Nyasha's Place

[complicit-in-damnation]

"What can I help you with?"

Selective roleplay blog penned by Carmyn (they/them) for Hazbin Hotel OC Nyasha.

Nyasha is was a contract author, helping overlords write deals that damn people for eternity. Known widely for their skill, they have had a hand in many dealmakings, and always the one you want on your side.

At present, Nyasha resides at the Hazbin Hotel, seeking redemption and working as staff. They lend a hand to Charlie and Vaggie if they ever need help logistically, as that's always been their strong suit, and occasionally speaks with heaven in place of Charlie.

Sharp, witty, and perceptive, Nyasha can be a mixed bag, ready to compliment you in one sentence and rip you apart in the next. Very rarely upset, though those that have disrespected them have found themselves in very unfortunate situations.

Reference Art

Tags:

#expert consultation - answered asks

#knowledge is best in moderation - roleplay posts

#stargazing - ooc post

[gaslightgatekeepgoldengates]

To my esteemed Saint Peter,

I’m glad you appreciated my gift. It’s sad, but understandable, to know it won’t be worn. So long as it’s appreciated.

It’s a shame you aren’t properly respected. The gatekeeper of heaven is a very important role; you’re both the first line of defense and the first face one sees when they arrive at the gates. That takes a lot of strength, in more ways than one. I could hardly imagine myself in such a position. I certainly hope you don’t have to deal with such disrespect on a regular basis. I am not a violent person in the traditional sense, but I would be driven to murder if I were in your place.

Thank you greatly for your account on Pentious’s redemption. Emily failed to inform us; I believe she either assumed we already knew, or forgot entirely. She is a delight, but I find she’s not the most reliable when it comes to relaying information.

On the subject of the copy machine/printer (I don’t know if there’s a difference?). I did acquire the silly cyan ink, but when I replaced it, the machine said it was the wrong one. I compared the new container of ink to the old one and found no difference. Given it fit in the machine just fine, I had no clue what it was talking about. Vaggi was just as confused. We took it back out, closed it, and then reinserted it, which seemed to work, only this time, the machine insisted it needed a new update. When we tried to enable that, it then insisted it needed some kind of subscription in order to install it?

We brought Baxter to help out, and he muttered something under his breath before saying he’d need to ‘root the damn thing.’ I don’t know what ‘root’ means in relation to a machine? From what I understand, he’s going to bypass whatever the issue is, at some point. Currently, it’s still broken. I’ve begun to simply keep track of things myself instead of bothering with any hope it will function anytime soon.

Vox is hardly the worst, simply foolish. He didn’t even build that weapon; that was Carmilla Carmine. He’s just the one who aimed it. I dislike him, but I cannot say the same for others in hell. His support, in general, has dropped since he turned that weapon on the rest of us, but he was one of the most popular figures among the general population beforehand. His partners still have popular support. I doubt you truly want to hear about the politics of Hell, though. You’re from Heaven; I doubt you need to worry about such issues. (Do you have to deal with politics in heaven?)

You seem like a talented singer. I can’t say I listen to a lot of pop, but you seem to have good range. I would like to hear you sing some day. Christmas music in particular would be a delight to listen to. I haven’t properly celebrated the holiday since I died. The Hellborn celebrate Sinsmas, which has largely bled over into Sinners’ celebrations. I also enjoy a dramatic number especially; I couldn’t tell you how many plays and musicals I’ve seen. Do you have any favorite songs you like to perform?

As for my own Fools Day, well, it was eventful. Within the hotel, things were chaotic, though pleasant, if no less inconvenient for me; my office was littered with various pranks of all kinds. I was just trying to write when I discovered they had even replaced my ink with water. It was fun, but I didn’t really have the time to participate. I was busy.

Fools Day is a nice holiday, but it’s also Angel Dust’s birthday. He isn’t at the hotel right now. I had gotten him a gift. His pet pig still resides with us, but I believed he could still use the comfort from a companion of some sort, so I got this plush hell-pig for him, alongside some assorted candies, and a card I had signed by everyone here. It made for a small gift basket that I knew he would appreciate. I had to endure the nightmare that is the streets on Fools Day in order to get to Vee Tower, and from there, all kinds of difficulties that I don’t believe it would be in good taste to cover. I can only hope he appreciates it.

I mostly spent the night helping Vaggi with cleanup from all the pranks. There was so much glitter and confetti that I sometimes feel tempted to check if it’s still in my fur.

I’m glad you appreciate the wax stamp. Mine is much the same as yours. I use it for all letters I deliver. It prevents impersonation, as nobody can replicate my seal, and allows me to know that it arrives to and is opened by the correct recipient. Our correspondence may not be official, but I still prefer the security. Besides, it looks nice. Like a second signature.

Once I’m done writing all this information down by hand, I am looking forwards to a cup of warm tea and a book to read. Perhaps even a nice long bath, assuming I can get some warm water. We never get enough of it here, and everyone always seems to use it up before I can get any.

How have things been up there recently? I hope it’s nothing as tedious as what I’m currently faced with.

Yours, Nyasha

@complicit-in-damnation

For days, the saint had kept the letter at his bedside. For days, he fidgeted with the envelope between his fingers in contemplation. For days, he always found himself distracted or too tired to simply will himself to read knowing he'd want to write in response. It felt bad, staring at such an exciting thing for so long without answering it. Though now the day was over, he was resting at home with his friend doing his own thing elsewhere. He wasn't tired, he wasn't distracted, and now he was deciding on finally getting back to his poor penpal after all this time. With a deep breath, he opened the letter and relaxing in bed with a glass of vegetable juice.

Oh! Geez, I don't know if I'd say all that. I uh... I really don't think I said anything to give off "drive someone to murder" levels of bad right? I just stand at a gate... Goodness... It's nice to know Nyasha thinks so highly of me but oh my...

That...has got to be the most confusing printer story ever. Who even makes subscriptions for using a printer of all things? And all that work just for it to still be broken. Wow it really is hell, huh? Wait whose Baxter?

Aaand of course Vox didn't even build his own death laser. Why would he? Unfortunate that not even a whole incident like that can even change people's minds. I don't know who Carmilla is either but I just can't possibly see why anyone would think making a whole death ray for a guy like that would've been a good idea in any circumstance.

I suppose it would make no sense for Christmas to be celebrated in hell, huh? Though I didn't know it was so bad that someone would want to hear Christmas music... It's kind of funny though to think hellborn wanted in on the winter fun so much that they made a knock-off version of the holiday though. They really could've named it like...anything else instead of "Sinmas". "Sin mass"... It doesn't even make sense on top of just being insulting...

