They Said Hell's Not Hot

I think I must have gained quite the taste for shopping the last time they sent me topside. A piece of flesh to mold into a body of my own, a name. The body that I took suits me just fine -- smaller, more fine-boned and boyish than others I have had in the past, with enviable lines that positively kill in the expensive tailored garments I'm growing all too accustomed to.
Imri is what I chose to be called here -- it makes me smile, the similarity between it and the legend INRI that the Catholics are so fond of putting above their Christ-figure. Going by such a name is such sweet sacrilege, like turning a cross up on its end, or deflowering an innocent young virgin upon a pure while altar-cloth.
The first similar creature I met here was the succubus Lamia, a delicious little thing that purrs just so when you nibble her ear. She's already promised me some sport later on.
Lord Joel is a fascinating character -- a man I heard much of at home, but whom I have only just met. I am sorry to have missed Marcel, though I'm sure even now he's lurking off somewhere... I believe that his successor and I will get along just wonderfully.