Hi there! I go alternately by TheWolfSage or IWriteWithATalon, depending on the site and/or the content I'm writing.
18+ Blog, so MDNI.
About me:
Early 30s
He/Him
Like 90% straight, but when the 10% hits, it hits.
If he looks submissive and breedable, there's a chance.
I can fix her, but I'm fine with being made worse, too.
Getting the canon characters' voices right is my biggest emphasis and joy. Hearing that the characters in a fic sound just like their canon counterparts makes my day.
I ramble way too much when writing like this.
My thought process is like one person trying to count the passengers flying by as seven trains derail simultaneously.
They never should have let me have bullet point lists.
It's entirely too much power.
About this blog:
Here you'll find a collection of my Reader-Insert stories, both one-shots and longer-form content. The whole blog is 18+ just to avoid any complications, but my reader-inserts mostly focus on romantic content, sometimes with heavily sexual themes, references, implications, etc... but (at least so far) no full lewds.
Currently working on:
This Hazbin A Helluva Good Time [One-Shot Reader x Various Collection]
An Unlikely Romance - The Avengers [Reader x Natasha series, currently working on getting Part 3 started.]
About my writing:
Reader-Insert, usually in Second-Person Past-Tense
Usually focused on female characters.
Gender-Neutral Reader
No names, no gender-specific pronouns, no physical descriptors, no blank spaces ("y/n", "e/c", "h/c"); I try to write my stories in an immersive way that lets the reader slip into the writing. If it fits, or if I need to, I'll give the Reader a nickname, but that's about it; if you see something that breaks this rule, I probably screwed up and missed it in the proofing - please point it out and I'll get it fixed!
That said, I do give the Reader character a personality and I write dialogue for them; no "outlines" of what the Reader says, no silent protags, etc... I don't make anyone especially esoteric or eccentric, but expect the Reader to be at least somewhat fleshed out, not just a vague silhouette observing the events.
Stories tend to focus on the romance aspect, but there's plenty of room for mature details.
I don't mind writing dark; characters shine the brightest when broken, kintsugi writing is beautiful, etc... etc...
It does need to have a purpose beyond the suffering, though. "I'd walk a mile of broken glass if there was happiness waiting at the end" is usually my writing philosophy.
My reader-inserts don't feature taboo themes (incest, underage, non-con, heavy dubcon, etc...). I also don't do toxic/abusive relationships, but I'm fine with toxic personalities with a soft side.
Always looking to improve, especially my prose and my character portrayals. If you notice something that irks you, please, feel free to point it out.
Huge fucking fan of your writing dude, how did you get your start? I’ve wanted to write fics myself but I struggle to find my writing style.
Not sure if there's a way to answer this as a DM, but what the hell, here goes:
Honestly, if you're talking about just getting started - pick anything, and write it. I've been writing for almost two decades now, and I started doing it for things like Dragonball Z Play-By-Post RPGs on EZForums back in the mid-2000s. God, I'm old.
I know that doesn't sound terribly helpful in an actionable way, but the best way to learn how to write really is to write something - anything - and then to compare your writing to things you like. Pick out stories, whether they're fanfics or novels, that catch your attention. Not because of what the author is writing about, but how they write about it. Pick the ones that paint the most vivid picture in your mind, the fanfics that make the characters feel exactly like it's another episode right out of the show, the ones that genuinely make you laugh, or smile, or cry, and figure out what they're doing that makes you feel that way.
There are all sorts of educational courses, and absolutely look into those if you think that's how you learn. Look up guides/blogs. Binge TVTropes for hours to figure out what ideas are prevalent throughout media across time and cultures and why they're so persistent. Check out youtube videos; here are a couple by someone that make some good points, has some ideas that sit outside the norm, and teaches some interesting ideas on story construction as a whole:
https://youtu.be/PbBH7ftgXTg
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_3aB8tUCgg
But at the end of the day, the way to find "your" writing style is to write, see what works, see what doesn't, and see what you like and what you don't - and know that what works and what you like don't have to be the same thing.
There's a quote about writing that has been said a few different ways by a few different people. I like this version the best -
"Start early and work hard. A writer’s apprenticeship usually involves writing a million words (which are then discarded) before he’s almost ready to begin. That takes a while." - David Eddings.
A million words - before you're almost ready to begin.
Finding your style and improving your writing isn't a short journey. It's long, it's uniquely yours, and it doesn't even have to have a destination or an ending. But it's easy to get started, and every step along the way is fulfilling in its own way.
The sound of a whetstone gliding across freshly sharpened metal was to you what a gentle harp melody was to others. Angelic steel rarely dulled, even when pushed to its limits, yet in the weeks leading up to each Extermination, you found yourself returning to the task more and more often. Something about the process was therapeutic in a way that few other things in your life were.
Emily was one of those things.
How she had taken an interest in you was a question to which you still had not found a truly satisfying answer. Not because Emily would not provide one — on the contrary, she proclaimed your virtues with an energy you found both touching and incredibly embarrassing — but because those she gave did not align with your understanding of your own status, value, or ability to interact with her the way other angels did. You did not understand those things. In many ways, you did not understand Emily. But you understood her in basic ways. The little ones, the small things absorbed almost passively over the course of a relationship that now stretched on for years.
You knew that Emily had no concept of personal space for herself, but would respect it for others — so long as she wasn't too worked up. You knew that Emily adored anything that brought joy and splendor to the world, whether it was as grand as a festival in the public squares, or as minor as the wind chimes outside her front door — because she thought adding a touch of music to her landing made life a little more whimsical.
You knew that Emily did not anger easily.
The wind chimes stirred. More than stirred — they flailed and rattled as if a hurricane had manifested in the realm of the divine. Your hand stopped immediately, the rhythmic motions of the whetstone going still, along with your thoughts. A great clatter followed a moment later as something heavy landed on the front porch. Three weighty footsteps resounded with enough force to send chills through you. Then the front door opened — followed by the sound of heavy oak slamming against its frame hard enough to rattle the crystalline windows.
Emily did not slam doors. Emily was sunlight and song, a cascade of bright, happy laughter and affectionate encouragement. Emily was the warmth of the universe distilled into a person, the scent of jasmine and blooming flowers after the first rain of spring. This was the sound of a storm arriving out of season, without warning and without mercy for the unprepared.
Your legs were under you in an instant, the very spear you had been sharpening reflexively clenched in your fist. Your gray knuckles went white, golden blood surging through your veins with enough force that you could scarcely hear the steps now approaching your shared bedroom. You had faced down sinners of all shapes without fear, without hesitation. Now you were so terrified you could not force your fingers to release the weapon they clutched as if it were the only thing tethering you to the heavenly realm.
"What happened?" The frantic thought reached you moments before she did. A half-dozen ideas came to mind in an instant. Each of them boded poorly for you in their own way.
None matched the despair you felt when the door to your bedroom burst open. Emily stood in all her glory — radiant to your eyes, even now — but the presence was not one you recognized. Her stance was as rigid as yours often was, her legs stiff and her arms splayed wide, as if making more space for the tumultuous emotions bubbling up within her.
Her expression was a two-toned swirl of fury and anguish, each fighting for dominance in a soul that had known neither emotion well enough to build a tolerance. Fresh tears forged new trails alongside old ones where she had tried to wipe away her sorrows only for them to be painted anew. The shimmer of her deep blue irises was warped by the pools of emotion constantly spilling over. The heat of her wrath and the heart-wrenching chill of her grief had stilled her melodies, had blotted out the sunlight.
Her lips were twisted down into a fragmented expression that echoed the tremble of fear, a scowl, and a keening wail of heartache all at once. Your knees suddenly felt insufficient. Her eyes, when they steadied enough to look properly at what was before her, traveled around the room. They lingered on your outfit, the spear, and finally your face. A thousand unspoken pleas and accusations lay behind her tear-drenched gaze.
"Tell me." Emily finally managed, the words hoarse and ragged, a far cry from the melodic lilt you knew better than your own name. "Tell me you didn't — that you weren't part of — just tell me you're not like the rest of them. Please."
"Emily..." The knot in your throat was so large you could scarcely breathe, but you could not afford to be silent. "What happened? What are you talking about?"
"Answer me." She demanded, her arms trembling as she clenched her fists. "Tell me you didn't go down there with the others. Tell me that all this time, you haven't been murdering innocent souls."
"...Oh, fuck. Adam, what did you do?!"
Your blood ran cold. A chill that matched the deep despair in her eyes now pierced your soul. The Exterminations were one of the most closely guarded secrets in all of Heaven. It was the task of the Exorcists to ensure the secrecy of the ritual was maintained — in part by keeping their own silence, in part by ensuring no sinner escaped the yearly purge with the knowledge of what they had witnessed. You had not even been permitted to tell Emily the true nature of your service when you began dating.
But you could see it in her eyes now. She knew. She knew everything. And whatever had happened at the council meeting, whatever form her rage and sorrow had taken there, it was now directed at the person she should have been able to trust the most.
The person who had lied to her the most.
Your spine stiffened in response to a perceived threat. Your feelings for Emily were tangled, spiraling — too powerful and yet too chaotic to take shape in word or action. So your training kicked in and banished the complications.
Ghostly wisps of shame tried to weave their way into your thoughts, but you could not afford the luxury of guilt. The Exorcists did not apologize for their duties. They did not feel remorse. They did what was necessary to defend Heaven and maintain the balance. Pride was what you were supposed to feel — pride at being blessed to serve among their number — and while the task was not a pleasant one, it was one you bore without hesitation.
The response should have been easy, simple, second nature. You had slaughtered sinners. You had done what was right. There was no need for remorse, no need for guilt. You were mandated by Heaven to cleanse filth, and that was precisely what you had done.
So why couldn't you say that? Why was your throat still tight enough that you could barely breathe? Why did the act of staring into your girlfriend's eyes feel like driving a spear through your own chest?
"Answer me!" Emily's voice rose. She stepped forward, wings spreading wide, forcing you to step back. The spear in your hand jerked up reflexively, bringing the sharpened point between you. You immediately recoiled, but she was already staring at it with a fresh wave of tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Please don't. Please. I love you."
A million defenses rose and fell in your mind. But all of them slipped away like sand between your fingers. The only thing you could hold onto was that plea. Emily was the reason you even knew what love was.
"I have not been murdering innocent souls." The faintest flicker of hope passed through her eyes, but it was fleeting. Your voice was cold and unyielding. The part of you that belonged to Emily was still failing to speak — and so the Exorcist spoke instead. "I have been performing my duty to Heaven. I have been cleansing the filth from Hell."
Emily's breath caught. She took a step back, as if you had struck her. For a moment, she rose up like a fire finding fuel, blossoming with rage. Her spirit became a matching brand of iron will rising to meet yours. But that iron began to crumble the longer she looked into your eyes.
"But... why? Why would you—" Her eyes darted around the room. "I thought — you always told me that the Exorcists were here to protect us. You told me you guarded Heaven, trained for the day evil might try to rise against it. How is this—" Her voice broke. The anger and fire dwindled to embers. She was angry, more than you had ever seen. But she was hurt, too, and what stood before her now was not something she could bring herself to burn, no matter how high the blaze inside her rose.
"It was forbidden. By Adam and Sera's decree," you continued, your voice like stone. It was the only part of you that was holding steady. The rest felt as if it could shatter at the slightest touch. "I could not tell anyone. Not even you."
"Not even me." Emily repeated. Her eyes flickered shut. Tears still trickled down her cheeks, but her expression had gone numb. When they opened again, it was with a sense of finality. "But you knew what I would say. You had to know what I would think of this. My duty is to care for mortals! I care about them. And I have never limited that compassion to just those who make it here!"
"Your duty is to guide and nurture those who are worthy of Heaven. My duty is to eliminate those who are beyond salvation." Your grip on the spear tightened. A faint tremor ran through the weapon. "My duty is to keep you safe, by eliminating threats—"
"What threats?!" Emily's voice cracked. "They're in Hell! They have no power up here! They can't hurt us! You're just — just killing them for fun, for pride, for no reason at all!" The room trembled as she raised her voice, the air rippling with her distress. A wide eye of sapphire and frenzy rippled open on her chest, her Seraphic nature shining through as her turbulent emotions surged. "I don't understand. How could you keep this secret for so long? No matter what your orders were. Did you convince yourself that I would be okay with this? Or — or did you just not care about how I feel?"
You had no answer for that. Or rather, you did, but it was not one that would ease her pain. The decree on the secrecy of the Exterminations was more than a rule to you.
It was permission. Permission to lie, to hide, to hold close the secret that would have driven away the only person you had come to care about who you did not call sister or commander. It was an excuse to avoid having this conversation. It meant you never had to explain your duties, never had to reconcile the truth of what you were with the image Emily believed in. It meant you never had to face her reaction, or the possibility that she would never see you the same way again.
It meant you never had to consider the possibility that she might leave you.
Your grip on the spear faltered. Not a drop — just a slight loosening, the barest give in fingers that had not relaxed since she walked through the door. Emily noticed. She always noticed.
"I didn't ask for this, Emily." You forced the words out, each one feeling like a hot coal dropped on your tongue. "I never asked for you to teach me about these feelings I never understood. I didn't ask for you to show me parts of myself I had never been able to see before. To give me all these experiences that I never knew I needed until you shared them with me."
Emily looked at you in contemplative silence. Her wings fluttered once, then drooped to the floor again.
"When we first met, I didn't want to get close to anyone." You reached for the composure your creation had instilled in you, but found it slipping now that you needed it most. The weight of memories bore down on you, chasing away the certainty of your convictions. "I... I tried to turn you away when you first spoke to me. I thought it was a distraction, so I tried to chase you off. Many, many times. But you were the most stubborn, most impossible angel I had ever met." Your eyes finally fell from hers, settling on the polished floor at her feet. "And eventually, I... I stopped pushing you away. I stopped wanting you to leave me alone."
Emily shook her head, eyes full of tears that formed faster than they could fall. Her voice was soft, shaking with each syllable. "I thought it was more than that. I thought you loved me."
"I do." The words came reflexively, but they weren't weak — they weren't a token response. You meant it. You had never meant anything more. "I love you, Emily."
"How?" Her question was a demand and a plea, desperate for something to make sense of a world that had been so thoroughly upended. "How can you love me and still be able to do something so — so awful? How can you love someone while knowing that they would be horrified if they saw the things you do?!"
Silence. You had no answer for that. What answer could you possibly give? That her love was something beyond your comprehension? That you didn't know how she had made you feel this way, and that it was the only thing in the world you would never, ever want to lose?
"I didn't ask for this."
"You already said—"
"I didn't — I didn't choose this!" You cut her off, your voice louder, angrier than you meant it to be. But it was true. "I didn't choose to be an Exorcist. It was my duty, my destiny. I was created for this purpose by Sera and Adam's own hands! Every part of me was designed for this. My mind, my body, my will — all of them were forged to be exactly the warrior that Heaven needed! The impurities were beaten from me before I knew my own name! I am an Exorcist. I never chose it. But it is who I am."
"But you don't have to be. We can all change, even angels." Emily's voice was quiet again, fragile. "You could have left. You could have chosen not to go. You could have done anything else."
"Maybe I could have. But I didn't." The spear in your hand lowered, the tip coming to rest on the floor. "It is my duty. My purpose. It's who I am."
"Then who am I to you?" Emily's question was soft, barely more than a whisper. "Because I don't think I can be with someone who sees the world that way. Someone who... who does those things. It's too much. It's everything I stand against."
"Emily... I wish that I could." You tried to prove it to her. It took everything you had, every ounce of will and freedom she had blessed you with. Your fingers unclenched and the spear fell from your grip, clattering to the floor. The sound echoed in the suffocating silence that followed. Emily didn't flinch, didn't move. She just stared at you. Her expression did not shift. She had no hope left for you.
You grieved for the part of you that was broken by that realization.
"Please." Her voice broke. "If you love me... please don't go down there again. Don't be part of this. You can be so much more than this."
Your jaw clenched. "I have no other choice."
"You do." She pleaded, despite the dimming light in her watery gaze. "You can choose not to. You can choose to be better. For me. For the souls who don't deserve to die."
Your wings twitched. The desire to reach out and hold her, to promise anything she asked, was overwhelming. But you couldn't. She was wrong — there was no choice. There never had been.
"Emily, if I abandon my duty, I'll be cast out by Adam and Lute. I'll fall. Just like Vaggie." Your voice was hoarse, the words clawing their way free. Speaking Vaggie's name aloud felt like a confession unto itself. "And then I'll be in Hell. And I'll still lose you."
Emily's breath hitched. Her eyes fluttered shut, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. "Please. There has to be another way. We can find it together."
The words were on your lips. You almost promised you'd stay. You wanted to shout for all the Heavens to hear that you believed her — believed the angel who had shown you there was more to life than duty and that there were things that could make you smile besides fresh bloodshed. You wanted to take her hand, to tell her you'd do anything, run away with her and never look back.
"I can't." The words were a death sentence for the life you had built. You pierced her heart with them the same way your spear would pierce a sinner. Efficient. Clinical. Necessary. "It's a false choice. If I go, I lose you. If I stay, I lose you. The only difference is... if I go, I know that what I'm doing will protect you. Even if you never speak to me again, I'll know that what I'm doing is making Heaven safer for you." You swallowed hard. "I will do my duty. I will protect Heaven. I will protect you. Even if you hate me for it."
Emily's eyes opened, and the look in them shattered what little resolve you had left. There was no anger remaining — only heartbreak.
"I... I don't want to hate you. I loved you." Her voice was a fragile whisper. All the emotions she had taught you to feel burst in your chest with a simple choice of tense. "But... I don't think I can anymore. Not like this."
The pain of her words was worse than any wound you had ever received in battle. It was a slow, agonizing death of everything you had ever held dear. You had never known how much she meant to you until this moment. Emily had taught you everything you now knew about love, and now she was teaching you how devastating its loss could be.
"...I understand." The words were pathetic. What you felt went beyond understanding. What you felt was akin to watching all of Heaven set ablaze, knowing there was nothing you could do. All while knowing your only choices were to watch it burn or add fuel to the flames.
She turned away, her lower wings dragging across the pristine floor. Her steps were quiet now — not the thunderous rage of earlier. She strode to the door bearing the same heavy certainty that rested over your shoulders. And for all your endless days of training, she bore that weight with more dignity than you ever had. She was stronger than you. She always had been.
"I — I have to leave. I can't be here right now. And I don't... I don't want to see you here when I get back."
With a sharp flare of her wings, she ascended. The rush of air sent the wind chimes into a frenzy, their melodic chiming a mockery of what was being lost as Emily shrank against the horizon. You stepped from the room, strode to the outer door, and watched until she was nothing but a speck of shimmering blue lost against the white clouds and golden light.
With her departure, the very world around you seemed to shift. What had once been a home — warm, shared, and alive — was already cooling, hardening back into the solitary house it had been before she welcomed you in. It was hers alone once more, and you were just an unwelcome guest.
Your legs gave out. You collapsed, your dull gray wings sprawling uselessly against the immaculate white floors you had walked together. You pressed your palms to the ground as a blistering ache tore through your chest. It was the final thing she had gifted you — the last emotion she had taught you to feel: quiet, devastating grief. Tears fell in silent streams, a betrayal of your creation. You had never cried before Emily. Part of you wished you could forget how. Another part never wanted to stop.
Before her, you were only an Exorcist. You knew the thrill of the slaughter, the heat of anger, the cold weight of a spear. Emily had reached into that violence and taught you how to feel something soft. She had made you something more.
Now, rising slowly in the quiet foyer, you felt that softness being violently torn away, leaving a gaping void in its place. Like this house, you were reverting to what you had been before her. But unlike the house, you could not simply empty out and remain whole.
Emily had shown you how to feel incredible things, how to understand parts of yourself you had never known existed. In doing so, she had grown something inside you — the first piece of you that was not merely a product of your creation, your purpose.
And now you understood how to feel its absence for the rest of eternity.
A faint rattling reached your ears, dragging you from the darkest depths of sleep in an instant.
You'd gotten accustomed to sleeping through gunshots, screaming, and even vehicular manslaughter—though you still flinched at the wet crunches when they were gruesome enough. The big noises didn't bother you. They were constant, an ambient part of life in the pit. It was the small ones that mattered. The ones that meant someone was being quiet on purpose.
Your hand swung behind the nightstand on instinct and muscle memory. There was a Carmine .45 fitted to a holster taped to the back panel. You pulled it free and let the weight of it settle against your palm. The feeling of the trigger guard against your fingertip made you feel a little bolder as you eased your bedroom door open with your free hand.
Still dark outside. Only the faint glow of neon city lights filtering in through the curtains. No signs of movement, either. Your nose twitched. No unusual scents. No sweat, no sulfur, no gunpowder, no blood. Your ears twitched as they caught something that could have been a footstep, though it was too faint to be sure.
Robbers? Doubtful, in this shithole. Locals, maybe? Some teens looking for a quick thrill? Seemed unlikely at this hour. Had to be almost three in the morning. Maybe one of the real psychos, out looking for a sacrifice. If that was the case, they were gonna get more than they-
"Holy shit!"
The words weren't yours. They startled you badly enough that the trigger nearly won the argument with your finger. Only raw trigger discipline and the sudden, jarring familiarity of the voice saved your walls from an unscheduled demolition. You stilled yourself, heartrate fluctuating wildly, and focused your eyes on the blob of gray and white in the darkness.
"Motherfuck- <I><B>Loona?!</I></B>"
You fumbled for the light switch with your free hand. The dim overhead bulbs sputtered on, and you finally lowered the gun. In the open doorway at the end of the hall stood a hellhound who had already cycled through surprise, a flicker of genuine fright, and arrived squarely at her usual blend of anger and indignation.
"Seriously? First you're creeping around in the dark – nearly gave me a heart attack, by the way – and then you point a gun at me?" She crossed her arms and continued to glare at you, as if <I>you</I> were the one being unreasonable. As though she hadn't just picked your lock at three in the morning. "Don't know why I even bothered coming here. You're such a mess."
"Oh, you had a reason?" You scowled at her, dipping back into the room just long enough to rest the gun on the table. "That's good, 'cause I'd sure as hell like to know what it was! Girl, it is <I>three in the morning</I>. Why are you breaking into my apartment at this hour? I thought I was getting robbed."
"Breaking in? Please, you left your door unlocked."
You didn't take the bait. You knew with absolute certainty that your door was locked. But pointing that out would've only given her something to argue about, and she'd have ridden that tangent until you forgot what you were actually asking. Your silence got more of a reaction than any rebuttal would have, anyway. She huffed and looked away, scowling.
"I was in the neighborhood, okay? I thought you might actually be happy to see me, but I can see that was a fucking mistake. Didn't even have anything worth raiding in your fridge."
"Babe, you are a lot of things, but a good liar ain't one of them." You let a smirk settle into place at the way her lip curled back at that particular pet name. Maybe it was petty, but getting in the little jabs felt good after having the unholy shit scared out of you. "I know where you live, remember?"
"I didn't say I was taking a casual walk. I said I was in the neighborhood. Can't a girl go out for some fresh air without getting interrogated?" Loona was practically growling now, but there was no real heat to it. "Whatever. It was dumb to think you'd be happy to see me. I should've just kept walking."
She threw her hands up and spun on one heel toward the door. Her strides were long, deliberate, and about half the speed she moved when she was actually angry.
Three steps. Four. Her pace faltered on the fifth, her body swaying with the quiet surprise of having made it that far without being stopped. The recovery was smooth, but you caught it.
"Calm down. C'mon, you came all the way here, and damned if I'm getting to sleep after all this, anyway." Loona stopped on a dime and craned her neck to look back at you, appearing less annoyed at anything you'd said than at how far she'd been allowed to walk. You stepped past her while she was still deciding whether to glare or follow.
She followed.
In the kitchen, you noted that your earlier assessment was on the mark—just shy of three in the morning. Far too late – or at this point too early – to do much proper cooking, and the state of your pantry made the question irrelevant either way. Loona watched you move between cabinets with the same sharp scrutiny you'd directed her way when you nearly shot her.
"Damn. You do actually eat, right?" Loona brows furrowed in the way they did when she was genuinely worried about someone. Irritation draped over the concern like a tarp, concealing it while the shape was still clear underneath. Each time you opened a cabinet to reveal bare shelves and empty boxes, the look grew more pronounced. "Maybe you <I>did</I> get robbed."
"Been working a lot lately. Haven't exactly had time to stock up." The admission made you feel more embarrassed than it should have with Loona there, eyes locked on you as you struggled to even find something to nuke in the microwave. "Wasn't planning on getting raided in the middle of the night."
"You... really are busy lately, huh?"
There was another question underneath that one. You didn't answer either of them. Loona didn't press.
"Gotta be honest with you, unless you want to start chewing through the furniture, might be time for a snack run." You chuckled. She just rolled her eyes.
"I didn't actually come here for the food, dumbass. I just wanted to–" She stopped herself, recalibrated. "Whatever. I'm not gonna sit here and watch you starve."
She didn't object when you walked past her toward the front door. Her shoes were on before you'd finished lacing yours, and she followed you out into the night without a word.
The streets of Pentagram City at three in the morning had a particular quality to them. Not quiet — Hell was never truly quiet — but thinned out, stripped down to the essentials. The neon still bled across every surface, reds and pinks pooling in the gutters like something alive, but the crowds that usually choked the sidewalks had retreated to wherever crowds went when the night got serious.
What was left were the people who had reasons to be out at this hour, and none of those reasons were good.
Loona was always fearless in these streets. You were a healthy mixture of brave and paranoid. But you both let your postures unclench a little more than usual as you went, your strides falling into sync without discussion. There was a specific kind of reassurance in having someone warm at your side who could handle themselves.
"So what's got you up at this hour, let alone wandering Pentagram City?" You waited until you were a few blocks from home, after you'd checked for a tail but before the neon and noise could swallow the conversation.
"I told you." Loona shrugged, keeping her snout forward. "I wound up in this part of town. No big deal. With all the weird hours you've been working, I thought maybe you'd still be awake. And you know I hate feeling cooped up. Maybe I just wanted to get out of the house for a while."
"Maybe." You mirrored her shrug. You said it in the way that only the two of you could - the way that meant you didn't believe her for a second, but you'd let her have it all the same.
"Where are we even going?" The lilt in her voice made you think she really hadn't considered the question until then. That she'd followed you out the door without a care for the destination. "I don't know what shitholes are open at this hour around here."
"Not many restaurants to begin with. How do you feel about some sketchy convenience burgers?"
Her lip curled. It might've made you laugh, if you weren't running on fumes.
"Don't worry. I've been in this neighborhood a while; I know the places you can go without getting shot, and I know the ones you can go without winding up hunched over a toilet <I>wishing</I> you got shot."
"Real appetizing." She gave you an exasperated look from the corner of her eye. "Just make sure it's edible. Don't worry about me — I've got a strong stomach. Hounds like me don't last long without one."
The weight of that landed between you, quiet and familiar, and neither of you flinched away from it. The atmosphere didn't shift. You both carried things. Sometimes a sentence like that was just the corner of something heavier peeking out from where it had been buried, and the kindest thing to do was acknowledge it without digging.
She even smiled at you after the moment of nostalgic grief passed. It was a small smile, but it was one of the rare ones. The real ones.
"Besides, burgers over pizza? C'mon. I thought you weren't <I>totally</I> hopeless."
"Hey, at least you can drown out a bad burger with enough sauce. Pizza's just gonna be pizza."
"That is the worst take I've ever heard. You can't fuck up pizza so bad you can't at least—"
"Wolf it down?"
"I will fucking <I>end</I> you."
</ hr>
The sight nearly brought you both to tears — you from laughter, Loona from something akin to grief. She pressed a palm on the edge of the convenience store counter, gripping it hard enough to crack and splinter the cheep veneer.
"Who the fuck eats this shit?" Loona's voice was half a snarl, her fangs showing as she gestured with her entire palm toward the spinning dish. "Why is there vegetarian pizza in Hell?!"
"Probably because it's Hell."
You snickered as her exaggerated resentment turned into a colder kind of hatred. The kind that turned her white irises to an icy tundra as she weight the pros and cons of your friendship. You waited with arms crossed, smirk never faltering. After a few seconds, the appraisal came up in your favor, as it always did. Loona grumbled, and she shoved your shoulder as she wandered past, but she made a jerking gesture for you to follow.
You trailed her all the way down to the burgers, where she picked through the late-night offerings with the enthusiasm of someone defusing a bomb. After giving the vegetarian options a look of pure, distilled hatred, she settled on the simplest options, meat and cheese with as few avenues to spoilage as possible. Gas station bacon always sounded like a better idea than it ended up being—and it rarely sounded pleasant to begin with.
"Alright, you win," she finally grunted, turning toward the condiment bar. "Raw meat and stale burgers it is."
"You might wish it was raw when you see how dry it is."
She didn't appreciate the reassurance.
The silence as the two of you worked to bury the almost-edible pickings beneath a dozen flavors of dressing and cheap garnish was unusually pleasant. The usual three-in-the-morning malaise — the kind that came with eating alone under fluorescent lights, replaying every bad decision that had led you to this exact counter — was notably absent. Perhaps it was because you hadn't woken from a nightmare, often the only thing strong enough to compel you away from your home at this hour. Or perhaps it was the soft padding of paws beside you that made the eerily silent aisles of the convenience store a little cozier, a little less like the lulling quiet before a strike.
"Hold up." Loona stopped in her tracks halfway to the counter. Her eyes were narrowing with a sort of anticipatory regret, a feeling that seemed to grow with each passing moment. "If I'm going to choke these things down, I need something to help me forget it. You want any?"
Your eyes flicked to the back bays of the cooler, the bargain barrel beers that were only marginally more trustworthy than the food. "You've got a pretty long way to walk home. Maybe you should–"
"I'm grabbing a six pack, not getting shitfaced." She shoved her burgers into your arms none too gently. A smearing of sauce oozed out of the wrapper and plopped to the floor. "I'll take that as a no. Go find the cashier, I'll be right up."
She was already halfway down the aisle before you could respond, her stride fueled by reflexive irritation. You carried the haul to the counter and tapped the service bell.
A door swung open behind the register at the same moment you heard the cooler hiss. Glass clinked softly as Loona made her selection, and a different hellhound — shorter, with patchy black, white, and brown fur — stepped up to the counter.
You bit back a wince as you recognized her. One of the regular workers. And you, one of the regulars on her shift. Apathy led the way as she approached, but something warmer followed closely in its footsteps as her eyes moved from the burgers to you. She offered a tired smile and began scanning items with the fluid, practiced disinterest that only a true veteran of the service industry could achieve.
"Been seeing you a lot lately." Her voice was warm despite the exhaustion in her eyes. She hadn't bothered with a nametag, but her voice brought back a name offered once in passing — Olivia? Ophelia? Something with an O. "Hungry tonight, huh?"
"Eating for two." She laughed - your meaning had been missed, taken for a joke. Not a funny one, but she laughed all the same.
"Well, hey, don't sweat it. A couple extra pounds ain't gonna ruin somebody like you," she rumbled, giggling a little as she worked a few buttons on the outdated register. "Figured when I got stuck with this shift I'd be dealing with the real freaks, I have to admit. Glad to know at least one person running around the block at this time of night can make my night a little better. Twenty-two sixty-four, sweetie, and come back anytime."
"Yeah, how 'bout you add these and take a couple steps back?" Loona walked up to the counter and tossed the six-pack onto the counter so abruptly you were surprised the glass didn't break. She laid her palms on the edge of the counter, leaning far enough forward to put herself firmly in Olivia's space. "I can smell the desperation over the fryer grease."
The cashier's expression cycled through several stages of a response she couldn't afford to voice. What emerged was a smile stretched so tight it was practically vibrating.
"Of course." She scanned the six-pack with exaggerated care, then turned the scanner toward you. "Paying for both, sir?"
The question had nothing to do with the beer and burgers. Both possible answers hung in the air like a dare.
"I'm paying." Loona shouldered you aside before you could respond, her eyes locked on the cashier as she positioned herself squarely in front of the register.
"Oh, my mistake." The cashier met Loona's stare with the calm, measured fearlessness of someone who had fantasized about hitting a customer for years and was quietly evaluating whether tonight was the night. "I just assumed you couldn't hold a job with an attitude like that."
Loona's eye twitched — the same twitch you'd last seen at a party, right before someone lost a fistful of freshly-dyed hair. "Matter of fact, I've got a great job. I kill people for a living."
"Sweetie, this is Hell." The cashier's voice kept its velvet smoothness, though you caught the way she shifted her weight backward. "Who doesn't?"
Loona wanted her throat. She settled for the win. Her claws punctured the plastic of her card as she wrenched it from her wallet — four fresh holes joining a constellation of old ones. She was, apparently, an angry shopper.
The transaction concluded with the brittle civility of a ceasefire. The cashier's parting smile lingered on you a beat too long, and Loona noticed — she always noticed — but she held her tongue until you were through the doors.
At least, until you were <I>almost</I> through the doors.
"Can you <I>believe</I> the nerve of that bitch?" Loona seethed before the doors were closed, her voice raised to make sure it was the last thing Olivia would hear before they slid shut once more. "If she threw herself at you any harder, you'd be ducking to avoid venereal disease!"
"I think you might be overreacting."
"Oh, trust me, I know girls like that," Loona swore. One of the beers was already in hand. The cap clattered to the concrete as she popped it with a claw. "And why was she acting so familiar with you, anyway?"
"She recognized me." The admission cost you nothing, but Loona's expression said she was charging a higher price. "Not a lot of night shift workers. She's probably there six, seven days a week."
"Oh, you know her <I>schedule</I> now?"
"Yeah. I do." You shrugged. "It's my schedule too, lately."
That landed differently than she expected. The jealousy in her expression flinched, knocked off-balance by the reminder of what your life actually looked like these days.
"Shit. Right." Loona took a long pull from the bottle, and when she spoke again, the edge had dulled. "You've probably been eating those nasty-ass burgers for weeks. Christ. Buy some groceries. Do meal prep. Something, you dumbass."
You let your attention drift from the dark corners and the alley mouths you'd been scanning on reflex. Not for long — never for long — but enough to catch the way she tilted her head, the angle of her shoulders, the slight turn of her body away from you. Loona never apologized without sarcasm, but she had other ways of saying it when it mattered.
"That's not a bad idea, actually." Your gaze returned to the street before she could catch you looking. "You any better at cooking than I am?"
"Ah." A beat passed. "Maybe we just, y'know, get you an air fryer. Or something."
"We? Awful generous of you to offer your hard-earned paycheck like that." You grinned at her, showing a little extra fang. "Gonna share some of that blood money with me, you big strong killer?"
The elbow she buried in your ribs nearly put you in traffic.
</ hr>
The clatter of bottles in your fridge announced Loona's return from putting the beer away. She crossed the apartment in four strides and threw herself onto the couch without regard for the fact that you were already sitting on it. Her calves landed in your lap, heavy and unapologetic, and she spent a few seconds squirming into position among the throw pillows on the other end before settling with a huff.
"Yeah, sure thing, make yourself right at home."
"Thanks. I will." She drowned out any further commentary by unwrapping her burger with maximum volume, crinkling the paper until you surrendered. All the complaints she'd lodged about the food on the walk home evaporated the moment she took the first bite. Her jaw worked with the efficiency of someone who had stopped caring about dignity several hours ago.
"Told you I had good taste." You took your own first bite, then immediately reconsidered. "...Decent taste. Good as it gets in Hell at three in the morning."
Loona made a grunt that could've either been agreement, or a demand for silence. Either way, the TV came on, giving the two of you something to do other than prod at each other. You settled into something that neither of you had a name for, something neither of you were eager to name.
It was nice. And different. Different than sneaking off into the night for some party. Different than when you invited her over, too. That always came with the odd sense of pressure, the unspoken weight of <I>planning</I> to spend time together, and planning meant something was supposed to happen - what that was, you were never sure, but it always felt like whatever you were doing wasn't it.
This had no pressure, no schedule. She'd broken into your house at three in the morning. Now you were eating terrible burgers together, her legs were splayed across your lap, and neither of you were pretending this was anything resembling normal—and somehow, that made it feel right.
Loona finished her food first. She balled up the wrapper and tossed it onto the coffee table with the accuracy of someone who didn't care whether it landed, then sank deeper into the pillows and let out a breath that seemed to take something with it. Some of the tension in her calves loosened against your thighs.
A while passed. A half hour, maybe more. The television murmured through segments neither of you were really watching. Occasionally one of you would make a comment — a jab at someone on-screen, a noise of disbelief at a particularly bad take — but the silences between grew longer and more comfortable after each of them.
You brought it up during one of those silences, when the energy felt right.
"So. You want to tell me what actually had you out at this hour?"
"It's nothing." The reflex came first, denial as natural as breathing. Her eyes stayed on the TV, but they weren't glazed over by the dull monotony of mindless television anymore. They were thoughtful, and chasing after something she wasn't quite sure whether or not to share. "I just... haven't been sleeping great lately. I get in my head at night, and then I can't get back down. Stupid brain stuff. Figured I'd be better off doing something productive with my time."
You could've asked what kind of thoughts. You could've questioned what was so productive about wandering Pentagram City in the dark. But you'd learned the hard way that when Loona opened a door like this, you didn't get to widen it — you just stood in the frame and let her decide how far it swung.
"Yeah, I get that. Sometimes you gotta get up and do something, or you'll just go crazy." You pondered for a moment, then decided against pulling on the threads of old wounds - yours or hers. Your hand rested on her calf for the first time since she'd put her legs across your lap. She didn't comment on it. From her, that was warmth.
"Yeah. Yeah, something like that," Loona murmured. This time there was no regret. She nestled deeper into the pillows, shifted her legs slightly on your lap, and went quiet once more.
At some point, the silence changed, in the subtle way that something cast aside can take on new meaning - slowly, over time, often without anyone else noticing. The network programming shifted to bad reality TV. When no acerbic commentary came from the other end of the couch, you glanced over.
Loona was asleep.
Her breathing had gone deep and even. She'd sunk so far into the pillows that her head had barely shifted when sleep took her, and the tension that lived permanently in her shoulders – the kind that came from a lifetime of bracing for the next bad thing – had finally gone slack. Her legs were warm and heavy in your lap, still save for the occasional twitch.
You looked at the clock. Close to five.
You had work later today. Escort duty for some Greed Ring suit with more money than sense. You were going to pay for this — the missed sleep, the shitty food sitting in your stomach, the inevitable fog behind your eyes when you needed to be sharp. Things always went sideways in Pentagram City, and they had a particular fondness for going sideways on days when you couldn't afford it.
You didn't move. You turned the volume down two notches, settled a little deeper into the cushion, and let her have what she'd come looking for, whether she'd admit to it or not.
"...Rest easy, girl."
</ hr>
She woke the way she'd fallen asleep — subtly, at first. A light twitch of one paw, a twist of the neck, a general flexing and tensing across her figure. Then the conscious part of Loona came online, and the gradual stirring became a sudden jolt, arms braced against the cushions as she pushed herself upright.
"Ah, I- where- <I>fuck</I>." Her voice was thick with sleep, her snout twitching as she assembled the scattered pieces of the last several hours. It came back in fragments—your apartment, the walk, the store, the couch. You watched the reconstruction play across her face, each new detail arriving with a faint wince, until the full picture resolved into a look that landed somewhere between embarrassment and defiance.
"Morning, sunshine." It wasn't entirely meant as a joke. Hell was never exactly 'dark', but the quality of the light was shifting toward what passed as dawn down here.
"Oh, fuck off." Loona flipped you off, and a laugh danced at the edge of your lips. You hadn't gotten the opportunity to see her wake up often - only a handful of times after a late night getaway turned into an overnight getaway. The sight of pillow creases in the fur around her cheeks brought the laugh to life in full.
"My house, you fuck off." She acknowledged the point with a ragged, grumpy grunt.
"Bite me. I'm going home."
"Just like that?"
"Yeah." She swung her legs off your lap — and there was a beat, barely a full second, where her movement stalled. Not hesitation, exactly. More like the brief resistance of something that had settled into place and didn't want to be disturbed. She pushed through it and stood. "Just like that."
The ease from the night before hadn't faded on its own. She was packing it away deliberately, brick by brick, rebuilding the walls with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done it a thousand times. But her eyes drifted to the pillows. To the indent she'd left. They lingered a beat too long.
"Want a ride?"
"Are you serious?" You were. She snorted. "Get a grip, dude. You're about to pass out. Besides, I can handle myself. Practically the middle of the day now, anyway."
You didn't argue. The practical case for the ride was obvious, but the tension in her body told you this wasn't about practicality.
"Whatever. You want any more burgers at three in the morning, you know where to find me."
She paused at the door. Just long enough for you to see it — the familiar blend of appreciation and irritation that always made your day a little better.
"Yeah, thanks." She pulled the door open. "If I wanna wake up with my mouth tasting like grease and regret, I always know where to go."
Neither of you said goodbye. Not with words, at least. The farewells came in snappy comments, rude gestures, and the way your gazes intertwined with one another until the very moment the door tore them apart.
Then you were alone. Early in the morning, with a handful of hours left to pull yourself together before dealing with someone almost as frustrating as Loona... and not half as interesting.
"Shit, girl."