Pft, sounds like they got you pretty good. Though huh, isn't angel dust another word for- er.. nevermind, I'm sure whoever that is had to have appreciate the gift. Sad that he's not with his pet "hell-pig" though, poor thing. How admirable of you to go through so much effort, heh.. Emily sure chose a nice pen pal for me.

Hm. So they have fur? Good to know. Did they ever mention anything like that before? Should I check the other letters to see if I forgot that..? Yeesh for the glitter though.

Yikes, the seal lets them know when it's opened? Oh crapping carps that sucks for me... I hope they got to enjoy a warm bath though.. I wonder what they were reading at the time.

I hardly know what to really write back about, fuck. I'll have to think on it for a bit. It shouldn't be too hard, right? I'm probably overthinking this...

[complicit-in-damnation]

"So exhausted today..."

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha found steaming on the windowsill of their hotel room a cup of tea in a mug with a slightly faded New York City print.

While Lumina hadn't bothered with a silly note the way she did most of the times she pulled this stunt - she suspected the fox sinner would find it pretty patronising - she did however put effort into making the tea really good.

Usually only Overlords had access to anything remotely resembling luxury, but pulling a few strings had gotten her a canister of Earl Grey that was sweet and floral with a complex of light citrus notes. Not only that, but her Heavenly friends regularly slipped her a stash of real, genuine sugar, the kind no one in Hell could get. Everything down here was usually a bitter facsimile of what could barely be called 'sweet', so the real stuff was a real treat. Even so, Lumina was sure to only spoon in a little, just enough for the flavour and aromas to bloom without overpowering anything.

That would turn a peace offering cup of tea into an unforgivable war crime, of that she was sure.

From there, she simply waited, having changed into some fluffy pyjamas from her tight-fitted show dress, taking her time at the vanity to wipe away the last smudges of her stage makeup.

With any luck, things would go a little better this time...

Nyasha recognized the mug as Lumina's immediately. Next, they noticed the smell. It was familiar, and completely surprising. How did she get this?

Nyasha took the mug to her desk and held it, just to feel its warmth, before taking a sip.

Was that - sugar? They remembered, faintly, an old overlord who would use buttloads of the stuff they'd bought from Earth smugglers just to prove his wealth. This wasn't a statement like that, just enough to make this singular cup taste delicious.

Nyasha quietly savored the tea, thankful for the chance to appreciate it in peace. They hadn't had something so quality in a long time.

Checking the time, they figured Lumina was back in her own room after her show. They left to give her her mug back and the her appropriate thanks, dressed down - in their standard, anyway, missing any blazer or jacket - given they had been unwinding themself.

It was only a short walk through the hallway before they arrived and knocked at Lumina's door. "It's Nyasha. I'd like to return your mug."

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

Lumina leaned back in her chair, calling out, "It's open, you can come in!"

In theory, it might be slightly less personal for this to happen in the therapy office next door, but that was half the point. Instead of meeting as professionals, as people with goals and a job in mind, maybe it would be easier to talk like people.

Besides, she was pretty sure she heard Husk snoozing in there. He sometimes did that when he needed to hide out from Alastor, and she could hardly blame him.

With that, she curled up in her vanity chair, one knee pulled tight to her chest as the last smears of mascara melted away under the soft spirals of the thick purple cloth.

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind them, never one to leave them ajar. They looked around the space for a moment, assessing, before walking to her vanity and placing the empty mug on the surface.

"My first question for you is where you got that from," Nyasha said. "I value it immensely, of course, but you can't get this from just anywhere. My first thought was that you'd stolen it from Alastor, but he doesn't import sugar or Earl Grey."

They looked about for a place to sit, but didn't see any free seat, and they didn't want to presume to sit on her bed. So they remained standing, something they didn't mind as much as they used to, standing idly with their weight leaned on one side.

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

Lumina laughed, pushing back from the vanity.

"Trust me, if I stole from Alastor, I wouldn't survive Hell for very long at all," she remarked dryly.

While of course Nyasha had no idea about her deal with THE RADIO DEMON, it was unmistakable that she knew him fairly well, especially considering how much he liked to make her hang around him.

You know. Just in case anyone here was thinking about trusting me.

Getting up, Lumina did her best to make it look natural that she was giving up her seat, stretching her arms high above her head with a joint-popping little groan as she wandered the room.

"But anyway. The tea came from a friend who's pretty close to some Overlords. I don't break it out often, but when I do, it's always a good day."

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha chuckled at the joke. "You seem close with him. He would hesitate for a moment, at least." They knew as much wasn't true, of course; the only person who could afford that privilege was Mimzy. It was fun to joke, though.

Lumina wasn't too good at pretending it was natural, but Nyasha could appreciate the gesture. After waiting long enough to ensure it wasn't too obvious, Nyasha took the vacated seat, resting their cane on their lap.

Nyasha listened, keeping it in mind. "Oh, how nice of them. Who is it? I might know them, I'd have to pass on the thanks next time we talk."

They idly perused the makeup she had at her vanity, curious to what she had on hand, though their attention returned to Lumina soon after.

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

The vanity was cluttered with what seemed to be a clash of decades all vying for space. In one corner were compacts of orange rouge, golden tubes of crimson lipstick, and cases of spider-like false eyelashes. The other corner was crowded with brown lipcolours and smokey eyeshadow palettes. Stretched between them were comically bright neons and sparkles in every shade of the rainbow. One particularly glittery lipgloss seemed to be Angel Dust brand, the tube said it was "BJ Proof" and was flavoured "Pop My Cherry".

The mention of Alastor hesitating at least a moment before re-murdering her sent a shiver down Lumina's spine.

The only moment he spared when torturing her was to draw it out for the joy of horror and suspense.

"I'm... sure he would," she replied quietly, not really wanting to discuss that further.

She took one breath, then another, to calm herself away from those memories and to stop worrying her lip between her teeth.

As for the tea, that had been a daring heist by her dear friend Venus, lifting the canister from right under the pointed nose of Velvette herself.

"Hah, I'll let them know you appreciate it!" Lumina cheered.

Because like hell was she about to name names and get someone in trouble.

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha heard something wrong there, and mentally noted not to bring up Alastor like that again. Though Nyasha wasn't sure on what their relationship was, then. They wouldn't push.

"Thanks," they returned, knowing an omitted name when they had it and not holding it against her, though they were curious on it now.

