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zaebeecee · 4 months ago

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Blitzø’s 13 ••

By @fletchingbrilliant and ZaeBeeCee

Chapter 7: The Mark & the Target

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•••

This took much longer than expected. At least it’s long?

•••

The bedroom was dark and cold, just dimly lit enough to see the black stone carved with the Sigil of Lucifer and the candles that stood at the six points around it. Charlie reached out with both hands, cupping her left beneath her right, and placing the wick of the first candle between her thumb and forefinger.

“White, for new beginnings.”

She snapped her fingers around the wick, and it caught, the white candle flaring to life at the head of the sigil. She moved to the next, the candle at the sigil’s base.

“Black, for removing negative energy.”

The candle lit up with a black flame, purple at its core and flickering in the faint draft of the room. She moved to the candle at the left of the white.

“Red, for bravery and strength.”

A blood red flame added to the slowly growing light. She moved to the right of the black.

“Silver, for balance and intuition.”

The flame seemed to glitter as she moved to the right of the white.

“Orange, for positivity and adaptability.”

And emotional healing.

The cheerful orange glow flickered happily as Charlie moved to the left of the black.

“Pink, for joy and happiness.”

And for forgiveness.

Stop it, Charlie. This isn’t about him. It’s about you.

The rainbow of colors blended together at the edge of each flame’s halo, casting shadows across the stone sigil that lay in the center. Charlie moved her hand up and pressed the pad of her index finger against one of her sharper teeth, applying pressure until she broke the skin and blood immediately welled out of the wound. She felt her fang slide out of her flesh as she pulled her finger free, then reached out between the candles, following the sigil with her bloodied finger. The black blood settled against the black stone, visible only for the wet gleam in the candlelight.

She settled back on her heels, folded her hands, and waited. Nothing happened.

She tried concentrating harder, but all she could think was how boring this stupid ritual was and how much she would rather be outside, and so nothing happened.

Charlie shook her head. She focused, or she tried to, watching the flames of the candles and trying to prevent her mind from wandering.

The orange flame went out.

“Ugggghhhh,” Charlie groaned, letting her head fall backwards for a moment. She was never going to get this stupid thing right. Blowing out the rest of the candles with a single annoyed huff, Charlie got to her feet, went over to her bed, and face planted onto it. She then grabbed onto her comforter and started rolling, dragging the blanket with her and turning herself into a burrito before she fell off the bed and onto the floor with a soft ‘flmp’.

“Chaaarlie? Sweetie? Sugar plum?” called an uncertain tenor from the door. It was followed by a gentle knock on the already open door. When she didn’t answer, she heard light footsteps walking around the bed and stopping near where she lay. He was crouching beside her. “...Sweet pea? You okay, Devilbug?”

With a groan that sounded stifled even to her own ears, Charlie wiggled in the blanket, managing to scoot up just enough to peek at her father over the folds of the comforter. “It’s not working,” she said, the words so muffled she might as well have been mumbling them.

His head was tilted to meet her eyes, his smile warm and understanding. She could feel his hand on her shoulder through the thick blankets. “You’re getting stuck in your own head again, huh? We talked about that, Charlie. You’ve gotta get your mind clear before you can give it over.”

“I knooooow,” Charlie groaned, wiggling further and almost (but not quite) getting her chin to clear the blanket barrier as well. “And I tried, but it’s boring! And how can my mind be clear when it keeps going”—she switched into a singing tone, making up a melody—“I’m so boooored~!”

He laughed, reaching down to tuck a stray lock of her hair back into the blanket. “Once the festivities start, you might just be singing a different tune. Quite literally, in fact.”

Charlie stared up at her father, making her expression as ‘pathetic baby duck’ as she possibly could. “I’m gonna ruin the whole festival and everybody’s gonna be disappointed and Aunt Bee and Uncle Mam are gonna make fun of me.”