Two words, carrying more than they had any right to. You shook your head and wandered to the kitchen. You'd been thirsty for close to an hour, but you hadn't moved — hadn't wanted to risk disturbing her, hadn't wanted to trade the warm weight across your legs for a glass of water.
When you opened the refrigerator, you were greeted by something you'd nearly forgotten. Five cheap, gas-station beers stared back at you. The remnants of a six-pack bought for comfort — to dull the edge of whatever was rattling around in her skull at three in the morning, keeping her up and pushing her out into the streets. And she hadn't touched it since she'd chugged the first in a moment of jealousy.
You smiled. Debated cracking one of them open, decided against it, reached for a bottle of water instead. Five beers. Five reasons to come back.
The reverberation of angelic steel rang out in time with the frantic beats of your heart. Blood pulsed through every muscle as you stepped, swung, and danced the only dance you had ever known. Across from you, Vaggie mirrored every movement, always a little more smoothly. Your wings fluttered with each step, just enough to lighten your weight as you traced the white boundary lines, your feet shimmying along the edges, clinging on to the ground you were desperately trying to hold.
It was always the same when you got paired up with Vaggie. She was one of the best. Maybe <I>the</I> best, not that Lute would ever admit it if she were. Her footwork was clean, her mind focused, her precision-
"Ah!"
Your attempt at a dodge backfired. You twisted to the side, and what had been a feint managed to catch your arm as you spun. A jagged line of gold blazed from elbow to wrist, swelling and pooling as angelic essence began to drip onto the floor below.
"Your point," you grumbled as you stepped over that taunting white line. Vaggie waited in the center of the ring, the butt of her spear planted against the ground. Around you, Exorcists mimicked your dance or weaved their own, throwing themselves against one another with frenzied purpose.
"Thirteen to two." Vaggie broadcast the score through tight lips, a flat tone with only simple truth behind it. Anger still flared within you at the reminder. "You want to call it there for the night?"
You scowled, tightened the cloth a little too much around your wound, felt the pulse in your veins shift as your body griped about the shift in bodily pressure. You weren't sure why angels had a pulse. Or blood.
You'd thought to ask why once, a very long time ago. These days, you knew better. Things were the way they were, because that was how they always had been, and how they always would be. Fulfillment in simplicity.
"Absolutely not," you seethed. "We're finishing out the round."
"You think you can make up an eleven point lead?" The clinical way she said it, the fact that she was every bit as confident in your defeat as you were, as you had been the moment you stepped into the ring...
"Even if I can't, I'll make sure I outdo you this year." Your taunt got a reaction, slight as it was. The barest curl of one corner of her lips, the sudden sight of the confidence only a woman of her caliber deserved to hold.
"Pretty sure you said that the last three years, too." Vaggie's grin grew in direct proportion to your scowl. As you stepped over those familiar white lines and lifted your spear into a ready position, your eyes found hers at the moment you lunged. Gold met gold at the moment steel met steel, emotions exchanged as forcefully as blows.
You hated her.
You loathed that she was always superior to you, always faster, always stronger, always more skilled.
You abhorred how every move she made, every strike of her spear, every disciplined step, made it so easy to admire the flawlessness that hadn't just been drilled into her, but carved into her very being.
You detested how she never acted like it, never held it over you, never made it easy to spurn her, much less to forget her.
You despised how every time you looked at her, beneath the blaze of anger and jealousy, there was always a spark. Always something that made it worth every wound, every loss, every year you were surpassed yet again, if only for the sake of seeing that unbreakable woman at her finest, whether covered in the blood of sinners or the sweat of a hard day's work. A warmth that wasn't quite familiar to you in such a context—that sort of feeling came from slaughter, from divine justice. Not from quiet moments with a sister in arms.
You must have hated her.
You didn't know what else it could be.
</ hr>
The day of Extermination came again. For the fourth time, every Exorcist was assembled, every spear was sharp and ready. Adam's speech was as rousing and explicit as ever, shouting high praise to 'his girls' as he paraded about on stage, proclaiming the joys and divine duty that was about to be unleashed on the unworthy sinners below. Your grip tightened around the spear until your knuckles were as white as the clouds of Heaven, your pulse echoing in your ears like war drums to the rhythm of his boisterous speech.
Then the moment came. Adam lifted his hands and cried out, ordering all of you to "tear them a new hole for every sin" as a cluster of golden portals rippled into existence. The assembly hall's ceiling vanished, replaced by viewports into the hedonistic and wretched lands below, shades of red coloring the pale blues and whites of Heaven's architecture.
Your teeth clenched hard enough to shatter diamonds, every muscle in your body tensing in the instant before you kicked off, launching yourself through the nearest portal. A battle cry escaped your lips, wordless and frenzied. Your wings beat with all the force they could muster, propelling you ahead, faster with each sweep of their glorious feathers. You forced every ounce of strength into them, trying to beat Vaggie to the hellscape below.
You didn't succeed. But you would never stop trying.
The next few hours blurred into a glorious mess. The blacks and grays of your Exorcist uniform became stained with blacks and crimsons as the eternal filth of hell accumulated. Your spear never dulled, but its glisten did wane as layer after layer of dried blood slowly caked along its length. More than once, you had to break not out of exhaustion, but merely to clean off the haft of it so that your grip wouldn't fail at an important moment.
Those breaks were dangerous, though. They gave you time to think. To feel the weight slowly accumulating in you, bit by bit, as the day dragged on.
There was a gradual weariness that seeped into you over the course of every Extermination since the first. Not the fatigue of physical exhaustion, but the weight of it all, the repetition of endlessly culling these desolate souls, carving a path through the worst of Hell.
At times, something like doubt began to creep in at the corners of your mind. It all felt a bit pointless at times. There were a few hundred Exorcists now; even if you could all match Vaggie and Lute for sheer efficiency – a thought that curled the edges of your wicked grin just to imagine it – there were always more sinners. Millions more every year.
You didn't quite question the glory, the valor, the righteousness of what you were doing. But sometimes, when you recognized a street, when you realized you had cleared the very same block last year only to find it overflowing with wicked souls once more, you started to wonder if it truly served a purpose or not. And that usually started even more dangerous thoughts. The kind that could only be washed away with the blood of the unclean.
You grunted with frustration as you wiped away some of that very blood. The tattered remains of a sinner's shirt fell from your grip, along with a half-congealed mass of ichor and crimson essence. Eager to be free of the now-barren street, your wings carried you skyward once more, searching for more targets, searching for something to focus on besides your growing revulsion with these unworthy monstrosities.
You coasted over the rooftops, looking for any straggling sinners that had not yet found a place to barricade themselves away. A blur of motion down one of the streets caught your attention. A target. A small one, but a target nevertheless. The LED lights on your mask gnarled into something ferocious, and a tilt of your wings angled you down toward the movement below.
But you were too slow. When it came to her, you always were.
Vaggie swooped in before you, leaving you to land awkwardly on the ledge of a nearby roof, snarling as Vaggie cornered the little sinner. It was a child, or so it seemed from a distance, but you could never be too sure with sinners. Vaggie followed the little bow-tied monster around a building, harried him into an alley, and approached with spear raised and wings flexed.
"Another one? Damn, she's on fire this year."
Your eyes drifted to the source of the voice. Adam and Lute—personally watching over Vaggie's performance.
"One of our best, sir. You trained her well." Lute's dutiful tone did a good job of burying her own pride beneath admiration for your commander.
"Fuck yeah I did! She didn't miss a beat. The little ones are always so fuckin' hard to pin down," Adam continued, fists clenched, body posed as if he were cheering for the encore. "Get em, Vag!"
Your teeth clenched at the reminder of how much attention she drew from the leadership. You turned away, eager to find something to kill, something to take the edge off of your inadequacy. But as you tensed for liftoff, the strange stillness of the moment finally registered in your mind.
*"No screams. No splatter. No flight."*
A part of you hoped to see her struggling—to see a child somehow getting the best of your sister-in-arms. What you saw was better, worse, and so far beyond anything you'd ever considered to be a possibility.
You were too far away to hear the words, but the body language was clear. Vaggie's spear, lowered. Her body positioned to the side of the alley to leave room. The child running off as fast as his little legs could carry him, without a single sign of pursuit.
*"Vaggie. What the fuck are you doing?"*
The words that echoed in your mind might well have come out of Adam's mouth at the same moment. You weren't quite sure; whatever he *did* say was lost in the scream that pierced the air. Not the scream of a sinner, slain in holy retribution for their misdeeds. Vaggie's scream. Vaggie's piercing, agonized scream.
"Sinful <I>filth</I> like you has no place in Heaven!"
Time dilated, stretched out into the horizon at such length you could see each second passing with absolute clarity. You had always wanted to see Vaggie fail, to falter, to finally feel like you were as good as she was, to feel like you were worthy of being addressed by the same title. You fantasized about it. But it was never like this. Chewed out, reprimanded, humiliated. Not...
<I>Not this.</I>
You didn't realize that you were flying again until your shoulder collided with Lute's at full velocity. She cried out from shock more than pain as she was launched fully off her feet, carried away from Vaggie and into a nearby wall. The force of the impact was enough to crack brick.
"Hey! What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Adam's voice came from above. His golden wings were stark against the crimson sky as he descended. Your blood was running hotter than ever, but a chill rippled through you at his tone. That tone meant discipline. Meant pain, meant lessons forged in tears and screaming.
"Come on, get it together! You're better than this, Vaggie!" The words were desperate, charged with emotions you'd never heard felt so strongly—it jarred you to realize the words were your own. "Get up! Move!"
Vaggie stared at you with a deep, unsettled sort of fear. You didn't wait for her to figure it out. You knelt at her side, hooked your elbow around hers, and yanked her into a dead sprint. The clarity of the moment was gone now. Everything felt like a blur; the brick walls you were passing by, the landscape around you, even your own thoughts.
But your bodies were honed, disciplined, forged in the light of Heaven and the fires of Hell. Even Vaggie, her face covered in golden ichor and her expression darkened with the shock of what had just happened, was still running at full pace in moments. And as soon as the two of you had gotten your running start, your wings beat in unison, accelerating into the blood-red skies with all the haste and furious urgency that every muscle could conjure working in unison.
"Get the fuck back here, right now! I'm not done with you!"
"Miserable ingrates! You're nothing but fallen traitors now!"
Adam and Lute chased after you furiously, and Lute nearly caught you. Only Vaggie's infallible reflexes saved you; she deflected the tip of Lute's spear before it could pierce your shoulder. The time Lute spent recovering from the loss of altitude gave you just enough of a breather to regain speed and disappear among the high-rises.
The two of you didn't stop, even after Lute and Adam seemed to have given up the pursuit. You continued soaring, sprinting, and hiding in desperate silence until the time came—the bells tolled, the portals opened, and the way back to Heaven presented itself to the Exorcists once again.
You and Vaggie found yourselves grounded this time. Your golden eyes fixed on the distant sky as everyone the two of you had ever called a friend, a comrade, flew off into the glistening gateways... and then vanished as the way was sealed behind them. The sound of flames and crumbling buildings filled the air, but there was a stillness in the air, an awareness of safety that you hadn't felt since the rooftop.
"Why the <I>fuck</I> did you do that?!" You screamed abruptly, turning to Vaggie with an infuriated scowl. "Why did you fuck it all up, Vaggie?!"
"I-I couldn't just kill a kid!" Vaggie protested, though she didn't look any more certain about it than you. "It was just one sinner. I'm still- I was still-"
"You were supposed to be the best of us!" Your words were accusation and plea in one. Your hands clenched around the collar of Vaggie's uniform desperately, every muscle tensed, but not sure whether to shove her away or pull her into you. "Why would you throw it all away over a sinner?!"
"W-why did you come to help me?"
The question stilled your wrath, blanketed your helpless verbal lashing. Your fingers remained curled around her collar, but your grip loosened.
"I don't, I mean," you stuttered. You tried to reassert control, to clench tighter, but your extremities were starting to go numb. "You're my- my sister in battle."
"Not anymore," Vaggie whispered in the lull left by your tangled thoughts. "I'm not an Exorcist. I'm a fallen angel now."
"...Me too."
Your grip released as the realization and consequences started to truly settle over you. Your hands fell to your sides, limp. Your gaze slowly swiveled skyward, traced its way across the space where the portals had been just moments ago.
"I can't- I can't go back," you whispered. "I'll never see Heaven again."
The spear fell from your grip, clattering to the ground with a rattle that was cacophonous in the void left after the Extermination. Your heart felt as empty as your grip as you stared into the endless red of Hell's sky, broken only by the accursed moon and the distant, divine sphere of Heaven itself.
"What do I do now?"
You weren't sure who your question was directed at. God, perhaps, though you couldn't imagine the Almighty seeing fit to answer a renegade Exorcist, an angel that had violated their vows, defiled their duty, turned their back on the divine will of Heaven. Stretched out before you now was not a lifetime of duty and honor, but an eternity in the very pit you had been created to cull away, the den of inequity and malice that only existed to confine and be rid of those unworthy of true grace.
Vaggie's hand found yours, slipping into the gap left by your fallen weapon.
"I don't know what happens next," Vaggie admitted. "But, whatever happens..."
Her voice was weak. Uncertain. But her grip was tight, and it felt warm. You looked into her eyes – eye – and saw the truth of it. She was as broken as you were. As lost as you were. But beneath that, she was as strong as ever. Still stronger than you, even now, even here.
Religious Reader [More than the usual tones of Hazbin Hotel]
A warrior was a well-engineered machine, both body and mind. Nigh infallible, able to function in even the most trying of environments. Lute was among their finest, their most disciplined. That is how she was able to stay so composed. Why, even after her disgrace, even in this despicable hotel, she could find inner peace and tranquility, a calm that could not be-
Three quick taps, bright and cheerful, shattered Lute's expression into a twitching mask of fury. Her golden eyes shone with bloodlust as her neck twisted toward the door.
"The fuck do you want?!" She snarled. "Aren't you supposed to be busy with some dumb group project?"
"Hey, Lute. Nice to hear from you. So, um, I have just maybe an *eeeeeensy* little favor to ask…" A resounding crack echoed from somewhere in Lute's neck as her whole body tightened. A heavy pause hung in the air before a whisper slipped under the door. "...Vaggie, are you sure-"
"Of course I'm not sure. I still think we should leave her out there to fend for herself," Vaggie replied immediately. "But if she's going to be freeloading here, she better at least make herself useful."
"I can hear you."
"Wasn't trying to be quiet," Vaggie shot back. "Look, we need another body for the partner exercise today."
"One of you do it then!" Lute's perfectly rational suggestion was immediately shot down by the maddening duo.
"It's a scavenger hunt; we can't do that! It'd basically ruin the whole thing." Habit drove Lute to reach for a weapon she no longer wore; the Lightbringer's daughter was so exasperatingly enthusiastic about *everything*, and it maddened the former Exorcist. "We think it would be good for you, too! It'll help you get to know Pentagram City a bit better."
"I have absolutely no desire to learn the layout of your quite literally God-forsaken city," Lute spat. "Ask one of your miserable friends to fill in."
"Niffty doesn't do well with cameras, and I'm pretty sure Husk and Angel are– no, you know what? This is ridiculous."
The sound of a key in the lock brought Lute to stand just as the door was thrown open. The Princess of Hell and her treasonous girlfriend stood with unamused looks. Only Charlie even bothered with a semblance of appeasement; Vaggie's spear was in her hand, and she looked fully prepared to use it. Perhaps even eager. The thought of wrenching it out of her hands and turning it against her crossed Lute's mind... and was begrudgingly discarded. For practical reasons, she assured herself.
"Look, we're not asking for much. We just don't want to make anyone feel left out, and you're... kind of the only option," Vaggie said grudgingly. "It's a two-hour trip, tops. Walk the streets, snap some pictures, you're done. We won't bother you for a week if you do."
"We'll even make you your favorite dinner as a treat! Pick anything you want," Charlie added, clapping her hands for emphasis.
"Why are you so persistent?" Lute groaned. "You were the ones who told me never to leave the hotel grounds."
"That was for your safety. *And* ours. Enough people are upset about us taking you in already, we don't need you out there starting fights, or trying to get your hands on angelic steel." Vaggie's one eye narrowed at the latter part of the warning.
"And, what, you expect me to be on my best behavior now?" Lute sneered.
"More like you're not the one I'm worried about this time," Vaggie grumbled. Charlie elbowed her, but it was too late to silence the remark.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Lute stiffened, her head tilting with a curiosity she couldn't quite help. "Who exactly am I being partnered with? If you've partnered me up with some execrable monstrosity, don't think I won't put them down, angelic steel or not!"
"Oh, that's not going to be an issue." Vaggie laughed—a genuine chuckle, which only made Lute feel more ill at ease. "In fact, I think you two are going to get along great..."
Lute's frown only deepened.
On the ground floor of the hotel, it was the sound of feet treading against the carpeted stairs that signaled the arrival of your partner. The footsteps approaching the lobby lacked the frantic scurry common to sinners. Their cadence was even, their speed and force almost unchanged from pace to pace.
Briefly, you wondered if Vaggie had changed her mind about being your partner, but the hotel's manager didn't often slip back into her regimented marches these days. But it was indeed an angel that descended the stairs from above—one that managed a more dour look than Vaggie had ever donned, even on her darkest of days.
"Let's get this over with," Lute barked well before she had set heel upon the landing.
"And a most joyous day to you as well, Lady Exorcist." You made no attempt to hide your amusement at her annoyance.
"Save the sarcasm. And I'm not an Exorcist anymore. No one is," Lute rumbled. Despite the certainty in her proclamation, her fingers clenched at the hilt of a blade she no longer wore.
"One doth not lay down the mantle of a warrior merely because the battle hath reached its conclusion."
Your measured reply caused her to hesitate. The rhythm of her steps faltered, and a suspicious glint sparked in her eye. Then she fell back into that practiced tempo and strode toward the hotel's main doors.
"Whatever. Let's go get this ridiculous scavenger hunt over with so I can have my week of peace and quiet." Lute gave you a wary side-eye as she stepped past you. Not a wariness born of fear, no; you weren't entirely certain that the angel was capable of such an emotion. It was the clinical assessment of a trained warrior, the evaluation of an unknown threat.
"Ah, so it was the solitude of a cloister that was promised unto thee?" Your voice wavered with intrigue as you trod after Lute. "I did wonder what wonders might be promised to one such as yourself. I have seen little of you since your arrival."
"And that's the way I'd prefer to keep it." Lute's stern tone would have withered most of the winners in Heaven, and a good number of the angels, too. It filled her angelic blood with a boiling sensation when all the venom she could muster did not turn you away.
"And here I had hoped to finally find a kindred spirit in you. I understand the desire to sequester oneself away, though. Particularly after-"
"Kindred spirit?" Lute’s laugh was sharp enough to draw blood. "I am an angel, a weapon of God. You are a filthy sinner. We are nothing alike."
"One doth not lay down the mantle of a warrior merely because the battle hath reached its conclusion," you repeated.
"Yeah. You already said that," Lute said flatly.
"Indeed. And I shall repeat it again, should it prove relevant a third time."
Lute eyed you, clearly waiting for further elaboration – but when none came, she was too proud to demand it.
"Whatever. Let's go take these stupid photos."
"Ah, verily, the shop standeth precisely where you said it would." Your smile grew as the two of you rounded a corner to find 'Devilish Delights' just a few buildings down. The neon sign—an emblem of blood-splattered cupcakes of nauseating pinks and reds—flickered before you. "For one who made their home in Heaven until not so long ago, you are quite familiar with the lands of Hell."
"Like I told that inane princess, I know this town well enough without some stupid scavenger hunt," Lute growled. "I slaughtered thirty-two sinners in this neighborhood three years ago. Rooted all of them out from their little hidey-holes. So yeah, I can find her stupid bakery."
"Thirty-two! My word, Lute," you noted as you readied the strange picture-making device. "Quite the feat of arms, angelic immunity or no! And I have known pages who could not recall a hall they'd just walked as well as you do a battlefield from years past. You are a most remarkable warrior, Lady Exorcist."
"Don't waste your breath patronizing me." The compliment only seemed to deepen Lute's perpetual disgust.
"You do not wish to be favored?" The confusion in your voice was mirrored on her face. "Not that such was mine intent. And given my station, I would make a poor patron regardless. Or did you believe I sought to gain your patronage? Does your status as an angel confer upon you a rank equal to lordship? I suppose any such nobility would have been stripped away upon—"
"Enough, just stop talking so much," Lute snarled. "You're almost as bad as the princess sometimes, you know that?"
"Verily," you admitted with a chuckle. "My brothers and sisters in arms often jested that I should wield my tongue with as much discipline as my blade. Forgive me; in this place, I find myself beset by brigands and cutthroats quite often, yet it has been many years since I held a conversation with a fellow soldier."
"Well, I don't care about your 'brothers and sisters in arms'. I care about getting this project done," Lute grumbled. "Hurry up and get my picture so we can move on."
"At your word, Lady Exorcist," you vowed.
"Fuck's sake, just call me Lute!"
Lute strode up to the Bakery and positioned herself before its sign while you readied the small digital camera again. Vaggie had instructed you on how to use the peculiar device, but following the memorized directions required both physical and mental effort, your fingers clearly unaccustomed to such matters. It took several moments to ensure you had it set properly, and while you waited for the focus to sharpen so that Lute was something more than a blur, another sinner strode up beside you.
"What in Satan's ballsack– it is! It is her!"
The angry voice came from a man with sharp, deer-like horns that branched outward nearly as wide as his frame before converging well above his head. Black-furred hands with chitinous material at the tip of each finger clacked and crackled as he clenched his fists. Such spittle flew from each section of his segmented lips that the man looked akin to a rabid beast, one hoofed foot pawing at the ground instinctively.
"You killed my brother two blocks from here, and you've got the fucking ovaries to show back up? Taking pictures like a- like a goddamn tourist? What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
Your back stiffened, as did Lute's. Yours was with indignation, while Lute's was all pride and posture, her wings stretching out to assert her full glory.
"You spoke the truth of it yourself," you shot back at the wrathful sinner. Your finger clicked down as the focus of the picture settled into something that resembled the reality before you, freeing you to turn your full attention to the man. "She is taking a picture. You have some problem with that?"
The sinner blinked as he turned to you, so blinded by his rage he seemed startled by your very presence. "Wha- are you defending her? She's a fucking Exorcist! She kills sinners like us every year!"
"Not anymore." Lute sounded less than pleased about the admission. "I don't want to be here any more than you want me here. We're leaving now. You can be conscious to watch us go, or I can bash your skull open against the pavement right now, you worthless scum."
"The Hell you are!" The man's head whipped back around to Lute, his body trembling with a dangerous blend of rage and fear. The mere sound of her voice raised every hair on his charred-looking form, his already wide frame seeming to grow larger as he puffed himself out. "I heard about you. You fell, bitch. You're no better than us! How does it feel to be stuck down here with the 'worthless' ones, huh? You stuck-up–"
"She is much better than you," you stated. The remark was matter-of-fact, delivered without amusement as you squared up to the sinner's frame. "She maketh an effort to amend her transgressions, however minimal that effort might be, whilst you wallow in misery and hatred. Cease your prattle and begone, knave."
"...What the fuck?" Lute's golden eyes shimmered as they darted to you. Her lip curled up in a disgusted sneer at your words, as if they carried some contagion. "I don't need you protecting me, you weird little freak."
"Why would you protect an angel in the first place?!" The sinner was every bit as shocked as Lute, though only half as disgusted.
"The lady's words ring true. She needeth no protection." You narrowed your eyes at the sinner. "But I will not stand idly by whilst a blighted soul such as yourself casteth aspersions upon those seeking to better themselves! I pray that you find the light of God one day, you piteous wretch."
"The light of God? What kind of sick joke is that?!" The sinner's voice cracked as his throat struggled to decide between a laugh and a shriek. "We get shoved into the pit, forgotten about for decades, and then they decided to start slaughtering us, and you're out here defending one of the worst? Fuck her, fuck you, and fuck God!"
A sickening crunch reverberated beneath your knuckles. A righteous feeling, the sensation of sin being properly chastised. The sinner took a heavy fall, crumpling to the ground in a heap with his jaw set at a gruesome angle. He clung to consciousness, but only barely. His attempt at righting himself brought only further pain when he lost balance and slammed into the pavement once more.
"Hold thy hatred within thy heart if thou must cling to it, foul one," you growled at the twitching sinner. "I am a soldier of God, and shouldst thou besmirch the Lord again, I will break mine vows and show thee our Heaven's wrath myself. Now, off with thee!"
The man wasn't able to pull himself together quickly, but you were patient. You stared at him until he managed to scrabble around a corner, your body tense. His ankles had barely dragged themselves around the brickwork before a finger was being shoved into your face by a particularly bedeviled-looking angel.
"You can take whatever self-righteous shit you've been snorting and shove it up your ass," Lute roared, jabbing at you with each emphasized word. "I'm a fucking angel. I don't need some filthy sinner defending me. I was looking forward to splattering the pavement with that asshole."
"I am certain you are a truly glorious warrior, Lute," you allowed, meeting the irate Exorcist's gaze. "I did not intervene to defend you, but to defend God."
"Oh, please. You know, I put up with a lot of shit staying at that foolish little redemption project." Lute's nostrils flared as she spoke. A brighter fire had been stoked in her now than at any point during the sinner's tirade. "It's bad enough you took away my one excuse to lay into one of these abominations for the first time in weeks, acting like I'm some useless bitch that needs to be saved. But I'll be damned if I'm going to sit here and listen while a sinner tries to call themselves a soldier of God."
"But Lute, thou art already damned." The words angered her. The laugh that followed enraged her.
"Listen here you little shit," Lute growled, grabbing you by the collar. "I don't care if you think pretending to serve Heaven will let you worm your way up there as part of your redemption! What the hell do you think gives you the right to preach about God?"
"I vowed my life in the service of the Lord." You didn't waver before her ire, nor did you move to release your shirt from her grip.
"Must have been a pretty awful servant if you wound up down here," Lute sneered. "What 'service' did you dedicate yourself to that got you sent to Hell?"
You pressed your fist over your chest, narrowly missing Lute's hand. "I enlisted in the service of Duke Curthose, and by the blessing of God, I was present on the day that Jerusalem was taken."
Lute spat out a laugh, harsh and bitter. "You're shitting me? You were a fucking crusader?"
"I was, ind–"
"One of those dumbasses who thought God actually cares who owns a piece of fucking land?!" Lute's bitter laugh became a full cackle, accompanied by genuine amusement rather than mirth born of shock alone. She released your collar, stepping back so that she could clutch at her own chest with both hands. "No wonder you're in Hell! You marched off so a bunch of self-righteous nitwits could shift the color of the maps a little in the 'name of God'?"
"You find this amusing, then?" There was no reflection of her delight on your features. Your lips curled down harshly.
"Of course I do!" Lute straightened up, her guffawing now pointed directly at you. "All sinners are pitiful, but I can't think of something more pathetic than that! You got sent to Hell because you convinced yourself any idiot who could hold up a Bible and shout loud enough must know what God wanted. How fucking sad is that?!"
"Yes, I suppose you have a point," you said quietly, your tone darkening. "Truly, nothing could be more humiliating than convincing oneself that their cause is righteous, only to find that Heaven itself is abhorred by what they have done."
The laughter died instantly. The world seemed to darken around you, as if all light had been drawn into the sadistic golden pools of Lute's eyes, glimmering radiance that now blazed with divine fury.
"Oh, I get it. You really do think we're the same, don't you? You've been laughing about it this whole fucking time." Lute stepped closer again. This time, she made no grab for your collar—she simply pressed her forehead against yours with enough forcefulness to pitch your neck back.
"We are different by our very nature, but our stories have converged in the same place," you allowed quietly.
The tendons of your jaw clenched around each word. Your legs braced for an impact without knowing when it might come. You could not recall a time when Lute hadn't been quick to anger since she first fell from grace, but this was no mere matter of temperament. It was a matter of deeply embedded dogma that could brook no challenge. With her pressed so tightly to your form, the strange sensation of being judged by Heaven once more was instilled in your mind and body alike.
"Say it," Lute challenged. Her nose flattened against yours. Her wings flexed outward, spreading around you like a hawk mantling over its prey. "No more dancing around it. Tell me you think I belong here. Tell me you think I'm as worthless as a sinner."
Your expression set like stone. "I think-"
Searing white flashed amid a field of gray as Lute's fist struck you. The swing was like lightning, though the awkwardness of striking someone while nearly pressed against them took some weight from what might have been a devastating blow. You recoiled all the same, using the momentum to put distance between you—a wise decision that allowed you to barely avoid the follow-up.
"I am nothing like you animals!" Lute taunted, already resetting her posture and adjusting her balance for another swing. Her wings beat with such bravado that the very weather shifted around the two of you. She hurtled forward with gloved hands clenched so tightly that the straining fabric could be heard over the roar of wind.
You didn't let that go unanswered. This time the exchange was not one-sided; your fist glanced off her shoulder, and in turn, she grabbed your wrist and used the leverage to bring a knee toward your face.
Bare-knuckled brawling was hardly your domain of expertise, but then again, neither was it the purview of an Exorcist. All the same, what you both lacked in finesse was made up for with overwhelming force. Angelic strength met sinful might, and each blow that landed cleanly left one of you staggering—or in her case, fluttering back, weight carried away as her wings overtaxed themselves to correct the momentum.
After several brutal minutes, the two of you were left heaving, facing each other with wide, wary eyes as you sucked in air. Already, every part of you bore at least one throbbing point of agony, injuries that would surely become gruesome bruises by nightfall. For her part, Lute showed no signs of true injury; even your most fearsome blows could not leave a lasting mark against an angel, though the satisfaction of landing them was at least some recompense.
"Tch. This is bullshit. If I had my sword," Lute panted, lips curling back like a hound's, "I'd gut you and be done with it right now."
"If you had your sword," you echoed, brows furrowed so tightly the bridge of your nose seemed to burrow away, "I'd have already taken it and run you through myself."
"I don't care if I get kicked out," Lute vowed. "I don't care if I don't have my spear. I never want to hear you act like you're on Heaven's side again, sinner."
"In near enough to a thousand years, all of Hell has not been enough to wrest God's name from mine lips," you vowed. "You will not be the first, Exorcist."
"You talk a big game, but we both know you can't win." Lute's taunt did not accomplish even as much as a shift in your stance, and the sight of your steady gaze seemed to unsettle her. "I might not have my spear, but I can still rip you to shreds. You couldn't even leave a mark on me if I stood here and took it."
"I have never chosen my battles based upon whether I could win them." You straightened slightly. "I chose them because they were of righteous cause. Or," you paused, grimness seeping into the creases of your face, "at the least, I believed them to be. I have spoken naught but what I believe, Lute. If thou wouldst strike me down for that, I shall not cower like a mewling kit for the sake of appeasing thee."
"You're really starting to–"
"There! She's still here!" Though not from your own lips, a mewling cry did ring out. Half-slurred by a jaw still set at a displeasing angle, the man from earlier called out as he strode back into the street. This time he came with a dozen other sinners lined up behind him. "Look, the crazy bitch is even pulping the nutjob that defended her! We gotta put her down before she starts Exterminating people again!"
"Fuck that," a larger woman said, shouldering her way past the frantic man. A foul-looking club slapped against her palm, accompanied by an equally fetid smile. "I'm taking her out for the money. How much you think we can get off an angel corpse?"
"Only one way to find out!" Another behind her showed a grin with fangs like needles as he slithered his way through the throng of desperate sinners. His hand flickered at his side, twitching nervously with a weapon-half hidden behind his thigh. A weapon that glittered and glistened in the light, with a lack of grime and grit that no ordinary metal held for long in this ring.
They surged forward like a wave, weapons brandished. Lute snarled, showing no hesitation as she stormed into their midst. Her wings struck with force you had not realized such feathery appendages could carry, knocking three sinners off their feet as she thrust herself into the fray with abandon.
You were all but forgotten as the brawl began. A part of you considered letting it remain that way, staying on the sidelines and allowing things to unfold. But it was a small part, while the loudest voice in your head was a rallying cry of virtuous frenzy.
"Deus lo vult!" The cry brought memories surging. You longed for a blade in your hand, for the clash and clink of plate armor as you swung your arms. The feeling of flesh and bone buckling beneath your strikes was a poor substitute, but it ignited the old embers of fanaticism well enough to fuel your wheeling blows.
Angelic steel or not, even a force of a dozen could do naught but give way before the combined zealotry you unleashed upon the crowd. Lute's eyes were sharp as daggers as she struck, so focused on the flow around her that you might have thought her wholly unaware of your presence—had she not stopped short on a strike of her wings that would have flattened you against the very bakery you had come to photograph.
The violence came to a gradual, anticlimactic end. No final blow was struck. No bodies were piled high. Two of the sinners lay unconscious, another pair were staggering down the alley, and the rest made a piecemeal withdrawal one by one as their adrenaline-fueled bravery found itself running short. The two of you stood still as the chaos ebbed away, chests heaving, a light blazing in both of you. Heat rose through your body, and by the way Lute's lips unconsciously twisted upward, she was feeling the same lingering ecstasy.
"So, what now?" Lute's voice was quiet, and deceptively calm despite the ragged pacing of her breaths. Her eyes were turned your way, but they were fixed somewhere near your waist. "You going to 'run me through'?"
You had nearly forgotten the dagger. Black blood pooled through the grooves of the hilt in your hand. A deep cut ran along the length of your palm, taken in the process of disarming its wielder. Mercifully, your tendons had not been carved by the blade, though the angelic steel would surely turn the wound into a permanent scar.
"No." You tossed the short blade away without a second thought. It landed shorter than you'd intended, skittering over the pavement before it finally clattered into the sewer grate, landing with a distant splash. No doubt to be fished out by some other miscreant later... but that was a problem for another day.
"Oh really?" Lute didn't sound at all convinced. Her eyes lingered on the sewer grate, fingers grasping at a hilt now removed from her reach. "You didn't seem like you were joking before. Why not take your shot?"
"Princess Morningstar doth insist that I... 'learn to consider the perspective of others,' as a method of tempering my 'zealous urges.'" You recited the words with a weary sigh. That, more than anything, seemed to bring some measure of understanding from Lute. "Thou wert only defending what thou seest as thine honor—and what is considered righteous in thine own mind. I bear no grudge against thee, if thou offerest me the same in turn."
"You're infuriating," Lute rumbled. She strode up to you, chest still heaving from exertion. "We were swinging at each other not five minutes ago. And I told you, I don't need to be saved."
"I never claimed otherwise," you retorted. "Truly, thy prowess is greater than I had reckoned. Thou art an extraordinary warrior, Lute."
"Tch." Lute's lip curled up in a sneer, but the remark seemed to appease her. "So what, that hero complex of yours just drives you to jump into the fray? Even for someone you think is as worthless as these maggots?"
"I was not going to say that I think you are worthless. You struck me before I had the chance to finish."
Lute visibly tensed. Her breath was only just beginning to even out again, yet any signs of fatigue were swept away as she coiled like a serpent. "Oh, please, tell me what you were going to say. I'd love to start this again."
"I think we were both of us deceived." Your words were quiet, but the calm that now engulfed the streets in the battle's aftermath left them to ring out unopposed. "Both of us dedicated our lives to the service of God, and both of us now find ourselves condemned for those very deeds. Whether thou dost acknowledge it or not, there is a rhyme to the cadence of our tales, Lute. 'Tis not my place to say whether thou deservest to be here. For whatever worth it holdeth, I respect thy prowess, and I bear no ill will toward thee for thy duties, nor for thy dedication to them."
A beat of silence was broken by a reflexive flap of her wings, as though she could sweep away whatever feeling gripped her. "My duty was to slaughter sinners. Sinners like you. You don't hold that against me?"
You tilted your head as you considered her. That same smile you had offered earlier made its return, though this one lacked amusement and held a reverence that sent a tremor through Lute's frame. "Thou didst what God bade thee do, didst thou not? How could I condemn thee for thy faith, when I have clung to mine own for near a millennium?"
Lute didn't respond right away. The world sat in stiff silence. A sinner with curly, wool-like hair strolled onto the block, took one look at the scene before her, and quickly whirled around. As the woman's footsteps faded, Lute's took their place. She marched up to you in near perfect mimicry of her earlier actions, until your bodies were pressed together again. Your jaw throbbed, and an urge to turn it away protectively nearly won out over your stubborn pride.
"They could still change their mind, you know," she whispered. "A few redeemed sinners is nothing in the face of such depraved masses. And if they reinstate the Exterminations, we both know I'll be the first person they turn to. Adam is dead, and Abel is a coward. Will you hate me then?"
"If it is the will of Heaven," you began slowly, "then I shall accept it as I have accepted all of Heaven's judgments."
"What, you're just going to kneel down for the executioner's axe like a good little sinner?" Lute's voice dripped with scorn.
"I will meet thee on the field of battle with honor," you vowed.
"Oh? So it's Heaven's will, right up until your life's on the line?" Lute's grin was sharp, sensing a victory she hadn't expected. "Some warrior of God you are."
"I gave up claiming to know Heaven's will when I was condemned for following those who proclaimed it the loudest." You kept your voice steady, though the tension in the air pressed against your throat—a tension so very unlike the one of old. "I fight for what I believe is right, no matter who claims to hold God's favor."
"Bullshit," Lute growled. "You jumped in to help me when you admit I didn't need it—and when I was trying to kill you moments before. What's right about that?"
"Thou art making an attempt at betterment, as I stated earlier." There was something in her eyes. A gleam, dangerous to be sure, but not the same divine vengeance that had possessed her before. "And as I also said... thou art a remarkable woman, Lute."
"You said remarkable warrior before," Lute noted. Her words cut the air like a blade.
"...Verily, I suppose I did," you acknowledged.
"You really know how to piss me off." The Exorcist's words spoke of anger, but the heat in her tone was not one of rage, and her eyes drifted away from yours, to something... lower.
"And what wouldst thou do about such, Lady Exorcist?"
An unexpected blow was dealt to you once more, but not the same as before. A new battle was ignited between the two of you, a battle fought nearly as violently as your previous exchange, but with lips and tongue taking the place of fist and wing.
Lute assaulted you without remorse, her hands clamping down on your jaw like iron while her lips battered and bruised what defense you could mount. Your own hands found purchase against the curves of her hips, gripping her tightly, as if to test the limits of her angelic resilience.
"I fucking hate you," she grunted when she finally pulled her lips away. Her whole body remained tense, her hips grinding against yours. Her wings had curled in on her, twitching and shivering behind her back, the only part of her not rigid to the point of stillness.
"Oh?" You fought for the breath to make your response without gasping for air. "If this is what passes for thine hate, I wouldst hate to see what thou callest love..."
Lute's grin twisted in a very un-angelic fashion. "Cocky little shit. You know what? Fuck the scavenger hunt. My room, fifteen minutes. If you don't show up, I'm going to hunt you down and finish what I started earlier. Oh, and... bring the camera."
"The camera? But thou didst just say-"
"I said fuck the scavenger hunt." Lute laughed deviously as she stepped back from you. Her wings unfurled once more, stretching and testing themselves in preparation for ascent. "But the cunts wanted pictures. I say we give them some pictures!"
With that, she took to the sky, a genuine and downright chilling laugh echoing all the way back to the hotel, leaving you to follow in her wake.
"Ooh, look at this one! Angel and Husk are so cute together," Charlie cooed, flipping the camera around for Vaggie. On screen, Husk and Angel were sharing a chaste kiss in front of a romantic cafe.
"Looks like your plan worked. I still don't know about using redemption exercises to pitch date ideas though, babe." Vaggie's uncertainty didn't stop her from smiling.
"Oh, I know, but I just couldn't help myself! That place was so cozy." Charlie hummed as she continued tapping through the photos. "I promise not to make a habit of it. Maybe next time we do one of these, we could—?"
The sound of a frantic gasp, followed by something clattering to the floor, brought Charlie's meandering thoughts to an abrupt stop. Her attention snapped to Vaggie, who sat bolt upright, her good eye twitching with a blend of frustration and disgust.
"Vaggie? Oh my gosh, what's wrong?" Concern bloomed in Charlie's chest as she reached for the fallen camera, which thankfully appeared undamaged.
Vaggie remained frozen for a beat too long to stop her—Charlie caught a glimpse as she turned the camera over, before one of Vaggie's hands clamped down on her wrist while the other slammed itself over the screen. Even that brief view made Charlie's cheeks flush so deeply that her natural blush marks became difficult to distinguish.
"V-Vaggie, what did they-"
"Don't look, Charlie," Vaggie uttered in a low tone. "Do. Not. Look."
"B-but what about the redemption exercise? We should at least-"
"Charlie." Vaggie shook her head gravely.
"There is no redemption in there."
----
I had this idea pop into my head a few days ago, and I couldn't stop.
Personally, I think (especially given the entire song that is Gravity) Lute is going to end up falling from Heaven in Season 3 or 4 as a result of her mental breakdown and her refusal to let go of the Exterminations. I really want to see her get an arc while she's down in Hell; one where she realizes that the very thing she's been trying to destroy is the only possible hope she has of ever getting back into Heaven, and ends up at the Hotel (something nobody is happy about).
