_{“Rude,”      they said.      Wanting to look pretty wasn’t that tall an order.    “Who can I file a complaint to?”     The demon tilted their head,     skeletal muzzle permanently fixed in a morbid,     doglike grin.    “HR?      We can’t even unionize.   It’s sad.”    They brushed against him again,     if only because they knew it would vex him.     “I look like cheap roadkill,     a pretty collar is the LEAST you can do.     Not like I get anything for all of the souls I bargain with.”}

_{The brushing against him this time didn’t strike that much of a response.       Fists clenching tightly:          he didn’t enjoy being brushed up against.          He didn’t enjoy his personal space being violated     (    even though he wouldn’t say anything     ),      and he sure didn’t think that anything he said or did would change matters,       “ That’s your problem.    Not mine.  “ The words came out colder than expected, but they would ( for the moment ) suffice,  “ If you want a collar.   you have to earn it.  ”}