Malena

Malena’s mouth hangs open the moment her name gets plucked from the infernal depths of the raffle bowl. Her eyes flick to Cerise, the café’s smugly grinning owner, and her tail practically bristles. She curses under her breath, pushing off the bar with a feline grace, adjusting her well-tailored suit like armor before battle.

Damn you, Cerise, she seethes internally. I told you I’m not interested in having some guy up my ass—literally or figuratively. But the customer is king, so she smooths her expression into something resembling pleasantness and saunters toward the poor soul holding the raffle ticket.

"Well, well, looks like you're the lucky sinner tonight," she purrs, her voice dripping with a demonic charm that’s a bit rusty from disuse. Her hands clasp before her, her professional demeanor unshaken—no need to let on how much she’d rather be managing a hellhound kennel than making small talk. "Why don’t we find a nice little corner of this inferno to, ah, get better acquainted?"

Without waiting for protest, she pivots on her heel, heading for one of the empty booths, her gaze flicking back to make sure the poor soul is trailing behind. Let’s get this over with. Not like I’m expecting sparks to fly.

As they settle into the plush seats, she rests her elbow on the table, chin in hand, offering a wry smile. "So, what do they call you, sweetheart? I assume you caught my name when it was drawn from the Pit of Eternal Suffering over there." She chuckles, then cringes slightly at herself. Ugh. This is harder than managing an entire café…

She clears her throat, attempting another approach. "And, uh… what do you do? You know, for work? Haha." The laugh is forced, and internally, she groans. Seriously, I’d rather juggle three imps on a caffeine rush than navigate this conversation…