“You know, if you don’t like killing maybe you went into the wrong profession.”

“But I want to help people!”

“You could be a paramedic instead. Or anything but a vigilante.”

“You’re going to get us all killed.”

The demon possessing the hero put on an offended expression.

“You’re a little sweet on xir, aren’t you? How cute. A pretty little hero soft on a monster.”

“God, you’re an ass.”

“You’re the one that came to me for help.”

“According to the tried and true superhero method of naming- that being a noun vaguely relating to your ability or costume plus your gender-I am now Shriekingvoid. Address me appropriately.”

“You still sleep with a stuffed animal?”

“Of course.”

“You’re a ruler- a monarch, a war hero! The entire world is down on it’s knees for you.”

“I don’t see how this is relevant.”

“You look like utter shit.”

“Thanks. I have an infection.”

“Oh. Maybe you shouldn’t do the vigilante thing for a few nights.”

“You smell like rot, oh my goodness. Did you fall into a dumpster?”

“It’s a staple of being a superhero. Dumpsters.”

“I don’t wear stick lipstick anymore.” says the villain, draped of the captive hero’s lap “They transfer too easily. I’m more for the liquid, you know.”

“I feel that. It sucks when you take off your mask at the end of the night and there’s lipstick in your eyebrows.”

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“I can’t believe you’re dating a supervillain.”

“Why not?”

“You’re a hero?”

“I’m an asshole.”

“I can’t believe you tried to kill me.” the hero said. “I thought we were friends?”

The villain gave the hero an incredulous look.

“I have a scrapbook!”

“You’d make a scrapbook of your aunts battle with pancreatic cancer, that doesn mean anything.”