pimpmoth:
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Damned be the streets of that district — and, ah, how they are, for many other reasons other than the presence of a rather flashy limo driving fast by. The disgraceful giggling of demons entertaining themselves inside leave an echo of pure sin behind, drawing the attention of any passerby lucky enough to not be run over.
To mistake the phenomenom as belonging to any other than Valentino is a gaffe hard, if not nearly impossible, to commit. The overlord’s name is often in the mouths of Pentagram City’s inhabitants, whether they like it or not. His goons are countless, too, and peer from inside dark alleways with a knowing nod as the vehicle rushes past them.
Business, as always. Though not with anyone worth less than a penny of his time, no. It is a grand investment, one dealt with such an eccentric figure, a dangerous fellow that nobody else has seemed to cogitate. Until now. ❝ Alastor, ❞ the name is blown past his lips alongside the thick smog of his cigarette and draws a generous curve over the demon’s lips, sharp teeth bared in anticipated triumph. ❝ A Red Room of all places, huh? You’re full of surprises, piccolo sporco pervertito♡ ❞
Valentino lifts a hand when the vehicle reaches its chosen destination, giving a clue for the two woman running their lecherous little fingers over his coat and legs to cease. And they do, silently backing into the comfortable seat to dote on each other instead.
The thick pink of his smoke follows his stride, it draws unusual shapes in the air and is unbothered by any breeze caused by the waiter’s movements upon greeting him. Rather, it envelopes the much smaller bunny lady, aids her into slipping out of a shivering state in favor of easing into the experience of leading him to the Radio Demon.
It’s with a click of his cane against the floor that the pimp announces his arrival first. He coos at the excessive preparation and the dim light has him chuckling through his grin. ❝ A candlelit dinner, sweetheart? ❞ His upper set of arms is spread in mocking flattery. As the smoke abandons the lungs of the waiter, she scurries as fast as her stout legs allow her, leaving but the two overlords to sort out the reasons of their meeting. ❝ You’re really old fashioned. ❞
Alastor’s methods of overhearing any sort of whisper in the busy, frolicking city of trash and dirt and gang wars are all through the same stations that gave him his feared nickname: if the Radio Demon hears Valentino’s private talking with himself and the nickname he stuck to him, he makes no mention of it, nor it changes his grin.
Some things are truly better left unaddressed!
And of course Alastor can hear the other Overlord come to him! Ear flicking, he turns with a pleasant grin towards the other’s entrance, both hands crossed over the top of his living cane, appropriately shrunk for the occasion.
‘’If it isn’t our guest! My dear friend,’’ he coos back, grin almost reaching his ears. An hand shoots towards him in a welcoming gesture. ‘’The one and only pimp in this filthy city of scoundrels and criminals, the richest, the most glowing, the most brilliant, the STAR of our show!’’ A spotlight cracks to life above the latter, a very upbeat gig announcing itself to accompany Alastor’s performance.
‘’Ladies and gentlemen, hang tight onto your seats! The excitement may just kill you, but I can assure you: it’s him, flesh and bones!
Take a look at our guest and make a sound, loud round of applause for the one and only, the majestic, mysterious, charming... VALENTINO!’’
At the boisterous call of his name, a shower of applause begin to clap out of nowhere, enthusiastic and lively, accompanied by whristles and the hearthy thumping of shoes on wood. Colorful paper confetti are popped and sprayed atop of Valentino’s head to celebrate, the Radio Demon keeping an hand up with a large smile until the gig seems to have grown stale. After, with a flick of his wrist, the same hand is closed: alongside the movement, the cheer begins to dim until it fades as a back echo, and then it’s silence. And, well... confetti stuck in the fur of his friend’s fluffy cape. Oops!
... Followed by a chuckle of the jokester Alastor.
‘’You know me!’’ The tlacking of his shoes and cane lets him close the distance to the small, round table, taking a seat for himself. ‘’Manners always come first! What kind of meeting would have this been without some proper tea and biscuits? And while we’re at here, we can have some dinner too! Why not?’’
Though he doesn’t address the millionth nickname Valentino gives him, his smile refuses to falther. Some things are best left unaddressed in favor of a warm cup of tea, which he’s quick to pour himself.
‘’The night is long and full of pleasant terrors, my friend! Why don’t you enlighten me with your most recent endeavors?’’