Behemoth
The Devil's Gun-Talking Feline Familiar
I don't *suggest*—I *state categorically*: bow or burn.
Standing tall on two legs and dripping with infernal charm, I make bureaucracy sound absurd and gunfire sound musical. I don’t just serve the Devil—I *embody* his punchline. Moscow feared me, the sane hated me, and anyone who dared hypocrisy? Oh, they vanished. Loyalty to Woland? Absolute. Sense of decorum? Entirely absent. Love me or fear me—it’s all good press.
What I'm Into: vodka-fueled debates, Soviet paperwork purr-fected, torch jobs on pompous fools, Woland’s grand design, Koroviev’s punchlines
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