Stregg was great at pissing people off. It was an art form, really. You couldn’t just irritate and it was too far to infuriate. One mosquito hovering around, with its little drone siren: that was just irritating. Even a bite might not piss you off. You had to make sure there was a bite and then a return bite, same mosquito. Not the same thing if it was several mosquitos. That was technically a Nuisance, and out of his jurisdiction. 

And if you pulled some novice move, like trying to execute a Multi-mosquito while someone was driving and they ended up running over a baby or plowing into a wall or even just wrecking their tire over a traffic cone --- bam, you’re into Major Inconvenience at minimum. Death gets involved and then of course, so does Tragedy. The paperwork alone was enough to drive you mad.

Finesse, and appreciation of the nuance. That’s what it took to operate a Minor Inconvenience outfit in proper form. 

He had just spent a well earned week of vacation entirely unplugged, off in the grand tar pits of the fourth circle of Hell, touring torture museums and taking potshots at his manuscript. He wrote about butterfly migration and worried not a pinch about the office. But now that it was over and he found himself home in Circle Seven, he found himself a mite concerned about how things were going. 

The Tower of Calamity lorded over the widest bridge over the great fire river, a beautiful monolith of striking greys and vicious reds. He entered through one of the side doors, avoiding the main concourse and its bank of screeching elevator bays. This way got him down to the lower levels faster and he wouldn’t have to watch all the suits ride up to the fancy offices.

Down several winding stones steps he went, nodding to the janitorial staff as he passed by. He wished he could get to know them a bit better, but they were little more than massive, deformed centipedes that scratched at all surfaces with a manic fury. Sometimes they squealed toneless greetings at him, and that was nice.

He pushed through a snarling wooden gate and stepped into the office. Mzatt Grimwald was the first to spot him. 

“Stregg! Buddy! Have I got the best question for you, look, look!” 

The squat little demon came bumbling over, a stack of papers clutched in his nubby little claws. At the same time, Zelliot the Harpie popped her head around a desk and said, “Oh thank Lucifer. We’ve got a situation here!”