A Life With Words

At the end of Inferno, Dante and Virgil find Satan trapped up to his waist in the frozen pit of hell.

I came across this picture and it sparked a little scene in my head.

Ice skating demons turning up for work.

“Mornin’ Boss,” said Steve. “Get you a coffee?”
Satan yawned and wished he could scratch his own arse. “This bloody ice!” he roared.

Somewhere, below his Satanic Majesty’s frozen navel, the arse-scratching officer gave the Foul-One’s buttocks a rake over with the designated bum-scritch wotsit.

Satan purred in the manner of a reanimated, soul-sucking feral cat. He closed his amber eyes, stretching his leathery neck and shoulders. His terrible rictus masqueraded as a perverse and disturbing smile. He sighed his grave-dirt tension into the freezing air.

“Steve!” The Father of Pestilence called out to the demon at the coffee pot, “Ill have a long-black; six hundred and sixty-six sugars. Thanks.”