His eyes welled up immediately. “You are not gonna ruin the whole festival my sweet most perfectest baby duckling~” He gently squished her cheeks with his palms. “And if Mammon says a damn thing I’ll steal all his jingly bells.” As Charlie giggled, her father’s expression subdued somewhat. “You… you are sure you wanna go through with it? I mean, it’s never too late for the fucking King to cancel everything out of nowhere.”

Charlie sat up. “I don’t want to cancel it, everyone’s looking forward to it and people have been working so hard to get ready for it! I just…” She sighed, managing to get her arms out of the blanket and letting her hands flop into her lap. “…what if I’m not supposed to do this? Like… I mean, if I’m not… meant for it?”

“Charlie.” Lucifer took both of her hands in his and drew her gaze to focus on his. “You are meant for far greater things than I could ever aspire to. You are my daughter. You are my hope. There is no way that this isn't what you're meant to do, meant to be! You're going to ascend, and it is going to be the most incredible thing all of Hell has ever seen. I believe in you. And once they see you, they will too.”

He cupped her cheek and beamed at her.

Charlie couldn’t help returning her father’s smile, even if she didn’t feel half as confident in herself as he seemed to be. She nodded. “…yeah. You’re right. …I’m stuck.”

Lucifer assisted Charlie in detangling the blanket from around her, and she cleaned up her practice ritual items while he fixed her bed. She then walked out with him, heading down the hallway. “There’s only a month left,” she said. “Do I really have to wait until it starts to see how the Palace looks?”

He looked over his shoulder at her and smirked with that cocky grin of his. “Do you really wanna spoil the surprise?”

“…nnnnnnnoooooo,” she said at length, “I just… you know, want a little tiny peek? Like a… ooh, like opening a little tiny present the night before your birthday that gets you all pumped up for what’s coming and has your imagination brain all fired up!”

“Hmm,” Lucifer tapped on his chin. “When you put it that way, maybe there is something I could show you…”

He snapped his fingers, and a portal opened up behind him. In the swirling pink and purple light, Charlie couldn't see what lay beyond it. Her father offered her his hand.

“Shall we?”

Excitement immediately surged up in Charlie and she nodded furiously, taking her father’s hand in both of her own. “Let’s shall!”

With an excited grin, Lucifer pulled Charlie forward and through the portal. Pulsing energy surrounded them both as they passed through the space between spaces, and they emerged stepping through a black velvety curtain onto a tiled floor even blacker than the curtain’s fabric. The room was eight sided, each wall flanked by columns of onyx, and there was no furniture. There was no clear door either, every wall covered by the same curtain they had used to enter. In the center of the floor was a pedestal, the entire piece made from solid Infernal Obsidian.

Lucifer led Charlie to the pedestal, and gestured down at the black mirrored surface. “This is where I can properly monitor everything going on in the Palace, and in every conceivable way. Sight, sound, even smell and touch. The security arrangements are for everyone else. But nothing Vox has can compete with—or override—the power we've got cooking right here. If anything happens and nobody knows what's going on, I can always find out here.

“Now place your hand on it—don't worry, you're my kid, it'll answer to you—and pick a Sin, any Sin… except Pride… and you can see a small preview of what they've got planned.”

Charlie could hardly believe it. This was so cool. Biting down on her bottom lip to suppress an excited squeal, she nodded eagerly at her father before reaching out and placing her hand on top of the pedestal. “Okay… well… Uncle Ozzie always has the best plans, so how about Lust?”

Her vision swam, an odd sight since it didn’t come with the usual dizziness that would suggest, before settling into something that was both in the room and not. She could still see Lucifer, the pedestal, the walls, the curtain… she knew quite well that she hadn’t moved. But at the same time, she could see another place, like she was standing in a different room. It was some sort of performance space, dark everywhere but where bright lights illuminated a circular stage in the center of the room. Charlie could smell jasmine and sandalwood, the scents mixing with the taste of dark chocolate and pomegranate on her tongue, and someone was singing.

