There was a large amount added to the Satan Claus post. -- Anon Guest
Demons across the multitudinous arenas of hell flinched. Their master was angry. Their master was calling.
And that one demon was in deep, deep trouble.
The demon could not disobey the call of his master. He ran to the Great Office with his black heart pounding and his forked tongue knotted in fear. "I have come, master."
The Lord of Lies, the Great Deceiver, the Adversary, the Blighter of Fields turned in his swivel chair to reveal that he was holding a doll in a frilly pink dress. "What do you call this, Belphagor?" he said, calmly and gently.
There was nothing in Hell more terrifying than its master with a calm and gentle voice.
"The... uhm... Betsy Wetsy doll you ordered me to fetch?"
"I don't think it's quite Betsy Wetsy, Belphagor," said Lucifer in syrupy sweet tones. "Watch what happens when I squeeze her hand." He sat the doll on its included potty and squeezed the doll's hand.
"Now according to the manual," said Lucifer. "Betsy Wetsy is supposed to release the water from her bottle," he waved the relevant plastic accessory, "into her potty and say, 'Lookit I did, Mommy'. So again, I ask..." Lucifer appeared to grow. He was no longer the neatly-groomed businessman, but the monster of all sins. "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? THIS IS A GIFT FOR A CHILD WE ARE NOT ALLOWED TO HARM! YOU GO AND FETCH ONE THAT ISN'T DIABOLICAL BEFORE I HAVE YOU HANGING BY YOUR PINKY TOES OVER THE PIT OF ETERNAL STENCH!"
Belphagor fled for his life. Or what passed for his life. All of Hell could hear their master muttering to himself about the incompetence of this particular follower. All the other demons who saw him in passing were pointing and laughing at him. Even some of the penitents were pointing and laughing.
It was moments like this that Belphagor would wonder if he wasn't really a penitent and this was his eternal punishment. But then... Hell tended to be a lot more sadistic to the actual penitents.
He went to the Arcane Crafters and tried to explain, again, that this was for an innocent that their master wanted to gift. Belphagor knew for a fact that mortals of the Earth were maiming each other for the chance to have this particular doll. And if he didn't get it right this time, he would be sent upstairs to get a real one from the meelees of shoppers.
"Please," Belphagor begged. "It's Christmas season. You know how he is with Christmas season."
The chief Crafter winced. "I know. I'm just... so used to doing the cursed ones. It's a habit."
"It's my pain if you screw up again, Makkror."
"And why should I care about your pain?"
Of course he wouldn't care. This was Hell.