"You are great at preparing it. I once had tea that was half sugar just because the man in question was trying far too hard to impress others with his wealth. The only thing he impressed upon me was his lack of taste." Nyasha had laughed about it with Maestro later. The overlord hadn't lasted long, either. "All those beverages you prepare for clients gives you good practice."

"My second question was why you went through all the trouble. If I'm honest, I thought you wanted nothing to do with me." They wouldn't have blamed her for it.

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

"Oh, jeez!" Lumina cried, sticking out her tongue, imagining the gritty texture of the wet granules. "I think that's a crime against tea!"

As for why she was even bothering... well, that was a complicated question, wasn't it? Why did Lumina care? Because she believed in second chances? Because Nyasha was no Overlord and had yet to try and overpower her? Because it'd make her job easier if everyone didn't hate everyone?

None of those seemed to really fit.

"Honestly, I thought you didn't want much to do with me," she admitted somewhat sheepishly.

The slammed doors seemed to say as much.

"But... I guess I never learned how to really give up on people."

Most people.

"And you seemed like someone worth trying for."

[complicit-in-damnation]

Such a forgiving person, choosing to reach out first after how they'd been treating her. They hadn't thought they'd get the chance to be friends with her at all, not when they'd acted that way.

"Thank you. I know I was being... Difficult." They could admit as much. "It wasn't anything to do with you, and I'm sorry for treating you that way."

"I'm glad you still gave me a chance," they offered a smile, one that was genuine with relief, even a bit of hope. They could allow themself that. "I'll make sure to be the one to treat you to tea next time. Unless you prefer something else?"

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

"Tea is always lovely," Lumina said with a warm grin to match, "I always make something hot to drink for my clients since it's so warm n' cozy, it makes everyone feel better."

The bat demon took a moment to take a look at her visitor - and really look. Like so many others in this Hotel, they seemed closed off, their feelings held close to the chest. There were the vaguest impressions there, shifting like water beneath a sheet of ice, but understanding them was still all but impassible.

What she could see, though, was some kind of pain buried deep.

People don't lash out like that randomly and at something they hardly know.

"And just know, if you ever need to talk, I can always listen. And I don't mean like... in a therapy way, although listening to people literally is my job," she added awkwardly.

[complicit-in-damnation]

"I'll be sure to get you some, then," Nyasha was sure they could try and find something nice for her. They'd try and get something she hadn't had before; they could imagine she likely had a lot of the same tea in her office.

"And I appreciate it. The same goes to you, even if I doubt I'd be your first choice," they chuckled a bit at the self-deprecating joke. "How has your work been going? I know you're awfully busy, and you look stressed out of your mind half the time."

It's what had sparked the idea of offering to help in the first place. Even if Lumina had not taken that idea very well.

[complicit-in-damnation]

hmm, i can't see you willingly eating cannibal meat, though I can see that information being omitted until after the fact... i also can't see zeezi allowing someone to get all up in her face without stomping tf out of them...

though, weren't you a lawyer or something like that? you aided in making deals... so it's possible you may have a sit down meeting with them... sometimes that happens if things run late...

i'mma say you cussing out zeezi to her face has gotta be the lie.

"Great try! It's really a funny story. I'm one of two people who can honestly say they've cursed out Zeezi to her face and gotten away unharmed."

[complicit-in-damnation]

Hmmm two truth and a lie. Is the 3rd one a lie? It's no secret that you aren't too fond of the Vees haha! If it isn't a lie then oh no

"Clever. I don't hide my distaste, but given I have dealt with them professionally, I was hoping that one would slip under the radar."

"Congrats to you, anon."

[complicit-in-damnation]

"Two truths and a lie.... hm."

I have eaten cannibal meat.

I swore out Zeezi to her face.

I have had dinner with the Vees.

[drymartinidiary]

Noire did not look away. Nyasha's question - 'Do you really want to discuss Ravi?' - did not unsettle her. Nor did the shift in their expression. If anything, it only confirmed what Noire had already suspected. She did not react outwardly yet, but kept her focus on the fox-like sinner and their carefully composed posture with sharp eyes; betraying what their voice refused to give.

How predictable. How telling.

"I rarely ask questions without wanting an answer," Noire replied evenly. A faint pause. "But I am not particularly interested in him," she added, her voice lowering just a little. "I am interested in you." Noire reached for her martini, lifting it once more, the glass cool against her touch. Her crimson eyes studied the liquid within - pale, clear and pristine. She took a small, measured sip before settling it down without a sound.

Deflection, she thought. Careful. Intentional. And yet not quite as seamless as they would like to be.

Noire's gaze did not soften, but there was a quiet steadiness to it now. Something more attentive than cutting. "You avoid the subject with remarkable care," Noire continued. Not unkindly; as stating a fact. "Which suggests it is not as inconsequential as you would prefer it to be." A faint shift followed as she leaned back, one leg crossing elegantly over the other.

Her gaze softened. Only a fraction. "I will not press you into saying more than you wish to." Noire tilted her head, studying Nyasha now carefully. "But do not mistake my curiosity for idle interest." Another brief pause followed. Her slender fingers traced the stem of her martini glass absentmindedly. "If he no longer matters," Noire added calmly, "then why does he require such... deliberate silence?"

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha carefully kept themself still as the memories returned. How things ended. Seeing Ravi spend so much time with that- that fucking nobody he suddenly decided was so important, more important than their work, than them, when they had been by his side for decades. Lived and worked together and yet they returned home to seeing him all over someone else, flaking on meetings in favor of running around the pentagram with that bitch - it was the worst betrayal they'd ever experienced, and yet.

And yet, they'd give anything to argue with him again. They knew he would, with the same confidence they knew their own mind. They knew he would rise to it, if only to upset them. That they would go to him with an issue and their conversation would escalate to an argument and then a fight and they'd walk away with a better understanding than they'd ever have had alone. They wanted to see him again, even if he was still with that woman, because then they'd get to talk to him again or even finally change his mind and make him choose -

Nyasha closed their eyes. A slow, deliberate inhalation of breath, released. They took a slow sip of their own drink.

"Noire," they began, keeping in mind that there was no doubt someone, somewhere, listening in. "I simply don't wish to discuss him. He..." They took a moment, to banish their lingering emotions on the subject. "He is loud enough in the space he takes up, why give him more?"

If they never said it out loud, then they could pretend they were free of him.

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha found steaming on the windowsill of their hotel room a cup of tea in a mug with a slightly faded New York City print.

While Lumina hadn't bothered with a silly note the way she did most of the times she pulled this stunt - she suspected the fox sinner would find it pretty patronising - she did however put effort into making the tea really good.