On the stage, Charlie saw a small troupe of incubi and succubi, dressed in indigo blue and gold as they performed an intricate dance around the center of the platform. They seemed to have no particular partners, fluidly moving between each other, and Charlie could occasionally see one of the succubi morph into their incubi form, or the other way around. In the center was Verosika Mayday, belting one of her more passionate ballads and moving as though directing the dancers with her fingers. Charlie saw Asmodeus, too, slowly walking the length of the other side of the stage, his eyes fixed on the performers.

For nearly fifteen seconds, it was like Charlie was right there, before it suddenly disappeared and she was left feeling like she was suddenly thrust into a completely different place. She staggered a little, pulling her hand away and moving it towards her forehead. “Whoa,” she breathed, her eyes wide. “That… is… so cool!!”

Lucifer chuckled softly, holding out his hands in case she needed the support. “Everyone's real excited for the main event, from what I've been told. Gonna be a lot to take in… for both of us. Haha.”

Charlie leaned on her father, giggling a little from the lightheadedness following the use of such strange magic. “And after everything… I can go down into Pentagram City, right?”

His smile became strained. “You're still set on that, huh? You do remember all the terrible things I've told you about Sinners? How much they suck? And are awful?”

“Yes, Dad, I remember all the terrible things you’ve told me about Sinners,” Charlie said with a wry smirk, raising one eyebrow. Her expression softened a moment later. “But I still want to meet them! And Overlords are Sinners too, right? And they’ll be here. Why shouldn’t I meet other human souls too?”

He looked to the side, heaving a heavy sigh. “...You're right. I know.” His smile was sad when he looked back at her, taking her arms in his hands. “I guess I can't keep my sweet and precious perfect little baby girl sequestered away all safe and sound forever, huh?”

“Nope!” she said brightly. “Besides, if you didn’t agree, I’d just get Uncle Mammon to smuggle me out. You know he’d do it.”

Lucifer's expression flattened. “You wouldn't humiliate me like that.”

She put on her best innocent face. “If I wanted to humiliate you, I would get Auntie Bel to do it.”

“Ugh! You wound me!” Lucifer mimed being struck a fatal blow with all the seriousness of a deflating balloon, sinking to the floor. “Now help me up, I have gross icky actual work to do.”

He made grabby hands up at her.

Charlie giggled and took her father’s hands, hauling him up to his feet. She followed him back out of the room, and then waved as he went towards his study, heading back to her own room to take another crack at the ritual.

She could do it. She knew she could.

This was going to be great. Wasn’t it?

•••

For years, a heavy black cloud had hung over the great mansion that many knew as House Paimon. Paimon himself, of course, no longer dwelt there, having departed quite some time ago and left the place in the hands of his only legitimized heir. However, Stolas Goetia was a prince, not a king, and his seal could not supersede his father’s, which meant that the ultimate power still lay in Paimon’s hands.

Maybe that, Octavia thought, was why the place always felt so miserable.

She wasn’t sure when it was that she started noticing how broken her family was. As a child, she had been cheerfully oblivious to the marital struggles of her parents, only seeing her father with any regularity within the home and often taking outings with her mother and her uncle, Andraelphus. It never felt out of the ordinary to her that her parents spent very little time together, because in what she knew of Goetian society, it was normal for couples to tend to business separately.

She had noticed the screaming when she was about eleven, and then, she had never stopped noticing it. Maybe it started then.

But this pall was… different, much different from the usual hostility that existed between her parents on a normal day. It had been nearly five years since her father had legitimately threatened her mother with divorce, and he had seemed so firm about going through with it, but one day he had simply backed down and it was never mentioned again.

Something happened to her father those five years ago, Octavia was certain of it. But how was she supposed to even begin to ask about it?

Now, it felt as though everything was coming to a head, and Octavia wasn’t sure how to feel about it or what to expect. There was a tension that seemed to exist just over her head, barely out of reach, always pressing down on her but never close enough for her to seize it and try to understand it. She was nineteen, past the age of majority for the Goetia, but her father still insisted on treating her like a child who couldn’t handle the slightest of bad news. It was infuriating, because it was still making her miserable, and she didn’t even have the benefit of knowing what was wrong.