While thinking about that, I had the thought of "What if she met a former crusader down there?" sort of randomly, and the parallel of a Crusader and an Exorcist both finding themselves in Hell for "doing God's will" was just too delicious to pass up, and... well, things escalated from there.
I love the idea that Bee isn't the jealous/possessive type, but she still loves staking her claim.
Each step you made into the manor echoed through the gargantuan halls, your heels clicking against immaculate floors in a rhythm that bounced off honeycombed walls and spiraled up into the vaulted heights. The space could swallow sound whole if it wanted to—but the ever-present pulse of background music kept the silence at bay. Club beats, turned down low enough to feel more than hear, gave the massive emptiness a heartbeat.
"Babe! Home early?" The flutter of wings was your only warning before she appeared, hovering just behind your shoulder with that signature grin. "Want a lift?"
Bee's energy made her impossible to track in a space this open—she could drift down from the ceiling or zip around a corner, and you'd never see it coming. You were getting better at knowing when she was about to pop out, at least.
"Well, if you're oof-fering..." The words died as four hands locked around your sides, firm and playful. She hadn't waited for an answer.
You huffed out a breath as she lifted you effortlessly, her wings thrumming with that deceptive strength she wore so casually. There was power in her grip—the kind that reminded you she could toss you around like nothing if she wanted—but her touch stayed gentle. Affectionate. Three hands held steady while the fourth traced slow circles against your hip.
"So what's up, cutie?" Bee asked as she carried you to the upper landing. "Meeting get canceled?"
"Moved up," you said, keeping your gaze fixed on the ceiling rather than the floor dropping away below. "Was supposed to be last on the agenda. I think Ozzie was hoping to bail early, but then half of Quality Control got blown sky-high. Kind of hard to skip the safety meeting after that."
"Oof." Bee's melodic giggle punctuated the reaction, tickling your ear. "Damn. I knew you'd have your hands full there. That place has a worse incident rate than most of the weapon manufacturers in Greed."
"At least when Ozzie's factory explodes, nobody dies." You smirked as she set you down on the landing, turning to face her. "Some of the QA team got pretty singed, though. Break room was packed—everyone scrambling to glue on new eyebrows. Not a boring day, I'll say that."
"Oh yeah? Bet that was—" Bee stopped mid-reach, both right arms frozen halfway to pulling you into a hug. Her snout lifted, nose twitching as she sampled the air. Her expression soured. "Ugh. Yeah, they were packed in there alright. No offense, babe, but you reek of succubus."
"Not surprised," you chuckled. "You know how much perfume went up when that thing blew? Whole factory smelled like a flower field caught fire. Plus Ozzie crammed everyone from QA into that meeting, and you know how Lust crews get when they're bored."
"Oh, I definitely do." She shot you a look—playful, but with an edge. "Which is why you need to get out of that stuffy uniform and into something more comfortable. I'll set us up. Theater room, ten minutes. Don't keep me waiting!"
"Wouldn't dream of it." By the time you finished speaking, she was already zipping away—though a skeptical hum drifted back in her wake.
The theater room sprawled like a lounge, dominated by a projector the size of a small car and a circular sofa that could've doubled as a bed for six. Bee had claimed the center, propped against a small mountain of pillows, surrounded by an explosion of snacks. Bags and bowls scattered across the cushions, some floating in golden light, bobbing gently in the air around her. Pretzels, popcorn, candy, chips, ice cream—enough to feed a party, or one very enthusiastic Sin.
"Damn, girl. You really do spoil me, you know that?"
"What, this?" Bee glanced around at her spread with mock assessment, twisting to face you as you entered. "Just a little something to hold us over. Figured with the big hound party this weekend, we'd keep it chill tonight."
"If by 'hold us over' you mean 'last until next week,' sure." You navigated the snack minefield carefully, squeezing in beside her between an open bag of candy bars and a tower of nachos. Food was Bee's language—the way she showed love, care, celebration. But the effort she put in for you, just the two of you? That was different. That was personal.
"Hey, you don't want any? Fine by me. More for me!" She winked, tossing back a handful of candy. She'd been grazing before you arrived, but now that you were settled in, the food became background noise. She rolled over, pressing herself against your side with a contented sigh, her muzzle curving into a smile.
Then her nose twitched. The smile faltered.
"Alright! Let's get this party started!" The cheer in her voice didn't quite match the sour twist of her expression. Even sprawled on the couch, Bee radiated that restless party energy—like she was always half a second from bouncing up to dance. The remote floated over in a shimmer of gold, allowing Bee to hastily throw on the first thing that caught her eye.
"Ocean's Eleven?"
"I just want something nice and mindless tonight," Bee explained idly. Before Clooney was settled into the chair, she was settled atop you, her ears twitching and gliding along your chest as she settled herself into the crook of your arm. "Besides, who doesn't love a good heist? Where do you think I learn new moves to raid Belphegor's stash, hm?"
"Well now I have to see you dance your way through a security system."
"See? Been way too long since we watched." Bee's smug little laugh made her vibrate against you as she nuzzled her whole upper body into your side and chest. "That's the next one. Maybe we'll do another marathon tonight."
"Long as you keep snuggling up to me, I'll watch whatever you put on."
The happy little noise Bee made faded quietly as the film began in earnest. For the next thirty minutes, the only sounds to be heard were the movie, intermittent crunching and munching, and the faint scritching noise of Bee as she affectionately pressed herself into you. She wasn't subtle about it, and the tender attention was beyond adorable. Her arm swept over your stomach and upper thighs, her head swayed and tilted as she dragged her fur along your upper body, and her long ears softly flopped and brushed along your collar and neck, a fondness communicated in every delicate touch and every territorial caress.
But as the camera panned in over the Vegas strip, Bee shifted her position more deliberately. She turned into your body, her snout trailing along the center of your chest. The dark tip of her nose twitched erratically as she took in the lingering scents. A look of suspicion started to emerge on her face as the realization seeped in, a hint of playfulness tempering the tentative accusation in her eyes as she sat up.
"Wait a second," Bee drawled as she propped herself up to meet your eyes directly. "You smell different. Is that... lavender? Cherry wood? That wasn't there before."
"Must have been on these clothes?" You suggested casually. It was a futile effort. Even if Bee wasn't an expert at reading everyone – let alone you – the twitching at the corner of your lips tipped her off immediately. Her eyes narrowed, and a smile that wasn't entirely friendly grew as her lips curled back slightly.
"Babe. Sweetie. Did you plan this?" The strain to her voice was slight, but it was enough that a chill trickled its way down your spine.
"Okay, okay, you got me," you admitted, lifting your hands in a gesture of peace. "I maybe added a little something when I got changed."
"What are you playing at?" Bee's eyes narrowed, her head tilting to the side, like she couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or amused by whatever you were up to.
"I might have noticed that you get like this any time I come home smelling like Ozzie's place." You shrugged sheepishly, hoping you hadn't made a big mistake. "And I might have added a little something else tonight to encourage it."
Bee leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. "Hold up. You set me up?" One of her ears flicked as she contemplated how much that irritated her.
"No! No, not like that, I mean-" You struggled to clarify yourself. "I wasn't trying to trick you, or anything. I just really like these moods of yours; you never get annoyed or jealous. The first time you did it, I wasn't even sure you knew you were doing it. It's so cute, and I freaking adore how cuddly you get. You rub your scent all over me, and I kind of... love it?"
The atmosphere shifted ever so slightly. The angle of Bee's head leaned a little further, then back, a thoughtful look in her eyes.
"Hold up. You like it when I mark you?" Bee mused. The suspicion was still there, but something else gleamed underneath. "You seriously rubbed—what, sandalwood?—on yourself just to get me to cozy up to you?"
"...Tea packets," you admitted, glancing away in embarrassment. "I didn't know what else to grab, and I didn't actually want to smell like perfume or the girls, so-"
You didn't get to finish your explanation. Bee's stern look broke in a sharp peal of laughter, one that faded away quickly and took the lingering remnants of her glower with it. The tone of her gaze shifted to something almost appraising, the curve of her lips lacking the predatory hunger.
"I didn't know if you even noticed." Something softer crawled its way into Bee's voice as she made the admission. She walked her fingers up your chest, her stare never wavering. "It makes me feel all cozy for you to smell like me. You really like it so much you'd rub tea in just to get a little more attention, babe?"
"I- well, yeah." You chuckled as her fingers reached the hollow of your throat. "You're always big on touch, but it's so sweet the way you rub on me when I get home. I didn't do it to trick you, I just- I figured if there was more of a scent there, you'd be even cuddlier than usual."
She let her nails dance dangerously along your curves, then locked them on your chin so she could press a quick kiss to your lips, there one moment and gone the next. There was still pride in her eyes, a pride you had perhaps come a little too close to messing with, but the affection and the playful heat smoldering inside burned brighter.
"You're so in for it now," Bee purred with a mock-menace, practically throwing herself over you like a blanket. The bowls surrounding you levitated protectively as Bee shifted around. She didn't stop until she was comfortable, splayed out across your body.
"Is that a promise, or a threat?" A giggle escaped you even as Bee playfully nipped at your neck.
"Both! Obviously." She was doubling down now, actively nuzzling herself into your chest while her legs glided against yours. The whisper of her fur against the fabric of your lounge pants mingled with the audio of the movie that had become a background thought to the both of you. "If you like it, I don't even have to pretend to be subtle about it. You coulda just asked though, babe. Woulda been easier for both of us."
"Now where's the fun in that?" You mused.
"Hey, just sayin'. I'm not complaining either way, though," Bee opened her eyes long enough to give you a contended look, then went right back to massaging you with her cheek. "You realize that from now on, I'm never letting you leave the house without some cuddles, right babe? You're mine, and everyone with a nose is gonna know it."
"You know..." You leaned down, your lips meeting Bee's muzzle in a kiss that lingered just a little longer than the teasing from earlier. "...I think I can live with that."
"Good." Bee settled deeper into you with a satisfied sound, her voice dropping to a contented murmur. "You know what? Forget the party this weekend. Let's just stay like this."
You laughed. "Bee, you've been planning that party for two weeks."
"Mmm. Don't care. You're too comfy." She nuzzled harder against your chest, then cracked one eye open with a mischievous glint. "...We'll throw it next weekend instead."
"There's the Bee I know."
"Hey, I can be clingy and a party animal. It's called multitasking, babe." Her grin was pure satisfaction as she closed her eyes again. "Now shush. You got what you wanted. Let me enjoy it."
You did. And honestly? You wouldn't have it any other way.
Warnings: Mention of death/starvation, poor treatment of lower classes.
Takes place in an AU/alternate timeline where Loona evaded the pounds and grew up a stray. Could be platonic or romantic; no sexual content/themes in this one, save some brief biting comments.
A familiar face entering the shop was usually a good thing. It meant it was less likely – although down here, never out of the question – that you were about to get robbed. So repeat customers were almost always a blessing among whatever curses the afterlife was throwing at you that day.
Not so much when they came with a police escort, though.
The hellhound being hauled by a pair of three-foot-nothing satyrs with badges seethed as she was forced through your front door. A threatening rumble reverberated from her chest, and she only broke her gaze away from them long enough to shoot you a rare, apologetic look. The half-worn rags she was always running around in changed every now and then, but the white and gray fur was unmistakable, as was the fiery glimmer in those ruby-red eyes of hers.
Loona.
Your paths had crossed enough over the last few years that you weren't surprised to see her getting hauled around by a pair of scrawny, yet somehow thuggish-looking satyrs in uniform. She was a 'feral' hound – no owner, no home, and no job.
"This one claims to be yours," the demon with dark blue hair spat, voice rumbling. His deep tone didn't match his adorable little stature, but the last time you had pointed that out to one of the miniature mobsters, you'd gotten slapped with a health code violation... which didn't even exist in this ring.
"Yeah, you know her? Or is she as full of shit as she is hellbies?" The other one sneered, her hooves clattering on the ground as she made a show of turning Loona toward you, as if you couldn't already see her clearly. "Sounds like a load to me. Ain't you a little young to be owning a hound like her? You ain't much older than this delinquent. What, did Mommy and Daddy get you a new puppy for your first birthday or something?"
You kept your face blank. Whatever was going on now, Loona must have been out of options, or truly desperate. This wasn't the first time you'd helped her out of a jam, but it was the first time she'd ever come asking for help.
"The fuck did you do this time, Loona?" You shook your head, a heavy sigh escaping your nose.
"I fucking told you, this is my owner," she snapped at the enforcer demons still clutching her wrists, before turning her attention back to you. "And I didn't do anything! They just saw a hound hanging around and decided to start shit, threatened to cart me off. I was minding my own business until these assholes-."
"Violation of Hell Statute 'I ain't readin' all that shit-17-B'." The satyr giggled, her pink snout quivering. "Hellhounds can't just run around all willy-nilly. You wanna do that, you go down to Gluttony with the rest of the mutts."
"What, isn't that basically loitering?" You asked, biting back a laugh. Petty, even by the low standards here. You were half-tempted to tell her off and let her deal with the consequences right then and there; a little light discipline might turn her away from getting herself into real trouble. "C'mon, you two. There has to be something you can rustle up more interesting than this."
"We're cracking down," the pink one responded. She stomped one of her hooves against the tile loudly, giving a satisfied neigh as she leaned over, taunting Loona to her face. "Had too many ferals rummaging through city dumpsters; this little shit is gonna get six months, minimum. No collar, no tag, no ID, no fuckin' free roaming, bitch."
"Go fuck yourself, you little-"
"Don't mind her mouth," you interrupted, brow creasing with worry you couldn't contain. "She's upset because she knows she's in trouble. This punk keeps getting her collar snagged and shredded on every piece of jagged-ass metal she can find."
You gave a disapproving grimace while you fumbled around beneath the counter. Your fingers closed around a thin leather band tucked on a lower shelf; once you had it, you strode over to join the three before any of them could do something stupid. "This is the third replacement this month, Loona. You owe me for these, understand? If you don't start paying me back for your little fuck-ups, I might just let them have you next time."
As you spoke, you lifted up the collar and wrapped it around her neck, pulling the band tight. Your expression stayed level, but you gave Loona a pointed glance as you started to fasten it. That was the only thing that kept her from going for your throat; unseen by the satyrs holding her arms behind her back, her lips were curling the moment your fingers reached for her neck. By the time you'd slipped the buckle's tongue into place, her teeth were bared, a threatening vibration echoing through her jaw as you pulled away.
"There. Sorry for the nuisance, and thank you for bringing her home before she could get herself into real trouble. We good here?"
"Dunno, she called us a lot of nasty-ass names," the pink one mused. She jeered at the teen the whole while. "Insulting a peacekeeper is a pretty big offense around here. And this one's got a real attitude problem. A few weeks in the hole might teach her to mind her manners."
"I can't even teach her to quit scrapping long enough to keep her collar on for a week so she's not getting herself in trouble. I doubt it would make a difference." You made a helpless gesture.
"All the more reason to toss her in," the goat-man said, scraping the floor with one hoof. "Hounds like this never learn; even this crackdown barely makes a dent in 'em. Better get a record started on her so we can deal with her permanently."
"Look, I get that, I do," you rushed to add. Any thoughts of teaching her a lesson vanished at the mention of a record. "But I can handle punishing her myself; no need to waste cell space when I can take care of it. And to be honest, as much of a screw-up as she is, I need her these days. Got too many orders to be running errands; I spent half the day working on a fresh delivery of hellhog from Wrath already."
"Hellhog?" The blue-haired satyr's eyes widened at the word. His tongue lolled out instinctively, the angsty teen so immediately forgotten that his grip weakened to a threadbare hold on her wrist.
"Yeah, fresh from the fields, slaughtered this morning and brought up for carving." You worked hard to hold back your smirk. "Bastard was twice the size of the last one they sent me, too. You two want a couple packages of my finest bacon? Consider it an apology for having to haul this sorry pup all the way back here. Besides, I need to free up some freezer space, or I'm not gonna get any work done this afternoon, so it's a win-win."
"Look, that's a kind offer, but this nuisance has been driving most of us crazy." The satyr's dark-blue wool rustled as he shifted on his feet, trying not to glance at the cuts on display along the counter. "I don't know if-"
"You'll need to take at least eight pounds, of course," you interjected. "I mean, anything less, and there'd hardly be any space free at all."
"Eight pounds?!"
"Well, we ain't really got anywhere to put it-"
"We'll swing north, my house isn't that far out of our way!" The blue-haired satyr interrupted his partner without hesitation, all but shoving Loona away as he released his grip on her. "I don't care if we get yelled at for going out of our district. I'd freeze Hell over myself if it meant getting a slab of that shit. Fresh hellhog bacon? Satan's own mama couldn't make a better breakfast."
"...Yeah, fine," the pink one agreed after a moment, releasing Loona's other arm. Despite her hesitance, she was drooling out of the corner of her mouth when she strode up to the counter alongside her partner.
Loona stood in the background, fists clenched, teeth bared. The satyrs never even glanced her way; they were too busy imagining the glory of their next meal. Within two minutes you'd fetched eight pounds of bacon from the cooler and shoved the two outside, the packages piled up in their arms. They struggled with the load as they went, staggering off down the sidewalk, craning their necks to see what was ahead of them.
Once they shuffled out of sight, the tension drained out of your shoulders. Loona stood there a moment longer, just staring after them. Her right hand drifted to her neck, pawing at the thin leather band while the rest of her body remained tensed and rigid.
"Fucking hell, those pricks really had it out for you, huh?" You mused. "You alright-?"
"Don't give me any of that bullshit!" Once you broke the silence, Loona tightened her fingers around the collar on her neck and ripped it off with a ragged jerk. A sound like a firecracker echoed off the tiles, followed by the clatter of metal as she hurled it against the wall. "What kind of sick freak are you, anyway?!"
"The kind that just helped you out." Your words carried the subtle flavors of a question, accompanied by an offended lift of a brow. "At least, last I checked. You told them I was your owner, wasn't that what you wanted?"
"Yeah, when I thought you were just a regular loser that was kinda chill sometimes, not some freak that already had a collar made with my fucking name on it!" Loona growled dangerously, her eyes flicking between you and the collar, as if she expected the ripped leather to get up and come after her personally.
"How about you show some fucking gratitude? I knew you'd wind up getting in trouble sooner or later. I thought it would help – and I was right." You hadn't expected her to blow up over that part, but then, you didn't have much of a handle on what set off a teenage hellhound. "I had that made after you were snooping around my dumpsters a few months back.
"...Fuck," Loona cursed, but the red that showed through the white fur of her cheeks wasn't rage. "You saw that shit?"
"Yeah." There was no point in keeping it secret. Besides, the embarrassment was enough to make her a little less volatile. For now. "Not the first pup to go picking through there, you won't be the last. Tried offering you some fresh stuff the next time I saw you. You just told me to 'eat sh'-"
"To eat shit and die. Damn it, that's why you were so pushy about the food that day." Loona groaned as she finished, rubbing along the top of her snout. "Why are you creeping around your back alleys at night, huh? Fucking weirdo."
"I dunno, why are you?" You countered. The obvious reply still made her wince. "I figured if you were that hard up for food, you were gonna wind up getting your ass in a sling eventually. This is a bad neighborhood for hounds to be wandering around in."
"Yeah, I noticed. You must slip those assholes a lot of bacon to keep us 'strays' out of your hair," Loona huffed.
"Why on Satan's scaly nutsack-"
"Fucking gross!"
"-would I give up eight pounds of my best product to save your whiny ass if I was the one paying them to do it in the first place?" You let the question hang, but there was no answer coming. Not surprising. Across all the messes you'd seen Loona work her way into, you'd never heard an apology unless it was forced out of her at gunpoint.
"Depends on how grateful you thought you could get a desperate hellhound to be for saving her life. Dunno what sick fantasies might be crawling around in that head-"
"Now who's being 'fucking gross'?" You snapped at her this time, your patience wearing thin. "I could get in just as much shit for covering you. So do you really think that's why I helped you out this time? Or any of the others? I don't expect you to be grateful, but at least have the decency not to insult me after I stick my neck out for you."
You'd never seen Loona respond to being called out on the street like that with anything less than immediate aggression. When you snapped at her, though her fists clenched tight enough to pop her knuckles, her ears drooped and tilted backward in an almost defeated posture.
"...Whatever," Loona spat after a bitter pause. "Thanks for not being a total dickwad, I guess." Even her strides seemed to pulse frustration as she turned and slammed her way out the door, and she didn't break stride as she stomped around the corner, out of view.
"...Well, wonder how long it's gonna be until that happens again." You shook your head in disbelief, venting some of your well-deserved frustrations. "Shit, Loona, eight fucking pounds. If you'd just swallow your damned pride, I could've given it to you, instead of handing it off to those idiots."
You stood there a long moment, watching the spot that she had vanished from, until a shake of your head broke the spell. Before you returned to work, though, you stepped over to the far wall. There on the floor, sitting about four feet apart from each other, were the ripped collar and the scarred metal of the tag. The collar was trashed, and went straight into the garbage once you were back behind the counter, but the tag was still in decent condition. Despite her reaction, you slipped it into place underneath the register again.
"Well, already paid for it. Might as well hang onto it. She might end up needing it." With a final shrug, you gave the front one final look before turning to the prep area. "At least I've got about eight pounds worth of space to fill now..."
The days after that passed in an uneventful haze, customer bleeding into customer, sunrise blending into sunset. Even the occasional street brawl, turf war, or random shoot-out over a bar tab a few blocks over didn't do much to break up the monotony. For Hell, it was downright boring. All the more so when an afternoon storm rolled in, pouring down acid rain that sent the few pedestrians outside scattering for cover.
"Ah, Hell, gotta love it." Your eye twitched as you glared through the front display windows. "Just repainted that sign, too. And this shit doesn't look like it's gonna let up…"
You put yourself to work cleaning, rather than spend the rest of the day moping around the windows. The orders had been non-stop the past few days, and the cleaning was soul-draining, but at least there was enough of it to keep you occupied. You worked away at the backlog of pink sludge and general smears while the sound of pouring rain played as background noise... punctuated by the intermittent screams of one dumbass or another making a mad dash through the burning deluge to the safety of a home, a car, or whatever else they could find.
An hour of scrubbing the prep room and another hour of washing and sharpening had most of the place looking downright hellish, but it also left you with two full sacks of scraps and filth. That wouldn't have been a problem on any other day, but the dumpster for the area was halfway down the block.
"Screw it." You grunted with the effort of lifting up both industrial-size bags, hauling them over your shoulder toward the backside of the store. "Storm looks like it's gonna last long enough, should melt these off into the sewers."
You managed to get the bags through the prep room and into the delivery bay without much trouble – and by Satan's own damned luck, without ripping them and undoing all your hard work cleaning. You settled them beside the chain hoist without issue, but as you squared up to raise the rolling shutters, something rattled against them. It wasn't much, but the sound of claws scraping on pavement and the clattering sound of the metal shifting made you come to a dead stop, and in the silence that followed, a muffled whimper faded through the door.
"Brimstone rat? Nah, those fuckers like this kinda weather." Your eyes narrowed at the disturbance. "Gotta be something almost as big, though. Shutter ought to scare 'em off, whatever it is." All the same, you shifted your stance, one hand on the hoist chain while the other gripped the handle of the meat tenderizer hanging from your belt, just in case.
Even with just one arm, two hefty pulls were enough to hoist the door halfway. Claws scrabbled against the concrete for a moment, but there were no demonic rats on the other side, or some nightmarish honey badger – no, it was something just as upsetting, for entirely different reasons.
Loona was curled up underneath the overhang of your delivery docks. She'd been pressed all the way against the metal door, trying in vain to fit more of her underweight frame beneath the thin strip of brick and mortar that outlined the rolling shutters. Now she curled in on herself, eyes wide as she saw you standing with mallet in hand, torn between which threat was better to face.
"Christ on a stick-!" Your eyes bulged at the sight of her, body locking up in a stunned rigor. The outward sides of her limbs were singed, the outer layers of her fur worn away by the acid rain and faint blossoms of pink beginning to show through from the skin underneath. "The fuck are you doing out there?!"
"The fuck does it look like I'm doing?" Loona's lips curled back, but she seemed too miserable to put her usual venom in it.
"Alright, let me rephrase: the fuck are you still doing out there?" You jerked your thumb behind you. "Quit sitting around and get in here!"
Even with the acid rain still angling in to soak through her right side little by little, Loona hesitated. She stayed on the ground, eyes darting back and forth between the door leading to the front of the store and the open alleyway, both flooding her with different flavors of anxiety. It was a peal of thunder from overhead that broke the spell. Loona squeaked out a little whimper and shimmied herself to the side, working her way under the raised shutter before clambering to her feet.
You double-checked to make sure her tail had made it inside before you started lowering the shutter. It had, thankfully, and it even looked to be in better shape than the rest of her fur. The sound of the rubber lining at the bottom of the metal door thumping against the concrete made Loona recoil. Her ears were tucked back, pinned against the side of her head, and her tail clung to her right leg, wrapping around it as she pressed her back against the nearest wall.
"Damnation, Loona, how long have you been out there?" You tried not to sound accusatory, but the sight of her marred fur made it difficult to keep a level tone.
"Dunno. Since an hour after the storm started?" Loona shrugged, her face tilted toward the concrete ground of your delivery area, though her anxious eyes remained fixated on you. "What's it matter?"
"What's it matter?" You scoffed. "This is the biggest downpour of the year, and a couple layers of brick is not enough coverage for a fully grown hellhound."
"Yeah, I think I noticed, jackass." A low growl rumbled its way out of her. You winced, but she seemed more bitter than angry. "I wouldn't be here if I had anywhere else. Got chased out from the awning down at Ritter's. If it wasn't for the storm, those assholes would have chased me and locked me up when I tried to hide out in the park, and some freak was already hiding out in the dumpster down the block."
"Right..." You gave a hesitant nod. It wasn't as if you weren't aware of how rough things were for the vagrants of Hell, but hearing her spell it out put a different perspective on things. "Doesn't matter now. Come on."
Loona made an uncertain noise, remaining perched against the wall. You paused, already half-turned toward the inner door.
"I've got an emergency box in the prep room. Those burns are gonna need some treatment. You find many first-aid kits in the dumpsters out there?"
The fur on her muzzle wrinkled as she grumbled, but she followed you into the shop all the same. Her nose twitched as she walked, taking in the smell of fresh meat; by the time you laid out the disinfectant and burn gel, she was licking her lips, with one hand clutched over her abdomen.
"Here. You any good at patching yourself up? Know how to use all this? Great. Use as much as you need." You didn't wait for an answer. Soft whines and whimpers sounded behind you as Loona poured the burning antiseptic over her seared limbs. While she was distracted by the pain, you snuck a cooler open on your way out the door and palmed a heavily wrapped package.
"I'll be in the break room," you called out as you pivoted into the narrow hall that lined the back area.
"You have a break room? In a fucking butcher shop?"
"I like to get away from it all sometimes."
"Hey, um... all done. Thanks. I mean, y'know, for not being a complete asshole. Like usual."
Loona was standing in the doorway when you twisted around. Her legs and arms were bandaged up in a haphazard mess. Gauze wrapped the worst of her burns rather unevenly, with little bubbles of burn gel oozing out at random seams. Still, it was a lot better than letting them sit exposed, and you weren't stupid enough to try applying any of it yourself.
"No worries, happy to help. Oh, and here, you need these too." You pivoted on your heel and thrust the plate you were holding her way before she could object. It was a bit heavy, piled high with layers of meat and paper towels, but thankfully, she snatched the object being shoved her way, and she didn't fumble it when you snapped your hands back.
"Huh? The shit is-" Loona's hands moved to shove the plate away, but the reflexive rejection died on her lips when the scent of the bacon wafted into her nose. Her pupils dilated like she'd just done a full line. Her jaw hung open, and her tongue started to slip forward until she regained her composure.
"It's food. You eat it." Your dry remark snapped the starving hellhound out of it before she could start drooling. Loona gave you her best glare as she tried to shove the plate back in your direction, but her own body seemed to be fighting her efforts.
"I don't need your charity. I can't fix the weather, but I don't need anyone to take care of me." Loona's grimace grew as she tried to force the plate into your hands, but you had already lowered them to your sides and kept them there, even when she acted as if she were about to drop it. Not one to give up, she stepped over to one of the counters and dropped it there, crossing her arms when she turned back to you.
"I already microwaved it, it's not like I can sell it to anyone now. I've been snacking all day, stuck inside with no customers like this; I can't eat it all. Either you scarf that down, or it goes in the trash." For a moment, you considered asking if she'd prefer eating it from there – but that might have encouraged her to take a bite out of you, rather than the food.
"...You microwaved *bacon*?" Loona asked, giving the plate a sudden side-eye.
"It's a break room, not a kitchenette." You rolled your eyes, torn between amusement and frustration at her ability to always find something to complain about. "I don't have a hotplate. Yeah, it's a fucking travesty, okay? I'm so sorry it isn't crisped to perfection. You want warm food, or not?"
"...Fine. Whatever. Better than letting you assholes toss more shit away, instead of giving it to people who could use it." Despite the irritated tone and the snarky words, Loona didn't waste a second before digging in to your offering, shoveling the strips of hellhog into her mouth. You weren't even sure she chewed the first few.
"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" This time, you were annoyed, but it was confusion that led the way.
"You already saw me rummaging around, do I have to spell it out?" Loona snapped. "You people have no fucking idea how good it is for you. Just because you're not Goetias or some shit, you think you're down in the dumps like the rest of us, while you toss out better things than most of us have ever owned!"
"Hey, I'm pretty good about using everything I can." You pointed at her indignantly. Your shop was one of the few things you had pride in. "Most of what I don't use gets rendered. Sometimes I even take some home, make a helluva broth. I toss out shit nobody should be eating – half the load I was carrying just now either got scrubbed off the floors, or was past expiration. That stuff could be dangerous to eat, even by Hell's standards!"
"More dangerous than picking it out of the trash later?" Loona mocked, somehow sounding both ashamed and smug about the difficulties she'd faced. "Or starving out in the street? Do you have any idea how depressing it is to see someone you used to know lying dead in an alley, skinny as a rail, behind a fucking restaurant, because they bought an incinerator rather than worry about a hound picking through their fucking garbage?!"
Silence reigned in the wake of her outburst. The few strips left were all but forgotten now. The plate screeched and crackled as her fist tightened, claws flexing into the cheap plastic.
"No. No, I don't," you answered quietly.
"Well I fucking do. So thanks for the bandages, thanks for the food, but don't act like you know what it's like out there. I'm out of here. Storm's letting up, I'll be fine now. "
With that, Loona turned for the door and started marching, her tail hiked and her fists clenched. You followed her out, swinging behind the counter as she pivoted for the door. The acid rain was as heavy as ever – it had only been a few minutes, after all – but you weren't sure you could stop her from storming off. You called out to her as your fingers groped along the shelf.
"Loona, wait a second-"
"I don't want any more of your shitty microwave bacon!"
"Then take this instead."
For a moment, Loona looked determined to keep going, to plow right out of the shop. The jangle of metal caught her attention, though, as you'd hoped it would. With wide eyes, she spun just in time to catch the collar you threw at her. The startled look on her face lasted a breath, giving you just enough time to prepare yourself before she broke into a full-on snarl.
"What kind of sick shit are you playing at, asshole?! Is this pity? I point out how shitty this town is to us, and you think the solution is to collar me up? To fucking own-"
"If I wanted to 'own' you, I could've had them haul your ass to the pound years ago when I first saw you hiding under the fire exit two doors down." Your voice was loud enough to cut her off, firm enough to demand attention, but there was a patience to it all the same. You leaned against the counter with feigned ease, arms crossed, eyes unwavering. "But I didn't do that, did I?"
Loona stayed quiet, her ears perked up, her tail level and straight.
"Did I?"
"Yeah, congrats on not being the literal worst," Loona spat back, her hushed voice stretching across the quiet storefront. The sound of fabric gliding against fabric echoed behind the words, her threadbare gloves grinding against themselves as her fists tightened.
"You're not a pup anymore, Loona. If you get hauled in, you're not going to the pound. You're going to the same place everybody else does." Your eyes fell to the collar now flexing and straining in her vice-like grip – for all her anger, at least she hadn't chucked it against your walls. Yet. "And even if you don't care about getting locked up, you know what they do to hounds that run up a record."
It was a low blow, but an effective one. Loona's snout angled toward the ground. Her quivering tail buried itself between her legs, twitching against one thigh.
"I don't know why you don't go to a safer ring, and I'm not asking. You've got your reasons, and I don't know what's best for you, you've made that clear. I can't make you haul ass anywhere in the seven rings if you don't wanna go." Your words came out a little more empathetic, without softening your resolve. "I have no interest in being your owner, and anyone that's ever met you knows you don't want one. But this'll at least keep you from getting hassled for just walking around. You don't have to wear it, just keep it on you, and if you do get in trouble, at least you've got the option of throwing it on. Might keep you out of prison – might keep you alive, who knows."
"Why?" The word was complex enough on its own. Loona let it linger between the two of you, something else entering her expression, ebbing and flowing beneath her eternal scowl.
"Because when you're not trying to rip my throat out, you're almost kinda tolerable." You smiled at her, and although she narrowed her eyes at the remark, it seemed to help cool her temper. "You weren't wrong, Loona. We do take a lot of shit for granted once we get our feet under us. But I'm aware of just how easy it'd be for me to have wound up where you're standing right now. You got problems, girl. But I think you're a good one."
"Yeah, me and about a thousand other hounds out there," Loona tutted skeptically.
"I can't help everyone." The shrug you gave might have been callous, even cruel, but at least it was honest. "I'd have an emptied freezer and another nine hundred mouths out there waiting for more. I do what I can. Tell you what – keep the collar, and there's a plate of delicious, microwaved bacon for you here any time you need it. If you've got any friends out there on the streets, tell 'em- uh, tell 'em I'll start separating out anything halfway edible, put it in a nicer bag when I toss it, keep it sanitary. I'd offer to just make it available outside, but... well, I'm guessing they'd turn their nose up at being 'pitied', if they're anything like you, kid."
You'd never seen Loona smile, and your words didn't change that now. But between the lines of skepticism and annoyance, beneath the wrinkles of her furrowed brow and her eternal scowl, she had the smallest frown you'd ever seen her wear, and that felt like some kind of victory.
"Don't call me that. You just said I'm not a kid anymore," Loona grumbled. "It's weird coming from someone my age anyway."
"Whatever you say, kid."
The frown deepened again as your own grin widened.
"Look, I'll... I'll think about it, okay?" Loona's eyes fell to the collar, her frown twisting into a grimace. Part of her still seemed to want to hurl it as far away as possible. "But this is still creeping me out."
"You can do whatever you want, Loona," you said with an easy shrug. "It's your choice."
The off-handed comment had more of an effect than you'd expected. Loona turned back to the door, but she didn't waltz out into the ebbing torrent of sickly-green rain. She leaned against the doorway, turning her back to you, watching the streaks over your windows for a long while in silence. She lifted the collar up, loosening her hold on the unwelcome gift.
"Why the spikes?" She shifted her grip, dangling the collar by one end to take a better look at it. "I almost needed more bandages because of this shitty thing."
"Dunno. Just thought it suited you," you replied honestly.
Loona hesitated a moment, then pinched the other end of the collar with her free hand, hoisting it sideways and holding it so that it aligned with her neck in the reflection cast on the glass door. She recoiled at the sight of the collar around her neck, even in a reflection, but she held it there for a long while before lowering it with a slight shake to her fingers.
"...Yeah. Yeah, I guess I could've gotten stuck with a lot worse," Loona mumbled as she stowed the collar.
You watched her standing at the threshold for a few beats longer, taking a deep breath, relaxing for the first time since you'd discovered her huddling outside. Then you slinked into the back, finding a new corner to busy yourself scrubbing away at. By the time you were finished, the storm had abated, and you were alone again.
But this time, there was no collar left crumpled on the floor.
Shouldn't contain Mature Content/Subjects, but still marked as such due to the nature of the blog.
Warnings: Mention of broken household/parents shouting.
Reader and Octavia are BFFs/Platonic.
"No, really, you have no idea what a fucking nightmare this place is without company. It's a fucking cesspool, and not even the fun kind!" A particularly shrill voice echoed through the cracked window, accompanied by the rhythmic clattering of talons against tiled floor.
"This manor is one of the Goetia family's architectural masterpieces! Even most of the royalty in Hell is envious of our home!"
"Yes, but they don't have to share it with you! How am I supposed to enjoy myself when you're constantly draining the life out of everything around here, including me?!"
Your fingers burned by the time the voices finally died out, but thankfully your grip held firm. You hauled yourself over the windowsill once the shouts had faded to whispers, landing quietly on the tiled floor inside. You thanked the stars that the marital spat had continued moving through the halls. The mere thought of what damage a fall to the unforgiving ground below might do, or how the guards would react when they saw it happen, was enough to earn a grateful wince.
Apart from the unexpected screaming match, your journey into the Ars Goetia manor was mercifully routine. Hard, elegant tile gave way under the heels of your boots to plus carpet that you practically sank into with each step, and then back to tile again, the texture of your voyage changing with each threshold you crossed. A quick trip through the thirteenth bathroom—or was this the fourteenth?—and down the side hall got you most of the way there. To avoid the main hallway, you took a quick detour through a gallery, though calling the route a 'detour' felt absurd when the gallery itself was twice the size of your own home.
Regardless of what to call it, your hike past countless stuffy old portraits always led you exactly where you wanted to be: standing before a pink door that had grown quite familiar over these past few years. Your eyes traced its frame almost reflexively as your knuckles rapped against the audaciously bright paint. Though you could still see traces of use, most of the little nicks and scratches you'd come to know were fixed within a day or two. It seemed they employed a full-time crew dedicated to repairing or replacing everything in the house. Considering how many potted plants and servants you'd seen getting chucked around, it wasn't hard to understand why.
As you waited for a response, you began to fidget. That was when you noticed the tiny red figure standing just down the hall—a female imp with wavy horns, wearing the standard servant uniform of the Goetia family. The little imp stared at you in silent shock, just long enough for the door to finally creak open. Octavia peeked her head out of the door cautiously, a weary look of being utterly done with the world that quickly evaporated when she saw who it was. You were surprised to see that the smile quickly curving its way up her beak did not fade when she saw the short servant; in fact, she waved amicably to the red-skinned maid.
"Hi Glinny! Watch out, sounds like they're headed for the east wing," Octavia called out, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper at the end. The imp looked almost amused at first, but the sound of a vase shattering from the other side of the manor wiped the smirk from her face. She nodded quickly, and then scurried off, dusting the wall and hall tables as she went.
Octavia pulled you into her room not a moment later, eagerly tugging you toward the bed, practically throwing you onto the luxurious mattress in her excitement. You tried to feign a dramatic 'oof' as you plunged downward, but the extravagance of the Goetia furniture extended to the bed, and it came out as something of a relieved sigh as you were swallowed up by the delightfully soft blankets. Octavia wasted no time in retrieving her phone from where it lay, then began rummaging around in the drawer beside her bed.
"Uh, Octavia, should I get out of here?" You asked uncertainly, glancing toward the door. "I mean, I got spotted."
"Huh? Oh, don't worry about that, nobody's going to say anything." Octavia didn't even bother to look back at you while dismissing your concerns. She was too busy retrieving a set of earbuds from the drawer, plugging them into her phone and shoving one in your direction before you'd even finished settling in on the star-covered blanket.
"You sure? Because I just snuck in, and I'd really rather not-"
"Glinny's got a good heart," Octavia reassured you, wiggling the earbud for emphasis. "Besides, would you want to be the one to interrupt that nonsense?"
"I guess not," you admitted. Octavia's room was surprisingly poorly soundproofed, and Stella's voice in particular still pierced the walls with an unnerving volume. "But I don't want to get you in trouble, and I'd really rather not get thrown out. Especially since I get the impression that 'thrown' would be taken literally in this case."
"I won't let anyone chuck you off the roof, promise," Octavia said, giggling.
"Very specific promise," you said dryly. Despite your skepticism, you finally took the earbud and popped it in. "What's the point of sneaking in like this if it doesn't matter, then...?"
"Oh, the guards would definitely give you a rough time if they caught on. But you don't need to worry about the others," Octavia murmured, scrolling through her playlist with a focused precision. "They'll probably just pretend they never saw you. Not like they're the ones responsible for keeping people out. And most of them know you by now anyway."
"They do?" You asked, eyes widening in concern.
"Duh. You're my best friend," Octavia said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Of course they know you. I talk about you all the time."
"And do you tell them that I sneak in?" You must have sounded as skeptical as you felt. Octavia gave you a glare, one that turned slightly playful when she flipped you off.
"No, you absolute walnut! I just tell them that we hang out sometimes."
"Which, since your parents never let you invite people over or go out on your own, means they know that I sneak in," you extrapolated.
"Oh, come off it," Octavia nudged your shoulder with her own. "You worry too much. Nobody is gonna risk my mom throwing them across the mansion to rat out some dweeb sneaking in to listen to music. It's not like you're breaking in to steal stuff or something."
"Still... I don't want to cause trouble for you, Via."
"Me? Avoid trouble?" Octavia scoffed. She gave you a look that seemed to reconsider your entire friendship in that moment.