Usually only Overlords had access to anything remotely resembling luxury, but pulling a few strings had gotten her a canister of Earl Grey that was sweet and floral with a complex of light citrus notes. Not only that, but her Heavenly friends regularly slipped her a stash of real, genuine sugar, the kind no one in Hell could get. Everything down here was usually a bitter facsimile of what could barely be called 'sweet', so the real stuff was a real treat. Even so, Lumina was sure to only spoon in a little, just enough for the flavour and aromas to bloom without overpowering anything.

That would turn a peace offering cup of tea into an unforgivable war crime, of that she was sure.

From there, she simply waited, having changed into some fluffy pyjamas from her tight-fitted show dress, taking her time at the vanity to wipe away the last smudges of her stage makeup.

With any luck, things would go a little better this time...

Nyasha recognized the mug as Lumina's immediately. Next, they noticed the smell. It was familiar, and completely surprising. How did she get this?

Nyasha took the mug to her desk and held it, just to feel its warmth, before taking a sip.

Was that - sugar? They remembered, faintly, an old overlord who would use buttloads of the stuff they'd bought from Earth smugglers just to prove his wealth. This wasn't a statement like that, just enough to make this singular cup taste delicious.

Nyasha quietly savored the tea, thankful for the chance to appreciate it in peace. They hadn't had something so quality in a long time.

Checking the time, they figured Lumina was back in her own room after her show. They left to give her her mug back and the her appropriate thanks, dressed down - in their standard, anyway, missing any blazer or jacket - given they had been unwinding themself.

It was only a short walk through the hallway before they arrived and knocked at Lumina's door. "It's Nyasha. I'd like to return your mug."

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

Lumina leaned back in her chair, calling out, "It's open, you can come in!"

In theory, it might be slightly less personal for this to happen in the therapy office next door, but that was half the point. Instead of meeting as professionals, as people with goals and a job in mind, maybe it would be easier to talk like people.

Besides, she was pretty sure she heard Husk snoozing in there. He sometimes did that when he needed to hide out from Alastor, and she could hardly blame him.

With that, she curled up in her vanity chair, one knee pulled tight to her chest as the last smears of mascara melted away under the soft spirals of the thick purple cloth.

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind them, never one to leave them ajar. They looked around the space for a moment, assessing, before walking to her vanity and placing the empty mug on the surface.

"My first question for you is where you got that from," Nyasha said. "I value it immensely, of course, but you can't get this from just anywhere. My first thought was that you'd stolen it from Alastor, but he doesn't import sugar or Earl Grey."

They looked about for a place to sit, but didn't see any free seat, and they didn't want to presume to sit on her bed. So they remained standing, something they didn't mind as much as they used to, standing idly with their weight leaned on one side.

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

Lumina laughed, pushing back from the vanity.

"Trust me, if I stole from Alastor, I wouldn't survive Hell for very long at all," she remarked dryly.

While of course Nyasha had no idea about her deal with THE RADIO DEMON, it was unmistakable that she knew him fairly well, especially considering how much he liked to make her hang around him.

You know. Just in case anyone here was thinking about trusting me.

Getting up, Lumina did her best to make it look natural that she was giving up her seat, stretching her arms high above her head with a joint-popping little groan as she wandered the room.

"But anyway. The tea came from a friend who's pretty close to some Overlords. I don't break it out often, but when I do, it's always a good day."

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha chuckled at the joke. "You seem close with him. He would hesitate for a moment, at least." They knew as much wasn't true, of course; the only person who could afford that privilege was Mimzy. It was fun to joke, though.

Lumina wasn't too good at pretending it was natural, but Nyasha could appreciate the gesture. After waiting long enough to ensure it wasn't too obvious, Nyasha took the vacated seat, resting their cane on their lap.

Nyasha listened, keeping it in mind. "Oh, how nice of them. Who is it? I might know them, I'd have to pass on the thanks next time we talk."

They idly perused the makeup she had at her vanity, curious to what she had on hand, though their attention returned to Lumina soon after.

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

The vanity was cluttered with what seemed to be a clash of decades all vying for space. In one corner were compacts of orange rouge, golden tubes of crimson lipstick, and cases of spider-like false eyelashes. The other corner was crowded with brown lipcolours and smokey eyeshadow palettes. Stretched between them were comically bright neons and sparkles in every shade of the rainbow. One particularly glittery lipgloss seemed to be Angel Dust brand, the tube said it was "BJ Proof" and was flavoured "Pop My Cherry".

The mention of Alastor hesitating at least a moment before re-murdering her sent a shiver down Lumina's spine.

The only moment he spared when torturing her was to draw it out for the joy of horror and suspense.

"I'm... sure he would," she replied quietly, not really wanting to discuss that further.

She took one breath, then another, to calm herself away from those memories and to stop worrying her lip between her teeth.

As for the tea, that had been a daring heist by her dear friend Venus, lifting the canister from right under the pointed nose of Velvette herself.

"Hah, I'll let them know you appreciate it!" Lumina cheered.

Because like hell was she about to name names and get someone in trouble.

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha heard something wrong there, and mentally noted not to bring up Alastor like that again. Though Nyasha wasn't sure on what their relationship was, then. They wouldn't push.

"Thanks," they returned, knowing an omitted name when they had it and not holding it against her, though they were curious on it now.

"You are great at preparing it. I once had tea that was half sugar just because the man in question was trying far too hard to impress others with his wealth. The only thing he impressed upon me was his lack of taste." Nyasha had laughed about it with Maestro later. The overlord hadn't lasted long, either. "All those beverages you prepare for clients gives you good practice."

"My second question was why you went through all the trouble. If I'm honest, I thought you wanted nothing to do with me." They wouldn't have blamed her for it.

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

"Oh, jeez!" Lumina cried, sticking out her tongue, imagining the gritty texture of the wet granules. "I think that's a crime against tea!"

As for why she was even bothering... well, that was a complicated question, wasn't it? Why did Lumina care? Because she believed in second chances? Because Nyasha was no Overlord and had yet to try and overpower her? Because it'd make her job easier if everyone didn't hate everyone?

None of those seemed to really fit.

"Honestly, I thought you didn't want much to do with me," she admitted somewhat sheepishly.

The slammed doors seemed to say as much.

"But... I guess I never learned how to really give up on people."

Most people.

"And you seemed like someone worth trying for."

[complicit-in-damnation]

Such a forgiving person, choosing to reach out first after how they'd been treating her. They hadn't thought they'd get the chance to be friends with her at all, not when they'd acted that way.

