Audiobook Demon
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
I don't turn to look at him. Instead, he shoes away. The girl who had been seated in the stool beside me and sits on it. He drums his fingers on the bar for a long moment. I'm sure he can see the tension in my shoulders and my ramrod straight spine. Why isn't he talking? And for that matter, why haven't I run yet? I stared his fingers, the sound like a metronome, controlling my panic and contemplate my options. My identity has been compromised, and it hasn't even been five minutes since I entered. I glance around the bar. The No. One else seems to have taken notice of me. If what I am is obvious, they don't care. Should I run while I still have the chance, or leave my fate in the hands of this demon? I am very much like a stray, the wild one who ducks down when you approach, hoping to not be seen to let my existence go without passer byes being any the wiser. When someone sees through my guard, I don't know what to Dio and I ducked down, assuming that detection means death. I know when my gut tells me to dio run away like an alley cat with its tail between its legs. Barkeep, the demon says his deep, raspy boys perfectly calm, as if not both aware of the fact that we are mortal enemies and I have broken the treaty between us by just being here. Whiskey on the rocks for me and my date. I still at the words, but I don't say anything as the bartender readies the drinks and approaches with them, placing one in front of the demon, then one in front of me. He stops for a moment as the glass clinks against the bar and for a heart stopping second. I wonder if he knows the truth as well. Finally, he turns away to get a drink for another demon. The demon beside me smiles down at the cup in his hand before he swirls it suddenly and takes a large sip of whiskey. Your date, I asked at last, turning slightly toward him, but not enough for him to see much of my face. Would you rather me say the truth? He asks sideways smile on his face as he sets the cup back to the bar. I say nothing. His eyes moved to the young touch glass before me drink. He orders. I don't drink, I say, also staring at the frosty glass before me. The last thing I trust is a drink from a demon. He could have signaled the bartender to put anything in it, and I'd be none the wiser.