"Alright, alright, point taken." You held up your hands in surrender, earning another eye roll from the sassy Goetia.
"Good. Now, shut up! We should already be listening to the new album by now. Seriously, this one? Absolute fucking banger." With that, Octavia finally pressed play.
Just like when she'd seen you, the shift in the royal teen's attitude was immediate. She started to sway lightly on her elbows, eyes closed as she bounced energetically. The music filled your ears and stole away your anxious thoughts, the harsh tones and aggressive energy of the song seeming almost cathartic after that stressful climb.
Outside the protective bubble of Octavia's room, the manor continued its endless drama. You could hear the distant sound of another argument brewing, punctuated by the crash of something expensive meeting its demise. But in here, as the tracks played on with Octavia energetically swaying beside you and the music weaving its spell, the worries of the world seemed a little more distant than they usually did.
"Thanks for coming," Octavia whispered after a while, lifting her head to meet your eyes. "I said it's no big deal sneaking in, but... I know it's not easy getting here."
"Any time," you replied honestly. "I'd brave all the imps and arguing demons in Hell just to spend an afternoon with my bestie."
"Aww, that's sweet," Octavia said. She leaned over, rubbing her shoulder against yours for a moment. "You're alright, you know that?"
"Don't go getting soft on me now," you teased, leaning into her shoulder playfully. Octavia giggled and gave you a light shove in return, just as the sound of drums started to pick up again.
"Oh, this one's wicked! Be quiet, I love this part."
"I wasn't even talking!"
"Shut up, you dweeb!"
In the end, Octavia had to play the song from the beginning anyway—you were both laughing and shoving each other too hard to hear any of it.
Warnings: Blood, Mild description of a lost limb.
I wrote this before Season 2 premiered; I'm not sure this fully does her justice after we got to see more of her, but I still like it.
"Can't Adam handle one Extermination without you?" You traced a finger along the counter, watching Lute gear up. "It's only been six months since the last one."
You weren't sure why you made the effort. Lute was determined, proud of her work, and nothing if not diligent. In all the time since you'd moved in with her and learned about her little outings, you'd never been able to convince her to stay. Minus the usual duties of an angel, you had her to yourself three-hundred and sixty-four days a year, but the one you missed out on always stung. Years of getting accustomed to the delights of Heaven—where you could have anything with just a moment's notice—had made it a lot more noticeable when something was out of reach.
"No way," Lute said firmly. She didn't break stride on her way to the rack mounted near the front door, but she did at least spare a few glances back your way as she donned her Exorcist outfit. "It's not about population control this time. That little bitch has been sticking her nose into our business for too long, and she finally pushed things too far. I'm finally gonna get to take my shot against that traitorous little whore and her Antichrist girlfriend!"
"Wait, you're serious?" You straightened up, your eyes bulging. "You're actually going after Lucifer's daughter? And Vaggie? How are you gonna do that? I dunno what Lucifer's kid counts as, but Vaggie's an angel, like you!"
"I took the little traitor's eye out, didn't I?" Lute growled as she tugged her boots on with more force than necessary. "Even if we can't finish the job this time, at the very least, I'll take the other one! Maybe the ears, too. See how well she can organize her little upstarts while she's blind and deaf!"
"Is it me, or do you seem a little worked up, honey?"
"Oh, wonder why? Couldn't be because-" Lute stopped short when she noticed your lifted brows, your pleased expression. Her eyes narrowed, and she heaved a sigh as she retreated from the bait. "I can't stay and rant. You know I have to go."
"I do. But you can't blame me for trying." It never worked, but it never seemed to bother her, either. Going out for the annual exterminations always put Lute in far too good of a mood to hold grudges. Which meant that you could get away with things that she might not have as much patience for otherwise, no matter how much you knew she enjoyed it...
Which was why you didn't bother waiting for Lute to stop getting dressed; you leaned in and stole a kiss on her cheek just before she was about to slip her helmet on. Putting that oddly demonic-looking helmet on always made Lute smile, but you liked to think at least a little of it was for you this time. Whether that was true or not, she made a point of trying to sound a little miffed when she responded.
"Oh, I can blame you all I want. In fact, maybe while I'm down there reminding those losers not to fuck with Heaven, I'll think up a way to punish you for trying to keep me from my sacred duty," Lute purred as she finished slipping her gloves on. Excitement, lust, bloodlust, and genuine affection all blended in that threat. Where others might have cowered away, you slipped forward without flinching.
"Well, then you'd better make sure you get home early, and with plenty of energy left. Exorcists don't half-ass their punishments," you teased, leaning in until your face was barely grazing the smooth surface of her mask and its display, until you were practically kissing your lover's light-up lips. "Tire yourself out too bad, and I just might turn the tables on you. I have been following your training program, you know. Be awfully embarrassing for the strongest angel in Heaven to wind up pinned underneath-"
Lute's hands moved in perfect coordination. Her fingers laced through your hair and gripped you tightly enough to make you ache, while her other hand slipped her mask up so that she could mash her lips to yours unobstructed. It was a raw kiss, primal and forceful enough for her lips to whisper sinful promises to yours. The mask was barely moved out of the way enough for the intimate contact. Its hard surface smashed and flattened each of your faces on both sides of it, but Lute almost seemed to like the discomfort, taking a sort of feral joy in forcing her way through any obstacle to get at you.
When she pulled away, the glimpse you caught of her true smile almost made the LED display on the mask seem melancholic. She tugged the intimidating piece of gear back into place to hide herself away, but you could hear the way her breathing had grown heavier.
"You talk too much for someone that's never beaten me in as much as a wrestling match," Lute taunted as she returned to her preparation. She gave you a firm slap on the ass as she pulled away for good measure. "Don't worry. I promise, I'll remind you just who you're fucking with when I get back."
"Mmm. I like the phrasing on that."
Lute ignored the remark, much to your disappointment. It was hard to tell with the mask on, but it looked like her eyes were focused on the final piece of equipment... and her favorite. The last thing she took when she left was always her spear. The angelic steel shimmered as she hefted it, holding the shaft like an old friend, keeping it carefully angled away from anything breakable as she headed for the front door.
"Be safe, Lute."
This was usually the part where she would sneer at you, or even give you a not-too-gentle smack. Lute always seemed offended when you showed any concern for her well-being, or heaven forbid, tried to show empathy. Lute hated being pitied more than anything else. But this time, she just stayed quiet. The silence and stillness of it startled you more than any assault might have. You were just starting to stammer something out—you weren't quite sure what, yet—when she tightened her grip on the spear and threw a grin at you over her shoulder, a look so confident it was almost taunting.
"Oh, you shouldn't be worried about me. Worry about what I'm gonna do to you when I get back," Lute teased. The lights on her mask flickered in an approximation of a wink.
Your anxiety faded in an instant, and you gave your lover one last smile before she turned away. Then she threw the outside door open, took two steps, and ascended into the skies above the clouds. You hurried to the door as you always did, watching her as she went, until even the little black and gray shape of her wings had faded away into the endless expanses of Heaven's white.
~~~~~~
With Lute gone, the house felt empty, as it always did with her gone. She chided you whenever you mentioned it, saying that the delights of Heaven were turning you soft. You preferred to think of it as enjoying her company so much that all the other wonders of Heaven seemed trivial in comparison. She always called you an idiot when you said that, but she often blushed while doing it. And she always stopped lecturing you on being more independent afterward.
But you'd learned lots of ways to pass an eternity. First came Lute's exercise routine—flexibility stretches she insisted built discipline, not muscle. You'd never understood the point until she'd joined you once, correcting your form with hands that lingered longer than necessary.
A good book helped most of the time, but today, your mind was just a little too loud. Every time you tried to get into a scene, a thought about Lute going up against the devil's own daughter would play in your head, and it was just too hard to concentrate for long.
"Well, whatever. I'm gonna take a shower, try to relax a little..."
There hadn't even been a shower when you moved in. No one really needed to shower in Heaven, after all. The shower had been your addition to Lute's spartan quarters—she'd called it unnecessary until she'd realized the benefits of you having reasons to undress. Now the ritual helped pass the time when she was gone.
"Ahhhh, heavens above, that's divine," you groaned as you disrobed and stepped under the water. "Wonder if Lute will want to go out when she gets back. She's always so pumped up after an Extermination. She did seem interested in that new pavilion they built..."
As your thoughts were drifting, planning out a whole day trip, you thought you heard something moving outside the bathroom. A few years ago, you might have jumped, or perhaps frozen in place, listening anxiously to see if the sound would repeat itself. Not anymore. Aside from a little primal jolt you could never quite manage to subdue, you'd lost most of your mortal fears over time. Heaven was filled with winners and angels, neither of which had any inclination toward breaking and entering.
But to your bewilderment, the sound did repeat. This time the noise was too loud, too deliberate; Heaven or not, you froze, staring at the door as an icy chill ran down your spine. The sound came again. Then a third time. Then the handle to the bathroom door twisted abruptly, and the door swung open desperately. Its golden handle smacked into the wall hard enough to make you jump back against the shower wall, and if it weren't for the familiarity of the greyscale figure visible through the frosted glass of the shower door, the squeal you gave might have turned into a full-throated scream.
"Oh my God!" You blurted out, a wet slap resounding through the room as you reflexively clutched a hand over your chest. "Geez, Lute! You scared the shit out of me. I wasn't expecting you home for at least a few more hours!"
You didn't technically have a heart anymore, yet somehow, you could still feel it racing in your chest. Your melted against the wall, closed your eyes, and began to breathe slowly, trying to warm away the chills that had taken hold of you. You didn't open them again until you heard the shower door rattle twice, then slowly slide open.
"Hang on, I'll move, just one second," you breathed, putting your hands against the wall to steady yourself. "Oh, man! If I wasn't already dead, I think that would have done it. Come on in, lover. I know how worked up a good Extermination gets you. We can get all that sin and blasphemy washed off of you, and have a nice- holy fucking shit, Lute!"
It wasn't your glorious angel that crawled through the open door.
Golden blood painted the bathroom tile. Her left arm ended in a ragged stump. Feathers littered her path like fallen ash, and her remaining hand clutched at nothing, grasping for something that wasn't there. She didn't look at you—didn't even seem to notice you—as she collapsed into the shower's corner, uniform and all.
Your eyes blew open until they hurt. Your fingers gripped at the shower wall behind you, knees threatening to give out at any moment. Her uniform was torn and ragged. Her helmet was gone, either lost somewhere or discarded before she reached the bathroom, which let you see the vacant look in her eyes, the tremble of her lips, the terrifying numbness of her deadpan expression. Your jaw dropped open silently, any words you might have spoken fading into horrified grunts.
"He's... he's gone," she murmured, almost to herself. Her voice was emotionless, but her tone warbled as she spoke, and she didn't meet your gaze. Her eyes had barely glanced your way since she first slid the door open, and now they were fixed on the drain as if it held the answers to some mystery of the universe.
"W-who is 'gone', Lute?" You managed to ask, somehow finding a voice for perhaps the least important question on your mind at the moment.
"He's gone." Her voice cracked on the word. "Adam is—" She pressed her forehead against her knees. "All I have left of him is his halo."
"Lute, please, let me—" You reached for what remained of her lost arm, but she jerked away, snarling weakly. Even broken, she wouldn't let you see her weaknesses. "At least let me get the armor off and take a look at it. You're going to—"
"What? Bleed out?" She laughed, bitter and sharp. "Angels don't die from bleeding out. We're not... we're not supposed to die at all! That's not supposed to be how this works, damn it!"
The words erupted as a shout, one feral enough to make you take a half-step back. You felt lost; when Lute was around, she always took charge of the situation. With her like this, you weren't sure where to begin.
"Okay. Okay, Lute, just- just give me a second. We'll figure this out," you promised, though you hadn't the slightest idea of how. Not sure what to do, but feeling an intense need to do something, you hastily turned off the shower, then slipped past Lute to grab the towel hanging on the rack, not sure how much good it would do for the now-soaked angel and her clothes, but wanting to try all the same. The moment you tried to wrap it around her torso, though, Lute growled again, shoving you away with her remaining arm.
"Don't fucking baby me," she said, a string of curses following the words. "I can take care of myself!"
"Lute, you have to let me help you," you pleaded, trying desperately not to stare at the golden blood dripping from her stump. Now that the water was turned off there was nothing to dilute it; a shimmering smear of angelic essence was slowly building and trailing down the wall behind her ragged sleeve.
"I don't need your help! I don't need anyone's help!" Lute snapped, her eyes actually focusing for a moment in her anger. But as soon as she was turned your way, really looking at you for the first time since she'd stumbled her way in, Lute's fervor dimmed. Her eyes fell away, ashamed at more than just her reaction. "I- I can't, I'm sorry. I need to get going, I can't just lay around all day."
"Go? You're not going anywhere," you protested immediately. "You're hurt, Lute!"
"Doesn't matter," she said weakly. "Gotta tell the Seraphim. Have to make my report. Need to find... to find…"
Lute's hand grasped for one of the shower's ledges, tensing as she started to lift herself up. You had just made up your mind to physically stop her from rising when her arm gave out from the strain of it, dropping her the scant inches she'd gained. She stared at her own hand in disbelief, fury growing on her features once more. Her arm was shaking, quivering beyond her control. Lute clenched her fist to steady her arm, curling her fingers so tightly that her gray skin turned white. Even then, she couldn't force her body to obey her, and the pain of it was clear in her eyes.
"Lute, please. Give me ten minutes." Your fingers moved to her clenched fist and tenderly blanketed the frustrated digits. Lute made a half-hearted attempt to pull away, but her body eventually relaxed at your touch. "Stop being a soldier for ten minutes, and take care of yourself."
"I have to do this. I have to complete my mission," Lute muttered robotically. "Even if it was a failure, I have to see it through!"
"Fuck your goddamn mission!" The intensity of your words shocked you. Judging by the way it seemed to break Lute's spiral, she felt the same. "I don't care about your mission right now, Lute! I don't care about the Exterminations, I care about you!"
Fear and frustration bubbled over within your mind. By some small miracle, they mixed together to form a panic-driven determination, one strong enough to break through your shocked paralysis. You pushed past Lute's guard and moved to wrap the towel around her again. She moved to grab its edge, but you yanked it out of her grip as her fingers brushed the cloth, and she seemed too bewildered by your rebellion to try again. By the time she started to complain, you'd gotten the towel firmly wrapped around the stump of her arm, staunching the slow drip of angelic blood.
"I don't... I don't have anything to use for the rest, but I can find something," you vowed. Your voice was losing some of its energy now, your limbs starting to feel faint again. You forced yourself up before the weakness could fully take hold, unsteady limbs carrying you to the medicine cabinet and retrieving a box of bandages.
"I don't need your stupid fucking bandages," Lute growled, though she didn't have the same fight in her, and she didn't do more than turn her head away as you knelt beside her. "I can fix this. I have to. Nobody else can. Nobody. If I can't fix it, it's gonna stay broken, and- and if it's all broken, what's the fucking point?!"
You had no idea what she'd seen down there. You never were, really. The few times you'd asked her what an Extermination was like, you'd regretted it, and you made a point not to repeat that mistake. But she'd spoken of those horrors like they were glorious, like she reveled in them. This... you'd known she idolized Adam as her superior. It was one of the first things you'd had to really reckon with when you started the relationship. But you'd never imagined it could break her like this.
"The point is to do what I can for you," you said quietly, fingers brushing the dirtied skin of her forehead and cheeks as you covered the cuts on her face.
"No point at all," Lute mumbled, turning away the moment you let go of her head. "Just let me die. I should have let myself die. We failed. I failed. I lost. To a traitor."
"Do you care about me?" You demanded, putting your hand on Lute's cheek, forcing her to look back at you. The mere act of taking control of her like that felt so different, so bizarre, but it worked.
"I don't... what?"
"Do you care about me?" You repeated, not offering an elaboration. You loosened your grip a little as she fumbled for words, but didn't let her turn away again. Lute's fractured mind seemed to process the question another two or three times before she managed the faintest of nods. "Good. Then you might have lost, but you haven't lost everything. You still have something to protect. And that means you have to keep going, right? Right?!"
"Keep going? I-" Lute put so much effort into a simple swallow that you could feel every bit of the pain, the weakness she must be experiencing. Then her lips cracked apart and a few words managed to escape her. "...Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I have to keep fighting. My girls still need me. Everyone still needs me."
Fighting was the last thing that you wanted her to do, but it was the first light you'd seen in her eyes since she crawled in, so you nodded and did your best to smile. You were trying to figure out how to fan those flames when Lute lunged forward. She didn't have the strength or the leverage to pull you to her, so she clutched tightly to you instead, fingers pressed into your back with renewed strength while she buried her head in the nape of your neck.
"You need me," she whispered the words as a secret told only to your scent, her voice wavering. A note of fear danced in the words, one that hadn't been there before. "I can't... I don't lose. I don't get defeated, and I don't fail. I'm not good at this. I don't know what to do, I don't know how to pick up the pieces like this. But I'll try to be stronger."
"You can be strong for everyone else," you said, returning the embrace. The two of you were soaked now, through and through. You tried not to think about the lingering smears of golden blood now shared across your own skin. "You don't have to be strong for me."
"All of Heaven is in danger now." Lute sniffled and pulled back slightly. You could see more of her old self now, a burning righteousness, a determination you'd almost been afraid was lost. "We lost Adam. A lot of the others, too. The sinners could attack, they could hurt innocents. I have to be strong for you, too."
"We can worry about what might happen in the future later," you chided. "Right now, all I care abo-"
"Is me. Yeah, yeah, I get it," Lute interrupted you, lowering herself down to the shower's floor so she could press a finger against your lips. "You don't have to keep repeating it."
"I'll repeat it until you start acting like you believe it."
Lute shifted uncomfortably. She had the same look on her face whenever you got too close, too serious. Usually she'd say something dismissive, even derisive, and walk away. As she was, she didn't really seem up to that. Instead she just fidgeted until it was too much. Then with a smile on the verge of shattering, eyes quivering as she forced herself not to look away, she spoke.
"I think, um... I think we might have to postpone that punishment of yours," Lute said, voice pitching up dangerously as she went. "I don't think I'm strong enough to do it properly right now." A giggle strained its way out of her, one that would have sounded unnatural coming from her even if it wasn't so forced. Her remaining arm clasped over the stump and she twisted her body, hiding the injury away behind herself as best as she could manage.
"You still look strong to me."
Lute shivered and bit her lip. Her breathing sped up, a series of fast and hard gasps ripping through her chest. Then she threw herself into you again wordlessly, clinging to you even more furiously this time. You let your hands rest tenderly against her back, but you didn't say anything more to her. You didn't comment on the way she was shaking against you, nor on the sounds escaping her as she heaved and spasmed against your chest.
Farming and ranching weren't the easiest work in any realm or any ring, least of all when the bacon was inclined toward putting you on the menu instead. You'd learned to take things at an easy, steady pace, to never break yourself in the morning when there was always an afternoon's worth of work waiting for you later. Perhaps most importantly, you'd learned to enjoy interruptions when they came, no matter how unexpected. So when you saw Jedd Harslak sprinting across the road, you met him with a warm smile, in very blatant disregard of the panicked look on his face.
"Oh my sweet lord Satan, y'ain't never gonna believe what I just heard!" Jedd acted like he was trying to keep his voice low, but he panicked so hard you were pretty sure the next ring over heard him howling. He damn near threw himself against the property line, bending so far over your fence he almost tumbled right over it.
"What, someone finally tell ya that'cha got yer overalls on backwards?" You asked with a grin. His frantic expression ebbed, then rose again after he hastily checked himself over.
"Oh, very funny," he said with a sour scowl when he realized he'd been had. "This ain't no laughin' matter! Yer in danger!"
"This is the Wrath ring, we're all in danger," you said dryly, rolling your eyes as you shifted the feed bag resting on your shoulder. "Had to climb a damn tree to keep from gettin' ate just last week when Rylan left that blessed gate open again. That ain't no reason to interrupt someone tryin' to get their critters fed, Jedd."
"I'm not talkin' 'bout hell hogs, ya idjit! This is serious." Jedd hissed and leaned in, finally lowering his voice, though by the wild look in his eyes he seemed more afraid than conspiratorial. "I was walkin' the hellhounds earlier an' I took 'em out past the Mays' ranch, like I always do. Was about to wave good mornin' to Lin an' Joe when I overheard Sallie May out talkin' to one'a her brothers!"
"Ya gonna get to the part where this involves me, or should I just go ahead an' throw ya in the trough instead?" You gave Jedd a skeptical look, finding this story of his a lot less entertaining than you'd hoped it might be.
"I'm gettin' there! Sallie May was talkin' 'bout you, ya daft ol' mule," Jedd groaned. "An' it weren't no friendly conversation. I heard her say she's gettin' all fixed up for this year's Pain Games, lookin' to get in peak shape so she can win the whole gosh-darn thing!"
"Well, she's certainly got the grit fer it, I reckon," you said, unable to hold back a small chuckle. There was never much of a trail, but one way or another, everyone seemed to agree that last year's "disappearances" during the games all led back to that quaint little country home, even if Sallie May hadn't ended up taking the trophy home. "But the Pain Games ain't for almost a month. Even if ya think she's gunnin' for me, why're ya actin' like a hellnado's 'boutta tear through this place?"
"She ain't tryin' to whip ya, ya numbskull! She's tryin' to kill ya!" Jedd hopped over the fence and rushed you, grabbing your shirt by the collar, his eyes wide and frenzied. "I heard her sayin' she's been plannin' to swing down to see ya, braggin' about how she was gonna add ya to the body count to get fired up for the games!"
"Now that might have me worried, if ya had any brains between them ears," you responded confidently, though Jedd's severity did make you hesitate a moment despite yourself. The lad might have been a few eggs short of a dozen, but he wasn't known for making up tales. "She prolly offed a half-dozen hard-workin' imps last year and still never got caught. Ya really think she's gonna go blabbin' about it? Much less somewhere close enough to rattle them words around in that hollowed-out gourd ya call a-"
A satiny voice from behind interrupted your oncoming insults. "Hey there, Jedd. Wasn't expectin' ta see ya all the way out here. What kinda trouble ya gettin' yerself up to now?"
At the sound, both of you turned your heads in unison, only to find yourselves face-to-face with Sallie May. She was leaning over the fence in the same spot Jedd had occupied moments before, elbows resting on the freshly painted wood. The look in her eyes made you think maybe Jedd was onto something after all.
"Uh, nothin', Sallie May, 'tweren't nothin' at all," Jedd said shakily. He realized several moments too late that he still had a deathgrip on the collar of your shirt, finally releasing it and taking a step back. "I just came to talk about-"
"That's nice," Sallie May interrupted, not raising her voice in the slightest yet managing to silence Jedd in an instant. "Well, I got some talkin' to do myself, an' I kinda like the idea'a keepin' it all private-like. Some things ya just can't do with other people around watchin', ya know. Why don't'cha go on a nice, long walk, Jedd? I got some plans ta take care of that'cha don't need ta worry yer pretty little head over."
Jedd, pulling off a rather stunning impression of a toddler staring down a stampede, was already nodding before Sallie May had even finished speaking. With no sense of solidarity, one foot already moving toward the gate, he had the gall to mutter a curse when you grabbed him by the belt and hauled him back in, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and putting on your best smile.
"Sorry Sallie May, can't do it. Jedd came to talk to me about buildin' a new hell hog pen!" You damn near winced at your own explanation, but it was the best you could come up with on the spur of the moment. "I been tryin' to figure out how to make 'em a little more solid. Three'a the little fuckers got out last week, Jedd said he'd come help show me how to shore 'em up a little.
"I ain't never-"
You threw a hard elbow into Jedd's side as subtly as you could, knocking the wind right out of the cowardly little imp.
"If ya try an' leave me out fer the buzzards on this one, I'll make sure I finish skinnin' ya a'fore she finishes with me," you warned, doing your best to keep your mouth still as you whispered the threat.
"Ah, yeah, reinforcin' pens, ain't nothin' I can't handle!" Jedd promised, his grin shakier than his carpentry.
"Jedd, since when can ya build a pen for hell hogs?" Sallie May asked, no trace of amusement found in the smile that seemed just as nailed on as Jedd's did. "Ain't'cha the one that built the old outhouse by the creek? The one that fell over the first time somebody went an' sneezed while they was takin' care'a business?"
"W-well, maybe, but I-"
"Whoops, look at the time!" You hastily glanced over at the sun as if you'd only just noticed it was there in the first place. "Jedd, we best get started, or we'll never make it before sundown."
You hurriedly scooped the skinny little imp up by the waist and tucked him under your shoulder. Abandoning your bag of feed entirely, you started jogging across the field.
"Bye, Sallie May! Nice talkin' to ya!" Jedd called out, giving her a little wave behind your back as you hauled ass out of there.
"'Course! Talk to ya reaaaaal soon." Sweat beaded on your forehead as Sallie's voice carried after you. "Sooner'n y'all might think!"
~~~~
"Fancy meetin' ya out here," Sallie May drawled as she leaned in through the open barn window. "Got that new pen put up already?"
You jolted at the sound of her slow drawl, jumping so much that the hay you'd been about to toss cascaded down on poor Ellry's snout instead of in her trough. Smoke puffed around the irritated bovine's nostrils as she huffed at you, stamping one foot threateningly.
"Err, yeah, uh, all set up!" You lied reflexively, spinning and holding the pitchfork sideways, half-expecting her to leap through the window. Following your narrow escape, you'd spent the better part of two days dodging Sallie May. Apparently, even hiding away in your barn wasn't good enough. Was she just wandering around the property line?
"Well, ain't'cha just the fastest hands this side'a the Pride Ring?" Sallie May purred, leaning even further into your barn, until her waist was practically hung up on the frame. Your grip tightened as she lifted one knee onto the edge, crawling up onto the windowsill and grinning like a fox demon wiggling its way into the cockatrice pens. "Ya might be even better'n I thought, y'know. An' since it's just the two of us out here…"
"Actually, I ain't gonna be here for long," you said hastily, turning toward the barn door and breaking into a jog without hesitation. "Busy day today, sorry, Sallie May! I'll catch ya later!"
"What in tarnation? Y'ain't even finished-" Sallie May hurriedly pulled herself through the window, but she was caught off-guard by how quickly you'd turned tail.
By the time she was inside the barn, you'd thrown the door open and bolted off down the road. Sallie May took a few steps into the barn as she watched you go, a frown crossing her face. Ellry turned her head toward the new arrival and let out a warning moo, angrily eyeing the hay that was out of reach of her pen. Sallie May didn't as much as flinch, throwing the Hellcow a withering glare.
"Oh, don't give me none of that damn attitude. Y'ain't the only one left hangin' around here, ya know."
~~~~
"Well, howdy there. Yer lookin' mighty strong, heftin' all that grain at once. Betcha could really do a number on someone with muscles like them. Wanna go somewhere quiet and gimme a demonstration?"
You froze, but somehow managed not to trip, or to drop the oversized sacks of grain you had on either shoulder. You swore you'd checked every angle when you left the mill, but somehow, Sallie May had snuck up on you yet again. Your skin felt cold as you heard her smooth tones lilting from behind you, just a few yards back on the little dirt path that ran from the mill, down past the animal pens, and eventually meandered back to your ranch house. You swallowed loudly, and a chill zipped up and down your spine as you frantically glanced around for a way to escape.
"I-It ain't that hard to carry 'em. Yer about as strong as any pair'a hands around here, Sallie May. But sure, in fact, I can give ya a demonstration right here! Watch close now!"
With that, you were off. Of course, there wasn't a chance in Hell that you could outrun a kid carrying that much weight, let alone a woman like Sallie May. Not in a fair race, anyway. But the head start you got while she thought she had the advantage gave you a few crucial yards. Just enough to tear ragged holes in each bag and kick open the gate to the nearest cockatrice pens.
"The heck'er ya doin'? If ya wanna demonstrate somethin', ya gotta do it up close an'- ah, ya little son'sa-"
As you heard Sallie May's voice falling behind, you dared a single glance over your shoulder. By the Devil's own luck, the cockatrices had noticed the grain trail and cleared the fence to get at it. Scales and feathers flew in huge numbers as they pecked and swatted at one another, fighting over the grain, and in the process clogging up the whole pathway. The delay gave you enough time to drop the bags and break into a full sprint.
Sallie May turned to the cockatrices when she realized that the chase was a lost cause. She could've run you down, but not before you had time to make it to the truck parked out front. Her eyes narrowed at the scaly beasts as they fed. Perhaps warned by some animal instinct, the creatures found themselves cowed immediately, snatching a few last grains off the road before hightailing it down the way.
"Yeah, that's right, ya little fuckers better run!" Sallie May called out angrily. "I got a fresh batch'a oil with yer name on it ya little shits!"
~~~~
You were standing out in the tool shed, tossing aside one piece after another in a vain search for a 3/8ths inch socket you were starting to believe had never existed in the first place, when something tickled at the back of your mind. Something primal, some feral warning that made you shiver in place and set your eyes darting around the tiny room frantically.
"Was startin' to think I was never gonna get a'hold'a ya," Sallie May teased, voice slow and confident as she stepped into the shed. "Got tired'a chasin' ya all over Wrath and back. Knew ya'd have to wind up somewhere like this eventually, though. Somewhere nice an' private, an' quiet, where I can just go wild an'-"
Sallie May stepped further into the shed, grabbing for an overall strap. She made a confused sound when her fingers wrapped around it and tugged, only to find far less resistance than she'd been anticipating. That noise morphed into a frustrated growl when her aggressive tug resulted in the scarecrow dressed up in your farm-finest toppled, clattering loudly against the floorboards.
"Oh come on! Ya goin' all psychic on me or somethin'?!" Sallie shouted to the empty room, eyes tearing across the shed, checking every little crevice in case you were tucked away somewhere.
"How'd ya even have time to haul this fuckin' thing in here?!"
~~~~
"Hell's bells, didn't realize how much I'd miss doors," you groaned wearily as you slid the window shut, hastily flicking the lock behind you. You dusted the last of the fields off your hands and gave one more exasperated sigh as you glanced out the window. "Swear she's got the front door booby-trapped somehow, though. Can't fer the life'a me figure out how she always knows when I'm comin' or goin'."
"I ain't so great at the goin' part yet, but I'm pretty good about tellin' when someone's comin'."
You spun around in time to see the door latch shut behind Sallie May. She sauntered into your bedroom almost casually, with a wicked looking grin on her face. She leaned against the door for a moment, casually tapping one of her heels against the floor while she fiddled with the lock. When it clicked into place, she pulled her hands from behind her back, dangling your spare key tauntingly for a moment... before she dropped it down her shirt.
"Ah, bad timin', Sallie May, sorry. Just doin' window tests, makin' sure they're all workin' right," you blurted out as you turned back to the window, not sure why you even bothered with excuses by that point.
"Prolly a good idea," Sallie May said, drawing the words out. "Maintenance is always important, y'know. Matter of fact, I think that one might be a little broken."
"Yeah, well, I better go grab my-" Your words cut off in a grunt as you tried to twist the window's lock, only to find it firmly stuck in place. Desperately, you gave it a harder tug—only for the metal to snap right off, the larger part of the mechanism dangling uselessly in your fingers. Your face paled as you finally noticed the signs of tampering around the lock.
"Oh, I got a few fun ways to finish that sentence, if yer takin' suggestions." Sallie May giggled as she spoke. Her heels clicked against the floor as she strode toward you at a confident, almost leisurely pace. She had the look of a predator in her eyes—one that knew its prey had nowhere else to go.
"N-now, hang on, Sallie May." You contemplated breaking the glass, but in the time it took you to barrel through it, she'd be right behind you anyway. So you turned yourself back around, pressing your back against the wall. "We can talk about this like civilized folk."
"Oh, now ya wanna talk? I been tryin' to talk to ya fer goin' on a week," Sallie May said, words speeding up as a little heat entered her voice. "And every time ya go runnin' off without so much as a 'howdy' to me. What kinda message is that supposed to send to a lady, hm?"
You steeled yourself as best as you could, standing up a little straighter, your body tense. If there was no more running, at the very least, you weren't going down without a fight. Sallie May noticed the change, but if anything, it only seemed to excite her. She actually licked her lips before continuing when you didn't give her an answer.
"Lucky for both of us, I'm a patient woman, and I ain't one to give up easy," Sallie May purred, the anger leaving her voice, though there was still plenty of heat. She crept closer, closer... closer? Too close. Too close by far for the kind of violence you were expecting. She was practically pressed against you now, so close you could feel the heat of her breath as she spoke. "Got a lot of fun planned for the two of us, y'know. Lookin' forward to hearin' you scream. Didn't expect to spend so long chasin' ya, though. Why ya been runnin' around like there's a Hellcow hot on yer heels?"
"Look, Sallie May, I been tryin' to avoid this and keep things civil," you explained, voice as steady as you could keep it, "and I don't know why ya decided to pick me, but I ain't about to let ya kill me without a fight!"
Sallie May had an answer half-ready on her lips as you spoke, but the last few words threw her for a loop. Her eyes blew open and she took a half-step back, her jaw dangling partly open.
"Ya mean- hang on, what in tarnation did'ja just say?" Sallie May asked, the words breaking into a giggle. "Who told ya I came here to do ya in?"
"Jedd," you admitted, wincing slightly at the name. "He said he heard ya talkin' about offin' me!"
"An' ya believed that corn-eared cretin?" Sallie May looked annoyed for a moment, though she couldn't help but to guffaw at the idea of anyone taking Jedd seriously. "I dunno what he thinks he overheard, but does he think I just walk around blabbin' about my favorite places to hide a body or somethin'?"
"I told him he was bein' a damned fool," you protested. "But he said he overheard ya talkin' about addin' me to the body count! And, well, seems like you've been tryin' to get me somewhere isolated ever since then, so…"
"Oh. Ohhhhh." Any annoyance that remained on Sallie May's face quickly faded away, replaced by a playful amusement... and then the predatory look returned. "Guess he ain't all that dumb this time. Least not 'cause'a this, anyhow. No wonder both of y'all been actin' so strange. Well, settle down and quit tryin' to jump outta yer skin, okay? I ain't gonna kill ya."
"So ya didn't mean it?" You asked hesitantly. "Ya ain't gonna add me to the body count? Then why have ya been chasin' after me like this, an' even talk about wantin' ta hear me scream?!"
"Oh, Jedd heard right, nosy little runt," Sallie May whispered. There wasn't any hostility in her tone, but she hadn't moved away from you in the slightest this whole time... and somehow, she still sounded dangerous. "I'm addin' ya to the count, but only if yer feelin' up to it. And you bet'cher ass…"
You jumped, letting out a little squeak as Sallie May pushed herself against you. Her body pressed against yours, a perfect blend of soft and firm... and you didn't miss the slight bulge she was pressing against your thigh. Sallie May's left hand snaked around your body, clamping down on your butt before you'd even noticed what she was up to, giving your rear a squeeze firm enough to pull a quiet gasp from your lips.
"...that I'm gonna enjoy hearin' you scream."
You stood there for a long moment, brain struggling to shift gears from mortal terror to... well, this was still terrifying, just in a completely different way. The heat of Sallie May's body pressed against yours, the predatory gleam in her eyes that you now understood had nothing to do with actual murder—it all clicked into place with embarrassing clarity.
"So... the body count ya mentioned..." you started weakly.
"Mmm-hmm," she purred, her grip tightening on your backside. "Been lookin' forward to adding ya to the list for a while now. Didn't figure ya'd play hard ta get, though."
"Can't say that I would have, if'n I'd known what ya were after," you admitted. If you hadn't already been flushed as red as a ripe tomato, you might've blushed at how foolish you felt in retrospect.
"Well, I don't mind," Sallie May growled, giving your tight ass another squeeze. "A good chase really gets the blood pumpin', but only for so long. Ya all done runnin' now?"
"Reckon I am."
"Good," Sallie May purred. She lifted her arms, reaching for the buttons on your shirt. "Y'know, 'tween the two of us, runnin's fine and all…"
She only bothered undoing two of the buttons before a wicked look flashed in her eyes. Buttons flew wildly across the room as she yanked the rest of your shirt open in one go.
May contain Mature Content/Subjects.
Warnings: High sugar content.
Emily was a whirlwind of joyful energy and ivory feathers as she spun through the skies of Heaven. She hummed a tune as bright and fresh as a summer morning, her flight forming an erratic, whimsical path.
The residents of Heaven were more than familiar with the woman currently dancing her way through the skies above. The blue-frilled Seraphim whose silver-bell laughter often heralded her arrival, a beloved guardian ensuring their eternity was a tapestry woven only with strands of purest delight.
Her spirits soared, even higher than their usual heavenly altitude. She'd just ticked off the last item on her shimmering to-do list, a scroll of light she'd conjured to double-check herself.
"Creation tasks, check!" she chirped to herself, a bright golden check mark appearing on the manifested paper. "All the domains prepped and ready for future arrivals, check! And the welcome tour for today's flock of blessed souls… done, done, and done! Oh, what a wonderfully productive little piece of eternity this is turning out to be!"
She was mid-twirl, savoring the feeling of a job well done, when a soft, melodic thrum resonated around her neck. There, a delicate, star-shaped charm nestled amongst the folds of her sash, dangling by a glistening golden chain. It was less a literal sound, and more of a gentle vibration against her angelic essence; the charm pulsed with a warm, bright glow as it called to her.
Emily paused instantly, her eight wings flaring to bring her to a nearly effortless, graceful halt mid-air. Her ivory locks, usually swaying with her exuberant movements, swung with the shift in momentum before they settled gently against her ash-hued skin.
The charm's glisten and the song it sang to her soul was a "Whisper of Want," a subtle signal the angelic network used. Each soul in Heaven resided within their own personalized domain, a bubble of bliss they could shape to their heart's content, a place other souls could not wander without invitation. Usually, these domains radiated pure contentment, a harmonious chord in Heaven's grand symphony. But sometimes, a soul might develop a deep, unarticulated yearning for something they couldn't attain alone. The charms, attuned to these subtle emotional currents, would alert helpers like Emily.
"Oh!" Emily’s eyes widened with earnest concern, her smile softening from one of pure joy into a determined grin of eager purpose. The charm pulsed again, a little warmer this time, and a faint, shimmering thread of golden light, visible only to her, unfurled from it, leading downward and off to a soul's personal domain. "Someone needs a little Heavenly help! Right then, duty calls!"
With a renewed burst of energy, though this time more focused, she followed the golden thread, her expression a mixture of curiosity and eagerness. "Don't you worry, whoever you are!" she called out to the general direction of the signal, "Emily's on her way!"
***
"Wow, you know what? This is actually kinda fun!" You said, giggling to yourself at the splash of color now lighting up the room. "Good way to get my mind to stop wandering, too. Gonna be a mess if I add much more, but I guess that's fine. Maybe another one... here?"
With a flourish of your arm, bright purple paint splattered itself across the white canvas before you. Canvas, in this case, being your entire rec room wall. The purple had a beautiful stripple of hues and mixed colors along its length as it partially blended with the other colors behind it, often in ways that didn't quite make sense to you.
"Then again, what's to make sense? I'm painting a wall made of clouds, with... actually, should I even call it painting?" You glanced down at your hand for a moment, brows furrowing in a mix of amusement and curiosity. There was no tool there, nor were there any cans of paint strewn about your feet, despite the plethora of colors now coating the wall. You took a short moment to consider the surrealism of your situation, the absurd and wonderful nature of painting on a wall that you'd formed from clouds, using paint that didn't exist, and all with little more than a thought.
Your contemplation was disrupted every so subtly by a familiar, faint whooshing sound – so subtle you barely registered it, only a faint awareness tingling at your mind. That tingle turned into a physical jump when, just a moment later, three excitable knocks sounded on your front door. Unexpected guests were a bit startling at the best of times, but in the privacy of your own domain in this blissful afterlife, it was enough to completely break you out of your amused reflections.
"Um... who is it?" You asked, loudly and with no small amount of uncertainty, leaning back to look toward the front door. You could just barely see from where you were, but a quick flash of silver and blue gave the visitor away just before she started to call out to you.
"Hi! It's Emily again, super-excited to come help you out today! Mind if I come in?"
"Oh, Emily!" A smile bloomed on your face unbidden. You tried to stifle it, at least a little, a familiar warmth already spreading through your chest at just the thought of her. "Sure thing, come on in!"
The door opened without further prompting, swinging wide open, coming to a gentle rest against the entryway wall. Emily walked inside the moment the way was clear—or perhaps fluttered would've been a better way to describe the little mix of steps, bounces, and gentle flaps of her wings that carried her over to you in just a couple of seconds. Emily's eyes were curious and alert, but her smile was as bold as ever, and her hands could never seem to linger in one spot for long as she enthusiastically greeted you.
"Hi! Oh gosh, it's so good to see you again!" Emily chirped. She spiraled around you in a flurry of blue and ivory, leaning in so close her face nearly brushed yours, her nearness sending a jolt—pleasant, yet flustering—through you. "How have you been? What can I do for you? Ooh, I'm really digging the colors in here. Are you redecorating?"
"Uh, kind of," you admitted, unable to fight back a grin as the eager angel swirled around you. "I was actually just thinking this place needed a change, and I couldn't decide what. I remembered you saying that up here we could do just about anything, and, errr, I might have gone a little wild."