"Thank you. I know I was being... Difficult." They could admit as much. "It wasn't anything to do with you, and I'm sorry for treating you that way."

"I'm glad you still gave me a chance," they offered a smile, one that was genuine with relief, even a bit of hope. They could allow themself that. "I'll make sure to be the one to treat you to tea next time. Unless you prefer something else?"

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha found steaming on the windowsill of their hotel room a cup of tea in a mug with a slightly faded New York City print.

While Lumina hadn't bothered with a silly note the way she did most of the times she pulled this stunt - she suspected the fox sinner would find it pretty patronising - she did however put effort into making the tea really good.

Usually only Overlords had access to anything remotely resembling luxury, but pulling a few strings had gotten her a canister of Earl Grey that was sweet and floral with a complex of light citrus notes. Not only that, but her Heavenly friends regularly slipped her a stash of real, genuine sugar, the kind no one in Hell could get. Everything down here was usually a bitter facsimile of what could barely be called 'sweet', so the real stuff was a real treat. Even so, Lumina was sure to only spoon in a little, just enough for the flavour and aromas to bloom without overpowering anything.

That would turn a peace offering cup of tea into an unforgivable war crime, of that she was sure.

From there, she simply waited, having changed into some fluffy pyjamas from her tight-fitted show dress, taking her time at the vanity to wipe away the last smudges of her stage makeup.

With any luck, things would go a little better this time...

Nyasha recognized the mug as Lumina's immediately. Next, they noticed the smell. It was familiar, and completely surprising. How did she get this?

Nyasha took the mug to her desk and held it, just to feel its warmth, before taking a sip.

Was that - sugar? They remembered, faintly, an old overlord who would use buttloads of the stuff they'd bought from Earth smugglers just to prove his wealth. This wasn't a statement like that, just enough to make this singular cup taste delicious.

Nyasha quietly savored the tea, thankful for the chance to appreciate it in peace. They hadn't had something so quality in a long time.

Checking the time, they figured Lumina was back in her own room after her show. They left to give her her mug back and the her appropriate thanks, dressed down - in their standard, anyway, missing any blazer or jacket - given they had been unwinding themself.

It was only a short walk through the hallway before they arrived and knocked at Lumina's door. "It's Nyasha. I'd like to return your mug."

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

Lumina leaned back in her chair, calling out, "It's open, you can come in!"

In theory, it might be slightly less personal for this to happen in the therapy office next door, but that was half the point. Instead of meeting as professionals, as people with goals and a job in mind, maybe it would be easier to talk like people.

Besides, she was pretty sure she heard Husk snoozing in there. He sometimes did that when he needed to hide out from Alastor, and she could hardly blame him.

With that, she curled up in her vanity chair, one knee pulled tight to her chest as the last smears of mascara melted away under the soft spirals of the thick purple cloth.

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind them, never one to leave them ajar. They looked around the space for a moment, assessing, before walking to her vanity and placing the empty mug on the surface.

"My first question for you is where you got that from," Nyasha said. "I value it immensely, of course, but you can't get this from just anywhere. My first thought was that you'd stolen it from Alastor, but he doesn't import sugar or Earl Grey."

They looked about for a place to sit, but didn't see any free seat, and they didn't want to presume to sit on her bed. So they remained standing, something they didn't mind as much as they used to, standing idly with their weight leaned on one side.

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

Lumina laughed, pushing back from the vanity.

"Trust me, if I stole from Alastor, I wouldn't survive Hell for very long at all," she remarked dryly.

While of course Nyasha had no idea about her deal with THE RADIO DEMON, it was unmistakable that she knew him fairly well, especially considering how much he liked to make her hang around him.

You know. Just in case anyone here was thinking about trusting me.

Getting up, Lumina did her best to make it look natural that she was giving up her seat, stretching her arms high above her head with a joint-popping little groan as she wandered the room.

"But anyway. The tea came from a friend who's pretty close to some Overlords. I don't break it out often, but when I do, it's always a good day."

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha chuckled at the joke. "You seem close with him. He would hesitate for a moment, at least." They knew as much wasn't true, of course; the only person who could afford that privilege was Mimzy. It was fun to joke, though.

Lumina wasn't too good at pretending it was natural, but Nyasha could appreciate the gesture. After waiting long enough to ensure it wasn't too obvious, Nyasha took the vacated seat, resting their cane on their lap.

Nyasha listened, keeping it in mind. "Oh, how nice of them. Who is it? I might know them, I'd have to pass on the thanks next time we talk."

They idly perused the makeup she had at her vanity, curious to what she had on hand, though their attention returned to Lumina soon after.

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

The vanity was cluttered with what seemed to be a clash of decades all vying for space. In one corner were compacts of orange rouge, golden tubes of crimson lipstick, and cases of spider-like false eyelashes. The other corner was crowded with brown lipcolours and smokey eyeshadow palettes. Stretched between them were comically bright neons and sparkles in every shade of the rainbow. One particularly glittery lipgloss seemed to be Angel Dust brand, the tube said it was "BJ Proof" and was flavoured "Pop My Cherry".

The mention of Alastor hesitating at least a moment before re-murdering her sent a shiver down Lumina's spine.

The only moment he spared when torturing her was to draw it out for the joy of horror and suspense.

"I'm... sure he would," she replied quietly, not really wanting to discuss that further.

She took one breath, then another, to calm herself away from those memories and to stop worrying her lip between her teeth.

As for the tea, that had been a daring heist by her dear friend Venus, lifting the canister from right under the pointed nose of Velvette herself.

"Hah, I'll let them know you appreciate it!" Lumina cheered.

Because like hell was she about to name names and get someone in trouble.

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha heard something wrong there, and mentally noted not to bring up Alastor like that again. Though Nyasha wasn't sure on what their relationship was, then. They wouldn't push.

"Thanks," they returned, knowing an omitted name when they had it and not holding it against her, though they were curious on it now.

"You are great at preparing it. I once had tea that was half sugar just because the man in question was trying far too hard to impress others with his wealth. The only thing he impressed upon me was his lack of taste." Nyasha had laughed about it with Maestro later. The overlord hadn't lasted long, either. "All those beverages you prepare for clients gives you good practice."

"My second question was why you went through all the trouble. If I'm honest, I thought you wanted nothing to do with me." They wouldn't have blamed her for it.

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha found steaming on the windowsill of their hotel room a cup of tea in a mug with a slightly faded New York City print.

While Lumina hadn't bothered with a silly note the way she did most of the times she pulled this stunt - she suspected the fox sinner would find it pretty patronising - she did however put effort into making the tea really good.

