A leather-bound armchair, a wolf pelt crested on the backrest. A pentagram of sheep's blood large enough to fit the entire chair in. A table with a glass of bourbon and today's newpaper. As well as a fat cuban cigar. That was the summoning rite, was it not?
A roar of fire, blood dripping out from a tear into reality itself. The laments and distraught screams of those eternally tormented due to their sins in the previous life. From this screaming, quite literal hell-hole, a shady figure plonked down into the chair. Shadow covering its face. A light swell on the chest of either a modest chest, or bound muscle. It was hard to distinguish the form's gender due to their face being hidden from sight by an odd decrease in lighting of the room. The figure plucked the cuban from the desk, after sipping once from the bourbon. Flipping up the newspaper. Another portal opened, a hand revealing with an inkling of fire playing on it's thumb. Clawed and demonic in its physique. Leaning over to light the cigar.
Taking several short drags from it, to make sure it was properly lit, the hand shook the flame out, gave a thumbs up towards the gender-confusing figure sitting in the large chair. A soft crackle of paper as the figure lowered the newspaper. Taking a short drag from the cigar.
IQ was listening.