Heat rushed to your cheeks at the admission. Considering that all the furniture in your rec room was shoved aside, the walls now proudly displaying a color palette best described as "rainbow of madness", you couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious. You knew Emily wouldn't judge your 'rainbow of madness'—she was the least judgmental being you'd ever met—but still...
"Well, there's nothing wrong with getting excited about a change of pace!" Emily bubbled, giggling openly as she floated a little closer to the walls, eyeing the vivid sprays with such fascination that she almost appeared to be decoding the meaning underneath. "And if you're really having trouble getting things figured out, I bet that's why I got called here! Would you like some help? I mean, I wouldn't ever touch a mortal's domain without permission, of course, but I could totally give some great ideas to brighten the place up!"
"Wait, wait, you were called here?" Your head tilted, a note of flustered confusion dangling in your voice. "I didn't call you here, Emily. I don't mind you stopping by, but are you sure this is the right place?"
"Yup! Sure as sunshine that I'm right as rain!" Emily proudly swirled to face you, abandoning her search of your crude Pollock imitations to give you her full attention. "I guess the last few times I've been so busy introducing you to the way things work up here, I never really explained the angelic side of things! You see, we have these little charms that... huh."
Emily didn't quite frown, but her smile faded into a neutral, slightly perplexed line as she lifted up a cord hung around her neck. Dangling from that necklace was a little golden star, a beautiful thing in its craftsmanship and the slight glow that it gave off—though Emily didn't seem to share your appraisal of it, at least not in that moment.
"That's so weird," Emily murmured, so distracted that she touched down fully, her feet planting firmly on the smooth floor and, for once, remaining there. It took her a full three seconds to recover, a record in the short time you'd known her, and even then there was a touch of uncertainty to her smile. "Well, it doesn't matter. It was blazing like a little sun when I was on my way here, and it led me right to your domain!"
"To me? What's it do?" You asked, eyeing the little star-shaped pendant. The glow was gone entirely now, and Emily was staring at it with a little bit of concern now.
"Oh! Right, I didn't explain that part. Sorry, I got a little thrown off by how it's acting! This is a little charm some of the brightest angels whipped up for us caretakers! It lets us hear when a mortal soul is letting out a 'Whisper of Want'!" Emily quietly released the charm and tucked it back under the cover of her pristine dress.
"A Whisper of Want? Is that some kind of angelic magic?"
"Actually, that's just something that happens up here in Heaven. The magic is the charm itself," Emily said with a dainty little nod. "This charm is designed to tune into those whispers and let us know someone needs help! Whisper of Want are what we call it when one of you blessed souls has a desire you can't quite fulfill on your own. Sometimes it's something they don't know how to create, even in their little private domains, but a lot of times it's something a little more abstract. Y'know, like, they're not feeling fulfilled, or they just feel like something big is missing, you know? And it can help with that too!"
"Okay, I think I get it," you murmured with a nod. "That seems really helpful. So does it say what I want?"
"Well, um, usually it would give us a clue—sometimes it can even tell us directly, if the person knows what they want, but most of the time it's not quite that clear. It's more of a general 'feeling' of what would make that person happy than the whole answer, but at least enough to point us in the right direction. Except..." Emily tapped the front of her dress, the fabric conforming as she pressed her fingertips against the charm. "Normally I'd just have you touch it—that's enough for it to read your heart's desire and help us out. But for some reason, it's deactivated now. Any chance you know what might have set it off?"
"Well..." You swiveled your head, checking out the freshly painted interior of your rec room, particularly the mess that used to be a blessedly monochrome wall. "I guess I have been feeling like I wanted something, but I thought I was just feeling antsy. That's why I figured a little change of scenery might spice things up."
"Huh. Most mortal souls take a few years to get bored enough to start getting wild with the decorations, or even rebuild their whole house, but honestly, it's always so much fun when they do!" Emily giggled, her concerns seemingly forgotten as she lifted off the ground and returned to inspecting your vivid works. She didn't just seem to be doing her duty, either; Emily never did. She always seemed genuinely interested in every little thing that you changed between her visits.
"I wasn't really bored, but I thought it might settle me down," you said, blushing. "It was just kind of a spur of the moment thing."
"Well, it must be working, since the charm isn't alerting me anymore," Emily pointed out. You nodded, though a tiny, unbidden thought pricked at you: had it been the decorating? You didn't think a paint-splattered rec room was really what you'd been missing in life. "But if you'd like, I can stick around and give you some ideas! Or I can just watch you work for a while, see if it comes back on."
"I'd love that!" You couldn't help the enthusiasm as you spoke up perhaps a little too quickly—Emily's energy was infectious at the best of times, and hearing her so excited about your wild paint slinging made you feel a lot better about it. Especially her offer to stick around... "But I'd feel bad taking up your time just to watch me throw a bunch of paint at the wall. Literally. Metaphorically? Literally throw, but with metaphorical paint?"
Emily let out a glimmering peal of laughter as you scrunched up your face in an attempt to find real words that could describe the unreal activity. "That's sweet of you, really. But you don't need to worry about it! Time works a little differently inside a domain, especially with Heaven's magic helping out! How do you think we manage to attend to so many mortal souls? Sure, we get a few new helper angels every now and then, but there's always more of you wonderful souls joining us in bliss every day."
"Oh! So how long can you stay?" You asked, your enthusiasm soaring as surely as if Emily herself was lifting you up into the air.
"I'm not leaving until I'm sure you're as happy as you can be!" Emily vowed, giving a mock salute. "And I'm already brimming with ideas to throw at you!"
"Well, I'd feel a little silly if you were just sitting there throwing ideas at me... how about you throw some paint, instead?" You held out your hand to Emily, mimicking the handle of a bucket. You felt pretty ridiculous for a moment, but when she let out a giggle that sounded like a chorus of songbirds and took the "bucket" from you, any of your little social anxieties still hanging around faded into nothing.
"Alright, let's pain the town blue! And pink. Ooh, and there's this color you mortals can't see when you're alive called asuhana! You're gonna love it!"
----
"Mmm, you know what? You're right, it does look better that way," Emily agreed. You were having a hard time telling whether she was serious or not, though, with the way she was clearly covering her mouth and stifling a laugh.
"Oh, don't you know, Emily?" You stuck your nose up and gestured at the atrocious, tornado-like blend of turquoise and some mixture of orange and pink that you had dubbed 'Cotton Candy Nightmare'. It was now covering the span of the wall behind your flatscreen, a somewhat appropriate place, given that the canvas had become gaudier and more nauseating than even the worst of reality shows. "This is high class decorating expertise here. Absolutely cutting edge."
"Oh, absolutely," Emily managed to get out between her titters. "But it could use one more finishing touch."
"What's tha-"
"This!" Emily reached out and dashed a finger over your nose. Just like with the walls, her gesture plastered a vivid streak of Halloween-fueled heinousness right across the bridge of your nose, only a little off-kilter from how hard she was laughing as she did it—laughter that redoubled when she pulled away and got a good look at you.
"Oh, very funny." You crossed your arms for a moment, feigning outrage as you rolled your eyes. "Let's see if it's as funny when the other angels get a load of this!"
"N-no! Don't you dare," Emily shouted, letting out a squeal as her wings fluttered and sent her to the ceiling. She dodged the next swipe of your arm, too, which coated your ceiling in a fluorescent purple gradient.
"Get down here, you little cheater!"
You couldn't say how long the two of you went on like that. It didn't take long before you weren't even saying anything, too busy laughing and flinging yourselves around, coating the few surfaces the two of you had left untouched in a fresh layer of neon insanity. Eventually, though, the paint war was abandoned. Exhausted and giddy, you found yourself leaning against Emily in the midst of your technicolor battlefield, gasping for air you technically didn't need but still weren't used to ignoring. Her shoulder was warm beneath yours, and the shared laughter felt like a melody.
"T-thank you, Emily. R-really," you stammered out between convulsions, chest heaving with the aftershocks of pure, blissful laughter. "This really helped. I feel great!"
"Aww, I'm so happy to hear that!" Emily was still quivering with mirth herself, but she managed to keep her voice much more level than you did. "I love making people happy. It's one of my greatest joys, and my favorite duty in all of Heaven, to put a smile on as many faces as possible. Plus, I had a lot of fun too!"
"I really can't express how much it means to know that you're looking out for me. For everyone, I mean." You emphasized your words with a nod, and Emily's eyes shone with appreciation.
"Aww, thank you! I just do what I can, really. Heaven is supposed to be the most perfect place to spend eternity. That's why I don't rest until this little..."
Emily reached up to her neckline as she spoke, tugging on the chain still hung neatly around her neck. Her mouth opened, poised to say something about 'this little...' but the words died on her lips. Her gaze snagged on the charm.
The now glowing charm.
"It started working again?" You had a strange feeling that you should have kept your mouth shut, but it was so easy to let your guard down around Emily that you didn't think twice before voicing the thought.
"It should never have stopped." Emily actually frowned, something you almost never saw. She twisted it into an almost sarcastic smile, gesturing in disbelief at the little golden star. "I mean, gosh, this is Heaven! Things don't break around here, they're perfect!"
"But then, why would it..." This time, you did manage to quiet the words, though not before the first few escaped. A prickle of awareness, sharp and sudden, coursed through your mind. It was a dawning, unwelcome suspicion you’d been trying to ignore, a thought that seemed too arrogant, too presumptuous to actually consider as real. It didn't seem to matter; Emily looked at you in a way that made you feel like you were the one with wings, and she seemed to immediately understand what you'd been about to say.
"You know, I have no idea! But there's a really good way to find out!" Emily said, her smile returning in full force as she stepped closer. Your heart sped up as she cupped the little five-pointed pendant and thrust it toward you. "C'mon, touch it! I'm kind of excited. I've never seen a charm act like this before, so I get to help you, and I get to learn something new!"
Your stomach churned at the idea, though you couldn't admit to yourself exactly why. But you were startlingly certain you'd never be able to undo it if that little pendant could truly reveal your inner desires.
"Emily, I- I dunno, I feel pretty happy right now. It's probably fine if you just head out, right?" You murmured, staring at the star-shaped device with an unusual amount of anxiety. The reason for that anxiety was still eluding you, but it was insistent and only growing stronger.
"C'mon, don't be afraid! I promise, all it'll do is give us a little idea of what you really need to be happy," Emily chirped. "Maybe something that's a little too complicated to just make on your own when you haven't been in Heaven very long? I'm really curious what it could be, though. It could be a water park, or a vacation to a beach somewhere, or a nice picnic, or... gosh, maybe a hike on a nature trail? I've only been on a few of those. We could recreate your favorite one from Earth! I can kind of see everything down there from up here anyway, but it's so different when you're walking through it yourself."
As Emily daydreamed all sorts of scenarios of shared adventures, her innate enthusiasm seeped into you too. You found yourself smiling, imagining these things with her. Lost in the pleasant reverie she was painting, she didn't immediately notice the charm in her hand had once again dimmed, its golden light fading to nothing as your own quiet contentment grew in her presence. Her rambling about taking you to a nice orchestral concert came to a slow halt as she stared at the device, and for the first time, you saw Emily start to grow genuinely frustrated. Maybe even a little angry.
"Oh, c'mon! I was just getting excited, too. Maybe this thing really is busted," Emily said, pulling the necklace off entirely so that she could hold the band and dangle the unlit star right in front of her face.
"Well..." You couldn't help biting your lip a little as you stared at the charm. You had a pretty good feeling as to what exactly it was alerting Emily to. Something you'd been wondering about, but were still trying to figure out yourself. You tried to sound nonchalant as you conjured up another explanation for it. "What if it's just something minor? Maybe it's something that I don't really want all that bad, so it's kind of oscillating on and off as my mood swings?"
"Goodness, no!" Emily giggled despite her frustrations, idly reaching up to flick at the charm, twirling the necklace as she spun the little star. "If these things could catch on to little whims and muses that passed that easily, we'd never get anything else done, even if we dilated time all the way up to a billion-to-one inside of mortals' domains! A Whisper of Want is supposed to be something pretty big. Something that makes the difference between eternal bliss and eternal 'meh'!"
"You're sure?"
Emily gave a little shrug. "I mean, I guess since it's acting weird, anything could be possible. But if it's getting more and more sensitive, it should be going off like crazy—if not for you, then for all the other human souls around here. I think I'll play it safe, though. I'm gonna head out and take this thing back to the other angels, see if... oh, come on!"
Emily pouted and puffed out her cheeks as the charm lit up once again in the middle of her talking. She held the chain up a little higher and gesticulated wildly at the offending device, seemingly expecting you to share her frustrations. You were too busy with the growing awareness that the angel's charm might be reacting to exactly what you thought it was. Your expression must have given your thoughts away, because her shared grievances immediately melted away, replaced with a concerned curiosity.
"Is something wrong?"
The worry in her voice was almost enough to make you start screaming it all to protect her, but you clung to your hesitation like a raft adrift in a storm of guilt.
"No, no, it's... I was just trying to think of what might be going on. Could be anything, though, and it's not like I know anything about this sort of thing. Um, just ignore me, Em."
"No, hang on, you do know something, don't you?" Emily's smile tried to spread, but there was a hesitation on her face that mirrored your own. "C'mon, tell me! It's gonna drive me crazy, otherwise. Besides, if you figured it out, don't you wanna feel super-mega-happy?"
"Well, it's not like I'm sure or anything. I might be wrong. Or it might be something I can't have!" You jittered as you tried to turn your head away, but hesitated long enough for your eyes to wander back. The moment you saw the worry and hurt on her face, the battle was lost. You couldn't bring yourself to turn away from her again.
"Can't have? This is Heaven! I'm sure we can work something out. But you gotta tell me what it is! Or I could try again, but..." Emily bit her lip as she looked down at the charm. It was still glowing, though it was already starting to flicker a bit, and she seemed reluctant to even move while the little star was still glimmering in golden light.
"No, it's probably dumb anyway. I think you're right, Em... you should go. Maybe they can fix it, or…"
"Hey, wait a second…"
Emily's brows furrowed a little as the charm started to grow even more brightly, a gleaming star that practically lit up the room. Confusion and worry melded together in her face, swirled about for a moment, and emerged as something like slow recognition. Her eyes traveled from the star, to you, and back to the little charm again, a deep understanding slowly growing in her eyes. A knot formed in your stomach as her sky-blue eyes lifted again, and this time, they stayed locked directly on your own.
"So, it was glowing like crazy when I came here. But then after I showed up and painted with you, and then tried to tell you about it, it had gone out all on its own."
Emily shifted a little as she recounted the events of her arrival. Her fingers danced along the ridges of the little charm, which was no longer flickering or dimming. If anything, it was continuing to grow brighter, and you swore you could hear some kind of hymn rising from the stone. She finally broke the stare with you, eyes swooning down to the stone that she was now caressing almost protectively.
"And then it came back on when I talked about leaving to get it fixed. But it went out again when I was just... talking about fun things we could do. Together."
"Seems pretty unrelated. Kind of random, even." The lie tasted foul, and worse, mediocre.
"No, not random," Emily whispered, sounding far more confident than you were comfortable with. "I don't think so, anyway."
"Well, it's hard to say for sure, so maybe you sh-"
You blinked, words lost as Emily gusted toward you. A single step fueled by her divine wings, wind brushing your face as she closed the gap in an instant. You winced, expecting her to thrust the charm into your hand. You flinched away reflexively, but instead of the charm, you felt something soft weaving between your fingers, nestling into your grip. Her soft, ashen-gray fingers laced around yours, holding you in place with the gentlest of pressure to still your reflexive jerk, if only for an instant. An instant was all it took. The moment that you realized Emily was holding your hand, you stopped pulling away, your fingers cradling hers against your palm tenderly.
The charm's light faded in an instant, and whatever light the little charm lost soon appeared again in Emily's beaming smile. Cerulean pools sparkled as she slowly looked up at you, a more tentative smile painted on her features than usual, the faintest touch of darker gray blended with pink blossoming on her cheeks. She held your gaze for just a heartbeat or two, then her eyes slid downward to the dimmed necklace.
"You know, I thought I was just imagining it at first, but... it seems like it's sensing a Whisper from you whenever I talk about leaving, or when you think I'm about to leave. And it deactivates when we're... well, when we're like this. Or when I'm just here spending time with you in the moment," Emily said, her voice as calm as ever, only the gentlest notes of hesitation in her tone. She kept her hand right where it was, a fact you were grateful for. You were so embarrassed, so ready to cave in on yourself, it felt like if she'd pulled away you might simply shatter on the spot.
"O-oh, has it been doing that? I didn't, um," You couldn't bring yourself to lie quite that directly, something Emily seemed to pick up on. Her smile widened a bit, and her voice took on a playfully accusatory tone.
"You know why, don't you?" Her eyes narrowed conspiratorially, and she leaned in a little closer. "Come on, please. I want to hear it."
"It's not really something that should worry you. I'll be okay, Emily."
"Okay isn't good enough in Heaven, silly!" Emily's smile stayed as it was, but you could see the drop in her mood, the worry building behind the happiness. Knowing that you were the cause, even more directly this time, made your own heart wilt. "You know you can tell me anything, right? It's not my job to judge, it's my job to help you."
"I shouldn't. It's not, I mean- it's not-" There were a lot of ways to finish that sentence, ways you could have deflected her questions. But you couldn't come up with any of them. All you could think about was how soft her skin felt against yours. "Look, maybe I have a guess, but even if I'm right, it's not exactly something that's in your job description. It's not something I expect you to help me with, Emily."
"Maybe I can help anyway?" Emily suggested, still not backing away. "I just need to hear you say it. Please?"
If you'd had any lingering doubts, the way she looked at you then, the way she practically whispered the last word to you certainly cleared them away. The little twinkle in her eyes, sad as they were growing, was a little too understanding.
"...Remember last time you came over?" You sighed as the words finally escaped you.
"Of course I do! I remember every time I visit a mortal," Emily said without hesitation. "Your ten-month check-in a few days ago. You were making dinner when I got here, and I brought you a bunch of my favorite recipe books since you seemed so excited!" The angel's usual joy overtook her again as she recounted the interaction, genuine interest and happiness overtaking the shadows that had touched her face.
"Yeah. That was when you taught me it's a lot more complex to make things you didn't see in life. I was a pretty awful cook when I was alive," you admitted sheepishly. "I never spent much time learning, so I couldn't make any of those cookbooks on my own. Always felt like something else took priority, so I mostly lived off of frozen food."
"Well, you've improved a lot since then! It really made me happy to see how much fun you were having. Even if the kitchen was a little messy by the time we were finished." Emily put her free hand over her heart as she giggled, never breaking eye contact.
"I never expected you to join in and help me. I mean, I wasn't exactly surprised. You're one of the nicest people I've ever met, alive or dead, human or angel." Your voice grew quieter as you went on. You recalled the memory of Emily flinging mashed potatoes at you in the middle of a grueling cooking spree, and the scene put a tender smile on your face and a blossoming warmth in your chest.
"Aww, thank you so much. You're really wonderful too!" From anyone else, the compliment would've sounded generic and reflexive, but Emily never failed to make her words seem genuine. "I've been really impressed at how much you've been growing since you passed on. Heaven has done wonders for you!"
"Well... yeah, Heaven has," you agreed after a brief pause. "It took me a while to adjust to everything, to sort of process the reality of it all. But now I have. And your last visit was the first time you'd stopped by that I truly felt settled, like I could be myself in this afterlife. Everything had sort of clicked into place. And that's probably why it was the first time I started to realize..."
Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure she could hear it, but you nodded sternly and forced yourself to continue.
"I've been thinking about how nice it always is when you stop by a lot the last few days. Especially today. And, well, then you showed up here, talking about that little charm of yours. ...The one that tells you when people want something really, really badly…"
You trailed off, hoping she wouldn't make you say it outright. Despite all her suspicions, the clear look in her eyes, there was still a twinge of shock that shook its way over Emily's features as you trailed off. A delicate blush, the same that had touched her cheeks earlier, bloomed again behind her gray-hued skin.
"Oh." The quiet understanding in that single syllable was palpable. She pulled in on herself a little, her free arm tucking behind her as she turned, peeking at you from over her shoulder, white locks almost veiling the shy surprise in her eyes. "So that's, um, that really is why it keeps acting like this? Why it lights up when I'm leaving... and why...?"
"Emily, I'm really sorry," you began, sighing immediately when you heard her shy words. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I tried to-"
"No! No, no, don't apologize," Emily interrupted, her shyness fading behind a rush of concern. She brought her hand back around to wave off your guilt as if she could actually scare it away. "I'm not uncomfortable! This is just, um, it's kind of new to me. That's all."
"New to you?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, like I said, most mortals are too uncomfortable around me to even talk normally for a while," Emily explained. "And sure, there are lots that like hanging out, or come say hi to me in the public areas, but I've never met one that, um, that liked me enough to set off a Whisper. I mean, that's what you're saying, right? That you like me?"
"Y-yeah. I think that's... what I've been starting to realize," you finally admitted outright.
"Aww, and you were too shy to come out and say it? That's so sweet!" Emily purred. Her free hand clasped together with the one still locked around yours.
"I mean, not just that, it's- I mean, you're an angel, Em." You gave a little shrug, letting that explain it all.
"So?" Emily returned your shrug, hers even more casual than yours. "We're really not all that different from you mortals, at the end of the day. Angels have relationships too, you know. Well, you know, most of them."
"Not you?"
"No. I mean, I'd certainly like to!" Emily said, her blush deepening as she realized the implications of what she'd said. "But I have so much fun and feel so great helping mortals out that I've never really gone looking for it."
"I know how passionate you are about it. About everything, actually." Emily giggled at your words, giving a bow of her head at the acknowledgment of her passions. "That's why I didn't want to say anything. Like I said, this goes beyond your job duties. Plus, I was afraid of making you feel awkward around me, and... then I wouldn't even get to be friends with you anymore."
"What? Oh, don't be silly! I'd never stop being your friend, especially over something like that. You're way too wonderful of a person for that!" Emily scoffed, batting away the very idea of such a thing with a twist of her wrist. "And you may be right about it being a little outside the scope of my responsibilities, but... that doesn't mean it's not something I can help you with!"
You went still for a moment as the lingering relief and the thoughts still bouncing around your head all vanished in an instant. Emily had spoken the last words more quietly, more tentatively, but with enough vigor and enthusiasm that you knew she meant them. And yet you still swallowed nervously, still felt a rush of anxiety returning as you began to speak.
"Emily, I don't want you to 'help' me with this, I-"
"Oh gosh! Not like, as a task, or as part of my job," Emily rushed to clarify, her fingers tightening on yours out of worry, and the sensation made you blink a little.
In the rush of your confession and her reassurances, you'd almost forgotten your hands were still linked. Now, a soft warmth spread through you as the realization dawned: even through your stammered feelings and her own surprise, she hadn't pulled away. Her fingers were still intertwined with yours. Emily noticed the realization in your gaze, and your palpable relief. Her smile, already sweet, grew impossibly wider.
"What I meant was, well, I've never really done anything like this. Let alone with a mortal. But it's not something I'm opposed to! And you seem really nice, so I mean... if it makes you happy to spend time together, and it makes me happy, why not do that?"
You were still trying to get the words to straighten out in your head when she continued again. A deep gray with shades of pink blossomed on her white-freckled cheeks as she spoke.
"We can explore this together. It'll be a learning experience for both of us!" Emily's fingers wrapped around to stroke the back of your hand. "I'll stop by more often. We can spend time together, and have all kinds of fun, and keep making each other happy. And we can just... see where we want things to go from there?"
It was the most uncertain you'd ever heard Emily sound about... well, anything, as far as you could remember in the short time you'd known each other. But the little tentative smile she gave you was every bit as adorable as her fully-fledged one, and the way her skin brushed against yours sent little thrills from your hand all the way up to your chest.
"Now that sounds like Heaven."
Emily giggled and snorted at your words, covering her mouth with one hand, still refusing to release you with the other.
"That one was so bad! I think I owe you for that one," Emily teased, giving you a teasingly reproachful look as she stepped back.
"Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?" You taunted, laughter coloring your voice as much as it did hers.
"Boop!"
Emily reached up and flicked your nose, adding a bright blue streak at an angle to the nightmarish orange that you'd never actually cleaned off. Your eyes crossed as you stared in shock at the unexpected blemish—meanwhile, Emily was already pulling away from you, her wings kicking into overdrive as she lifted off again.
"Still can't get me!" Emily called as she hastily made her way into the next room. Your laughter echoed through the whole domain as you chased after her, new streaks of paint splashing across every surface of your home as the merry chase began.
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me! How hard is it to get one thing right around here?!"
Verosika reached for the nearest object and hurled it against the wall with all of her might. Glass exploded against the wall, the crystal vase transforming into a thousand glittering projectiles. Glaring at the scattered flower petals, as soaked and battered as the wall now was, Verosika snarled, her eyes flashing neon as she stalked to her desk. She brutally rummaged through a drawer until a well-crumpled letter emerged, clutched tightly in her gloved palm.
The succubus' pink eyes were shifting toward a neon fury as she stared at the letter in her hands, the sturdy paper barely holding itself together under the pressure of her white knuckle grip. Her eyes traveled the words in a frenzy, expression alternating between contempt, disgust, and unbridled wrath. Only occasionally did the despair manage to slip through, and only until the next vision of what she was going to do to that little shit formed in her mind.
Vortex watched the whole spectacle with a neutral expression, looking reluctant to even react to what was going on. The bulky hellhound had been around the block with his employer enough times to know when to keep his mouth shut, but she didn't always give him that option. Even as he thought that, her red-hot gaze swiveled to him. He was only thankful that her ferocious ire dulled to an outraged resignation when she locked eyes with him.
"One fucking thing. I just need one tiny little thing to put me in a good mood before a show, and ever since that little shit took a job with that stupid bitch Serena, I can't even get that!" A pink hand gestured in disbelief at the wall. Beneath the stains of fresh water and flower petals was the coffee cup that had hit the wall just moments before, and the brown stain of its former contents.
"Something wrong with your drink?"
"Of-fucking-course there is!" The unnecessary volume of her outburst carried through the walls, far beyond the gray-furred hellhound's position. "Three new assistants, three failures. Who the shit even applies to be a personal assistant without the ability to get a stupid coffee order right?!"
"You want me to go get you one? You write it down, I'm sure I could-"
"No, Vortex," Verosika sighed, her voice sounding every bit as defeated as she looked. "I need you here. With the mood I'm in, if one of those handsy little shits rushes the stage and manages to get up there, I think I might actually set someone on fire."
"Could be a good way to send a message to the other ones thinking about it." Vortex ignored the glare that he got in response to his comment.
"Whatever. Guess it's gonna be another night where everyone out there gets what they want, except-"
The sound of a soft, tentative knock at the door drew both their attention in a heartbeat. Verosika's brows knit together, one eye twitching in annoyance. Vortex straightened up slightly. He was aware—as was almost everyone on staff—that knocking on Verosika Mayday's dressing room in the last ten minutes before a show was a great way to end up fired. Or on fire. Or both, if she was in a particularly feisty mood.
"Better let me see who's brave enough," Vortex offered, already headed for the door.
"Whoever it is, I want them brought in here by the scruff of their neck. And if they're holding a coffee, I get dibs." Verosika sneered, then did her best to wipe the sour look off her face as she stepped to the vanity.
"...Huh."
With a drawer open and a half dozen brands already splayed in front of her, Verosika froze. Tex didn't make many sounds to begin with, and that definitely was not one she was used to hearing.
"Ugh. Are we getting robbed?" Verosika asked, swiveling an eye toward the door while she reached for a powder puff. "Because if we are, give them twenty and cancel the show. We can tell them they took the whole audio set-up."
"No, no. No, uh, no robbers." Vortex sounded... confused? Verosika blinked twice and pushed her chair away from the vanity without even an annoyed huff. "Not even a person, actually. But believe it or not, we did get that coffee you called dibs on."
"Wait, what the fuck?" The pink-skinned succubus crossed the room in four leggy strides, reaching Vortex's hip just as he turned to reveal a-
"Satan's ballsack, is that..." Verosika leaned in a little bit closer to inspect the cup. It was Hot Head Coffee, not her favorite choice, but a step above most of the shitholes in this neighborhood, which was a good start. Curious, Verosika found herself leaning forward, taking a slow, sensual inhale over the lid's vent.
"You think maybe I should be the one smelling the coffee that just walked itself up to your door?" Vortex suggested, already anticipating the denial.
"Please. Your nose might be killer, but I have the upper hand on this one." Verosika gave another deep intake, her pupils dilating a little as the scents mingled in her mind. "I'll be damned all over again, I think this one's perfect!"
"The hall coffee?" Vortex was thoroughly ignored, leaving him to only shrug as Verosika snatched the cup out of his hand, working to pry the tight lid off.
"I smell rose, I see the coconut cream, and... mmm, yep, there's definitely some heavy cream just seeping down this side, it's so- ...oh."
Verosika's face fell as she finally pried the lid off entirely. Vortex's eyes scanned the cup curiously, though his face remained neutral. He didn't see anything worth such a crestfallen look; the only thing he saw that she hadn't already called out was the pink sugar rimming the glass, something he expected her to love.
Before he could decide whether he cared enough to ask what the big deal was, Verosika reached to her belt, deftly uncorked a flask off her hip, and started pouring a hefty helping of Beelzejuice into the drink.
"Hey, I stay out of your way most of the time, but as your bodyguard, I really can't recommend strongly enough that you do not-" Vortex's words faded into a sigh as Verosika used one hand to lift the drink to her lips... and the other to flip him off. "Whatever. Just remember, bodyguard, not doctor."
Verosika chugged relentlessly, not stopping until the cup was emptied out entirely, as Vortex could tell by the casual way she tossed the emptied container into the trash. She let out a satisfied sigh, her tongue stretching its way across her top lip to wipe away a hefty dose of coffee and cream, eliciting one more pleasured groan from the dramatic succubus.
"I'll be damned. Someone around here actually knows how to take a decent coffee order," Verosika remarked, giving the tossed cup one more satisfied smirk before she sat back down at the vanity to resume her routine. Now with one extra check on the status of her lip gloss.
"The fact that whoever left this thing here knows enough about you to get your coffee order right doesn't exactly make it less creepy," Vortex noted, eyeing the door as if expecting an encore to the knock.
"Well, looks like we have a little mystery on our hands then, don't we?" Verosika hummed happily to herself as brushes twirled their way around her sharp features. "Say, Vortex, I've got a show to put on in a few minutes, but how about before the concert next week, you run a little errand for me…"
----------------------------
"Did you see V this morning?"
"Yeah, I was running the wiring. She tore that little shit-for-brains a new hole just so she could be the first to peg it."
"Should've known better than to have the star on deck for a sound check without double-checking everything."
"Damn, she must really be on a tear today. I guess it is almost their anniversary, isn't it?"
These last few months on tour had been rough. You slipped past the group of roadies, now arguing over equipment placement, none of them agreeing on the right mark for each piece. Not one of them had been here longer than a year. This was the very first show for two of them—the fifth crew change this month thanks to Verosika's volatile post-breakup temper. The fans never noticed the mistakes or the tension, too drunk or horny to see past the spectacle, but for the crew? Constant eggshells, especially since Silas quit.
For all her flaws, Verosika had always been a really fair employer. She didn't treat imps like dirt, she paid well, and before the break-up, she'd actually been downright pleasant most of the time. Maybe that was why, unlike the others, you didn't quit. Even when she was screaming, you didn't feel angry or hurt as much as you felt bad for her. And that was mostly what had led you that first coffee run.
As a costume designer, your busiest times were usually well before the final pre-show rush. Barring last-minute rips or sudden inspirational whims from Verosika, you often had pockets of time with little to do, which you usually spent people-watching. That's how you'd occasionally chatted with Silas. He was always stressed, always running, but during those brief moments, you'd learned things. Like her ridiculously specific pre-show coffee ritual – the one thing he dreaded messing up.
You could almost hear him listing it now, the frantic edge to his voice: "Double down bad almond chai latte. Rose syrup poured over the bottom, extra shot of almond cream on top. Slow stir, three times, don't blend it all together. Wet the edge of the cup with creamer, rim it with sugar, and finish it off with a load of heavy cream down the side—any side."
He’d been a pretty decent imp, that Silas, and a damn good employee. Shame his new job offer came when Verosika was least equipped to handle anyone leaving her, much less the closest imp she had besides her ex. You'd known he was important to her, of course, but you hadn't realized just how much the little things mattered until she fired three separate PAs over her coffee.
That was how you got inspired to deliver her a proper coffee before the show! ...And also why you were so terrified about it that you broke into a dead sprint the second that you knocked on her door.
You hadn't heard so much as a whisper about the drink since then, good or bad. You'd wondered if someone else had nicked it, or if her bodyguard had just dumped the whole thing, but she'd been in a weird mood since then. Not quite a good mood, but she was a little less volatile, spent a little more time around the crew, more like the days when you first joined up than the way the last few months had gone. Something had changed, and you were pretty sure it had to do with your little surprise.
"So, hey, why not risk my neck a second time?" You thought, rolling your eyes. "I'm gonna get so fired one of these days. Fired or killed..."
The hallway was quiet now, the pre-show buzz focused to a fine edge of frantic preparation and last-minute touch-ups. You were able to creep all the way up to Verosika's door without a hitch, the telltale rose-pink plaque with her name emblazoned in gold giving the otherwise unremarkable door more of a personal touch, something other than the inoffensive bland decor every venue covered their backstage in.
You took a nervous breath, held it as you glanced down the hall in both directions, then pulled the piping-hot coffee out from under your jacket, setting it carefully just outside the door's arc. You started to reach for the door, readying yourself for another ding-dong-ditch, when a shadow fell over your diminutive frame. A very, very large shadow.
"Well, well. Look what we have here."
Your head snapped up, blood running cold and turning your face from a deep red to a pale pink in an instant. Looming up behind you, arms crossed over a chest that was damn near bigger than your entire body, was Vortex. Both eyes were locked on you, no immediate signs of aggression, but not a scrap of amusement buried in that expression either.
"Fuck! I checked just a second ago. Where did he even come from?!" You tried to swallow, but your throat was barren and dry. Even knowing that you weren't actually doing anything wrong, coming face-to-face with Verosika's bodyguard like this was terrifying. She had to have set him out here to find the culprit. You were going to be fired. No, not fired—you were going to be set on fire.
"Huh. Kinda figured it'd be one of the newbies. Last I checked, you were working as a stylist, not a barista." Vortex gave a pointed nod toward the cup, shredding any faint hope that he might have missed it somehow.
"O-oh! Uh, hey, Vortex. Don't mind me, just, uh, trying to be nice. Dropping off a little gift for our boss. No need to thank me, I'll just be-"
"Save it," Vortex cut you off, voice as uninterested as it was unamused. "Boss wanted to see the person that's been dropping by."
He uncrossed his arms and reached for you. For a terrifying moment, you thought he was going to start choking you out, or mangle you up into a pretzel before carting you off to Verosika. Instead his massive paw wrapped firmly, albeit surprisingly gently, around your forearm, and pulled you aside so that he could open the door.
"W-wait, I didn't do anything wrong! I didn't mean anything by it; it really is just a normal coffee. I-"
Vortex ignored your protests and continued moving you around like you weighed nothing at all. Compared to him, you basically did. He knocked twice on Verosika's door, but didn't wait for a reply before pushing it open and casually pulling you inside.
The room was pretty, and surprisingly well-decorated for a backstage room at a one-off venue. But the decor and whatever personal touches Verosika added were the last thing on your mind—the pop star, looking annoyed if not outright venomous, had your full attention.
"Well, well, well. Look what the hellhound dragged in. You caught our little coffee fairy after all, Vortex?"
"Just doin' my job." Vortex didn't sound proud, exactly, but there was a slight tug upward on your arm, as if he were showing off a trophy.
"And I appreciate it." Verosika paused for a moment, her anger temporarily taking a backseat as she leaned in, her eyes shrinking to slits as she stared at you intently. "Huh. I was expecting one of the newbies trying to kiss ass. That, or some weirdo freak either trying to kill me or marry me, not sure which is worse. But I actually know you. You work over in costuming, don't you?"
"Y-yes, Miss Mayday, I-"
"Save it. Vortex, take a hike, I can handle this scrawny little thing."
"You know, you do pay me to protect you. Can't really do that if I'm not-"
"I'll be fine," Verosika replied immediately, waving his concerns off without even pretending to hear him out. "And if I die, you have my permission to make it look like an accident. That way you can keep your spotless record. Now, go tell everyone there's been a technical issue, or a delivery is late, or whatever else will keep that crowd tame until I get out there."
"Ah-" Vortex's words broke off into a light snort, the most surprise you'd seen out of him while he was working for Verosika. "Alright, boss, but you said it, not me. And you, behave yourself."
Vortex gave your arm a little squeeze to go along with the warning, just enough to remind you of how much those muscles could do, and then let himself out. Verosika didn't waste any time once he was gone—the moment the door clicked shut, Verosika stood and carried herself across the dressing room with long, flowing strides, each step punctuated by the dull tap of a stiletto against the barely-carpeted floor.
"Alright, 'coffee fairy', spill it," Verosika hissed, using her height to her full advantage. She leaned over you until you were looking more up than forward, with her palms flat against the wall, caging you in and leaving you with nowhere to look except at her. "What's a little stitch-bitch doing dropping coffee off? You looking for a promotion? Maybe hoping to get a little wet and wild with a succubus? Or are you up to something worse?"
"N-no! None of that, I swear," you stammered out, hands raised. Your eyes instinctively roved over her outfit, admiring your handiwork and inspecting the seams as your brain tried to process anything but what was about to happen to you. "I was just trying to do something nice for you. I know you've been-"
"Been what?" Your blood turned to ice, as if Hell had finally frozen over. The tone she used was practically a dare, an invitation to say something stupid.
"I know you've been dealing with a lot lately, and I- I wanted to help cheer you up by doing something nice for you. I've been working for you for a few years now, and I know you're not usually so... frustrated?" You barely stopped yourself from saying "short-tempered", an act that might well have saved your life, judging by the lethal intent behind those pink irises.
"Tch. As if. This is Hell, nobody does anything to be nice." Verosika lowered one arm to prod you on the sternum, her pointed finger just shy of painful as she pressed you fully against the wall. Once you were pinned she diverted her focus, pointing at the coffee cup still clutched in your trembling hand. "And how did a stitch-bitch figure this out, anyway? My own PAs have been fucking this thing up since Silas left, and yet somehow, you got it almost perfect."
"Almost? I thought I-"
"Not the point, shrimp!" Verosika's finger returned to your chest, this time poking hard enough to draw a wince from you. "Spill it—and I don't mean the coffee."
"I learned it from Silas! Honest, I did," you pleaded. "I have a lot of free time once the costumes are finished. I make any alterations you wanted after the last show, I patch up any unexpected damage, and then I usually go hang out and watch how things get set up. I used to talk to Silas when he was running around, he told me the order a few times and... I guess it stuck?"
"It just 'stuck', huh?" Verosika's tone made it clear how unlikely she found the whole affair.
"Yeah. You know, like when someone talks about how hard it is to remember a date, but then somehow bitching about it makes it stand out in your head?" You gave a weak shrug, the excuse ringing hollow even in your own ears. You had no idea how the order had stuck, or how it had popped into your brain weeks after Silas had left, but you were telling the truth... if only because you were too terrified to come up with a convincing lie.
"So you know my very specific order, you spent your precious free time running out to a coffee shop—twice now, at that—and dropped it off on my doorstep all to make me happy. What, you think a latte is gonna get you backstage passes to my afterparty?"
"No, ma'am! I just thought it might make you smile. I-I'm sorry."
She gave a laugh, harsh and sharp. Then it slowed a little, softened, more sarcastic than biting.
"You're sorry for trying to make me smile. Yeah, way to make me feel like a real bitch, huh?" Verosika still had a heavily skeptical sound to her voice, but she leaned back and straightened up, no longer towering directly over you.
"I didn't mean that. I just, um, if I upset you with what I did, I'm sorry. I swear, I just thought it might cheer you up," you pleaded, hoping to make your case while she was less focused on you. "I was going to hand deliver it, but when I knocked, I sort of panicked. You're a huge star, and we never really talk unless I'm making an adjustment on one of your stage outfits, and I started to doubt myself, I wondered if you'd even know my name, I started picturing you throwing the drink in my face and that just made me start sweating, and then I-"
"And then you started rambling on without really knowing what you were saying?"
"And then I started rambling on witho- oh. Shoot, sorry," you groaned, wincing at your own awkwardness. You were never the most socially talented, but you were better than this, damn it!
"You can unclench that little backdoor of yours, coffee fairy." For the first time since she'd been taunting you at the start, a note of whimsy returned to the pop star's tune. "I'm not going to fire you because you're sweating bullets. It's actually kind of cute."
"Um, well, I was just trying to say that I've been here long enough to know that you're not usually so hard on everyone. I know it's just because of all the shit you've been dealing with. I felt like it would be weird to say anything about it, though. I thought maybe the coffee would be a nice touch." You rubbed at the back of your neck, fidgeting nervously under her still-present scrutiny. "Y'know, something small, something that could remind you that there are still nice things in life, even when it's shitty?"