Usually only Overlords had access to anything remotely resembling luxury, but pulling a few strings had gotten her a canister of Earl Grey that was sweet and floral with a complex of light citrus notes. Not only that, but her Heavenly friends regularly slipped her a stash of real, genuine sugar, the kind no one in Hell could get. Everything down here was usually a bitter facsimile of what could barely be called 'sweet', so the real stuff was a real treat. Even so, Lumina was sure to only spoon in a little, just enough for the flavour and aromas to bloom without overpowering anything.

That would turn a peace offering cup of tea into an unforgivable war crime, of that she was sure.

From there, she simply waited, having changed into some fluffy pyjamas from her tight-fitted show dress, taking her time at the vanity to wipe away the last smudges of her stage makeup.

With any luck, things would go a little better this time...

Nyasha recognized the mug as Lumina's immediately. Next, they noticed the smell. It was familiar, and completely surprising. How did she get this?

Nyasha took the mug to her desk and held it, just to feel its warmth, before taking a sip.

Was that - sugar? They remembered, faintly, an old overlord who would use buttloads of the stuff they'd bought from Earth smugglers just to prove his wealth. This wasn't a statement like that, just enough to make this singular cup taste delicious.

Nyasha quietly savored the tea, thankful for the chance to appreciate it in peace. They hadn't had something so quality in a long time.

Checking the time, they figured Lumina was back in her own room after her show. They left to give her her mug back and the her appropriate thanks, dressed down - in their standard, anyway, missing any blazer or jacket - given they had been unwinding themself.

It was only a short walk through the hallway before they arrived and knocked at Lumina's door. "It's Nyasha. I'd like to return your mug."

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

Lumina leaned back in her chair, calling out, "It's open, you can come in!"

In theory, it might be slightly less personal for this to happen in the therapy office next door, but that was half the point. Instead of meeting as professionals, as people with goals and a job in mind, maybe it would be easier to talk like people.

Besides, she was pretty sure she heard Husk snoozing in there. He sometimes did that when he needed to hide out from Alastor, and she could hardly blame him.

With that, she curled up in her vanity chair, one knee pulled tight to her chest as the last smears of mascara melted away under the soft spirals of the thick purple cloth.

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind them, never one to leave them ajar. They looked around the space for a moment, assessing, before walking to her vanity and placing the empty mug on the surface.

"My first question for you is where you got that from," Nyasha said. "I value it immensely, of course, but you can't get this from just anywhere. My first thought was that you'd stolen it from Alastor, but he doesn't import sugar or Earl Grey."

They looked about for a place to sit, but didn't see any free seat, and they didn't want to presume to sit on her bed. So they remained standing, something they didn't mind as much as they used to, standing idly with their weight leaned on one side.

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

Lumina laughed, pushing back from the vanity.

"Trust me, if I stole from Alastor, I wouldn't survive Hell for very long at all," she remarked dryly.

While of course Nyasha had no idea about her deal with THE RADIO DEMON, it was unmistakable that she knew him fairly well, especially considering how much he liked to make her hang around him.

You know. Just in case anyone here was thinking about trusting me.

Getting up, Lumina did her best to make it look natural that she was giving up her seat, stretching her arms high above her head with a joint-popping little groan as she wandered the room.

"But anyway. The tea came from a friend who's pretty close to some Overlords. I don't break it out often, but when I do, it's always a good day."

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha chuckled at the joke. "You seem close with him. He would hesitate for a moment, at least." They knew as much wasn't true, of course; the only person who could afford that privilege was Mimzy. It was fun to joke, though.

Lumina wasn't too good at pretending it was natural, but Nyasha could appreciate the gesture. After waiting long enough to ensure it wasn't too obvious, Nyasha took the vacated seat, resting their cane on their lap.

Nyasha listened, keeping it in mind. "Oh, how nice of them. Who is it? I might know them, I'd have to pass on the thanks next time we talk."

They idly perused the makeup she had at her vanity, curious to what she had on hand, though their attention returned to Lumina soon after.

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha found steaming on the windowsill of their hotel room a cup of tea in a mug with a slightly faded New York City print.

While Lumina hadn't bothered with a silly note the way she did most of the times she pulled this stunt - she suspected the fox sinner would find it pretty patronising - she did however put effort into making the tea really good.

Usually only Overlords had access to anything remotely resembling luxury, but pulling a few strings had gotten her a canister of Earl Grey that was sweet and floral with a complex of light citrus notes. Not only that, but her Heavenly friends regularly slipped her a stash of real, genuine sugar, the kind no one in Hell could get. Everything down here was usually a bitter facsimile of what could barely be called 'sweet', so the real stuff was a real treat. Even so, Lumina was sure to only spoon in a little, just enough for the flavour and aromas to bloom without overpowering anything.

That would turn a peace offering cup of tea into an unforgivable war crime, of that she was sure.

From there, she simply waited, having changed into some fluffy pyjamas from her tight-fitted show dress, taking her time at the vanity to wipe away the last smudges of her stage makeup.

With any luck, things would go a little better this time...

Nyasha recognized the mug as Lumina's immediately. Next, they noticed the smell. It was familiar, and completely surprising. How did she get this?

Nyasha took the mug to her desk and held it, just to feel its warmth, before taking a sip.

Was that - sugar? They remembered, faintly, an old overlord who would use buttloads of the stuff they'd bought from Earth smugglers just to prove his wealth. This wasn't a statement like that, just enough to make this singular cup taste delicious.

Nyasha quietly savored the tea, thankful for the chance to appreciate it in peace. They hadn't had something so quality in a long time.

Checking the time, they figured Lumina was back in her own room after her show. They left to give her her mug back and the her appropriate thanks, dressed down - in their standard, anyway, missing any blazer or jacket - given they had been unwinding themself.

It was only a short walk through the hallway before they arrived and knocked at Lumina's door. "It's Nyasha. I'd like to return your mug."

[ask-the-hazbin-therapist]

Lumina leaned back in her chair, calling out, "It's open, you can come in!"

In theory, it might be slightly less personal for this to happen in the therapy office next door, but that was half the point. Instead of meeting as professionals, as people with goals and a job in mind, maybe it would be easier to talk like people.

Besides, she was pretty sure she heard Husk snoozing in there. He sometimes did that when he needed to hide out from Alastor, and she could hardly blame him.

With that, she curled up in her vanity chair, one knee pulled tight to her chest as the last smears of mascara melted away under the soft spirals of the thick purple cloth.

