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body div#devskin0 hr { }

The seaplane skimmed the surface of the Acheron and slowed with a flourish, bobbing on its own wake. I punted my raft closer as Satan stepped out onto the pontoon in a pastel suit and sandals, one hand casually on the strut, the other adjusting his sunglasses.
I levered open my topmost crate and tossed him a package underhand. He caught it, but waited for me to pull right alongside before stepping onto the raft and retrieving a different package at random. I didn't object – the merchandise is all high quality, and it's good business to build trust, y'know? Make him feel in control.
Satan made a practised slit in the wrapping with his little talon, scooped up some white powder (He sells it as Brutus. I just call it the product.), and rubbed it on his gums. I waited in silence as he screwed up his nose a couple times and took in the view. He didn't seem in a hurry.
“Alright,” he said eventually, rolling up his jacket sleeves. “It's good. Load up the crates and we'll roll.”
“Money first,” I said.
Satan chuckled, swaggering and slicking his hair back between his horns as if for a non-existent audience.
“Sure kid,” he said, light as the prince of darkness can possibly be. He threw the roll of cash overhand – not hard enough to risk losing it (not that he'd miss it), just to make me look foolish when I fumbled it. Like I said, this is all a charade.
I made a point of verifying the notes and then set about handing the cargo up to him. When we were done he grinned and made finger guns at me. This wasn't the playful gesture it seemed.
“I'm a big fan of your work,” he said, and the fingers didn't lower. “Brutus is spreading through the Bolgias like wildfire on Phlegethon. Tell me, how are you manufacturing it?”
I macerate leaves from the suicide wood and mix the resultant mulch with serpent venom, tears of lust from the second circle, and crushed flies from the fifth. The liquid is then pressed out of the mash, and I add a secret ingredient before cooking it into bricks to be powdered and cut. I didn't tell him that.
“Trade secret,” I said.
“Try again,” he growled, and my shoulder caught fire.
“If I tell you, there's nothing to stop you from killing me,” I said, patting out the flames. “And you really don't want that.”
The sound of a heavenly choir drifted in on the wind. Time was running out.
“What I want depends on you. And I don't have much patience left. Tell me how to make it, or I'll ash you where you stand.”
“I can tell you my secret ingredient. It's Lethe water.”
Satan's face fell.
“You'll forget everything. If you want your supply, you need me alive.”
The hymns were getting louder, which meant the heavenly host were getting closer. Crepuscular rays began to break through the clouds.
“Sneaky son of a bitch,” said Satan, climbing into the cockpit and gunning the throttle. “I should be taking notes.”
“Lucky for me you never do,” I muttered, pushing off and heading for shore.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

The seaplane skimmed the surface of the Acheron and slowed with a flourish, bobbing on its own wake. I punted my raft closer as Satan stepped out onto the pontoon in a pastel suit and sandals, one hand casually on the strut, the other adjusting his sunglasses.
I levered open my topmost crate and tossed him a package underhand. He caught it, but waited for me to pull right alongside before stepping onto the raft and retrieving a different package at random. I didn't object – the merchandise is all high quality, and it's good business to build trust, y'know? Make him feel in control.
Satan made a practised slit in the wrapping with his little talon, scooped up some white powder (He sells it as Brutus. I just call it the product.), and rubbed it on his gums. I waited in silence as he screwed up his nose a couple times and took in the view. He didn't seem in a hurry.
“Alright,” he said eventually, rolling up his jacket sleeves. “It's good. Load up the crates and we'll roll.”
“Money first,” I said.
Satan chuckled, swaggering and slicking his hair back between his horns as if for a non-existent audience.
“Sure kid,” he said, light as the prince of darkness can possibly be. He threw the roll of cash overhand – not hard enough to risk losing it (not that he'd miss it), just to make me look foolish when I fumbled it. Like I said, this is all a charade.
I made a point of verifying the notes and then set about handing the cargo up to him. When we were done he grinned and made finger guns at me. This wasn't the playful gesture it seemed.
“I'm a big fan of your work,” he said, and the fingers didn't lower. “Brutus is spreading through the Bolgias like wildfire on Phlegethon. Tell me, how are you manufacturing it?”
I macerate leaves from the suicide wood and mix the resultant mulch with serpent venom, tears of lust from the second circle, and crushed flies from the fifth. The liquid is then pressed out of the mash, and I add a secret ingredient before cooking it into bricks to be powdered and cut. I didn't tell him that.
“Trade secret,” I said.
“Try again,” he growled, and my shoulder caught fire.
“If I tell you, there's nothing to stop you from killing me,” I said, patting out the flames. “And you really don't want that.”
The sound of a heavenly choir drifted in on the wind. Time was running out.
“What I want depends on you. And I don't have much patience left. Tell me how to make it, or I'll ash you where you stand.”
“I can tell you my secret ingredient. It's Lethe water.”
Satan's face fell.
“You'll forget everything. If you want your supply, you need me alive.”
The hymns were getting louder, which meant the heavenly host were getting closer. Crepuscular rays began to break through the clouds.
“Sneaky son of a bitch,” said Satan, climbing into the cockpit and gunning the throttle. “I should be taking notes.”
“Lucky for me you never do,” I muttered, pushing off and heading for shore.