The Devil had just finished writing up the last batch of letters to his spy ring, and also including a bit of coin to keep their loyalties firmly in his pocket. Then practically skipped away from the public mailbox and towards his other item of business, remembering to pick up his case from where he'd set it down on the pavement.
The sun was high, and a full summer wind was blowing about, though unfortunately it didn't carry much more than the smell of smoke, tar and river with it. A stain on an otherwise wonderful day, and the Devil wouldn't let it stop him from going about his business and getting things done. Though once he was done with this meeting, he might have to look into something that could eradicate smells. A project for later, certainly.
But it was about time he established himself in the field he'd set out for, his pens. It had taken him a while to get the 'Ink' just right, that petty pun about 'leaving a mark' really gave him trouble when limiting the surfaces it could write on. Eventually there were so many problems he figured he might as well sell as is and let someone else worry about the finer details. After all, it was technically stolen magic anyway.
He approached his destination and opened the door with care. The magic guild he'd decided to present to be the Golden Flowers, the one he'd bought stock in. no reason going elsewhere when he had a Guild all to himself now. He could use their facilities to launch into immediate production. Imagine his surprise when the large man that fitted him previously met him at the door and revealed the harsh realities of life.
"I'm sorry Mr. Von Helmut, but we've lost out magic license. Serpents got us bad this year, thank you for the money, but we can no longer produce magic items. Damn Snakes, they'd sell their own mothers for a shine." and spat on the ground in disgust.
"I'll let you know if they make an offer." was all the demon could think to say on the matter, and while clever, also didn't solve the issue of his needing a production house. Since his had apparently vanished into thin air just now, he would have to make deals with snakes. Maybe ruin them for taking what was his, but he would need money for that, influence, much more than he already had at the moment.
At the moment there was nothing more to do than talk a walk and try to think things through, plan his next move.
He was already comfortable off his stocks and securities, and he could easily begin leveraging his hidden assets towards more aggressive plays, ruling the laundromats with an iron fist and sneak in a few surprises for the customers as well. but being a ruler of such a noble art as clean linens didn't appeal to him, it sounded like, Work. He wanted easy money, that's what all his schemes pointed to so far. Nothing revolutionary, just a bit of padding to make his life comfortable. Before his bosses wondered where their favorite whipping boy went and sent him back to work sorting through the whinnying, scratching throng of ingrates that flowed into the afterlife like a river of foul indifferences clogged with occasional garbage.
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the thought of it nearly sent him retching. Hell was such an abominable place, if it wasn't the sights, the smell might get you. OR worse.
Guess there was nothing left to it, If he left now, he might take his place back in line and none would be the wiser. But if he stayed, he'd have to find someone else to carry the pail of his interests. And with all the other guilds firmly set in who or what they would or wouldn't speak to, well, he was in for a hard time trying to put this on the markets.
Darwin's old kink-knack ring came to mind, maybe he could use them as a patsy? But suppose they turned on him when they inevitably got caught. He saw the rule book for these kinds of things and frankly he didn't blame them, he'd be furious in the moment of betrayal or course, but it would be a decision made from survival instincts and nothing more. Moving beyond such things is always difficult for the naturally paranoid lives of such lowly accommodating fellows. It was somewhat charming in a pitiful way.
No, they had their uses and the fine skills he needed for this task were far beyond them. Frankly, he'd moved beyond their needs or wants a long time ago, and partially suspected they'd been treating Darwin with the same ideals for much longer. The man was simply unpleasant to be within a dozen hectares of, let alone private business with.
If he was being, honest, the best solution would be to join a guild and make an appeal to the inner powers and hope they approved. But that had such low chances of succeeding that it basically would be easier to go back to Hell and rent the shell of Darwin's body out to some other demon for a time. He knew a rather funny spirit just a few floors from him that's been itching to see beyond his walls since the time of Methusla. But he was committed, and this was his vacation, and he would spend it how he pleased.
Thus, he made up his mind, he would take the easy way out and sell his pens to the Serpents Guild. Then take whatever money they offered and invest in something else, because Magic was not worth the time or expense, he'd initially given it.
Maybe find something that allowed for indoor plumbing, there were public water stations, but he typically paid for his house servant to haul that in from the corner. That and he still had a lot of booze left over, almost six bottles of some cheap spirits from Darwin's collection.
With that, he lugged his case back across town, stopping to ask direction as to where he might find the Triple Serpents Guild headquarters. To many odd and concerned looks from those near passersby. Their whispers of concern vanishing into the dust he left they behind in his wake.