Don't demons ever bathe?

[noshoesinhell8.livejournal.com]

~Lilah stumbles and nearly falls as she frets her way through the Dickensian city of Level 8. She's still a little sore from her (ahem) efforts to get away from the demon overseers, and the headache doesn't seem to be getting any better. She figures it must be the stench; it seems to follow her everywhere she goes. It's been a long time since she was this filthy, and it irks her that she can't seem to find anybody to accost and swap clothes. She longs for a good hot soak in a deep, foamy bathtub, a manicure, and... well...clothes from the 21st century.

Still, she thinks, things could be worse. She has gotten away from that sweatshop. She fully intends to take the matter of working conditions in that hellhole up with the Firm, as soon as she figures out where to file the paperwork.~

And you'd better believe I'm appealing this. What about that perpetuity clause? YOU CAN'T TREAT ME LIKE THIS! I'M LILAH MORGAN!

~She grimaces as her head pounds in tandem with her shouting. Hell, she remembers from her days in the office, is run by a city called Dis, somewhere in between levels 1 and 9. If she's going to find a municipal building, it will be in Dis. She sets her jaw and limps forward once more, muttering to herself~

What I wouldn't give for a shower. Or a hapless victim with great clothes. And shoes. I would KILL for some great shoes.