Verosika's expression shifted gears, her eyes screwing up for a minute as your words bounced around in her mind. She shifted her stance, eyes locking onto your face, digging through your features in search of... something, surely, but exactly what you weren't sure.
"You're an interesting little imp, you know that?" Verosika remarked. The suspicion was back in her voice, but it echoed off the walls with a new layer of scrutiny. "Is that really what you think? You think that because one or two little things are still half-decent, that makes all the godawful shit worth bearing?"
"Uh, well, when you put it like that-"
"You wanna know what you screwed up about my order?"
The question felt like a trap, but as she grasped the cup and dragged one of her long nails up the edge in a sensual way, you found it strangely hard to remain silent.
"Err, wrong brand of chai tea?"
"Oh, please. I'm not that picky." She paused for a moment, seeming to re-think her statement the moment it left her lips. "Okay, maybe I am. But I'm also realistic. I'm lucky if half of the shitholes we visit have a coffee shop that could make a basic-bitch latte without sending me back to my anorexia days; I'm not going to hold out for the perfect brand when even getting a cup worth drinking is a Hellish kind of miracle."
Verosika snorted derisively at her own complaint, her eyes traveling between your face and the cup for a moment, before she flicked the lid off with one deft movement. You instinctively went to reach for it, but she deftly stopped you with a single finger while otherwise ignoring the fallen lid.
"This is what I used to get. Maybe a little on the nose, but... it's me. And it tastes damn good," Verosika mused, her finger circling the drink's rim. "After what happened with that cretin Blitzø, I made one little change. I…"
Verosika paused, her eyes screwing up for a moment. Her lips curved downward, even more than they had while uttering Blitzø's name, and for a moment some of the fire she'd had when you first walked in came back. She sputtered and scoffed abruptly, glancing away from you, looking unusually abashed.
"I don't even know why I'm telling you this. You'll probably just think I'm some over-dramatic diva bitch. And I am. But I don't need to hear it." She sneered while still staring off at some point in the distance, then finally refocused her gaze on you. You weren't sure what she saw there; you were too busy listening to think about what kind of expressions you were making. Whatever it was, it quenched the flames as quickly as they'd risen.
"...I started asking them to burn the sugar before they rimmed the glass."
"Oh! That's interesting. Caramelize it a bit before-"
"No, not caramelize it," Verosika corrected, her voice a little harsh, her eyes traveling the circle of pink sugar with obvious distaste. "I said fucking burn it. With a proper little hellfire blowtorch; get it black before it starts to melt."
"Huh? But why?" Your expression became a gawk, not sure if you were more surprised by the preference or the hateful way she was laser-focused on the cup in your hand.
"Because I wanted to just think for one miserable second that-" Verosika's harsh words died in an instant when she tore her eyes away from the cup, suddenly realizing she was about to start shouting at an inanimate object. She turned her back to you, her voice curving around her shoulder as she tucked her chin into it.
"I wanted to see if I still liked it. I wanted to know if something could be damaged that badly and still make someone happy."
"...Oh." The word left your lips with much less enthusiasm this time. You fumbled for a few breaths for words that weren't there, thoughts that had been scattered by the unexpected revelation.
"Yeah. Melodramatic, right?" Verosika made a point of inspecting her nails, giving an exaggerated laugh. "What can I say. You don't get to be top bitch in my line of work if you're not over the top. And I mean both lines of work."
"I don't think it's melodramatic. I think it's poetic, and it seems like it means a lot to you." You stooped down to toss the fallen lid into the bin. "You should think about working that into a song. I mean, I'm no writer, but I think there could be a lyric there."
"Please, that thoughtful, philosophical shit? That does not go over well with the crowds we play to." This time the laugh seemed a little more genuine, even if it was still slightly judgmental. "If you wanna hit the numbers I do, you stick with songs that keep people wet, hard, and drunk enough to forget they even came to your show. That deep shit just brings everybody down."
"I dunno, maybe. But I think it speaks to people. You kinda caught a new crowd since you started doing your break-up songs, didn't you?"
"Oh, don't call them my 'break-up songs', please," Verosika groaned. "I get it, you get it, they all get it, and I can't exactly untangle them from him completely, but at least call them something else. They came from me—not from what happened between us."
"Doesn't sound like something you'd say if you really just did songs to keep people 'wet, hard, and drunk'," you pointed out.
"You really are a perceptive little fucker when you're not about to shit yourself, huh?" Verosika glared at you, but there was a softness in her grimace that belied the hardness in her eyes.
"I just... do a lot of people watching." You felt your cheeks brightening into a pinkish hue as something in the way she was treating you now started to sink in.
"Well, you're done with the people watching before shows from now on," Verosika said cooly, turning toward her vanity again. She snatched something silvery off the shelf and turned back toward you. "Two nights before each show, I want you off the costume team."
"Wh-what?! But I-"
"Cool your jets, I already said I'm not firing you," Verosika groaned, leaning in closer. She snatched the cup out of your hands and hoisted it up, taking a long swig of the long-cooled coffee. Once the cup was half-emptied she revealed the flask she'd snatched and tipped it over, pouring the whole thing in and taking another, noticeably longer drink. She didn't stop until the cup was fully consumed, save a trickle of cream that slipped along her cheeks until a single swipe of her long tongue caught it just shy of her chin.
"But... I'm a costume designer. If I'm not working on the team, then...?"
"You're a stitch-bitch. A damn good one, if I remember right. Which..." Verosika eyed the emptied coffee cup and the flask warily for a beat, then seemed to reach a decision and hastily tossed both in the trash. "Anyway, I still want you helping create the outfits. But the other slackers can handle a few ripped seams and adjustments just fine. You're not just a costume designer. You're someone with an eye for details, and for some reason, you seem to actually give a shit about me. Know what that qualifies you for?"
"...Unholy shit, are you offering me a job as your PA?" You murmured after a pause, eyes wide.
"A job? As my PA?" Verosika made a thoughtful sound, gently tapping her chin. Her look was playful, and her smile almost predatory. "Well, I suppose we can start there."
"Wait, then what were you-"
"Don't worry your pretty little head about it. I'll teach you everything you need to know. You've got the coffee down, I can be patient about... the rest of it," Verosika mused, her voice already taking on a sing-song lilt as she started for the door. She flicked her signature sunglasses over her eyes, the pink hearts blocking whatever her eyes might have shown you as she glanced over your shoulder.
"Now if you don't mind, I've got a show to do. See yourself out, and remember, last two nights before a show? That ass is mine." Verosika exited with a grin that showed off her fangs, shutting the door quickly behind her. You gawked at the closed door for a few heartbeats, your brain short-circuiting as it tried to process the storm of questions whipping around inside your head now.
"Christ on a stick, what the hell did I just get myself into?!"
Contains Mature Content/Subjects.
Warnings: Mild-Moderate Blood/Violence.
This was written/set during Season 1 (around the time Alastor makes his return, sometime after "Stayed Gone").
"Hey, uh, boss? You got a sec? There's a-"
"Kirz, it's fucking fifteen minutes before quitting time on Friday," you groaned as you mashed the intercom button with an irate laziness. "Someone better be dying for you to call me."
"Uh... you know what? I actually think I know how to handle this. Sorry for buggin' ya, boss."
You rolled your eyes and lazed back into your chair a little bit, humming with satisfaction at the sweet return to silence. Technically, you were in charge of this whole damn building. You could leave whenever you wanted. But putting in a bare minimum effort kept any dumber members of your staff from getting the idea that their boss was going soft. Putting in the final stretch kept the bloodbaths down to a once-a-quarter special occasion, rather than a weekly necessity, and that was usually worth putting up with-
"...Nope. No way," you groaned, no longer able to silence the voice in the back of your head. "Kirz couldn't handle a fucking appletini without a big lunch. No way he's cut out for whatever the fuck is going on out there."
Grumbling to yourself, and promising to hire better help for the fifteenth time, you reluctantly stood. Your chair rumbled in protest as it wheeled off across the floor, the heels of your shoes clicking in an intimidating manner as you crossed the room and threw open the double doors leading out of your office and into the reception area of your executive suite.
"Alright, you know what, I'm bored as Hell back here anyway. What's going on?"
You had intended the question to be unnecessary, but to your surprise, the room was mostly empty. No one and nothing out of place, nothing unusual there to hint at whatever issue had sparked this investigation. Just Kirz. The shark-headed sinner seemed unusually pleased with himself, his dark-purple tongue dancing through the gap in his pointed teeth as he spun his chair around to face you.
"No worries, boss. I got things taken care of. I only rang ya in the first place 'cause ya told me to give ya a ring any time somebody worth a fuck showed up, but I been watchin' the news. I knew it wasn't worth yer time. You got way better things to do than listen to some runty, washed up Overlord tryin' to cut us the worst deal of our-"
A metallic screech resounded through the air as your clawed fingers gripped down on the door frame hard enough to crumple it. Kirz's smug look vanished in an instant, wincing at the sound and then cowering at the warning twitch of your left eye. Your gaze traveled to the elevator's display. Three floors down. Four. Five.
"My dear, sweet Kirz," you sang, voice sharp enough to cut the building cleanly in half, "just which 'runty' little Overlord decided to visit us today, pray tell?"
"I-it was the Vees! I-I mean, not all of 'em, obviously, just the short chick. The one with the nice-"
"I'm going to flay you and then fillet you over and over again, until you learn the difference between those two words, if you even think about finishing that sentence!"
"Velvette! Velvette, boss," Kirz stammered out, his desk screaming as he backed away from you with enough vigor to shove the whole thing aside. "B-but she didn't wanna talk business! I mean, she did, but not good business."
"What did Velvette want with us?" Your voice lost its shout, but kept its intensity. Your eyes left Kirz and locked on the elevator. Ground floor, now.
"She came in here shoutin' about how she needed the whole Calvarina Center, next week, for some fuckin' fashion show. But we've had that thing booked to the Whalldons for two years! They're the biggest customer we got, an' the scariest! Plus, the Vees ain't the hot shit they think they are. They got a lotta muscle, but they're stretched thin takin' over whole pieces of the city lately. They can't deal with us and Whalldon when he hears what they're tryin' to pull! They ain't got the manpower, or the rep, to be worth the trouble, no matter what they offered us in cash. What with Alastor showin' back up in town, and Vox gettin' so worked up he blew a fuse in front of the entire damn-"
"Enough," you growled, sneering at the cowering sinner. "I get the picture. You've drawn it in fucking crayon, but I get it."
"I-I mean, I'm sorry, boss! D-did I screw-"
"You always screw up," you said without hesitation. "But no. That was the right call."
"Oh, thank Satan. I was worried-"
"Call her back. Send her to my office."
"Huh? But I thought-"
"I do not pay you to think, for the one-hundred and thirty-seventh time, Kirz!"
"...Wait, have you actually been countin'-"
"Velvette. My office. NOW! Or I am going to fix that fucking door frame with what little backbone you have, you miserable cretin!"
*****
Your clawed hands tapped dangerously against your desk as you waited, staring angrily at the elevator. Thanks to your overly-enthusiastic grip, the door to your office no longer closed, so you had a clear view of it. Each second ticked by with frustrating slowness, giving your mind time to wander. To remember, to return to a time in your past that still haunted you, and a woman that lingered in your mind just as strongly.
Finally, as even your considerable patience began to run dry, the lights on the elevator blinked into action. One floor at a time, with your eyes locked on the display the entire time. You spent the last few seconds allowing yourself one more moment of nervousness, one last self-inspection. Silken cloth rustled as you adjusted your posture, settled your arms casually over each other on the desk in front of you, and forced your expression into a calm, controlling one.
When the elevator doors slid open at last, you hardly noticed the sniveling form of Kirz in the back corner, or the way his eyes shifted between the two of you, evaluating which of you was more likely to expand his vocabulary in the most painful ways possible.
All you had eyes for in that moment was her. The vision in violet and pink that commanded the space as if she owned it, as if you were nothing more than a stain to her. Velvette stepped free of the elevator with the fluid grace of a model... or a predator. Her iconic half-bun bobbed slightly with each stride as she crossed the room to approach you.
There was no mistaking her style. No matter how many times she remade herself entirely, or how many refinements her iconic looks went through, she was always Velvette. Just as you remembered her. Whatever changes she made over the years only augmented that, enhanced it, showed a little more of her nature to the world.
If the outfits weren't striking enough, her presence made an impression not easily forgotten. The fire in her eyes was truly striking... even, it seemed, when it was directed at you. There was a moment of disappointment when you saw no recognition in that confident gaze, but it was a momentary thing, a fleeting one. There had never been any real hope. What could you have hoped for from someone like her, anyway?
"Well, well. Didn't even make it to the lobby before you clocked this little fleabag jumpin' the gun, eh?" Velvette tutted slightly, putting on a grin as confident as the ones she wore on all those posters slathered across the city. "Told that scrawny little shit that when you get around to bouncing him for being so sodding stupid, I'd be the first one in line to skin his ass. Thought about doin' it anyway, but I figured things were already startin' off on a bad enough foot without me flayin' one of your employees."
"See, Kirz? She knows the difference, and which one you're going to be getting later," you said, smirking casually.
"B-Boss! I'm sorry, I didn't-"
"Give us some privacy, Kirz," you immediately interrupted, not even looking over at the cowering sinner.
"Um, boss... the door-"
"Give us some fucking privacy!"
Kirz made a panicked yelp, and while you kept your eyes firmly locked on Velvette, you heard the sound of the elevator doors sliding open and shut once more just a few seconds later.
"Hard to find good help, eh?" Velvette asked dryly, glancing back into the outer office briefly before she started to address you once more. "And don't go thinkin' you're off the hook just because it was your shifty little low-tier secretary that showed me the door, either. Normally I'd have this whole building razed for that kind of disrespect from an Overlord, much less from some bloody landlord. Was on my way to add this whole organization to the shit list myself, actually. But I'm feelin' rather merciful today, so as long as you promise we can cut the crap and avoid any more of these half-brained mistakes, we can start to talk business regardi-"
"It wasn't a mistake."
Velvette's confidence didn't shatter, but her momentum certainly stutter-stepped, bringing her verbal onslaught to momentary halt. Her eyes narrowed, angry and suspicious, and one pump angrily tapped on the floor when she started to speak again.
"And just what the fuck are you gettin' at there, you mangy little thing? Are you implyin' that your uptight little door boy was right?"
"Ninety percent of our properties are booked a year out, even the little ones that the yuppies use for weddings and family reunions," you explained evenly. "Calvarina Center is our biggest, most expensive arena. It's booked up eighteen months ahead, minimum, and the Whalldons have had this spot for two years. You're walking in here expecting me to call off the whole thing while they've already got half their shit set up."
"We'll take care of disposin' of whatever trash those overblown extras have already moved in, proper quick. The Vees have people. Settin' up a show in twenty-four hours is nothin' for real professionals. A week is child's play." Velvette's voice was laced with amused disinterest, though a touch of danger still lurked in her eyes. "Especially for a show this big."
"Maybe you should have planned out a location for a show this big a little further ahead of time," you responded immediately. Velvette's eyes hardened, her gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. A retort half-formed on her lips, but never quite materialized. Her expression tightened, and her head tilted to the side, almost imperceptibly—not in anger, but in something closer to appraisal.
"Sweetie, I'm on the bleedin' edge of fashion. Two years out is ancient history, innit? Might as well be wearing last century's rags. I want this gig booked at your precious, overpriced little gymnasium because you actually have enough brains and style to slap up a few walls without fuckin' it up so badly that it draws eyes off of my designs. I don't need your stadium, I want it. And the Vees get what they want... or people get proper messed up. I'm sure you've heard a tall tale or two, eh?"
"I have. But even though this might piss off the Vees, it'll definitely piss off the Whalldons if I bounce them from a show they've had booked for two years for you to put on a last-minute fashion show." You gave a simple shrug. "Besides, the Vees are in a good spot right now as far as turf goes, but it's not all sunshine and roses. You're stretched thin. Plus, Alastor's back in town, and all of Hell knows just how much beef Vox has with him."
"That bloody flapper's no threat to the Vees. I'd gladly box his ears if he were here right now," Velvette snarled.
"Maybe you would. And yet he showed Vox up within five minutes of announcing his return, and thanks to your screen-obsessed partner, all of Hell got to watch it in high-definition. Sure, the Vees are the big name right now, but we all know it's a matter of time until Vox picks a fight with Alastor. And everyone knows how that went over—not just that big display, but the last time they really fought, too. Kirz is a goddamn moron, but he wasn't wrong about the better choice here."
"Let me be perfectly crystal with you, darling," Velvette said slowly, voice dripping with the promise of freshly shed blood, "if you called me back up to your office to turn me down a second time, I'll have your bits and bobs stitched into next season's accessories before you can say 'fashion week', love."
"I called you back up here to give you what you want. Calvarina Center is yours. If Whalldon shows up on site, he's your problem."
"Wha-"
Velvette actually did a slight double take. She seemed every bit as much surprised by your agreement as much as she did the look on your face, the way your tone was completely unshaken by her threats. That evaluating look glistened in her eyes again. She seemed almost frustrated, as if a thought were drifting just out of reach, but she eventually dismissed it, shaking her head with obvious annoyance.
"Well, finally got a clue, yeah? Took you long enough, you absolute muppet."
"I was always going to give it to you. I'll deal with whatever Whalldon has in mind for us. Consider the debt paid." You didn't bother to elaborate further, despite the growing curiosity on Velvette's face. She stared at you for a while, her jaw clenching and unclenching, trying to voice the thoughts inside her head, whatever they might have been. Eventually she managed to subdue whatever interest had arisen, her face returning to an unamused neutrality.
"Works for me. Send the bill to V Tower. And there better be a nice discount for being such a prick about the whole thing! Oh, and next time, make it easier on both of us—tell that little assistant of yours to let the real stars of Hell through without the bullshit. Tah, darling!"
You stayed as still as a statue until the elevator doors had closed fully. Only then did you allow yourself to slouch forward, resting your head in one hand while the other lazily trailed its way to the bottom drawer of your desk.
"Fuck. Probably gonna lose it all. Then again…"
Your eyes were distant as you opened the drawer, hazily drifting over the well-worn but still impeccable outfit inside. Your fingers drifted over it
"...I guess it's only fair."
*****
The taste of blood filled your mouth. Yours, or someone else's? It hardly seemed to matter at this point.
"You must have one hell of a FUCKING EGO to think you could walk away from this!"
A crunching sound, then a searing pain. Yep, that shoulder was dislocated for sure. Dislocated or something had full-on broken. You peeled yourself away from the brick wall of your office's basement with a grimace, stepping over the eviscerated body of Fettle Whalldon's right-hand man defiantly as you lifted your remaining good arm defiantly.
"Think I did pretty well for myself, actually," you shot back, grinning in spite of the pain. You were used to pain. Physical or otherwise. "Gonna take your boys here a week or better to put themselves back together, after what I did to 'em, Fetty boy."
It was true, if it missed the point all the same. Fettle's men were scattered into a gross of body parts, in every sense of the word. Bits and pieces of sinners' flesh dangled from your claws, coated the walls, piled in heaps on the basement floor below. Your clothes were lightly smeared in places, your blood and theirs, all soaking into the quaint but cheap suit you'd worn for the battle you knew would come.
You'd come a long way since your days as a vagrant, a beggar on the side of the streets. You had power. Money. Souls. And a vicious right hook. Had you a moment to look around at the corpses, you might have even been proud of how far you'd come.
You were going to suffer for your defiance all the same. You'd never expected to win a straight-up fight with an Overlord's right hand man and his best goons... but a debt was a debt. And this was not one you could leave unpaid.
"After what I do to you, you ain't never gonna be whole again, no matter how many pieces you stuff in there to try to fix it," the hulking demon growled. His oversized, slightly malformed torso heaved itself forward once more, hands the size of your head clenching and unclenching furiously as he reached for you.
As you were readying yourself for another round with the Overlord—the last round, you were sure—he came to a sudden and very abrupt halt. For a single beat of your heart, Fettle merely looked confused, confounded at his own lack of momentum. Then his expression twisted, contorting into a mask of agony. He had just enough time to begin a scream... but not enough to finish it.
Silvery strands glistened in the night, long threads that streamed from everywhere; the floor, the ceiling, the walls, even from the man himself. They glimmered and shimmered, catching the light as they twisted and pulled taut. As quickly as his scream emerged, it was silenced, and the Overlord was torn into as many pieces as his men had been, scattered across the floor in a gory display that covered your leather boots and the bottoms of your dress pants in a spray of viscera.
With the man rent asunder, you could now see the much smaller, but far more intimidating presence behind him. A half-bun of pink and violet coiled tightly behind signature bangs, all dangling above the cedar-brown skin and all-too smug expression of a very familiar face.
"You actually bleedin' did it, eh? Thought you were just flappin' your gums about scrappin' with Whalldon. Figured you had some kinda blackmail on him, or at least a favor with the old bag to call in," Velvette remarked, as casual as ever, even as she strode around a pile of entrails, carefully keeping her shoes pristine. Though her tone was dismissive, almost mocking, she placed herself between you and the door, and her stance seemed to project little interest in anything else in the room besides you. "But you're seriously stubborn enough to get your sorry ass ripped a new one, aren't you?"
"Velvette," you forced out, breaths coming unevenly. Shock had replaced the unending vigor of adrenaline, and what energy your body had convinced itself it still had was rapidly diminishing. "Why are you here?"
"Oh, no, darling, you're too kind, no need for such lavish praise and gratitude." Velvette layered the sarcasm on as thickly as her makeup, and with every bit as much enthusiasm and skill. "Fuck's sake, I just saved your scrawny ass, why are you giving me that look? I went to all the trouble of rescuing your scrawny ass from becoming wall decor, and this is the gratitude I get?"
You clenched your jaw, meeting her smug gaze with a steely one. Velvette put a hand on her hip and rolled her eyes so hard the whole street seemed to swivel with them, adding a disgusted shake of her head at the end.
"You unbearable twit, I'm here to stop you from bein' turned into a pile of mulch, why the fuck else would I be out in the middle of this shithole at this time of night?"
"You're supposed to be at your big show," you responded plainly, ignoring her barbs at your wit and neighborhood alike. "Started fifteen minutes ago."
"Yes, and I was very explicit when I walked out the door that if any of those inbred wankers mess up my fuckin' show after I laid out the entire script for 'em, that I'd be collecting whatever scraps of their miserable hides were left when I finished, and making 'em into next season's handbags!"
"...Heh. Win-win, then?"
Despite her intense look, Velvette broke out into a smirk. The first genuine one you'd seen out of her since she strolled into your office. "Close enough. Though I doubt those tossers would even make a decent accessory."
"Seriously, though." You let the amusement fade from your face as you spoke. "Vees don't give a shit who they hurt unless it's one of theirs. Why come out here? You got what you wanted already."
"Oh? And you know what I want, do you?" Velvette stared at you quietly for a few heartbeats, the night feeling bizarrely still now that it was absent the sound of slaughter. "Took me a minute, but I finally recognized you, you halfwit."
You blinked once as your eyes shot open. Velvette immediately burst out into a confident laugh, shaking her head at your reaction.
"Don't believe you," you finally said. "You have no reason to remember me."
"No? Well, aren't you precious," Velvet said with a scoff. "But I do remember you, love. Hit me like a bolt while I was taking in some hems last night. Funny how memories strike when you're elbow-deep in silk chiffon. Came to me like it had just bloody happened, at that…"
*****
"Ugh, worthless cunt can never be bothered to tear up his own ruddy whores, can he?!"
Velvette stepped out of the elevator and carved her way through the halls with a fury that lacked an outlet, her eyes searching ahead for some poor soul to stumble into her path. The flawless gray-brown of her knuckles had brightened as white-hot as her anger, her fingers clenched fervently around the clothing rack she was hauling.
"Not even a spare set of hands left around here. If he'd ripped off one more limb I'd be doing a fashion show for amputees!"
There may not have been anyone around to hear the frustrated venting, but it lifted her spirits all the same. Not enough for a smile, but enough that the desire to tear something apart had abated... to its usual levels, at least.
"Should have just tossed all this trash in that gaudy fucking moth's fireplace, but I'll be damned all over again if I set foot inside that wanker's private quarters. I'd have to burn my favorite fuckin' shoes... and probably take a shower for good-"
Velvette's voice cut off with an angry grunt as she met an unexpected resistance. The door to the side alley slammed into something—someone, rather, judging by the muffled yelp of pain. Velvette was strong, and angry on top of that; whoever had been on the other side wasn't just smacked, but half-thrown across the alley, stumbling to a halt against the wall on the opposite end.
"Fuck's sake, no employees left in the whole bleedin' place, but so many street rats rummaging around that I can't even make it out the fuckin' door?!" Velvette called out as she planted her hand on the door a little more firmly, making sure it would open fully this time. She strode out, her voice rising above the clatter of the reject rack behind her. "Get the fuck out of my way!"
"O-oh. I'm sorry." The little wretch barely seemed to react, despite the intensity of the collision. They showed little sign of the pain they were surely feeling, and no fear at all, which was the usual reaction of any beggar when they realized they'd drawn the attention of an Overlord. They just sat there, with those pathetically sad eyes staring up at her. Velvette saw some sense of recognition in that gaze; of course she did, who didn't know her? But even that didn't launch the little worm into a proper display of respect and deference. "I was headed to the front door. I didn't mean to get in the way."
"What, a rabid little thing like you, headin' into V Tower?" Velvette let out a piercing laugh, one note of derogatory disbelief that quickly tapered off. She didn't bother looking at the grimy little roach, keeping her stride up as she headed for the dumpster. "You go in there and we'd have to scrub the floor for a week to get rid of that lovely little aroma. Fashion may move quickly, darling, but it's always in season to shower. Get the fuck away from here. Better yet, go jump in a fuckin' lake or I'll have someone toss you in for me so that I don't have to come anywhere near that coat of grunge you're wearin' like a second skin, you filthy blighter."
"O-oh... I guess you're... yeah. Sorry, miss."
Velvette blinked, her steps coming to a halt. There was a touch of anger that roiled at the casual way this shitty little sidewalk stain was talking to her, an annoyance at the lack of fear she'd come to expect when the trash realized who they were talking to. But there was something in the tone of that voice that made Velvette ruefully hesitate.
"Last time I heard someone that sounded like that out here..." Velvette grimaced at the memory. One of Val's playthings, tossed aside after their popularity had run dry and he'd deemed them "too wrecked" for his other uses. That'd been shortly after he'd hooked his little boytoy Angel Dust; when Val got his hands wrapped around that pretty little twink's throat, he'd tossed half his old roster aside without a second thought.
Velvette glanced back against her better judgment, scanning over the crumpled figure behind her. No, not a familiar face. No junked out whore, then. Sooner or later, Val strutted all his workers around the tower, if only to prove that he had full control of them. So not one of his. All the same, the connection had been made in her brain, and Velvette snarled as the thread was pulled tight in her chest.
"This is just out of spite for that prick." Velvette did her best to convince herself of the words as she grabbed a handful of the least gaudy garments from the rack and unceremoniously tossed them behind her, drowning the broken sod in the better part of a dozen outfits, everything from a skirt and crop top Velvette wouldn't have put on her dog to a pantsuit that, to her talented eyes, seemed to be burning with a neon "I'm doing an office porno" sign.
"Takin' up space on our property is a good way to get yourself made into fresh sinner fillets, you scrawny little runt," Velvette growled, turning away without waiting for a reaction. "The least you can do is help me get rid of this trash. And if I smell your rotten carcass here again, I'll be using your skin to stitch together my next fashion show, understand?!"
Velvette stopped the cart next to the dumpster and began piling hideous nightmare after nightmare into the pile, heaping them atop all the electronic refuse from Vox's latest tantrum. She was so busy trying to ignore what she'd done that she didn't notice the lack of a response until one finally came, just as she was hurling away a pink crop top she was certain she'd be seeing in her nightmares later.
"Thank you, Miss Velvette."
"Thought I told you to fuck off!" Velvette shook her hands as if ridding herself of the last of the bad taste. Then she whirled around, only to find herself standing alone once more.
"Hmph. 'Bout fuckin' time. Honestly, still better company than that shitheel Valentino. Swear, if Vox doesn't find a way to keep his little Mothman wannabe under control, I'm going to do it for him…"
*****
"Gotta admit, surprised I remembered that face, caked in the scum that it was," Velvette taunted, gazing lazily at her nails. "But look at you now! I mean, don't get me wrong darling, you're a second-rate landlord, but that's a big improvement from a scurrying little roach. Even did some damage to this one, eh?"
Velvette kicked at one of the few pieces of Whalldon that was still solid enough to not stain her outfit, sending what you were pretty sure used to be a bit of ankle rolling away with an elongated wet squelch. You remained silent as you watched it go. You had never expected her to actually remember you, and given the way she was talking about you, you still weren't sure why the memory had brought her here.
"Surprised?" Velvette asked, though it was more of a tease. She strode a little closer to you, seemingly unbothered by the proximity, moving so near to you that you could have reached out and touched her. So close that the floral and citrus scents of her undoubtedly expensive perfume wafted into your nose, cutting through the metallic scent of blood.
"So was I, love. Especially since you could've just let your adorable little doorman take all the heat. I never would've seen your face in the first place, even if I had recognized you. Sure, we would've fucked you up eleven ways to Sunday eventually, but the Vees have bigger shit to deal with—would have at least taken a few more days to work you over than this overweight walrus did. So why call me back up in the first place? Especially over some fabric scraps you could've pried out of the dumpster yourself. That's not a debt worth what you did."
"It was to me." Thinking about those days was still rough sometimes, but you did your best to keep your face even and tightly controlled as you continued. "I was at V Tower to get a job that day."
"Good thing I chased you off, then. Told you that you smelled rotten, you'd have been laughed away from the front desk," Velvette said, smirking at the memory of the remark.
"I think I might have made it in. I wasn't there for-... I wasn't going to work for Vox. And I don't know shit about fashion."
Velvette didn't have a sharp retort this time. Her eyes shrank to slivers, her glare pointed in your direction, but none of the anger seeming meant for you. "Come off it. You? It hasn't been that long. You don't get your fuckin' act together like this if you're sinkin' that low."
"I was lower than I've ever been. Been on the streets too long, too dirty, no reputation left. Couldn't get a job selling dildos to a succubus," you explained neutrally, as if talking about someone else's life instead of your own. "They all said the same shit you did. If I conned my way into a shower somewhere, they'd just laugh at the rags I was wearing. If I stole some clothes, they'd say I was just some junkie who cleaned up nice. You don't need to eat to survive down here, but try telling that to your empty stomach after seven days of eating nothing except the cleanest bits off the top of the local dumpsters."
"I am going to retch if you put that image into my head one more time."
"You gave me opportunity. Well, at least the opportunity of bein' able to lie well enough to con a few idiots into giving me a chance." You laughed, remembering the early days, how much of a difference wearing a decent suit or a nicely fitting pair of pants and a skintight tee could make when trying to convince someone you weren't just another sinner looking for a place to fleece. "Sold half the outfits for the money to get started, and used the rest to convince a few unfortunate souls that I was hot shit and get my foot in the door. Kinda funny—I figured there was no shot in Hell that any of it would fit me. But the 'street diet' must be about as strict as the one you put your models on, because everything slipped on like a glove."
"I expect the best. I get it, too," Velvette responded without hesitation, pretending to look at her nails. You didn't miss her eyes flicking your way, though. "If that means tellin' the mannequins to quit munchin' every second of the day, that's what I do, and those basic bitches know well enough to listen."
Velvette fidgeted, an uncharacteristic movement for her. Her fingers toyed with one of her bangles, an unusually self-comforting gesture for the Overlord who always seemed to project absolute confidence.
"Seriously, though, come off it, mate. That's all you thought you owed me for? I hardly saved your life, there's no need to be so dramatic."
"I lost my life a long time ago. You saved my soul."
Maybe a bit dramatic, but it was honest, at least. Velvette blinked, her eyes shooting wide as she abandoned all pretenses and faux boredom to stare right at you for a few heartbeats. There was something in her expression that intrigued you, but you hardly knew her well enough to guess at what it was. Her lips parted slightly, as if the ghost of her own thoughts were trying to escape, but were stopped at the last moment by her carefully constructed persona. Velvette recovered quickly, turning away to hide her reaction to your words, heading for the basement's staircase.
"Well, come on then, layabout. Find something to wipe yourself off with and follow me." Velvette made a wave that was both dismissive and commanding, gesturing first at a pile of towels that was more or less unbloodied, then at the stairs. "Be thorough. If you get blood on the limo seats, I'll make you lick it off, or so help me I'll stitch you up as a replacement."
"What the hell are you playing at?" You said, blinking in befuddlement.
"I'll have people come out and scrape up these losers and dump them off somewhere to start squirming their way back together," Velvette said as she continued to climb, ignoring your question. "But they're not going to forget this. They wouldn't dare lift a finger to touch me or my boys, but they'll come after you in a heartbeat, darling."
"Are you... offering to protect me?"
Velvette whirled on the steps, elegantly planting one heel and swiveling so she could let out a peal of laughter right at your face.
"I don't do offers, love. I do deals. You want to keep your turf, and keep these scruffy ragamuffins off your back? You do it by joining us. You get protection, the Vees get to expand without much fuss, and I can stop worryin' so much about venues. Win-win-win, I'd say."
"You could just kill me, take it all. Not like I could take you. Couldn't even handle Fettle, and he won't want to pick a fight with the Vees, even if you are stretched thin. It's one thing to blow you off, another to directly take a swing at the Vees," you said, still not moving from where you stood. "So why are you doing this?"
Velvette growled, her fist clenching so hard you heard knuckles pop. "You half-brained plonker, I'm offering you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you wanna look the fuckin' horse right in its dopey mouth?! You want me to do to you what I did ol' Fetty, there? Rip you into shreds? Leave you scattered around this place like glitter around one of Valentino's shitty little strip clubs?!"
"...No. But I want to know why. You're not reckless like most sinners. You're fiery, but you're always in control. You have a reason, just like I did. I told you mine. I want to know yours."
Maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it really was a death wish. You expected her to grant it, if that's what it was, but she didn't. Velvette's eyes blazed, and there was certainly anger in there, but it was tempered with something else. Something almost like a form of respect.
"You turned a handful of rags into a business in, what's it been, eight years? Nine?" Velvette sounded genuinely impressed, a fact that seemed to make her uncomfortable. "You might be a small fry, but you've got assets and skills, ones I could use so I can focus on the shit that actually matters."
"Well, wasn't that hard," you said humbly, though your pride shined in the grin that quickly stretched over your lips. "You're Velvette. Your rags are still worth diamonds to most of the crowds down here. And for all you know, my business is underwater. Could be circling the drain as we speak. What's really on your mind?"
"Sweetie," Velvette said, her voice taking on a sickly sweet tone. She tilted her head a little and rested it on one of her hands, two fingers resting by her temple while the other two curled down to her chin, an almost affectionate smile crossing her face. "If you don't shut the fuck up and stop asking me questions like it's a fuckin' thing to do, I'm going to show you what I can really do with a few good threads. So, are you going to accept my generous offer and come work with me, or should I give you a proper demonstration?"
You swallowed before you could stop yourself. For all the little teases of her real thoughts you swore you'd seen, there was no second-guessing what was on full display now—flaring annoyance and assured violence, held back by a mere thread. Despite the very real threat, though, her posture was loose, her stance relaxed. And there was a softness to the threat, if such a thing were possible. An attitude of browbeating from someone for whom violence was a simple tool... rather than a genuine intent to eviscerate.
"Looking forward to working with you," you said, managing to keep your voice level.
"Cheers, love, that's more like it." Velvette gave you a smirk, the bloodlust vanishing in an instant. Velvette promptly swirled around and resumed her climb up the stairs, disappearing behind the low-hanging ceiling. "Now, hurry up! I've wasted enough daylight in this wretched hole, and that bloated windbag is startin' to mug up the place. If you're not in my limo by the time I put the call in to clean these tossers up, I'm leaving without you. And if that happens, I'll be coming back for the deeds in the morning—and I won't be in such a pleasant mood next time."
"That was a pleasant mood?" You weren't sure you could handle a bad one. Still, you navigated around the worst of the carnage, an odd lightness in your chest despite your injuries.
She had remembered you. Not the streetwise, relatively business-savvy sinner who'd started to make a name down here. No, she remembered the street wretch who'd nearly forged a contract with Valentino out of desperation.
The Velvette you'd just seen—ruthless and efficient, yet offering an unlikely alliance—was a far cry from the fashion icon plastered across Hell's billboards. But she was also different from the grudgingly charitable figure from your past. Not surprising, considering how long it had been since then. And yet, for all the differences over the years, the connection remained... though you weren't quite sure of the nature of it just yet.
As you reached the top of the stairs, daylight spilled across your face from the open doorway. The sleek black limousine waited outside, engine purring with impatience. Through the tinted windows, you could make out Velvette's silhouette, phone pressed to her ear—already moving on to the next crisis, the next conquest.
"Oi! Get your arse in gear!" Velvette's voice cut through your reflection as the window rolled down halfway. "I've managed to keep this outfit halfway presentable, so don't make me come back there and muck it up!"
You straightened your jacket, winced at your injuries, and stepped forward into the light. Whatever game Velvette was playing, you'd no sooner paid off your old debt than you owed her a new one. Being torn apart by Fettle might've been a kinder fate than selling off your soul, but she'd still saved you. And even if it was foolish, or downright suicidal, you found yourself wanting to see more of this side of the fashionista.
With a deep breath, and one last look at your office, not sure when you'd next return, you stepped into the limo. Your back foot had barely cleared the pavement, the door still wide open, when Velvette's driver sped off. You tumbled sideways into the seating, landing awkwardly across the plush leather. Your shoulder, still dislocated, throbbed angrily at the impact. Velvette gave a sharp laugh, sadistic but genuine, that rang out even over the sound of your grunts and the door finally slamming shut behind you.
"If you find my pain so enjoyable," you grumbled as you finally managed to right yourself, sliding into the seat across from Velvette, "you could've just let Whalldon keep wailing on me a bit longer."
"Oh, watchin' you flail about is bloody wicked," Velvette agreed, giggling maliciously. "But I was actually just thinkin' somethin' to myself. Might not be much, but you built all this off a few outfits I nicked off a rack. You were nothin' but a flea-ridden beggar. Now look at how far you've come."
"Doesn't feel like that much has changed," you countered, straightening out the wrinkles from your fall. "Still getting saved by you. And still trying to keep up with whatever you throw at me next."
Her laugh—genuine this time, not filled with mockery—filled the interior of the limo. As she fell silent, her demeanor seemed to change. Away from the streets, away from witnesses and rivals, something in her shifted.
"Well, you've done a passable job so far, darling," Velvette said, sounding almost friendly as she leaned forward, adjusting your collar and brushing out your bloodied suit. Her touch was gentle, and she seemed unbothered despite all the fuss she'd made about keeping clean earlier. You stiffened a little at the unexpected proximity, and the scent of her perfume reached you again, even stronger in the clear air of the limousine's cabin.
"Need to work on your presentation; can't have you lookin' a mess while you're workin' for me. But settin' that aside? I think I'm gonna enjoy gettin' a real look at what you can accomplish with a proper set-up, love."
"What exactly do you have in mind?"
"Darling, my entire line of work is about makin' the same shitty threads every other wanker can get their hands on into a work of art that lights up the runway like a bloody fireworks display," Velvette murmured, giving your outfit one final touch-up before she leaned back, just as the limo started to slowly come to a halt in front of V Tower. Her gaze traveled over you arrogantly as the vehicle finally jolted to a stop, eyes roving over your figure with an air of satisfaction, of ownership.
"Gettin' a rare piece like you, though?" Velvette's grin grew wider as the driver arrived and opened her door, sliding elegantly from her seat. She turned to offer you her hand.
"Let's see if we can't stitch something spectacular out of this little mess we've made."
Contains Mature Content/Subjects.
Warnings: (Willing) Usage of Aphrodisiac-type food/drug.
Also a slight warning for this one getting out of hand. It's a lot longer and I think I lost the pacing... but I think it's still worth posting/sharing.
“Did you pack the allergy medicine? Did Millie remember to re-stock the first aid kit? What about the roadside emergency kit? I didn’t get an accurate count on how many flares we used up on the last mission, you don’t want to-”
“Moxxie, it’s fine,” you assured him. You grinned at the neurotic imp while you fought back the urge to tousle his white locks. His constant worrying had won you over in phases; when you first met him, you'd appreciated the way he was always over-prepared, how he even double checked your work, especially since you were new at I.M.P. back then. After a time, it had become pretty annoying, to the point that you'd nearly snapped at him once or twice. But after a year of working with the crew, and with Moxxie and Millie in particular, you'd realized how much of his affection was expressed through worrying about others, and it was, frankly, fucking adorable. Even when it was a little tiring.
“You are so fucking cute I want to pin you to the ground and cuddle you to death, but seriously, I think Millie and I can handle ourselves across a couple rings," you said, giving Moxxie a grin wide enough that even the sometimes oblivious little imp couldn't miss the teasing in your voice. "Shit, Millie could probably find a way to hike from Pride all the way down to Sloth if she set her mind to it. Nothing stops her. You don’t need to worry about us, Moxx.”
