bit to get movement back into their legs and move forward to shake his hand.
His grasps it on instinct more than anything else. Their skin is just a few shades lighter than his own, their palm calloused but soft and warm where his is smooth. Their nails are painted black and white alternatively, the top layer cracked and chipped to show a smooth rainbow coat underneath. Their grip is firm, their hand so much smaller than his.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Mephistopheles." They give his hand a hearty shake.
"Get out of my office."
"Roger," they say with a sloppy salute before they're strolling away.
He hears Mammon's grumbling from beyond the door when they open it.
And then they shut it.
And all is blissfully quiet again.
He should really speak to Lucifer about their manners before he has to meet with them again, and possibly about the manners of the rest of that family as well, just to be on the safe side.
But for now at least, Mephisto is finally free of the presence of one Eliza Ramskin.