As Judge was having his fair share of mental breakdowns — plural, because of course he never does anything just once (The poisoned wine was a great example) — Satan was simply standing there, watching like someone who forgot why they walked into the room. Except in his case, it wasn't forgetfulness. His brain had already waved a tiny white flag, packed its bags, and left the premises entirely.
Judge was pacing, muttering, dramatically clutching his head like a Victorian noblewoman about to act like she was fainting in order to get out of a marriage talk. Meanwhile, Satan looked like a crashed computer: blank expression, spirit spinning a rainbow wheel of doom, absolutely no thoughts, not even the courtesy of a buffering icon.
Judge had a meltdown.
