See You in Hell [PIP X DAMIEN] [DISCONTINUED]

CHAPTER THREE: PIP'S POV

   Pip scanned his surroundings. He noticed that there was a way he could see what was going on in the front by going around the side of the crowd of people in line. Pushing through the many people swarming the front and getting glares and multiple shouts accusing him of cutting, he shoved and shoved until he finally got to a spot where he can get an angle of the front of the line.
At the security check, there was a stool behind metal detector gates. And in the stool was a middle-aged woman with a large, old, and mildly moldy witch hat atop her head. But this hat had a face, and apparently could speak as well. It was mumbling under its breath, apparently indecisive. The hell-goers were pissed off and shouting at the hat's horrible skills at sorting.
Pip hadn't considered much how people were sorted into their respective circle of hell, but he certainly never figured it would be like this. This was just silly.
"Stupidly horrifying, isn't it?" Said a voice behind him.
Pip squeaked and whirled around, and the dark figure of Damien was leaning against a towering column of stone.
"Blimey, how do you keep teleporting around??" Pip asked, startled. He could've sworn he saw Damien still up on the high spear of rock just a few seconds ago. Damien didn't answer that question, but continued about the hat.
"Since the humans didn't have any use for it anymore, we decided to take it for ourselves. It is such a great start to Hell, if I do say so myself."
"... But isn't it just the sorting hat from Harry Po—?" Damien swiftly smacked Pip's mouth before he could continue any further.
"You may be thinking; why would we have a use for this thing? You see, it's because it's worn and old and completely god-awful at choosing sanctions for its wearer now. As a result, it takes about 20 years to sort a single person."
"20 years??" At this rate, Pip wouldn't ever budge from the gates. Not that he wanted to get into Hell exactly, but he also knew that he couldn't possibly be placed into a circle greater than the first one.
The woman who had the hat atop her head was bouncing her leg with the most aggravated expression on her face. The hat was muttering unintelligent words; it was very hard to make out what it was saying.
Until suddenly it went silent.
The people up front went silent as well, waiting to see if the hat would come to a conclusion. About a minute went by.
"So??? What circle am I??" Asked the woman impatiently.
The hat opened it's rough fabric eyes and coughed a bit before it spoke again;
"... What? What am I doing again? Where is this place?"
Everyone in the crowd groaned.
Damien flew past Pip with a great blast of hot air. Above the gates and everyone else, Damien cackled; a large expanse of night-sky black webbed wings spreading on both sides of his body, giving him an appearance of a true deity of underworld royalty.
"BAHAHAHAHAAA!! Hell has already started for all of you! Before you even get through those gates, you'll all be tortured through pure boredom and frustration!"
He was holding his sides from laughing so hard at them, and Pip wondered if this was what his sense of comedy was like. Though to be honest, from Damien's position Pip would assume that a bunch of brand-new peasants waiting to get into Hell through an old hat with dementia (and possibly even schizophrenia) would be pretty funny.
But Damien knows him. What if, and it's just an "if," he could somehow get in Damien's good side so he could get him through earlier than all the others?

END OF CHAPTER THREE