The Bangkok heat is almost unbearable. 'This is nothing,' says the devil. 'Just wait until the hot season - now that's real torture!' An apprentice gremlin nods in agreement.
It's not easy being a demon. Years of strenuous physical training do not make the slow and sweaty process of being sewn into a weighty costume any less gruelling. But it's a familiar ritual for the classical Thai dancers of the National Theatre in the heart of the city.
After a full hour of attention from two assistants, a sparkling silver and scarlet demon flashes a spirited smirk and poses for photos before bounding off to unleash mischief on the capacity matinee audience.
The gods and monsters of khon, traditional Thai dance drama, have been delighting Siamese audiences for the past seven centuries, although for the majority of its history those audiences were restricted to VIPs. Jarin Khaorungrueng, a khon instructor with the Thai Fine Arts Department, explains: 'In earlier times, khon was referred to as lakhon nai [inner theatre], which meant it was only performed within the royal palace. With the establishment of the National Theatre in 1960, the door was opened to the general public to witness this art of kings.'
Khon consists of an exotic orchestra, the throaty yet strangely addictive melodies of old-style Thai singing and the booming voices of side-stage narrators, all accompanying brightly bedecked dancers as they frolic, strut and battle their way through adventure-packed tales.
The curtain rises to reveal the green-faced Intorachit, son of demon king Totsakan. The princely demon bows before a white-bearded sage, begging in vain for super powers to use in his fight against the righteous. But Intorachit is a patient devil, so, as the curtain falls on the opening scene, he begins 'seven years' of meditation, to master esoteric mantras.
Today, the dancers are men but originally, all khon troupes were made up entirely of women, explains Kanchana Khaorungrueng, a wardrobe attendant at the National Theatre for 25 years.