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind them, never one to leave them ajar. They looked around the space for a moment, assessing, before walking to her vanity and placing the empty mug on the surface.

"My first question for you is where you got that from," Nyasha said. "I value it immensely, of course, but you can't get this from just anywhere. My first thought was that you'd stolen it from Alastor, but he doesn't import sugar or Earl Grey."

They looked about for a place to sit, but didn't see any free seat, and they didn't want to presume to sit on her bed. So they remained standing, something they didn't mind as much as they used to, standing idly with their weight leaned on one side.

[complicit-in-damnation]

"Well, I'll be your correspondent," Nyasha returned. "And literally everyone already knows you're the gatekeeper. Everyone and their grandmother knows the name Saint Peter."

If he was trying to impress them, it wouldn't work. Watching over the pearly gates was nothing. They had an army. They doubted he did anything important when any treespasser could get killed as easily as any sinner on extermination day.

Not that they'd be having another one of those, of course.

Nyasha turned the folder around so he could open it if he so desired. "Our copy machine is currently having issues, so I can't provide you with documents to take home yet, but I will be making copies of all of these for your next visit so you can take them back. Right now, feel free to review them as much as you'd like."

They had not been given any time limit for the meeting, but they'd pretty much gone over everything they needed to. If Peter wanted to leave now, they wouldn't stop him.

[twinkpeter]

Peter’s smile held, polite and bright, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time.

“Oh—yes, well,” he said lightly, smoothing a hand over the front of his robe, “visibility does tend to come with the position.”

And responsibility. And structure. And a system that does not collapse into— No. Not helpful. Not out loud.

He stepped a bit closer, accepting the turned folder with a small nod of thanks before opening it. His gaze moved quickly over the pages, neat and efficient, the practiced scan of someone used to processing names, notes, outcomes.

Attendance. Chores. Behavioral notes.

Talked instead of fought. Again.

His expression stayed perfectly pleasant.

That’s still the milestone. Okay. Alright. Adjust expectations. Different environment. Very different environment.

He flipped a page.

More of the same. Incremental changes. Small steps dressed up in bright ink and encouraging comments.

They’re trying. They are trying. It’s just… starting from a very low baseline.

He closed the folder gently, careful with the edges, before offering it back with a small, approving nod.

“Thank you,” Peter said, tone warm and measured. “This is… helpful. It gives a clearer picture of what you’re working with, and where support might actually be needed.”

He rose smoothly to his feet, posture straightening as his wings adjusted neatly behind him, slipping back into that composed, on-duty presence.

“I’ll make sure there’s notice before I come by again,” he added, offering a polite, reassuring smile. “So you have time to prepare anything you’d like reviewed or shared.”

A small pause, then, just a touch softer—

“And thank you for your time. Truly.”

With that, he took a small step back, already preparing to make his exit, composure firmly back in place even as his mind quietly organized everything he’d need to report the moment he returned to the gates.

[complicit-in-damnation]

"You're welcome," Nyasha returned, "glad to be of service."

They inclined their head as he left. They listened for the click of the door closing before they set their folder aside in favor of their journal, jotting down notes in shorthand as they sorted out their thoughts and impression of him.

The real question was what, precisely, was hiding behind his nerves and uncertainty. They would have to find out. They'd certainly have plenty of time to do so.

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha listened, nodded. "Next time you can say 'that's a foolish idea and it needs to happen naturally or not at all,' I'll get it," they said. They noted it down, anyway. They were never going to let Charlie attempt to recreate Pentious's redemption directly again. They did not want a repeat of the train incident.

"I agree, but the issue is giving them those chances. Hell is not kind to those trying to be good people and many, many are prone backsliding into poor habits when given the chance. Everyone here wants to change, but the environment of hell itself is what's most detrimental to that. So the best option at any given time is to keep them here, and there's very little chance of any urgent situations arising within the building." They sighed. "Assuming things are going well."

"Anyway - I believe that heaven desires proper communication between the realms. Documentation, check-ins, all that. Better than what's currently established. The hotel wants a connection with Heaven so as to maintain peace between the realms and give our residents hope for the future." Nyasha concluded. "Will I be expecting you regularly for that?"

Routine visits from heaven that were standard instead of 'whenever Emily feels like it' would be a step up. Peter, while a bit of a nervous fellow, was hardly the worst person they could have sent. Even if they still weren't certain on him.

[twinkpeter]

Peter gave a small, slightly flustered nod at that, clearly choosing not to touch the “foolish idea” comment at all. Good. Moving on. “Yes. Ideally, yes,” Peter said, nodding once. “Regular check-ins, consistent communication, clear documentation on both sides. That’s… very much what Heaven is hoping to establish.”

A small pause, then, a hint of something almost proud slipping in despite himself.

“I am usually stationed at the gates,” he added, just lightly, like it was simply a matter of fact and not something he was quietly very aware of. “It’s a… fairly critical role, so I can’t be away too often.”

Understatement.

“But Sera is working on arranging coverage,” he continued, a bit more carefully now. “The goal is to have someone able to take over periodically so I can attend these meetings on a more structured basis. Perhaps… once a month to start, with additional correspondence in between.”

His wings shifted, settling a little more neatly behind him as his confidence steadied.

“It’s just a matter of finding the right person to step in,” he added, almost apologetically. “The position requires a certain… familiarity with the system, and there aren’t many who—well.”

He stopped himself, smile returning, polite and composed.

“But yes,” Peter finished, gentler now, “you can expect me. I’ll make sure there’s consistency.”

[complicit-in-damnation]

"Well, I'll be your correspondent," Nyasha returned. "And literally everyone already knows you're the gatekeeper. Everyone and their grandmother knows the name Saint Peter."

If he was trying to impress them, it wouldn't work. Watching over the pearly gates was nothing. They had an army. They doubted he did anything important when any treespasser could get killed as easily as any sinner on extermination day.

Not that they'd be having another one of those, of course.

Nyasha turned the folder around so he could open it if he so desired. "Our copy machine is currently having issues, so I can't provide you with documents to take home yet, but I will be making copies of all of these for your next visit so you can take them back. Right now, feel free to review them as much as you'd like."

They had not been given any time limit for the meeting, but they'd pretty much gone over everything they needed to. If Peter wanted to leave now, they wouldn't stop him.

[twinkpeter]

Peter’s expression tightened, just slightly.

“Oh—well—um…” His fingers laced together, thumbs pressing nervously as his wings shifted in a small, restless adjustment. “I would strongly advise against trying to recreate that specific catalyst,” he said carefully, voice still light but carrying a firmer edge. “That feels very difficult to control, and not exactly… repeatable in a safe way.”