“It’s not just that, I- I-”
“Oh god, Moxxie, I think I’m dying! Help, please! My leg is breaking, again!”
The seemingly desperate cries of Blitzø were slightly muffled as they echoed out of the open doorway to IMP’s headquarters, but they were loud enough to make Moxxie visibly nervous. He glanced over his shoulder anxiously and gave you a reluctant nod.
"Coming, sir!"
Before he could turn to head back inside, Millie grabbed him by the shoulder and fell in step with him, following him toward the office. She was still smiling, despite all that was going on. When Blitzø had started up this act, you'd quickly become annoyed to the point of anger, but neither of the two imps seemed perturbed in the slightest.
"Moxx, you still sure about this? Just checkin' before we get going. We can postpone the trip, if you'd like. I can tell you're feelin' pretty anxious about all this."
"Or you could just come with us," you offered, gesturing to the car. "We both know that leg isn't really broken, and even if it was, Blitzø's walked off worse than that after a bad mission! Heck, sometimes even a good one."
"I know it's probably not true, I know he's just mad, but I'd just be spending the whole time feeling guilty anyway, right?" Moxxie said, throwing you a nervous chuckle, avoiding eye contact as he walked with Millie into the office. "Plus, Blitzø would just tail us the whole trip, knowing him. You two might as well go on and enjoy the trip. We knew this would probably happen, and there's no telling when Blitzø is going to let us all take time off together again. D-don't worry, we already planned something, you'll see. Millie, is the, uh..."
Their words trailed off as they passed through the door of the office, cutting off whatever else they'd been about to say. You weren't surprised that even Moxxie was aware of just how "convenient" Blitzø's little fall had been—it wasn't as if he were being subtle.
Moxxie and Millie had invited you on this road trip weeks ago, inviting you on a scenic drive that was supposed to go through Lust, Wrath, and Envy for some fun times at the best clubs and the most beautiful nature scenery in all seven rings. The three of you had gotten along fantastically since you signed up with I.M.P. over a year ago, and had spent a lot of late nights and long weekends hanging out when you weren't busy with work, but this was the first real trip the three of you would be taking together. Before now, the farthest you'd been together was an overnight trip to the other side of Pentagram City for a music festival.
Although Blitzø had originally approved all three of your vacation requests without complaint, it hadn't actually clicked in his mind that you were all requesting the same dates until about a week ago. For once, his lack of attention to detail had worked out in your favor, and the last few weeks had mostly gone by without an issue. But then you started talking about the trip while doing paperwork one afternoon, just a few days ago.
That had been what kicked everything off, unfortunately.
When Blitzø had listened in and realized that the dates you all asked for overlapped, and that he'd be missing sixty percent of his office staff for over a week, he was upset, and very loud about it. When he overheard that the three of you were all going on a trip together, a trip he hadn't been invited to, he was upset... and quiet. And Blitzø being quiet around the office—or ever, really—was one of the most ominous things in Hell.
For a couple of days, he had tried to pretend he didn't remember approving any vacation—and no matter how many times you all showed him the signed slips, he'd forget an hour later and bring it up again, saying how he never would have approved something like that, and how he couldn't possibly let all of you go at the same time. When none of you yielded to those efforts he switched tactics to "mandatory overtime", a policy that was only outlined in his version of the employee handbook. Handwritten in. In crayon.
...With a little sketch of a unicorn skewering Moxxie on its horn next to it.
The final straw had come this afternoon. This was the last day the three of you were working, and you had decided together to pack your things up the night before and load them in M&M's car before work. None of you trusted Blitzø not to sabotage the luggage given how he'd been acting, but even the precaution of leaving the car back at M&M's apartment wasn't enough. Moxxie ducked out a few minutes early to grab the van, intending on picking you and Millie up after you finished the last of the day's work so that all three of you could leave the office and be on the road straight away.
While he was out, the two of you heard a suspiciously loud crash from the storage room. Following the almost comically exaggerated screams across the small office had brought you to find Blitzø laying down and cradling a "broken" calf that he insisted he'd shattered falling from a ladder while trying to put up a rifle Moxxie had carelessly left laying around.
"Y'know, if he was as creative with his excuses as he is with those violent little drawings, he might be able to come up with a believable one every now and then," you grumbled to yourself as you opened the back hatch of the van, double-checking your luggage and giving a disappointed shake of your head. "I knew he was going to try something like this, I told Moxxie and Millie it was a bad idea to include me. I should have just turned them down for this trip; I knew Blitzø was going to get jealous. If I had just told them to have fun on their own, they could be halfway down to Lust by now… and they'd actually be able to enjoy a couple's retreat properly. I guess Blitzø might still be following them, but at least Moxxie wouldn't be stuck here. I really messed this trip up for them...""
"Nonsense, sweetie!" Millie said, startling you as she strode up behind you and slammed the van's hatch shut. "If Moxx and I didn't want ya ta come, we wouldn't have invited ya. 'Sides, Moxx knows what's goin' on with Blitzø, but he also knows if we all go, there's a fifty-fifty on whether Blitzø keeps his cool and spends the whole trip blowin' up our phones, or if he gets real rambunctious an'-"
"And rides all the way down to Envy to turn it into a 'company retreat'?"
"-rides all the way down to Envy to turn it into a 'company retreat'!"
Millie and you stared at each other for a brief moment, then burst into giggles at the exchange. They had to deal with him more often than you did, and they'd been doing it for longer, but you were more than familiar with his antics by this point. His barely-concealed excuses to burst in on anything resembling a date night for M&M weren't subtle, and Moxxie spent a lot of time complaining about them.
"See? You get how it is," Millie said, giving you a warm smile as she jerked her thumb toward the front of the car and headed for the driver's seat. "So don't be gettin' all gloomy, 'kay? Moxx is bitin' the bullet for us on this one so we can enjoy ourselves, not for us to be mopin' around the whole trip. Besides, Moxx and I just had our anniversary last month, we've been gettin' plenty of time with each other outside'a work. No harm in us havin' a week to ourselves. Trust me sweetie, we're gonna be makin' plenty of memories on this trip, so don't get down before we even hit the road!"
"Well, I still think we should make it up to him later," you said as you stepped around to the other side of the car, sliding into the passenger seat at the same time she was buckling in. "We owe him one. If I had to pick between a week with Blitzø feigning a broken leg and a week out on the road, I know which one I'm picking every damn time."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that," Millie said, giggling again at some joke you weren't sure you got. "I'm sure we can find some way to make it up to him."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Despite the guilt that you felt at the start, the road trip turned out to be an absolute blast. In all the ways that you wanted... and some of them that you didn't. Millie took the first turn at the wheel and was playing a medley of country songs out of Wrath that, to your utter surprise, sort of rocked. A few of them were downright intense.
To your utter horror, so was her driving.
Perhaps that wasn't entirely fair. About ninety percent of Millie's first turn at the wheel was peaceful, calm, and almost serene—as much as any part of Hell ever could be, anyway. You two spent most of the time talking; first about Blitzø and Moxxie and the whole situation, then about the trip, then about... well, a little of everything. Especially about her.
Millie didn't talk much about herself around the office, unless it came up on a job. It didn't seem like she was too professional for small talk, and she certainly wasn't shy, she just seemed to always prefer letting others take the spotlight. But now, with the two of you stuck in a car on the multi-hour drive, talking and singing along to the radio was all you had. You heard more about Millie's life back home, her (violently) friendly relationship with her sister Sallie May, and even learned more about butchering a Hell Hog in those first two hours than you had the entire time you'd been with I.M.P.
Then you hit the freeway.
Blitzø had once said something along the lines of needing a "roided up rhinocerous" to stop Millie. Well, that was just while she was on foot. With the speed and momentum of a two-thousand pound metal deathtrap careening down the freeway at what you were sure must have been Mach 3, Millie was unstoppable, and Heaven help whoever got in her way, because no one in Hell was stupid enough to do it.
By the time your off-ramp came into view, there was a pile of flaming wrecks behind you that must have been at least twice the size of the normal carnage this time of day. The scariest part was that Millie wasn't even angry or driving to hurt anyone intentionally.
Well, except for when that three-tusked pig demon had flipped her off while trying to pass her. You were sure the funeral was going to be beautiful, though.
But apart from that, she was downright giddy, almost as if the rocket-propelled flight down the eight-lanes of death and mayhem that could have ended in oblivion with the slightest twitch of the wheel was just another fun day back on the farm.
...Shit, was it? Did this count as entertainment back where Millie was from? What the fuck were those imps doing down in Wrath?!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Oh, sweetie, just try an' relax. Moxx was the same way after I drove him to our second date. Poor thing barely touched his dinner that night!"
"I don't know about dinner, but I think I'm about to touch my breakfast again," you groaned out, holding one hand over your mouth with only a slight exaggeration. Somehow, you'd survived the drive, despite Millie's best attempts to send you both out in a blaze of glory.
"If you couldn't handle a drive like that, you wouldn't have made it two weeks workin' fer Blitz," Millie said, socking you 'playfully' in the side, though what she saw as playful was nearly hard enough for you to make good on your threat. "You're tougher'n all that! Now come on. Moxx an' I sprung pretty decent for this place, we're wastin' time in a parkin' lot when we could be livin' it up in inside!"
"No kidding. Not to bring the mood down, but I feel kinda bad that Moxxie had to miss out on this place." As you spoke, your eyes wandered over the tall building at the end of the parking lot. It was a pink and red extravaganza, certainly befitting the Lust Ring, but it also had a gold and ivory trim that other structures in the area lacked, as well as a litany of smaller aesthetic pieces like the fountains out front... which you found yourself averting your eyes from rather quickly when you noticed what kind of sculptures those water displays were coming out of.
"Oh, don't worry too much about Moxx," Millie said, giving you a reassuring wave of her hand. "He knows all about this place, same as me. I really wish he could be here too, but it ain't like he's missin' out on a once-in-a-lifetime thing."
"You two have been here before?"
"Yeah! Me an' Moxx came here for our six-month anniversary," Millie explained. "We like havin' big dates in Lust. Gets us away from work, from the families, everythin' that could spoil a good time. Gluttony and Envy are nice too, but Lust is a real hotspot for couples from all over Hell!"
"You don't say..."
"Geez, bit awkward with just me and Millie here," you thought to yourself, feeling the warmth rising in your face. "But this is Lust, it's probably nothing out of the ordinary."
You still tried not to look directly at the fountains as the two of you grabbed your bags and headed for the main entrance. You were so focused on occupying your mind with other thoughts that you didn't notice Millie had come to an abrupt stop until you actually bumped into her. The thoughts on the lewd architecture all jumbled together and scattered on the floor of your mind when you felt her curvaceous figure pressed against your own, if only for a moment.
"Oh shoot! I was so focused on grabbin' the bags I left my phone in the car!" Millie huffed a little bit, giving an exaggerated stomp of her foot. She didn't even seem to acknowledge the fact that you'd practically plastered yourself against her a moment ago. "My head must still be out on the road somewhere. Would you mind goin' back an' grabbin' my phone for me? Both rooms are in my name, so if you go grab it, I can get us checked in real quick. Otherwise yer just gonna be standin' around waitin' for me anyway."
"Sure, I don't mind. Toss me the- damn!"
Your exclamation came as Millie slapped the keyring into your hand at full force. The sting of pain was immediate, and you bit your lower lip to keep yourself from crying out. You'd been hit with gunfire that impacted more softly. A full year with I.M.P. had gotten you used to their quirks, but Millie's strength wasn't exactly easy to adapt to.
"Thanks, you're the best! See you in a bit!" Millie called out, practically breaking into a sprint as she headed for the hotel's front door, carving her way through the parking lot so quickly that a trail of fire wouldn't have been out of place... even outside of Hell.
"...What's she in such a hurry for? She's gonna have to wait for me in the lobby if she wants her phone back anyway," you said, your eyes narrowing a little as Millie zoomed away from you. Something about this felt... not quite off, but definitely odd.
A short walk later and things were feeling even stranger. A quick inspection of the driver's seat and the center console revealed no trace of Millie's phone, so you gave it a call. The phone rang once, but you heard no sound in the empty van, and it went to voicemail almost immediately.
"Is it dead? She barely used her phone during the drive, but the battery could be getting worn out, I guess. But that means this isn't going to be easy..."
A longer, more thorough inspection of both front seats revealed two pennies, a single breath mint covered in lint jammed between the passenger seat and the center console, and a Michael Bolton CD that had either fallen or been very intentionally "lost" between the seat and the armrest.
With the front seats and the glove box checked off, you crawled into the back and started looking there. It seemed unlikely to have slipped all the way back there or to have gotten into the back seats somehow, but Millie's driving had gotten pretty crazy, and it wasn't like the two of you had been anywhere else that day.
Just when you were getting ready to give up, your own phone went off, the sound of an incoming text breaking your concentration.
Guess what? Had my phone in my pocket the whole time! Silly me. Hurry up, we're all checked in and ready to go!
"Ready to go?" You sat there for a moment, staring at the text message with a growing tension in your gut. Something between anticipation and wariness, ready for something to happen, though you couldn't tell what. "What's got her so excited about getting into the hotel room?"
In the time that it took you to cross the lot one more time and reach the doors, you were able to ponder that question quite a bit, but you didn't arrive at any answers that were satisfying and believable. All you could do was reflect on the strange start to the day—and the strange turn things were still taking, apparently, because when you walked inside the hotel lobby, Millie was nowhere to be found.
The entire place was absolutely huge, even more than seeing the exterior had prepared you for. The lobby alone could've doubled as a ballroom were it not for all the lascivious decorations taking up floor space. But no matter where you looked, there was no sign of Millie. Only a very amused looking succubus behind the front desk, and an occasional hotel guest passing through one of the open hallways near the back.
"This feels weird." You frowned slightly at the feeling, though you tried to brush it away. Usually, something feeling weird meant a mission about to go awry, or an ambush about to happen on the streets back in Pentagram City. This was a safe place, and if you trusted anyone, Millie and Moxxie made the top of that list. But whether it was harmless or not, something was definitely up.
You had your phone halfway out of your pocket when it went off, this time with an incoming call from Millie's number.
"Hello? Hey, where'd you run off to?" You kept your voice low as you picked up the line, spinning in a circle despite having already checked the whole lobby area.
"Wonderin' what's going on by now, aint'cha? Moxx and I put together a little scavenger hunt for ya, sweetie. He might not have gotten to drive down with us, but trust me, we're both lookin' forward to this little game. Oh, and don't worry, I let the staff here know ahead'a time, so nobody's gonna bug ya for lookin' around like a weirdo."
"Huh? You guys planned out a whole scavenger hunt here, for me? I thought this was your special place together?" The way she talked seemed to imply that they'd done this ahead of time. That wouldn't have been odd considering how long all of you had been planning this trip, but why here, of all places?
"Oh, it definitely is, and that means we know it well enough to have a little fun showin' you around the place," Millie's voice came through with a knowing laugh, and just a hint of gloating under the amusement. "Okay, cutie, I'm gonna give you the first clue, and after that I'm gonna have to hang up so I ain't accidentally givin' somethin' away. Me an' Moxx worked on these together, so try to keep that in mind as you go. First place to look is where Moxx an' I had our first kiss here. It's not far; it's in that very same lobby you're in right now, actually! The spot we picked out's got a real romantic atmosphere. Just don't trip while you're scopin' the place out! I told the imps an' succubi workin' that you'd be actin' kinda funny, but they're still not gonna appreciate it much if you go drippin' around on the carpet!"
"Okay, but how am I going to-"
The line was cut before you'd even gotten the first words out. Just like she'd said, Millie had immediately ended the call, leaving you with only the quiet background noise of the lobby and a building sense of curiosity. Your first response was to call her back; you were fine with playing a game or two to liven things up, but you still needed a room key. Hell, you needed to know what room you were even staying in.
"...Right, okay, first things first." You started across the lobby while you absently stashed the phone back into your pocket. Your eyes met with the succubus behind the reception desk, whose slight amusement turned into a full-blown grin as you approached her.
"Can I help you with anything?" The woman gave a slight tilt of her head, biting the first knuckle of her index finger playfully as she greeted you. The flirting you had expected—you were more than used to the ways of the Lust ring and what they considered good "customer service"—but not so much the way she seemed so entertained just watching you walk around.
"Uh, yeah. My friend was here a minute ago—very pretty imp, name is Millie, she said she was going to check in for both of us. I should have a key to pick up?" Your nose wrinkled a little as you talked. Was there a smell of sulfur in the air? Well, this was Hell, but still. The smell was much stronger than usual for some reason, and it seemed to be coming from the staff room behind the desk.
"Ooh, sorry, you scrumptious little thing! Can't help you there. Your friend took both keys with her." The pink-skinned succubus gave an exaggerated pout, sticking her lower lip out as she leaned forward more than strictly necessary.
"Uh, okay, well, can I get her room number? She's not picking up her phone, and-"
"C'mon sexy, haven't you figured it out by now?" The succubus giggled at you, seeming more amused than annoyed by your questions. "This is a part of the game. That cute little imp told me all about it. You wanna get your room key, you gotta follow the clues."
"What?" You blurted out the question reflexively, your brain processing a few moments behind your mouth. "...Oh. Yeah, I should have figured that would be the 'prize' for whatever they cooked up. Thanks for the help, miss. Geez, I hope she didn't make the clues too hard. Gonna feel really silly if I spend an hour on this and can't get inside my room…"
"Oh, don't worry, you sweet little thing," the attendant called out as you started to walk away. "I'm sure you're gonna get inside tonight!"
You were too busy thinking about the clue to do much more than blush at her double entendre.
"Okay, now that I'm actually thinking about what she said, it's not too hard to figure out," you thought, letting your eyes wander the lobby slowly, taking everything in all over again. "This whole place could be considered pretty romantic, but if I know those two, they're always just one or two steps away from making out, even on the job. They wouldn't have made it far from the entrance in a place like this. And that comment about dripping all over the carpet wasn't exactly subtle..."
Your first instincts were right on the mark, and you found what you were looking for tucked away in the grand fountain near the center of the expansive lobby area. It only took you a few minutes, with the succubus behind the front desk giggling the whole while, to find a small crevice just under the small sitting ledge that ringed the fountain. The first one was empty, but following along the perimeter of the fountain revealed several more in a pattern around it. The fourth nook you searched had a small postcard in it, with a hand-written note and a small picture taped to it.
The picture looked to be a copy of a photo from the very moment the clue referred to—Moxxie and Millie, kissing romantically in the spot that you were now standing. Judging by the way the accompanying note was written, it was almost certainly from Moxxie.
Hey there! My turn for the clue, so, uh, here goes nothing! "From where passions overflow, journey to where the heart beats wild. Find the keys to melody, and they'll ensure the clue is riled." If you need another clue, don't be afraid to ask, but we think you've got this one!
"I appreciate the confidence they seem to have in me. But did he really add an 'uh' in there? In writing? ...I didn't know anyone was quite that adorable." You couldn't keep a gleeful smile from winding its way across your face as you tucked the note into your pocket. The couple's train-of-thought style of writing notes was cute, almost intimate in the way it let you hear their voices as you read, and although you were a little confused by this whole thing, you did appreciate the effort they were going through.
The clue was a little creative, but it didn't take long for you to wrap your mind around it, and it also helped that there weren't that many places in the hotel you could really check. There was a helpful floor map near the front desk and it only took you a few seconds to scan over all the public areas that you could get to without a room key—the dining room, the game room, the gift shop, the ballroom, an indoor pool, and a few specialty shops and smaller attractions near the back side of the first floor. Everything else was either one of the hotel rooms or a staff-only area.
The clue's mention of hearts could've been a bit of a vague one, especially in a place this romantic and lewd... but the musical hints were simple enough, and it wasn't long before you were strolling into the ballroom. The stage was set for a performance, and although the room itself was vacant for the moment, picturing the room filled with partygoers and dancers certainly did fit the definition of hearts beating wild.
"Hm. No sheet music around anywhere," you noted as you glanced around at the different instruments resting in place. "So the 'key' to the melody isn't about the key to play a song in. Honestly, I kinda expected there to be some Broadway musical set up in here with the next clue on a copy of his favorite song, but if it's not that..."
You strolled over to the grand piano, giving the elegant instrument a once-over. There was no immediate sign of where the clue was, so you paced around the outside to check the obvious places. As you passed in front of the bench, you let your hand stray over, drifting along the ivory keys. A cacophony of notes rang out in ascending order, beautiful even in its unevenly paced glory—save for one section of notes. As you passed the halfway mark, what had been a satisfying sequence was ruined by several dulled and off-key notes that faded in an instant.
You paused, eyes narrowing as you traced your fingers back over the keys. The same very obviously off-tune notes played again, blunted and shortened to the point that it was obvious even to a layperson.
"Well, probably should've looked there first, huh?"
You carefully lifted up the piano's lid, taking great care with the motion. You didn't know what this thing cost, but you were sure that grand piano repair wasn't penned into the vacation budget. Fortunately, though it was a bit heavy, the lid and its hinges were very stable—and even better, the clue was easily within arm's reach from the front. It was another considerably sized notecard, this one gently placed beneath the dampers of a few strings, keeping the card mostly in place while also throwing off the notes enough to give it away.
"They really had fun with this one," you thought to yourself, smiling at the thought of the two of them sitting at home, planning all of this out for you. It still felt a bit odd, and you weren't totally sure why they'd come up with this idea, but you were getting past your initial confusion and appreciating the effort they had put in a lot more.
You’ve done great so far, hon! For the next part, I’ve set up something you can really sink your teeth into! You already know not to be afraid to move stuff around, so keep your eyes peeled, work up an appetite, and remember—only the finest for a friend as good as you!
"Was there any food in the lobby? Coffee bar, I think, but you can't really sink your teeth into that…"
You continued to toy with the phrase, searching for any other meanings besides the obvious one, and walked back through the lobby. You gave the room another cursory glance as you passed through, but as you'd thought, there wasn't really any place to find snacks or a meal there, which left only the next obvious place to look.
The dining room was on the other side of the building, and at this time of day, it was all but empty. Only one couple and a worker cleaning off another table... although, as your eyes passed over the place, you saw there was one more table with a tray set up, but no one around.
"Either that's the clue, or I'm about to get punched by somebody for mooching off their meal while they're off taking a piss."
Luckily, unless some demon had ordered a postcard souffle, your instincts had been dead on once again. There was another of the cards and, perhaps fitting with the clue, there was also some actual food. Well, candy, anyway. Very odd looking candy, at that. Actually...
"SuccuBussin' Lusty Thrusty Lover's Delight?"
That wasn't a brand you'd ever heard of before. For Hell, the name wasn't completely absurd, but the designs on the thing were something you'd expect to see on the sleeve for a porno, not a candy bar. And when you tore open the wrapper to inspect it, the whole block of chocolate was colored pink. Which, again, wasn't all that odd by itself. Flavored chocolate was pretty popular, especially in the Lust ring... but despite the color, the chocolate was definitely anything but strawberry scented.
"Hang on, what's this clue say, first...?"
You're doing great! Feel free to enjoy the sweet treat, it's a hotel specialty. Just, um, maybe not the whole thing. And maybe wait for one more clue! No reason, just a suggestion. Those things kick in fast, and they're strong too—Millie and I split one last time we were here, and it was still more than enough! Okay, clue time. This is the last one, so I hope you've been having fun!
A gentle mist, a steamy heat,
Where silence and solace quietly meet.
Wrap yourself in warmth so fine,
And there you’ll find the last of mine.
You blushed furiously as you stared at the chocolate bar, your mouth hanging open. Your eyes had scanned over the clue, but you weren't sure if you'd actually read a single word of it after that note about the chocolate bar. What had been a simple game, if a bit unexpected, was taking on tones that you weren't quite sure how to feel about. Well, actually, you felt pretty enthusiastic now, if—
No, you had to be misunderstanding. Surely this wasn't—
But what the hell else could they be implying? It was pretty clear, wasn't it? No, no way, those two—
But then why would they leave you one of those?!
No, there was time for questions later. Granted, with a question this big, it was probably a better idea to figure it out now, rather than later. Consciously, you knew that. But you were dazed, reeling, and it felt simpler and more manageable to just continue the game and deal with the consequences of whatever was happening later.
Besides, they really did put a lot of effort into this. You were actually starting to feel a little bad that you hadn't done much more than put in your share of the travel costs. Oh, hey, that helped, actually! You just needed to focus more on the guilt, let that weigh you down, keep you thinking about how sweet M&M were, thinking about how much effort they had gone through for your sake.
Anything but the chocolate bar you were now slipping into your pocket.
"Whatever is at the end of this, I have to do something nice for them when we all get back home," you resolved, while you started walking off toward the indoor pool. You did your best to think loudly, trying to drown out the excited yet panicked voices ringing in the back of your head. "Right after I figure out why the fuck these two left me what I'm pretty sure is—nope, nope. We're ignoring that for now."
You did your best to practice keeping your head either empty or occupied and your feet moving forward as fast as you could manage. Soon you were pushing open the glass double doors that led into the pool area, and the burst of chlorine-scented water gave you a moment of clarity, however brief it was.
This place was a lot busier than the dining hall, but most of the demons inside were too busy making out with their partners to really pay you much mind as you walked around the perimeter of the pool to the cozy section at the back that was separated off from the main pool. There, behind another set of doors, was a heated area, complete with separated steam room and sauna.
"The clue mentioned steamy heat. At least I know they didn't hide a chocolate bar in this one..."
There were two cabinets filled with towels for the guests, one in front of each room. There were quite a few guests in both rooms, judging by the sounds coming from inside, and for a moment you were worried that someone might've disturbed whatever towel had the clue in it, or even taken it outright. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. There was one towel stacked differently than the others, pressed to the side of the cabinet and hiding in the corner rather than laying on the rest. There was even a half-hidden kiss mark on it. Two, actually. One in a very familiar shade of lipstick, the other in one you didn't immediately recognize.
"If it hasn't soaked out in this damp heat, it's gotta be fresh. Probably why nobody has messed with it, either. Millie must have run around and dropped all these off while she had me out looking for her phone. She moves fast, I'll give her that. What's up with the second mark, though?"
You grabbed the towel and unfolded it, stepping back reflexively as a piece of plastic clattered to the floor, with an attached note.
Congrats, smarty-pants! You solved all the clues. No more riddles this time. Here's your room key, and the pass code to the safe in your room is 1-1-3-4! Don't dilly-dally, now.
"Huh. I was expecting…"
You trailed off, not sure what to say, not sure what you actually were expecting. You hadn't been expecting any of this from the start, after all, and after the last clue, any expectations you did have were off the table.
Your heart was pounding as you exited the sauna, traipsed back around the pool, and headed for the elevators. Keeping your head empty wasn't working anymore. Without even a clue to pretend to think over, the thoughts were bouncing around in full force. Every theory you came up with made you more nervous, and you had no idea which one was right. You weren't even sure—no, that wasn't true... you definitely knew which one you hoped was right, but it was the one your brain kept telling you was impossible.
The room card slid effortlessly through the reader when you got there, and you finally stepped into your waiting room. Waves of pink and rosy red lighting washed over you as you stepped over a trail of rose petals leading past the entryway and toward the closet, wondering only for a moment if they were from the hotel staff or if those were a part of M&M's plan too. Your strides carried you over to the closet, your fingers touched on the metal frame of the sliding door, and when you revealed the safe sitting so casually within, you simply stared at it for a long moment.
"It's fine, right? Not like there's some deep, dark secret in there. Just a friendly game for coworkers. Yeah. Definitely. And they did all this for me. Might as well see what exactly they're up to."
Your attempt at a pep talk was far from convincing, but it did get you moving. Your fingers were shaking, so much so that you had to enter the code twice after fumbling the first attempt, but you got the safe open eventually, and slowly pulled free a small manila envelope laying near the front. As you opened it you could feel not one, but several little things inside, and a quick tilt spilled out another note, this one on a full-size sheet of paper, along with a handful of...
"More pictures? Must be more memories. ...Wait. These are-" Your mouth had started moving before your brain could fully process what it was seeing. When it finally did, you froze, both body and mind locking up as you blankly took in the sight before you.
A half-dozen glamour shots, and very, very risqué ones at that. Two of Millie on her own, wearing a lacy black bra and hipster panties that hugged every line of her toned yet curvy figure. Two more of Moxxie, and... well, you had never considered how good a man like Moxxie would look in boyshorts and stockings, but now the thought seemed impossible to get out of your mind. The photos were actually pretty tasteful—sensual, without being outright explicit, though they were still far from the kind of thing you expected from a coworker. Well, anywhere but Hell, at least.
The last two were the most striking. Moxxie and Millie together, still wearing the same outfits, but these photos were a little bit less well-lit, as if they were taken more hastily. And the background was different, too. The individual photos looked like they were taken in what you had to guess was a bedroom at their house, but the group ones looked a lot like they'd been taken elsewhere. Like, say, in a room very similar to the hotel you were in now...
"Wait, is Moxxie wearing lipstick? Never seen him do that before. ...Hang on. That color almost looks-"
You swallowed nervously as you set the pictures down and grabbed the note. Your heart was starting to speed up, pounding in your ears as your brain slowly processed what you'd been convincing yourself to deny this whole time. You could feel a warmth settling into your core as you started to read the note, written in two very different styles of handwriting.
Surprise, sugar!
Surprise! Hope this isn't making you uncomfortable. We tried to lead things in gently, give you time to, y'know, call it off if we were making things awkward. We
What Moxx means is, you probably guessed by now that we've been planning more than a little road trip for a while now. We don't do things halfway in this relationship, especially big stuff like this. Moxx and I have been talking about the idea of sharing a third for a little while now, sugar, and we came to an agreement pretty quick. See, he and I had a little discussion about you, and found out we were both on the same page, cutie. And we know we're kinda springing all this on you, but truth be told, that's partly cause we're a little nervous about this ourselves. We ain't never done something like this before, you know?
Never! We only started talking about it a few months ago. Right around the time we started planning this trip, actually.
Your fingers tightened a little on the paper as you continued to read. Your lips vaguely mouthed the words "no way", but you couldn't manage to give the words any proper sound. All you could do was keep moving your eyes down the page.
So we thought we'd make this a little easier on all of us by turning it into a bit of a game. And, hey, congrats! Since you're seeing this, that means you won! Yaaay!!! And we came up with a way to make it a prize worth all the work we put you through. We're writing these notes a few days early so we can have it all ready to go, but if we know Blitzø—and believe me, we do—he's gonna keep throwing this little fit of his until day of. He'll probably try to come up with some way to guilt us into staying.
Yeah, and if we don't give in, he'll probably try following us all the way down to Sloth. Which would make this whole thing even more awkward than it already is.
Despite the shock that was settling over your mind, a faint smile touched your face. You could practically feel the annoyance radiating from the page, and just picture Moxxie rolling his eyes so hard he could give himself a brain exam.
But we planned ahead! Sprung a little extra to pay for a portal to get set up down here so Moxx could slip away and join us once we were on the road. I'm guessing after all the other clues, you've got an idea of what that means. Still got that chocolate bar, cutie?
They paid for a portal between the rings, too? That would've been pretty expensive, on top of this hotel, and the whole trip. You let your eyes wander back to the photos now resting on top of the safe, your fingers brushing a few aside to give you a full view of Millie and Moxxie, splayed out on a hotel bed, smiling at the camera in their lingerie.
If you're reading this, then by now, Moxx and I are in our room together. We're all set to relive some good memories tonight... but we talked, and we both think it'd be a lotta fun if you came up and joined us. That way all three of us can make some new memories together, catch my drift? Like I said, we know this is all kinda sudden. If it's too much, or if we misread things and you ain't interested, there's no hard feelings at all. All you gotta do is stay there, enjoy a nice night in a fancy hotel, and in the morning we can all pretend this never happened.
That's why we did things this way. We thought it might be a little less... awkward if you had time to think things over, to not feel like you had to make a decision on the spot. We were going to wait until the last night of the trip in case things got awkward, but Millie we decided to take our chances early so we could enjoy the whole trip together, if that's how things worked out. And don't worry, we won't be upset if you don't want to come join us! But, um, if you do, there's another room key in the back of your safe. It's our spare key. You can use it- If you want to, all you-
There were a lot of words after that, but they'd all been scribbled out. The thought of Moxxie frantically trying to figure out how to word things was cute, but you couldn't stop reading long enough to enjoy the image.
What Moxx is trying to say is, trail's open and the sun's shining, partner. Up to you if you wanna ride with us or not. We ain't gonna be offended whatever you choose. You wanna keep things the way they are, we're more than happy to enjoy ourselves and go back to normal tomorrow. But I've got a pretty good feeling we weren't too far off the mark, so if this is something you might be interested in, well... spare key to our room is farther back in the safe. Feel free to come up and say 'hi' anytime, darling.
"Ho. Ly. Shit."
The paper shook in your grip, your fingers trembling as you read out what felt like a particularly inappropriate dream you'd soon wake up from, or a lusty fantasy that had gotten a bit more real than the others. It had been startling enough for all the little clues to slowly blend together, for your disbelief to become harder and harder to maintain, but seeing it all spelled out in plain lettering like this was something else entirely.
"Was I that obvious?"
In the span of time you'd known Moxxie and Millie, the year plus that you'd all been working together, you'd always been fond of the two adorable imps and their passionate romance. Maybe a little bit more than was professionally appropriate, but still! There was nothing wrong with enjoying seeing your coworkers so happy and fulfilled together. You'd said as much to them on multiple occasions... though, you'd thought you'd been careful about how you worded it.
Always saying that their relationship was cute, always talking about how perfect their relationship was. They were hardly shy about their PDA, but on the few times they did notice you staring more than was appropriate, you just brushed it off as being happy for them. When they started to tease you about how fond you were of their relationship, you even did your best to play it off as a joke, talking about how you weren't like Blitzø, and you weren't going to stalk them and try to worm your way into-
"Oh god. I really was that obvious."
Moxxie was pretty oblivious sometimes, but Millie definitely picked up on something, and you couldn't deny that she was right. You tried to deny it even to yourself, figuring that there was little point in entertaining the idea. Moxxie and Millie were obviously in love, probably the purest love you'd seen in your time in Hell.
And what, they were going to go for you on top of that? They'd be interested in you in the first place? Two perfect little imps, two good-hearted, kind, smart people like them, in Hell of all places?
"Well... they are, aren't they?" Saying the words out loud still didn't make them feel real, but it helped. A little. "They are interested. Interested in trying out something new. With a third. With... me. Waiting in their room, right now…"
You tried to swallow, but your mouth had run so dry there was nothing left to soothe your aching throat. For all the disbelief, for all the shock, there was only ever one choice to make. You could stay in your room, let your nerves get the better of you, and waste away in this hotel room, or...
With shivering fingers, you fumbled your way to the rear wall of the safe, cautiously seeking out the little plastic card nestled into the back. As promised, pulling it free revealed a card matching your own, save that it was for a room seven floors up, and a little further down the hall. You kept it clutched tightly in your palm as you turned toward the door, rummaging through your pocket with the other hand as you strode eagerly for the hall, then for the elevator.
Some part of you was still milling over the big questions. Wondering what they meant by "experiment", whether this was meant to be long-term or short-term, a relationship or a sex buddy, a one-time shot at a kink or something they wanted to give the space to grow.
But the rest of you didn't care. This was a once in a lifetime shot. Once in an after-lifetime shot at that. You knew that there would be questions, and you knew what answers you hoped you'd get to hear, but you weren't going to ruin anything about tonight by worrying for the future.
As the elevator doors closed in front of you, you raised up the chocolate bar and bit into it without hesitation, a little sugary courage to steady your shaking limbs. It was filled with something like caramel, except instead of sweet, you could only taste heat. Burning fire, which, unlike normal spice, didn't just settle on your tongue. You felt it drop down and spread through your entire body, smothering your nerves and mixing in nicely with the warmth that was already building in your core.
The airy, lightheaded recklessness that was causing your heart to thrum as the elevator ascended blended with the heat surging through you. When the soft ding that signaled your arrival at M&M's floor, the sound sent a jolt through you, and you were out the doors the instant they opened, gripping their room key so hard that it left a mark on your palm.
You heard them even before you were at the door. Moxxie and Millie weren't shy, even in public, so you didn't expect anything less than the giggles and light moans that caught your ear as you approached. They only quieted as your footsteps stopped in front of the room... then went utterly silent as you nervously tapped twice on the door.
"I, um…"
Your breath hitched, and you had to take a moment to steady it before continuing.
"I think I won the game," you said, feeling almost silly, but coming up short for anything else to say in the silence that had fallen. There was a long pause, a beat of stillness that made it feel like your heart was pausing along with it, then…
"Well, what are you waiting for?"
"Yeah, come on in, we're just gettin' started!"
Two giggles blended together as you lifted up the room key, amusement that turned to a breathy promise as your fingers settled on the handle.
Your alarm's protests finally died as your hand slammed into it, the plastic creaking awkwardly from the savage assault. Had you been in better shape, the blow might've crushed it altogether; as it was, the obnoxious device lived to see another day.
As did you. Unfortunately.
"Fuckin'... oh, holy shit, I could go for an Extermination right about now," you groaned as you spasmed in bed, fighting back the urge to wretch. Your entire digestive tract felt like it was deciding which hole of your body was the most convenient to explode out of, and your skull seemed to have been replaced with pure, radioactive metal. Not a very well-secured metal either, as the mere act of rolling over in bed took your breath away and treated your brain like a toddler's rattle.
You laid there for what felt like an eternity. Checking the clock on the wall revealed that it had, in fact, been... about three minutes. Unfortunately, looking at the clock also informed you that you'd slept until almost noon. Your alarm had been going off a very long time, it seemed...
"Surprised nobody tried to barge in and check on me. Shit, I'm gonna have to force something down at lunch. If I don't, they're definitely going to start asking questions I ain't ready to deal with."
Despite the protest from every fiber of your being, and the dizziness caused just by lifting your head off the pillow, you forced yourself to scoot to the edge of the bed. It felt like there was a second heartbeat in your chest, one that pulsed pain instead of blood. You felt simultaneously empty and overfull, like you'd been hollowed out, but they'd left enough raw misery inside you to keep you alive, somehow.
Your feet slid off of the edge of the bed, and you winced with both annoyance and slight pain as your feet slapped into something. Several somethings, actually. Containers scattered, and the sound of glass and aluminum rattling around filled the air. You leaned forward slightly, giving yourself a clear view to find a place to set your feet properly between all the emptied out bottles and cans.
It always took a lot of effort and motivation to get yourself moving in the morning, at least since you died. Hard to feel very motivated in Hell, after all. But the mother of all hangovers certainly didn't help things. It was all you could do to sit there and use your full strength of willpower to not fall right back onto the bed.
You eventually managed to get your feet under you—keeping them under you required some assistance from a friendly wall, but you managed it on your own once you got a feel for your legs' new disposition toward life. Afterlife. Whatever. Somehow, you avoided slipping on any of the discarded drink containers as you headed for the wardrobe, trying to avoid looking at them for fear that the sight of an IPA label would be what finally caused you to lose it.
"It" being whatever was left of last night's dinner.
You'd retrieved a towel, a set of clothes, and were halfway to the shower when you heard your phone go off. The clattering tones echoed in the leaded chamber of your head, and you had to fight the urge to give your phone the same treatment as your far more disposable alarm clock. You were planning on silencing the call and leaving it to ring, but that thought quickly vanished when you saw the name on the caller ID.
Your body twisted in separate directions, your heart trying to split itself in half as it soared and plummeted in the same moment. You couldn't ignore her. You didn't even want to. You'd crawl over broken glass to hear that peppy voice, no matter how early in the morning it was.
"Ah, fuck, I shouldn't... Yeah! Hey, what's up, Charlie? Did I miss anything this morning?"
"Yeah, all sorts of stuff! Oh, I mean, nothing you should feel bad about missing. Just the morning meditation session... without you it was empty, but Vaggie and I still made it through. We can always do another one later if you want! Then we got together with the group and did some fun exercises talking about our childhood. You know, things that we enjoyed, things we learned we didn't like, advice we'd give ourselves if we could talk to little-us."
"That's great," you said. A genuine smile tried to form, but it died before it had a chance to live, the twist of your face making your temples throb. "How did it go without me?"
"Y'know, um, fine. For an exercise about fixing mistakes and learning from them, I mean. Um, well, that's what it was supposed to be about, anyway. Alastor wouldn't talk about his childhood, Cherri started talking about how she'd teach herself moves to kick butt harder and never lose a fight, and Angel started talking about a bunch of the crushes he had in high school, which got a little…"
Charlie trailed off, and you could almost picture the blush on her face.
"I get the picture. Sorry I wasn't there. For both of those, I mean. I was pretty wiped this morning, I'll... uh... I'll do better tomorrow."
You swallowed heavily, the word 'better' sending a jolt of ice through your veins. Visions of a bright light flashed in your mind, and your phone squeaked in terror as you gripped it harder than you meant to. Your other arm wrapped around the wall, anchoring you to the floor.
