The Gentle Flame

Prompt: No soldier goes to heaven, doesn't matter the religion. The devil felt sorry for all those who died in war, so he created a bar only for them, which never runs out of a table for 4.

"BALTHAZAAAAAAAR!"

A gangly man with unkempt blonde hair and the prickly beginnings of a short beard held his empty mug into the air.

A heavily muscled humanoid demon sighed and gently placed the intricate glass he had been polishing down onto the bench. He slung his polishing rag over one of the branches of his left antler and pulled a large amphora up off the ground and onto his shoulder. He made his way over to the demanding patron's table.

"Took yer bloody time, dincha?"

Balthazar remained emotionless, leaning over to pour from the huge jug with perfect accuracy into the man's cup.

"My service is reasonable, sergeant Lentler."

"Yeah yeah, whatever, ya great red tree trunk."

He put the drink to his mouth and looked away. Balthazar turned and went back to his bar. It was quiet, but it usually was, as the regulars of The Gentle Flame were not a rowdy sort. They came here to Balthazar's place to get away from the singing, dancing and fighting of the larger establishments. They knew the demon would stand for no such nonsense and appreciated it.

Malcolm sat at his usual place, right by the bar. He was a man of two minds, most nights keeping to himself and nursing a single drink. But on the other nights he would drink himself under the counter and be a veritable fountain of chatter. Balthazar was not inclined to entertain the inane chatter, but Malcolm never seemed to care when he got like that.

Then over in the corner sat the three Zhao brothers and their companion Liu Guo. Serious men they were, the very soul of politeness to all around. They spoke in hushed voices, drinking their preferred, pungent spirit and reminiscing about their homes, their families and the war they all died in.

Lastly, Najib and Adil sat by the jukebox per usual, listening to soft renditions of the popular music of their home. They closed their eyes and moved their arms and shoulders with the rhythm.

Balthazar looked upon his regulars with content. His bar was a fine and peaceful place, a rare refuge in hell. He had lovingly hewn it from the stone with his own hands, forming the graceful sloping ceilings and perfectly flat floors with great patience. Even the tables, chairs and counter were all part of the same rock. The cushions he had woven with his wife's strong hair and the glasses he had carved from molten material with his talons. Balthazar was very proud of his establishment.

But every now and then, the peace would be disturbed. Balthazar didn't know what drew the mongrels to his place, but it was always The Gentle Flame they first tried.

The door opened and a man stepped across the threshold. He stood tall and straight, his posture not affected by the firm belly that filled out his increased shirt. An array of medals shone on his chest in the flickering light of the fire, and the symbols of military rank adorned his shoulders.

When Malcolm noticed the newcomer, a sneer crawled across his face. The four men in the corner booth ceased their talking as well and glared toward the door. The jukebox was switched off and even Lentler's loud mouth became a thin line.

Balthazar spoke, his deep voice filling the bar.

"You best move on, friend."

The general looked around the room, his chest puffing with indignation.

"I'll come and go where I please, demon."

Balthazar said nothing. The general scanned the room, and his eyes settled on Malcolm.

"Poor choice." Thought Balthazar.

"Speak up soldier, tell the creature to show some respect."

Silence.

"Doesn't work like that 'round here. Your kind aren't welcome."

The general's face darkened, he stamped over to Malcolm and put one hand on the counter and the other on the soldier's shoulder.

"Now what did you just say to me-" his eyes lingered pointedly on Malcolm's single stripe, "-private?"

Without hesitation Malcolm pulled his other arm back and launched a punch into the general's round face. The portly man went down immediately and lay there, dazed.

Relieved of his dignity, his true nature was revealed; an overweight, incontinent man long past his prime and clinging to outdated authority.

"Please take out the trash, Balthazar." Malcolm said, spitting on the general's exposed belly and turning back to his drink.

The huge demon walked around the counter and grasped the prostrate man by a leg, then dragged him across the bar and threw him unceremoniously out the door.

Inside, the music was playing again. Balthazar allowed himself a small smile.