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"How many ways to have wings do you think there are? Also, just to totally confound you forever, demons and possibly really patient angels can make animals. They come out really stupid if they're more complicated than, like, snails, but we can still do it. I'd be fascinated if I thought there was a non-negligible chance that the creator you're postulating could be prevailed upon to do anything useful or was going to mess up my life in some way, but... no sign of such inclinations."

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"Oh, come ON! They can make- you can make- that's not! That's completely going to mess up...! That's not fair! How is that allowed? Goddamn... bats are probably..."

Max sits down on the trunk of his car and buries his face in his hands.
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Cam appears a butterfly on Max's knee. It opens and closes its wings.

"Are we done here?" Cam wonders.
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"...Yeah. Yeah, we're... I guess, could I get some gold, or something? And then... you go... change the world, or whatever."

Max flips through his notepad again, skimming the instructions. They look real enough, demon's probably not lying. Demon's probably not lying. But they're just called demons, right? But... that's what a demon would say, if it wanted you to trust it.

...egh. If it's a trap, he's hardly going to ignore it and walk away.
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"Sure, just make sure you sell it before the market collapses. How much you want and shaped how?"

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"It would do that, yeah. Uh... want to pay rent for a while, probably... a couple gallons of wedding bands would probably be easy enough to hock. Just, uh... drop 'em in the backseat there, maybe?"

This almost feels like an irresponsible use of demon-summoning. Max isn't sure what a responsible use of demon-summoning would be, but it isn't that.
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"Sure. Plain, not engraved Lisa heart Trevor or stamped with designs or anything?"

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"Uh, plain, thanks."

Max stares incredulously.

"...it's like ordering a burger. This is a drive-thru demon summoning. Would I like fries with that, yes, thank you very much. Will that be cash or credit or your immortal soul?"
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"I can't actually take your soul. But consider not spreading that fact around. The only time it would be relevant would be if I were dickish enough to get a kick out of demanding it and my summoner were desperate enough to take a deal like that."

Two gallons of wedding bands are now in the backseat of Max's car. And Cam presents him with a small order of piping hot French fries as a flourish.
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Max takes the french fries and stares at them for a moment. He waits for the situation to sink in, feeling that there ought to be something significant about this moment in his life. And all that sinks in is 'boy, these smell delicious'.

He takes a bite. It is very tasty. He sighs in disbelief.

"I'm lovin' it."

And then- "Wait- when did you die, again? You might not- the joke is- McDonalds got a slogan a while ago, it's..."
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"I died five years ago, but I can conjure up newspapers. Those are not, however, McDonald's fries."

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"Clearly. They don't taste anything like shoelaces."

There's a brief silence. He looks around.

"So... what now?" he asks the demon, and also himself, and the universe in general.
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"If you're done quizzing me, I fly to Florida. And hope that whoever drew most of this circle isn't going to try again and get somebody less friendly next time."

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"...Disneyworld rides less fun in comparison to the flying thing, d'you think? And... yeah, I'm going to want to wait around for that whoever-they-were, stop them from... summoning someone who can... I assume demons are more dangerous than the other kinds because... you can make nukes, or antimatter, or something?"

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"There's nothing like really, properly flying. We can't do antimatter straight up, although we can make all the equipment you'd use to generate the stuff the long way around. Nuke's easy. An angel could do a nuke too, but they'd have to actually know how they're put together."

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"Mm."

He gets up and opens the car door. Bunch of gold rings, check.

"So I guess... you can do your thing, and I'll... try to summon some fairy scientists, I guess. Thanks for..."

He gestures at his notebook and the gold rings, then taps his head.

"...for all the... stuff."
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"Sure, you're welcome."

Cam unfurls his wings.

And takes off, gaining altitude until he's plausibly a bat who's drunk too much coffee.
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Max gets in his car and tells his GPS to search for a craft supply store. He's going to go through a considerable amount of butcher paper and chalk, in a little bit.

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