"Oh, don't worry about that. We're still making progress! I mean, even today was better than a few weeks ago, when we tried that three-legged race. Did not realize Alastor knew so many spells that could mess with a person's body like that... um, anyway, I just wanted to check in on you, make sure everything was okay."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I was just about to shower and get started with the day, actually."
You tried to keep yourself from panting as you spoke, your breaths coming heavily just from the exertion of talking. You were breathing fine, but your blood was running cold and thin, insufficient for your beleaguered body. You felt like you wanted nothing more than to just pass out and slump to the floor, but you knew even if you laid back in bed, you'd never be able to get to sleep. You weren't tired, just damaged.
Not damaged enough though... apparently.
"That's perfect!" Charlie said, her voice wavering a little. "I mean, I was going to ask if you could come help me out with something, so if you're up and about now, that works out great!"
The thought of hotel work made you want to jump out the window. No, actually, it made you want to ride the elevator up a few floors, then jump out the window. Normally, helping Charlie was one of the highlights of your day, but your body was actively rejecting the simple act of walking to the shower. Maintenance and paperwork were not something you could even pretend to be enthusiastic about today... but for her, you tried. You always tried. Tried a little too hard, sometimes.
"Yeah, yeah. That sounds great. What do you need?"
"It's a, um, it's a little bit complicated this time. Just come upstairs and meet me in my room, okay? I'll explain everything there."
"Sure. Be up in a few."
Well, at least something was looking up. Granted, "complicated" didn't spell good things for you, but it wasn't often Charlie invited anyone over to her room. Nobody but Vaggie, and even she didn't head that way much anymore since they split up a few months back. Even if you felt like a train wreck that had been hit by a plane crash, tumbled into the sea, and then gotten slammed by a cruise liner.
The shower's water poured over you in a cascade of warmth that at least helped to take the edge off your incapacitation, though your body's weakened state left you twitching and shivering despite the heat. You stayed under the water for a lot longer than normal, letting some tiny bit of the nausea and stomach cramps ebb away as you scrubbed and rinsed yourself. You hoped that by the time you were finished and dressed you'd feel well enough to put on a half-believable smile for the ever-cheery princess... but judging by how long your hangovers lasted these days, that was probably a pipe dream.
Still, there wasn't much point to all the drinking if it cost you your time with Charlie. So despite the fact you still had to put most of your conscious effort into keeping yourself upright and not swaying or doubling over, you eventually finished, dressed, and set out into the hallway.
Mercifully, there was nobody else in the hotel's long hallways, meaning you could leave the false smile until the doorway. You leaned into a corner of the elevator as it slowly ascended, gripping the bars tight, your muscles and bones feeling like they were hollowed out as your nervous system did its best to object to the toxins your body had processed... even if your conscious mind was already starting to feel anxious about being sober again.
The ding of the elevator's arrival signaled the need for a transformation, and so, a transformation was made. You straightened up, taking one more moment of rest before removing your arms from the rests and striding out of the hotel. A smile, weary but determined, forged its way across your face, forcing your quivering lips into some semblance of joy, just in time for your knuckles to tap gently against Charlie's door.
"Come on in!"
The call was immediate, and you had to pause for a second to take one last steadying breath. Your chest felt both bloated and deflated, somehow, and you had to remind yourself not to suck in breath like a dying animal as you pushed Charlie's door open and stepped inside.
The room was so quiet that you had time to step in, turn, and nearly had the door closed behind you when you noticed them. Charlie wasn't alone in her room; in fact, not only was she not alone, but it looked like she'd brought damn near everyone in the hotel over. Charlie's suite was spacious, but it felt claustrophobic as your eyes roved over the assembled guests.
Charlie had rearranged the furniture, but it certainly wasn't just to redecorate—the room's couches and chairs were lined up, letting them all sit in a semi-circle, with one chair sitting out on its own at the far end of the circle. It really was just about everyone there. Charlie was in the center, with Vaggie at her left and Angel Dust at her right. Husk, Cherri, and Niffty were all there, paying various amounts of attention to what was going on. The only major absence was Alastor... which didn't ease your nervousness as much as it usually might, considering the way that everyone was looking at you.
"Hey."
That one word slipped from Charlie's lips in a subdued tone, making the silence that followed it seem even more pronounced. Charlie looked awkward, almost embarrassed, fidgeting shyly in her chair. That alone put you on edge. Charlie being nervous wasn't new; hell, it wasn't even rare. But she'd never acted that way around you, or any of the other guests. Even if you overlooked that, the others all looked just as uncomfortable, except the ones that seemed outright bored.
"Uh, hey. This must be- err, this project must be pretty big?"
It was a Hail Mary, a plainly desperate attempt for this to still be some kind of chore, some hotel labor, when it very obviously was not. Charlie nodded all the same, her smile as forced as yours.
"Y-yeah! I mean, it's a really important one. Why don't you come over here and take a seat, and we can all talk about this, um, project. Together."
You considered turning and walking out—but only for a moment. Whatever was going on here was just going to come up again one way or the other. Charlie was too persistent to call it quits over one rejection like that. Besides, even if you wouldn't be around to see it, you knew just how sad she looked when the others turned down whatever far-fetched attempt at redemption she'd come up with that day, and you weren't going to be the cause of that. You'd do anything to put a smile on that face, the same face that had forced a grin out of you in the very darkest of times.
"But they're not really so far-fetched, are they? You know that."
The words whispered through your mind unbidden, sending an icy chill through you. That jolt of fear at least managed to stir you to alertness enough to sit in your chair without making a show of it, your body now tense enough that the aches and suffering from your nightly abuse didn't seem as powerful.
"So, you're, um, you're probably wondering why we're all gathered here," Charlie began, looking around nervously. She seemed to be trying to find support among the others. Vaggie, of course, gave her an encouraging smile, still on good terms with her ex, but the rest pointedly avoided eye contact. All save for Husk, who met her eyes and then rolled his own.
"C'mon, it's pretty obvious, ain't it?" Angel said, leaning back on two of his arms while the other set were folded over his chest. "Everybody's been through a couple'a these things. And they all end the same. Let's just get on with it."
"Ah, fuck."
"W-well, we should still state it out loud. It's an important part of the process!" Charlie countered, puffing up her chest for a moment. "This is... well, it's an intervention."
"Fuck no."
"We've all been worried, and we've all noticed just how much, um, 'partying' you've been doing at night lately. D-don't get me wrong, I'm all for having a little fun! But it's enough that-"
"You're a fuckin' mess and you damn near filled the entire recycling dumpster up by yourself last week. Musta been half a friggin' brewery emptied out in that thing. If you still had a life to lose, that liver of yours'd be cryin' all the way to the morgue," Husk interrupted, pointing a finger at you. "There. We got it out in the open, no more dancing around it."
Charlie sighed. For a moment she seemed to consider chastising Husk, but she knew better than anyone that this was probably never going to go smoothly, or gently. Not with this crowd.
"That's awful funny, comin' from the hotel's biggest supplier," Angel snorted.
"Yeah, well, none of this is comin' from me anymore, not for weeks now," Husk huffed, giving an angry snort. "I got plenty of my own issues to deal with, and I did enough work to get my own drinking in check. The last thing I need is to be responsible for anyone else's on top of that!"
"Look, I appreciate why you're all here. Especially with most of you having your own vices," you said, giving the others a very pointed series of accusatory looks, hoping some guilt and hypocrisy would shut the lot of them up. "But it's not that simple. I know it looks like I have a problem. I do have a problem, it's just not this one. I'll talk about it…"
When? When would you tell everyone the truth? Would anyone even believe you? You doubted-
"Admitting that you have a problem is the first step. Which is why we're going to share our stories about how your drinking over the last few weeks has affected us." Charlie jumped in while you were silent. Perhaps realizing that letting everyone voice their concerns without some kind of structure was just going to turn into an airing of grievances, she took a firmer hand with this one. "Vaggie, why don't you start?"
"Uh, yeah, yeah, I can do that," Vaggie said, tensing up slightly. She'd obviously practiced whatever she wanted to say, well aware that you and her were Charlie's first choices of lifeline in any situation. "You haven't hurt me or anything, but I am worried about your health. And, uh, while I was passing by your room the other night, I did hear a lot of... sobbing. I mean, I don't know if that was related to the drinking, but you're obviously going through some stuff right now. If there's anything else we can help with-"
"You can't," you said firmly, gritting your teeth out of anger and a need to keep yourself from shivering. Whether it was the irritation or the fatigue, the pulsing agony from your hangover was slowly shifting to that numb emptiness, a weakness that left you grateful for the fact that you were sitting down.
"Don't be like that," Charlie pleaded, the smile on her face hiding the sadness she felt at your words. It was enough to make your stomach clench up all over again, the guilt of hurting her as bad as any hangover. "This Hotel's whole purpose is redemption, and that includes helping each other. Even if it didn't, you're our friend. We want to help."
"I'm helping myself as best as I can." You folded your arms and turned your head to the ground, hiding the clench of your jaw as best as you could, and unable to meet Charlie's gaze regardless. "I know this isn't ideal. But it's the healthiest way for me to deal with this."
"I promise you, there are better ways," Charlie pleaded. You fought the urge to look up at her. The small joy of seeing that perfect face wasn't worth the agony of the pain you were causing her by walling yourself off like this. You could tell what she was thinking just by the sorrow that had lined her expression so far—that you were reverting, going back to the way you were when she first convinced you to join the hotel. And that was the worst thing you could do to her.
The worst thing besides fixing yourself. But how could she understand that?
"There aren't any better ways," you said, your voice resolute. "This is what's best for me."
"I get that drownin' out yer sorrows in booze and cheap drugs makes it easy to forget your problems and pretend they ain't shit. But if you never deal with that crap, it ain't gonna get any better. Fix whatever's goin' on, and get back on the wagon. The longer you keep this shit up, the harder it's gonna be to quit, and if you don't quit, you'll just end up fuckin' things up in some new way."
You could actually hear the sound of people shifting in their seats as they turned to look over at Angel. You lifted your head a little too, the motion nearly making you sway in your chair as the arachnid sinner continued on.
"What?" Angel protested. He glanced around, frowning at the looks of surprise on everyone's faces. "You think just 'cause I can't fix my own shit so easy, I ain't allowed to recognize when someone else is dealing with their own mess? You don't do a full fuckin' one-eighty like this just 'cause you suddenly realized that booze is tasty, numbskulls. It ain't easy, but it ain't hopeless, whatever's goin' on—but you only get someone out of a rut like this if they wanna climb out themselves. I'm still stuck with Val an' even I finally laid off the hard shit, and I didn't just swap it out by becomin' a fuckin' alcoholic."
"I'm not an alcoholic," you growled. You turned your head back down, gritting your teeth and digging your fingers into your leg. "I can stop any time I want. I just don't want to stop. There's more to it than-"
"Bullshit. If the dumpster wasn't enough, I know a hangover when I see one this bad. Seen it in the mirror enough times," Husk said flatly, clearly unamused with your declaration. "No one drinks like that because they want to."
"I did want to. I had to be sure."
"Sure of what? That you'd find out how much alcohol it takes before even a soul starts to get fried?" Husk responds without hesitation. "You ain't caused me any problems, but I'm not just gonna sit here and pretend you aren't lyin' through your teeth to us."
"Shoutin' didn't work on me, and it ain't gonna work on anyone else either," Angel complained, rolling his eyes. He adjusted his chest fluff with one set of hands while making an indifferent sweep of his hands with the other pair. "Quit worryin' about the copin' and focus on the cause. Otherwise the quittin' doesn't last long. Trust me, I know how this goes. That shit is great at buryin' things, and as long as you want somethin' buried, you'll always end up back at it."
"Fine, then let's start there. What brought all this on?" You didn't need to look up to tell Vaggie's stare was as sharp as her spear.
You didn't respond. It wasn't really fair to Vaggie, but looking at her right then would've just made the memories sharper. Just picturing her face framed by those gray wings had your heart racing with fear, your skin starting to...
"Seriously. You fell off the damn wagon so hard you left a crater on the side of the road," Husk griped, tightening his stance and leaning back in his chair. "Went from sober to draining the city's supply practically overnight, but nobody here's heard a damn thing from you about anything that's happened to you lately."
"We're here to help you," Charlie added, her voice standing out just by how much softer it was than the others' gruff tones.
You stayed silent. They wouldn't believe you. Nobody would. And it was even worse if they did.
"I told ya, waste of fuckin' time," Angel said, leaning back in his chair. "We ain't gonna get anywhere with this 'we care' shit until rock bottom, same as anyone else. And that's assumin' nobody throws in a shovel."
"Nice of you to be so empathetic," Vaggie said tersely. "We're trying to help."
"Yeah, and failin'," Husk sniped. "Can't help someone that doesn't wanna be helped. Angel's right, we're wasting our time."
"Please, all of you, we need to stay calm. Remember, we're not here to judge, we're here to-"
"You were the one who wanted ta-"
"We just need to be patient, but-"
"Might as well be-"
"Everyone except Charlie, get the fuck out of this room, right now."
The fear and anger steadied you enough to voice the words without quivering. Your voice was loud and firm enough to carry through the clamor that had taken hold of the group, bringing the argument to a halt. Everyone went still, falling silent in the pause that followed, until you lifted up your head again, rotating a glare around the assembled room. You forced yourself to meet their eyes, no matter how hard it was to look at Vaggie without shrinking back in fear.
No matter how hard it was to look at Charlie's despondent expression without crying.
"Did I fucking stutter?" You added, showing a few more teeth than was necessary. Nobody was actually frightened by the gesture, but seeing your usually pleasant face twisted in such an aggressive way startled them enough to break the spell that thrived in the wake of your command.
"We came here to help. We're your friends, and we're not leaving until we're sure you-"
"I will explain everything to Charlie, once you all kindly fuck the hell off. This is between me and her. All of you. Out. Now!"
Vaggie scowled at the tone you'd cut her off with, looking over to Charlie defensively. Charlie was still frozen in a state of shock at your behavior, but she eventually managed a nod, one just barely good enough for Vaggie to reluctantly get up out of her chair and head for the door. The others joined her, some eagerly, some casually, and some of them giving you a final glance on their way out the door. You did your best to ignore the lot of them, keeping your eyes focused on the ground until the door shut behind Angel, leaving you and Charlie alone in silence.
"So..." Charlie began falteringly, her uncertainty in what was going on plain on her face, "...do you feel more comfortable like this? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry if I made things worse. It's just that, up until a few weeks ago, you were getting along so great with everyone. I thought that maybe seeing how much everyone cared would help."
"It's not about that. I got- I get along fine with everyone," you murmured, tucking your arms around yourself protectively. It was hard enough to sit still without shaking already, but being alone with Charlie always made you feel so vulnerable, so shy lately. Even more than being confronted by a room full of people giving you an intervention. "I appreciate what you, um, what you thought you were doing."
"That's a relief," Charlie breathed. Just seeing some of the anxiety vanish from her face was enough to make you smile, and that made hers grow a little wider, a little stronger. But the concern didn't stay gone for long. "So... you said this is between you and me. Did I do something wrong? If I did, I'm-"
"No, no, it's not- that's not what I meant, Charlie," you sighed, resting your face in your hands. Your muffled voice continued in a strained tone, as you tried desperately to figure out some way to explain everything, just like you'd been doing for weeks now. "It's about you. About, um, us. But it's not something you did. This is all on me, I swear."
"Okay." Charlie's tone said that it was anything but okay, that she didn't have any real clue on where you were going with this, but she nodded all the same. "Well, you said that you'd explain if we were alone. And, um, here we are. Just us in here, so... what's bothering you? Did something bad happen?"
"No. Y-yes. Maybe? I don't- I mean, you'd think-"
The only thing worse than a hangover was a hangover with an anxiety attack laced on top of it. You weren't going to lie. Not to her, of all people. But to put the thoughts in your head in order meant reliving it. That golden light, that moment of clarity... and the terror that had gripped you every moment of every day since.
"If you're not comfortable, you don't have to tell me everything. Or- or anything, I guess. I just... I want to know what I can do to help you," Charlie pleaded, leaning forward in her chair. She even scooted it a little closer, putting you almost in arm's reach. "This all came on so suddenly, it really has me worried for you. You were doing so well up until these last few weeks. You seemed so happy here!"
"I was. I mean, I am," you agreed, smiling despite the fact that admitting that out loud felt foolish, dangerous. Like tempting fate to try it all over again. "I am happy here, Charlie."
You and Charlie had both had your rough patches down in Hell. Her with the breakup, you with the entire mess that you were when you first came to the hotel. You'd gotten there just a few months before Charlie and Vaggie split up. Despite it ending on good terms, despite them still being great friends, it had devastated both of them.
And just like Charlie had been there for you, even though you laughed in her face the very first time she told you about the hotel, you were there for her after the breakup. The two of you had helped put each other back together, albeit in different ways. And especially since the break-up, the two of you had become almost attached at the hip. Of course you were happy at the hotel. How could you not be?
She was here.
"You were leading every exercise we did as a group, you got your temper under control, we were talking about your family, we even drew up those life plans for what you wanna do with the rest of your afterlife. Remember?" Charlie smiled, her gaze growing distant as she reminisced. "You never did tell me what you'd want to do in Heaven, but you said if you were still stuck in Hell after you got to 'graduate' from the Hotel, you'd wanna stay and help us out here."
You swallowed without thinking. The plans. Yeah, you remembered them. Should have been the first sign that something was wrong, in hindsight. How many people would have the problems that you did with that assignment? Hell was easy enough to figure out. This was the only place you wanted to be. She was the most important person to you, and there was never a doubt about what you wanted to do down here anymore. Heaven, though...
"I do. I still do, I mean. I want to stay. I want to help the hotel. I want to help you. I want to... to..."
"To what?" Charlie asked patiently when you fell into stammering silence.
You'd closed your eyes in frustration as you tried to force the words out, and so you hadn't noticed her moving even closer. Not until she took your hand in hers, leaving you both just inches away from each other, staring into each other's faces as you opened your eyes in shock. You wanted to look away. You never wanted to look away again.
You had to tell her. You owed her everything. The truth was the least of it.
"Charlie, I need to tell you something." The trepidation in your voice unnerved even yourself, and Charlie pulled back slightly, quirking an eyebrow.
"Something that makes you nervous?" Charlie said, forcing out a laugh. She was never great at hiding it when she got anxious. Not that you were any better. "Geez, you're usually so much more composed than me. I was getting antsy just putting this whole thing together. So, err, this must be pretty big, huh?"
You nodded, your mouth running dry. Drier, anyway. Your fingers instinctively tightened around hers, as if afraid she might fly away—or worse, that you might.
"You can't keep running away from it. If you're going to drown the rest of your afterlife in a liquor bottle, she deserves to know why."
"Charlie, I-" You heaved a shuddering breath, your whole body shaking, even in the warmth of her embrace. "-I saw it."
"Saw it?" Charlie repeated, blinking in confusion. "Saw what?"
"I saw Heaven, Charlie."
"What, like, through a portal?" You winced as you realized you were going to have to elaborate. "Or in a dream? That might be a good sign, you know, it-"
"I saw Heaven Heaven, Charlie," you blurted out. You didn't pull away from her, but you released your grip on her and cradled yourself in your arms again, needing to feel safe. To feel secure and weighed down, to know that you weren't going to slip away.
This time Charlie didn't say anything. She still looked uncertain, but she stayed silent, giving you space despite the rush of mixed emotions she must be feeling.
"It was a few weeks ago. Right before the drinking started - same day, actually." You were shuddering, and you couldn't tell whether it was more because of the memories or your body's rejection of the state you'd put it in.
"It was the day you asked me to pick up some groceries for the team baking lesson you had planned. As I was on my way back, I saw a fight break out. It was a bunch of sinners, I think they worked for that Overlord down in the third district. They were beating the hell out of some poor imp. Funny, I just realized I didn't catch his name that whole time... I caught them by surprise, chased them off. Poor imp had it pretty bad, broke his leg, I think. I helped him walk home. Then, t-then I got about halfway down the block from his apartment, aa-a-and I-I-"
You tried to keep going, but all the anxiety was coming back now. Mixed with your hangover, you were twitching and shaking so badly that you couldn't force out the words. Charlie was crying now too, but she didn't say anything about it. You could feel the wetness gently building at the top of your head though, and feel the way she wrapped her arms just a little tighter around you. She stroked your back tenderly, just holding you until you composed yourself enough to keep going.
"I was just walking along, and then there was this bright light. It was warm, not like Hell warm, but comfortable warm. And then I heard voices, a bunch of them, singing and humming. I remember that sound. It's what I heard the day I died, Charlie. They were singing the same song I heard outside the golden gates, right before I got sent down here."
"Y-you really...?" Charlie sounded breathless, an undeniable note of excitement entering her voice. You couldn't blame her. If you were telling the truth—and as much as you wished otherwise, you were—you were essentially telling Charlie that her dream was real. It was everything that she'd ever wanted. Proof that it was real, proof that a sinner could be redeemed. "You really did see Heaven?"
"I did."
"But then- wait, you're... you're still here." Charlie's expression fell, and despite her best attempts to recover, there was a lingering sorrow in her eyes, an ingrained terror at the idea that her dream had failed you. "I mean- that's not what I mean, I'm glad you're here. I mean, I'm glad that you're okay! But... shouldn't you be...? Did something go wrong?"
You swallowed hard, wishing desperately for a drink. Not for the alcohol—just to wet your throat enough to get the words out. But maybe it was better this way. Better to feel every sharp edge of this confession.
"Nothing went wrong," you whispered, voice cracking. "Everything went exactly right. I was being redeemed, Charlie. Really, actually redeemed. I could feel it happening. My soul was getting lighter, brighter. The gates were opening, and I could see..."
You trailed off, but Charlie's grip on your hands tightened encouragingly. Her eyes were wide with wonder, practically glowing with joy. Of course they were. This was everything she'd dreamed of, everything she'd fought for. Proof that sinners really could be saved. Even the note of doubt that had now crept in couldn't overshadow her radiant glee.
"What did you see?" she breathed.
"Everything. Paradise. It was beautiful, Charlie. More beautiful than anything I could describe." Your voice wavered as you continued, "I could've gone right through. I felt it. Nothing went wrong. The problem was... the only problem was me. I rejected it, Charlie."
The silence that followed was deafening. Charlie's grip on your hands loosened slightly as confusion crossed her features.
"You what?! But why would you...?"
"Because I realized something right then. Something I'd been trying not to think about for months." You forced yourself to meet her gaze, even as tears threatened to spill over. You'd nearly lost that face. Re-telling the story had reminded you of that all over again, and you were done hiding from it now. No matter how much the disappointment in her eyes hurt you. "You're not a sinner. You don't need to be redeemed, this is your home. If... if I went to Heaven, I'd never see you again."
Charlie's breath caught. Her hands trembled slightly in yours. Disappointment, fear, sadness all blended and roiled, her expression stirred by the emotions your words brought on.
"That's why I started drinking," you continued, the words tumbling out now that you'd started. "Because I had to make sure I wouldn't... that I couldn't... I-I had to sin enough to stay here, you know? I had to do something to make sure that would never happen again."
You bit down angrily, remembering the hopelessness, the desperation you'd felt. The taste of copper flooded your mouth as you clenched down on your cheek.
"But what could I do? Get violent? Hurt people, kill 'em? Steal shit, burn somebody's home down?! How could I live with myself if after all you've done for me, after all the effort you put in to fix me, I went and became some fucking scumbag like that? What would be the point of staying here, of not losing you, if I hurt you by becoming someone like that? Even Lust would mean chasing people I don't care about, manipulating them, hurting them. So I took the easy choice. Of all the sins, Gluttony was the only one I thought I could live with. That... maybe I thought you wouldn't hate me for. So I started drinking, and I kept drinking every night since then. Until I was sure it was enough that I'd still be here. Still be with you."
"You gave up Heaven... for me?" Charlie's voice was barely above a whisper, a complex mix of emotions playing across her face—wonder, guilt, and something else you couldn't quite read.
"Yeah. I cursed at God, you know," you admitted with a bitter laugh. "When I started feeling myself get pulled toward the gates. Shouted every blasphemy I could think of until my throat was raw. Until that light started to dim, started to pull away from me. Until I knew I was stuck here." Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Until I knew I wouldn't lose you."
"But that's... that's terrible!" Charlie pulled back slightly, though she didn't let go of your hands completely. "I never wanted- The whole point of the hotel is to help people find redemption! To give them a second chance! And you threw that away because of me? Why?"
"Because I love you," you said simply, the words finally falling from your lips after being trapped there for so long. "I love you so much that Heaven itself couldn't compare to being here with you."
Charlie's eyes widened, her mouth forming a small 'o' of surprise. You could see tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, and you hurried to continue before the courage brought on by desperation left you.
"I know it's selfish. I know it probably hurts you to hear that I rejected everything you've been working for, and I know you probably don't feel the same way. But I couldn't... I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing you again. Never hearing you laugh, or watching you light up when someone genuinely improves themselves here, or... or any of it. I'd rather spend an eternity in Hell with you than an eternity in Heaven without you."
Charlie was crying openly now, tears streaming down her face. You started to pull away, heart aching at the sight, but she suddenly gripped your hands tighter.
"You idiot," she whispered, but there was no venom in it. "You wonderful, beautiful idiot."
Her voice cracked on "wonderful, beautiful idiot" even as she pulled you closer, her tears falling even as her smile grew wider.
"Do you have any idea how scared I've been these past few weeks? Watching you destroy yourself, not knowing why, thinking I'd failed you somehow?"
"I'm sorry," you murmured, but she shook her head.
"No, I'm sorry. I should have noticed something was wrong sooner. Should have pushed harder to find out what was hurting you." She pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. "But now that you've told me, you have to promise me something."
"Anything."
"No more drinking. No more hurting yourself." Her voice grew firmer. "If you really do love me, then show me by taking care of yourself. By being the person I know you can be."
"But what if-" you started to protest, the fear of another redemption attempt making your voice shake.
"Then we'll figure it out together," Charlie said firmly. "Because I... I love you, too. And I don't want to watch you suffer anymore."
Your heart seemed to stop for a moment before racing ahead double-time. "You- wait, you do?"
Charlie nodded, a watery smile spreading across her face. "Yeah. Yeah I do." She laughed softly. "I think I've been falling for you for a while now. I just- I didn't want to complicate things. Didn't want to risk ruining your progress. Maybe I was worried about something like this, or... maybe I was just making excuses. But hearing you say all this, hearing you tell me what almost happened? Yeah, I'm a little sad. I feel like I took something away from you, something precious, something you might never get another chance at. But when I think about what could have happened, when I picture being here right now, but knowing you were gone forever, or worse—not knowing at all, and you just never showing up again that day..."
Charlie took a deep, ragged breath, closing her eyes for a moment. You recognized that expression—the same one she had when she was meditating. The same one you saw every time you'd sneak a peek, just to get one more glimpse of that perfect face.
"It's selfish of me to even think this, let alone say it out loud, but... I would have missed you. I would have missed you so, so much," Charlie finally finished. There were still a few shards of sorrow glimmering in her eyes, grief for what may have been lost, but her smile was full, bright, and genuine.
And it was just for you.
"So what do we do now?" you asked, hardly daring to breathe.
"Now?" Charlie's smile grew wider, though her tears hadn't quite stopped. "Now we try something new. We need to figure out what this means, what this changes. For the hotel, for sinners, and, um, especially for us. But first..." She squeezed your hands. "I really do want to hear you say it. No more drinking yourself into oblivion. No more hurting yourself to stay here. Promise me you'll let me help you find a better way. Even if I have to hang on and hold you down myself!"
You nodded, feeling lighter than you had in weeks despite your hangover. "I promise. As long as that better way includes being with you."
"Always," Charlie whispered, and leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I can't promise I know exactly how this will work out—but hey, when has that ever stopped me before?"
A chuckle escaped you, a real one. Just hearing her back to her normal self brought you so much joy that you couldn't help it. Charlie's smile turned playful, though her eyes remained serious.
"I never imagined someone turning down redemption. But at least we know it's possible now! I, um, I don't really know where to go from here any more than you do. But I do know that watching you destroy yourself like this would hurt me way more than any failed redemption ever could. So let's figure this out together, okay?"
"Okay," you agreed, finally letting yourself relax into her embrace. The hangover was still there, your body still ached, but for the first time in weeks, you felt hope instead of fear.
Contains Sexual Themes/Content. 18+
Warnings: None, apart from angst.
A late night text, short and simple. A few words barely scribbled into a sentence, but laden with desperation. It was something you had grown accustomed to, something that no longer made you question the appreciation of the person on the other end, or the value they assigned to you. Warmth buried under desperation, attachment scorned by betrayal. Things you understood well – well enough to be confident in connection you had to the person on the other end, no matter how frail it seemed at times.
Still, there were always times—nights like tonight—that you found yourself wondering if there was actually a point to all this. But it seemed like no matter what questions bounced around in your head, you never even stopped to consider turning her down.
Memory carried you off the couch, your body knowing the way without your mind's involvement. Your hands found your keys on the kitchen table, your keys found their way to the ignition, and your car found its way out of the drive. You were halfway to your destination before the first thoughts as to why crossed your mind.
“Why” crossed your mind a lot when it came to Loona. Why was a simple question and a difficult answer, something you’d long accepted about this tumultuous relationship. Why were you still so eager to respond to the calls of a woman who angrily denied ever needing your help? Why did she still rely on you – or anyone – after insisting so many times that she was better off alone? Why were you the first place she turned to when she was hurting, but the last place she ever seemed to want to be?
Why did none of that seem to matter when you read the words “I need you”, no matter the context, no matter the request that followed?
The "why" questions always ended up getting tossed aside, discarded somewhere on the side of the road on the way to her apartment. Even having the answers wouldn’t change your responses, wouldn’t make a difference in a meaningful way. All that mattered was how important Loona was to you, and what you were willing to do. You’d never found the limits of what you were willing to do for her. They still had to exist, surely. But a midnight drive, a quick escape from home? That was nothing. You’d done worse for her before.
Honestly, you’d done a lot worse to help someone you cared about a lot less than that girl.
By the time your mind had rolled over what you were doing a few times, it was already done. Your tires protested lightly as you rolled to a stop in front of the apartment complex. The noises from inside weren’t subtle – an open window letting the night air inside also carried the sounds of shouting into the neighborhood. Shouting and angry words, nothing particularly hateful, but with enough venom to make you wince all the same. A vicious slam put an end to most of the shouting, only a one-sided questioning voice continuing on for a few seconds before it too went silent.
A few minutes later, the front door to the apartment building was thrown open and a furious-looking muzzle appeared in the lights of the house, the familiar face darkening with anger as its bearer sprinted away from the front door. An equally familiar, far less welcome face—one just as angry as hers—appeared behind her, though the man was too far away to stop you as Loona dived through the passenger door the second you threw it open.
“Just get me the hell out of here,” Loona half-shouted, angrily slamming the door behind her and staring out the window, giving the red-skinned figure behind her the bird as you peeled away from her home at a breakneck pace. You knew the imp well; his rifle had been pointed in your direction more than once, to the point that the red dot glistening in your side mirror was an almost affectionate sight. Honestly, you might have been a bit more worried about a shot through your rear window if it wasn’t for the presence of the hellhound in your passenger seat. Furious or not, Blitzø wouldn’t risk any harm to his darling adopted daughter.
“Must have been a hell of a rough night,” you finally laughed out a few blocks away, after slowing your drive to a crawl when the red dot in your rear-view mirror finally faded away. “You haven’t seemed that desperate to get out since-”
“Shut up and drive,” Loona said, her face knit into a furious scowl as she turned herself toward the window, forcing herself into a ball in the corner of your passenger seat.
You did just that without another word, cruising over the nearly deserted streets of the Pride ring one after the other, the lights of the dark night rapidly turning into a blur of neon and grime. What you said was true—it had been a long time since Loona left her home like this, so upset and chased so closely. Whatever happened, though, she clearly didn't want to talk about it. That was fine – you already knew how to handle this by now.
The early night wore on and the lights of the city began to dim around you as you headed for the outskirts of Pentagram City. Though it took longer than you would’ve liked due to the late night traffic, at least that was more time for Loona to brood. Usually by the time you got to your little hideaway spot, she'd calmed down at least a little, but the way she was so stiffly angled toward the window didn't give you a lot of confidence this time.
You already had the place fixed in your mind, somewhere isolated and removed from the worries and stress of civilization. Pride was crowded and overpopulated to the point of essentially having become one massive mecca, but if you knew where to look, there were still pockets of nature and calm—places owned by the right Overlords, with the right taste in domains, and with the right enforcers to make sure they weren’t overrun by the vagrants and sinners. Places you couldn’t stay in for long… unless you knew the right people and greased the right palms.
It was to just such a place that you went now. A thicket in the middle of an urban sprawl, a place away from prying eyes and judging minds. Once you had gotten to the center of the wooded area, as isolated as you could be, you finally stopped the car, the engine, and turned off the headlights—and finally turned to your silent companion.
Despite the time that had passed and the destination you had reached, Loona was still in the same position you’d last seen her in, eyes still glued to something only she could see, far away from the window or the trees beyond it. Her body was still rigid, curled into a ball so tight and compacted you feared if you touched her she'd either explode or go bouncing around the interior of your car.
“We gonna talk, or do you just wanna sit for a while before I take you back?” You finally asked, when it seemed obvious she had no intentions of breaking the silence on her own.
“Maybe I don’t want to go back,” Loona said, her voice a growl, though it lacked any real heat to it. “Maybe I’m finally done with going back to a place that just drives me up a damn wall every time I spend more than five fucking minutes with him!”
You could read her well enough to tell that her voice was more defeated than angry, her eyes lacking the fire you saw in her so often. To anyone else, the bared fangs and snarling voice might have signaled anger, but you'd seen her pissed. This wasn't it.
The lack of vitriol might have been a comforting fact were it anyone else – but from the troubled hellhound it only made you more concerned. Anger was practically Loona's default state. That, or exasperated annoyance. Seeing her actually beaten down like this, so exhausted she wanted to give up, that took a lot worse than a bad fight.
Before you could voice that concern, Loona was already on top of you. Her body slid across the center console as if it wasn’t there, and suddenly she was mounting you, her legs spread across her lap and her body pressed tightly between your chest and the steering wheel.
“Enough about the stupid fight. I don’t want to talk about him,” Loona said, her voice deep, but with lust now rather than anger. “Shut up and kiss me.”
You were a bit hesitant, but you couldn’t resist the sweet taste of her for long with her muzzle nipping at you. Your lips pressed together with hers in a heated exchange, and for just a moment, Loona’s tongue pressed against your own with a tender grace, a shuddering sigh escaping her as she seemed to find some form of comfort. By the time you tried to respond it was already gone, her lips turning more forceful as that moment of affection gave way to rebellious anger, and she began to reach for the buttons on your jacket.
“Easy now, Loona,” you tried to calm her, but the growl in her throat was matched by the intensity of her fingers as they stuttered between unbuttoning your shirt and tearing it off entirely.
“Quit telling me what to do! You don’t know what’s best for me, and neither does he,” Loona spat, her fingers managing to pry the last of your shirt buttons loose, by a miracle of the Dark Lord himself not tearing the fabric apart altogether. “I’m sick and tired of it. I’m done with him, I don’t want to see him again, and I don’t want to hear him tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m leaving that shithole for good this time, I don’t care if I have to live in a box under a bridge.”
“You don’t mean that,” you said immediately, almost reflexively. “You’ve said that a hundred times, and you always go back.”
“When have I ever had another choice?” Loona said, some of her energy returning to her. She started removing her own shirt now, even as she continued to speak. Her anger made it easier to keep your eyes from wandering down to the lacy black bra she unveiled, but not quite effortless, as you were far too close to avoid seeing the milky white fur of her chest, even with your gaze locked on her eyes. “I might hate him but at least he’s better than some of the scum out there who’d give a home to a stray hellhound. And every time I try to get you to let me move in, you just push me away...”
Loona left the sentence unfinished, but you weren’t unfamiliar with how it went. You decided to cut that line of thought off early.
“I’m not cutting you off from the only other long-term relationship you have. I care about you, Loona. So does he. But if I let you give him up, then what happens if you decide you’re tired of me?”
“Decide I'm tired of you? When have I ever been allowed to decide anything?!”
It wasn’t an unfamiliar response, but it was more genuinely furious than you were used to. Loona’s red eyes turned on you with rage, her eyebrows knit with rage that ran deep.
“I haven’t chosen a Lucifer-burned thing since I was born,” Loona spat. “I didn’t choose to get abandoned, I didn’t choose to get put in the system, I didn’t choose to get adopted! Leaving that place is the only choice I can make, and I’m tired of being told not to do it. I’m tired of him, tired of that shitty apartment, tired of being told where to go and what to do! This is the first decision I’ve ever been able to make on my own. I just want to have control over my own life for once!”
Loona’s voice was angry but exasperated. She seemed to shrink in on herself, as if the rage leaving her body left nothing in its wake to take its place… until her hands found their drive again, moving lower on your body and latching onto the button of your pants. That was as far as you let her get, though – your hands wrapped around her own before she could undo one of the last barriers between your body and her own.
“You know I'm not gonna go that far,” you said, voice calm but firm. “I don’t want our first time to be like this. Nothing below the waist while you’re upset.”
“Oh, so now I can’t even choose how to get laid?! That’s just great!” Loona threw up her hands and leaned back aggressively, barely doing so in a way that didn’t land her squarely on your car’s horn. “That’s really fucking great. I really appreciate that.”
“You only want this when you’re upset,” you chided, though your heart wasn’t behind it. If anything, your own will to deny her what she claimed to want was barely hanging on as the half-dressed Hellhound sat atop you. “You’re trying to fill a void with sex, and you’ll regret it forever. Ill gladly let you ‘choose’ me any time you want—as long as it's actually me you want, not just a way to let out your anger. I won’t be another regret in your life, Loona. I promise that much, at least.”
There was a long moment of silence between you. Loona’s eyes warred against your own, two defiant gazes locked together. Finally the stubbornness and lust in the hellhound’s eyes waned, and their mood settled on defeated sorrow. Despite her sadness, there was a familiar affection there that eased the pain you felt now.
“I’ve been desperate my whole life. Since the day I was born. If you want me to wait to be with you until I’m not doing something out of desperation… we might as well just call it quits right now, and stop being whatever the hell we are to each other.”
“Of all the things you want to choose, I don’t think that's one of them,” you said, with enough confidence you hoped it would make her smile. It did – though only for a moment.
“What does it matter what I want?” Loona asked, her voice fading in intensity. “I didn’t want to be born. I didn’t want to be abandoned. I sure as hell didn’t want to get adopted just before my eighteenth birthday and shacked up with a clingy old man. No one has ever cared what I want. You act like you do, but only because you aren’t tired of me yet. You’ll keep me around until you’re tired of me going on about Blitzø, then you’ll-”
“Loona, I’m not like the others. I will never abandon you like that. I promise. You know that, and you know Blitzø won’t either.”
Loona’s mouth half-opened in a snarl of denial, but you continued on before she could say anything else.
“You’ve been tossed aside before in life, but I think you can still tell when someone is being sincere,” you offered, letting your hands brush across her furred forearms. “You might snap at me, you might say you want to run away from home, you might call Blitzø cursed names that would make Satan himself blush… but you know what else you call him sometimes? What you call him when you let your guard down for a minute? I do. You call him Da-”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Loona growled, a real note of anger entering her voice, though it lasted only an instant. “I swear I’ll get out of this car and walk home right now.”
You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. The proof of what you’d said was in Loona’s words – after claiming to want to abandon Blitzø, after talking about how ready she was to live in a box under a bridge, after the desperation in her eyes faded and the hesitant, almost hopeful concern for her own worth slowly returned…
She had acknowledged where her home was. It hadn’t been intentional, but it also hadn’t been forced – and Loona seemed to realize how true the feeling that she'd let slip really was. Loona gave you one last sour glare, then pulled herself off of you, slipping across the car once again and making a point of looking very irritated as she started to put her shirt back on.
Loona remained silent as you started the car, as you backed out of the small cluster of trees and woodland, and even most of the way back to her house. It wasn’t until you were parked in front of her home again, your eyes scanning the upper windows for any sign of a sniper rifle, that she spoke again. Just as her door cracked open, as you thought she was ready to storm out without a word, Loona’s eyes traveled back to you.
“Look, I don’t… fuck, you piss me off sometimes,” Loona began, her words uncertain and her eyes filled with anger. “But I… you never…”
“You’re welcome.”
The words weren’t meant as a tease, or an attempt to embarrass her, but Loona blushed all the same. She glared at you in a softer way than before, rolling her eyes as she turned toward the door.
“Yeah, whatever. We still… are we still good?”
“Yeah, we’re good,” you said, a familiar smirk finding its way to your lips. “We still good for Friday night?”
“...Wear something nice. I’ll be sober this time, I promise,” Loona said, slamming the door a second later as she strolled away. You watched her go for a little while—until the glint of a scope caught your eye in the second floor window, and you were reminded that this time, you didn't have any protection from a stray shot. Your foot slammed eagerly on the gas pedal, sending you speeding away through the dimly lit night of the Pride Ring’s sketchy suburbs.
As you rapidly accelerated away, you were almost sure you saw the gleam of a fang-filled grin in the night in your rear-view mirror.
