No kidding.

Before dinner, you clean yourself thoroughly, lest you face the wrath of the Nanny. And your dining room is unrecognizable when you get there. Your walls have been plastered with a deep red, almost felt-like material and your overhead lamps have been converted into small chandeliers. More of those little demons are chittering away as they polish the plates and cutlery to a mirror sheen, and argue to fatal ends, on where to hang a large shield, emblazoned with a pair of white lips over a pinkish-purple teardrop.

A short fanfare behind you quickly turns into a yelp of pain, as you watch a trumpet wielding demon fly past your head and crash through the kitchen door. Turning around, you watch a pouting Selas, with her wings draped in front of her, slouch into the dining room. "Put it up there," she groans, pointing to your living room wall with her tail. The demons screech and after one more death, happily drag the shield out, using the fresh corpse as a sled.

"Not big on the brains department, I see," you muse, watching another demon follow them out, licking the floor clean. As you say that, a large pot floats out of your kitchen with Nanny Mara following close behind. Bile creeps up your throat out of reflex, but the delicious savory smell coming from it, along with wafts of freshly baked bread makes you salivate immediately.

"Nanny Mara's Chunk Stew," she proclaims proudly, directing the pot to the table and giving it a stir. "Minotaur flank, fresh helmatoes, crushed scarlic heads and-"

"I don't mean to be rude, Ms. Mara," you cut in, your stomach starting to go confused. "But can I ask you to tell us what's in it, after we eat? My uh, human sensibilities are still not quite up to snuff with demon cuisine."

She furrows her brow at you but shrugs. "As you wish." She says, pulling out a chair for you. You take it, and Nanny Mara pulls out the chair directly opposite you for Selas. "Mistress, are you wearing more appropriate attire?" Selas looks extremely uncomfortable but nods. "And are you planning to eat through your wings?"

"But Nanny, it's embarrassing!" She protests, hugging her wings in even closer.

"Be that as it may, none of us can start eating until you sit down," comes the cool reply, and you very slowly pull your hand back away from the bread. "Are we to starve in the name of your modesty, Mistress?"

Selas' face goes through the emotional spectrum, before she finally blurts out "Fine!" and throws her wings back.