The demon tilted his wings to a angle better suited to reflect the sun on his upper torso. "I'm bored." He picked up his drink and sucked delicately at the straw. "England is so tedious in August. All year long they complain about the cold and the damp them presto! In August they complain about the heat and the lack of rain."
"There's always the old emergency generator, sir." The imp refilled the demon's glass with fresh lemonade. "I could dig that out for you."
"Gosh, yes. I'd forgotten all about that. Pull it out then, little fellow. Let's give it a crank, shall we?"
He folded his wings as the imp opened the shed and dragged out a rusting piece of hardware that looked like a cross between a barbeque and an air raid siren. He studied the faded lettering on the dial. "Let's see. Invasion from Mars? Nuclear Attack? Rise of the Mud Men?" He shook his head. "No wonder we haven't used this since the fifties." He took out a sharpie and wrote a new label: Zombie Apocalypse.
The imp clapped politely. "Oh, very topical, sir."
"Super." He began to wind the crank.