Also absolutely not something I am signing off on, thank you.

He exhaled softly, gaze drifting for a moment as he tried to piece something useful together.

“I think… if that was a turning point, then it may not be the danger itself that mattered, but the choice within it. A moment where the individual prioritizes something beyond themselves, without expectation of reward.”

His eyes flicked back to Nyasha, a little more focused now.

“So, theoretically, you’d be looking for situations that allow for genuine, self-motivated change under pressure, but without forcing it,” he said, warming slightly as he found his footing. “Moments where they can choose differently than they would have before, and… mean it.”

A small pause, then a softer, almost sheepish addition—

“Which I realize is less concrete than we might hope,” he admitted. “But forcing a ‘turning point’ might defeat the purpose if the choice isn’t… authentic?”

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha listened, nodded. "Next time you can say 'that's a foolish idea and it needs to happen naturally or not at all,' I'll get it," they said. They noted it down, anyway. They were never going to let Charlie attempt to recreate Pentious's redemption directly again. They did not want a repeat of the train incident.

"I agree, but the issue is giving them those chances. Hell is not kind to those trying to be good people and many, many are prone backsliding into poor habits when given the chance. Everyone here wants to change, but the environment of hell itself is what's most detrimental to that. So the best option at any given time is to keep them here, and there's very little chance of any urgent situations arising within the building." They sighed. "Assuming things are going well."

"Anyway - I believe that heaven desires proper communication between the realms. Documentation, check-ins, all that. Better than what's currently established. The hotel wants a connection with Heaven so as to maintain peace between the realms and give our residents hope for the future." Nyasha concluded. "Will I be expecting you regularly for that?"

Routine visits from heaven that were standard instead of 'whenever Emily feels like it' would be a step up. Peter, while a bit of a nervous fellow, was hardly the worst person they could have sent. Even if they still weren't certain on him.

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha found steaming on the windowsill of their hotel room a cup of tea in a mug with a slightly faded New York City print.

While Lumina hadn't bothered with a silly note the way she did most of the times she pulled this stunt - she suspected the fox sinner would find it pretty patronising - she did however put effort into making the tea really good.

Usually only Overlords had access to anything remotely resembling luxury, but pulling a few strings had gotten her a canister of Earl Grey that was sweet and floral with a complex of light citrus notes. Not only that, but her Heavenly friends regularly slipped her a stash of real, genuine sugar, the kind no one in Hell could get. Everything down here was usually a bitter facsimile of what could barely be called 'sweet', so the real stuff was a real treat. Even so, Lumina was sure to only spoon in a little, just enough for the flavour and aromas to bloom without overpowering anything.

That would turn a peace offering cup of tea into an unforgivable war crime, of that she was sure.

From there, she simply waited, having changed into some fluffy pyjamas from her tight-fitted show dress, taking her time at the vanity to wipe away the last smudges of her stage makeup.

With any luck, things would go a little better this time...

Nyasha recognized the mug as Lumina's immediately. Next, they noticed the smell. It was familiar, and completely surprising. How did she get this?

Nyasha took the mug to her desk and held it, just to feel its warmth, before taking a sip.

Was that - sugar? They remembered, faintly, an old overlord who would use buttloads of the stuff they'd bought from Earth smugglers just to prove his wealth. This wasn't a statement like that, just enough to make this singular cup taste delicious.

Nyasha quietly savored the tea, thankful for the chance to appreciate it in peace. They hadn't had something so quality in a long time.

Checking the time, they figured Lumina was back in her own room after her show. They left to give her her mug back and the her appropriate thanks, dressed down - in their standard, anyway, missing any blazer or jacket - given they had been unwinding themself.

It was only a short walk through the hallway before they arrived and knocked at Lumina's door. "It's Nyasha. I'd like to return your mug."

[drymartinidiary]

Noire, of course, noticed that Nyasha let the matter pass.

The name had not even been acknowledged properly - merely allowed to slip beneath the surface again, like something unpleasant that neither of them had any desire to touch too directly. Noire did not press it. If Nyasha wished to leave the matter unspoken, she would grant them that dignity. For now.

At their insistence that they would make it work, Noire's crimson gaze lingered on the fox-like sinner for just a fraction longer than necessary. Calm, measuring and quietly unconvinced. It is hardly an issue, Noire echoed their words in her mind. Of course. Of course they would phrase it that way. Noire said nothing to challenge it. Not because she believed it fully, but because she understood pride well enough to know when pressing against it would serve no purpose.

Noire lifted her martini, taking another slow sip before finally answering their question. "Where have I been?", Noire repeated softly, as though tasting the question before deciding what to answer. "Here and there," she said at first. "Private lounges. Small gatherings. The occasional dinner party filled with demons who mistake wealth for taste, and volume for charm." Noire exhaled softly through her nose. "At times, I have made myself useful in the ways I always do. There is a certain comfort in being mistaken for decorative."

Her fingers smoothed once along the stem of her glass. "So," she concluded at last, "nothing especially dramatic. No scandals worth claiming, no disasters worth recounting in detail." Her crimson gaze rested steadily on Nyasha. "Only observation. Only endurance. And the occasional attempt to keep myself in rooms where something worthwhile might eventually happen." A faint pause. "I suppose that is the tedious answer." Her lips curved. "But it is the honest one." But then, after only the smallest beat: "It has been rather less tedious, now that you are out of that hotel and sitting across from me again."

Then Noire returned to the former matter, that had been set aside elegantly. Ravi's name left untouched, the question unanswered - not dismissed, but quietly avoided. That, in itself, said enough. Her gaze lingered on Nyasha sharper now, more intent. "Tell me," Noire said smoothly, her voice quiet but precise, "why is it that you find it so much easier to speak of everything else... and not of him?"

[complicit-in-damnation]

Nyasha sipped their bourbon pleasantly, savoring the taste, listening to the familiar recounting of Noire's activities. It was good to hear.

"I'd like to think so," they returned with a half-smile, glad to be appreciated in such a manner. Less tedium for her was a welcome gift to give.

That smile became frozen to their face when she decided to push the issue. They set their drink down, chuckling pleasantly before their eyes sharpened. "Noire. I believe you made yourself clear on what you think of him. Do you really want to discuss Ravi?"

They didn't wish to. Not when the simple act of not thinking of him was so difficult. They didn't wish to make it worse by actively directing their thoughts towards him.

Not when they had undecided plans haunting them. Ones they were certainly not going to commit to, yet...