My friends Aradia and Adrian and I have all met Bune, and whenever Bune is in proximity, so is his spoiled son. Let’s call him Demon G-Dragon. Bune is decidedly Asian and delights in Japanese water gardens and peacocks and oolong tea and to me either appears as a hot samurai look-alike in silk robes with long flowing black hair and jade green eyes or, in the case of his birthday a few months ago, in his Old Man Bune form like a middle aged Han Dynasty emperor with a pointy beard.
I met Bune when I was like ten and see him around Hell occasionally but we aren’t by any means close. Adrian is his one-man fanclub and in my dreams is always writing poetry about Bune and fangirling over him and even apparently buying catnip at witch markets for his many many cats. Adrian writes couplets in my dumb dreams like “Bune’s hair is like moonlight” and even paints portraits of Bune and jasmine flowers on rice paper walls.
Instead of Bune, I get his dumb son the K-Pop Idol. He’s extremely slender and beautiful and looks like, well, a K-Pop star. Either spiked dyed orange blond hair in his teenage form or long black hair and leather jackets and looks like Atsushi Sakurai from Buck Tick in his older hotter form. I met him once when I was 13 and he flirted with me and gave a middle schooler plum wine and took me to his apartment, which was white and gaudy with bunches of gold trinkets and kind of wannabe K-Pop gangster-ish. If you’ve seen K-Pop boy bands you know what I’m talking about. The American hood doesn’t translate very well in Seoul and neither does it for poser Demon G-Dragon.
Anyways, last month Adrian invoked Bune in one of my dreams and instead of him showing up, Demon G-Dragon appeared in my dreams and took me shopping for gaudy clothes and “saved me” from other demons which meant pushing anyone that wanted to talk to me out of the way and insisting on carrying me in his arms and he kept talking obnoxiously on his rhinestoned cell phone whose ringtone was Demon G-Dragon singing.
I hate him.
Anyways, last night I was at some kind of celebrity party in dreams with Samael and we were drunk and Bune’s son was posing like a high fashion model for a photoshooot in leather pants, bare-chested, in sunglasses and white wolf fur, and looked, again, like Atsushi Sakurai. He kept winking at me and introduced himself finally as Marquis Orias. Sam was flipping pissed because he interrupted one of Sam’s dumb jokes (he was ranting about Pokemon and pinching my cheeks and saying I was like a Pikachu.) Sam pushed G-Dragon Orias into the punch bowl and G-Dragon Orias just smiled all seductively and flicked his tongue at me and I blushed and hid behind Sam, who was no better behaved.
I’m sorry, but I can’t take Orias seriously. Even less seriously than Samael.
How do I exorcise a demonic K-Pop Idol?