Family dinners had been a rarity Octavia’s entire life, typically only done on special occasions or when there was particularly bad news. And, since it wasn’t a special occasion, Octavia was incredibly on edge as she stepped into the formal dining room of House Paimon. Her mother had ‘strongly suggested’ she wear something appropriate, and Octavia had ignored the suggestion, clothed in her usual stars and her black cardigan, hat pulled further down over her feathers than she normally did.

Her mother and uncle were already there, speaking with each other quietly at the bar. Her mother looked up, made direct eye contact, and looked Octavia over before rolling her eyes in annoyance and finishing her entire glass of wine in a single go. Octavia winced slightly, looking away.

“I don’t see why you’re insisting on having dinner here,” her mother said, voice carrying through the room even though she was clearly speaking only to Andraelphus. “Surely we could have simply taken Via out somewhere, and then the spineless windbag wouldn’t have gotten an opportunity to bitch again.”

“Trust me, darling, there's nothing I would have preferred more,” Octavia’s uncle replied just as loudly. “But this does technically involve him, so this would be easier in the long run.”

Andraelphus looked up at Octavia and smiled that soft and transparently dangerous smile he had, and reached a hand out open-palmed for her to join them.

“Hello, darling niece! What a pleasure to see you again. Come, we were just talking about you.”

Octavia clenched her hands into fists at her sides, the movement hidden by the long sleeves of her cardigan. While she didn’t take Andraelphus’s hand, she did obediently walk over to stand near enough them to ‘join’ their conversation (which more meant be talked about like she wasn’t standing right there). “Hello, Uncle Andraelphus,” she said. “I noticed.”

“Don’t eavesdrop, darling, or at least never admit to it,” her mother said, pouring herself another glass of wine without even looking at Octavia.

Octavia bit back her initial response of I wasn’t, you were just loud and instead ignored her mother’s comment altogether. “Is… something wrong?”

“Not at all, darling,” her uncle said, smoothly withdrawing his hand. “We actually have some utterly delightful news for you and I insisted to your mother that I be here to deliver it.”

“What, by the stars, are you doing here?”

Octavia turned her head completely around at the sound of her father’s voice. He looked annoyed and confused, a frequent state he was in these days, his bathrobe dropping off of one shoulder and his feathers somewhat ruffled.

“Hi, Dad,” Octavia said, turning her body to align with her head and walking closer to him.

Behind her, Octavia heard her mother scoff. “Oh, look, it managed to drag itself out of bed all by itself.”

She saw her father affect a halfway forceful glare, and he crossed the rest of the way to Octavia, placing a hand on her shoulder. He turned the glare onto Andraelphus. “I believe I asked a question.”

“It is not up to you who your wife has over for company,” Andraelphus said smoothly, rising to his feet. “Especially when you're typically too wasted to even realize what's going on in your own household.”

“You—” Her dad clearly had a sharp comeback lined up, but he deflated under the dual pressure of both his wife and his brother-in-law, and chose quiet bitterness instead. “Fine. Do what you want. Via, sweet one, do you want something to eat?”

Octavia nodded. The entirety of her first thought was the fully-formed sentence can I have macaroni and cheese, a question that would never fly with her mother. “You’re going to eat too, right, Dad…?” she asked, trying to tell him that she had noticed his lack of appetite without outright saying it.

Her father looked surprised for a moment, then smiled in a way that looked very sad. “Of course I will. Would you like to—”

They both cringed as Andraelphus noisily cleared his throat. “Stella, dear sister, I do believe dinner is already waiting for all four of us, is it not?”

Octavia heard her mother sigh dramatically and she closed her own eyes, trying to will herself into not getting a headache. “Well, he’s hardly presentable for dinner, but as he always looks like a garbage can with a heroin addiction these days, I suppose it’s the best we’ll get. Come along, Octavia,” she said, each word clipped and sharp. Octavia looked back just as her mother turned on her heel, heading into the main part of the dining room.

Slowly, Octavia looked up at her father. “Do I have to…?” she whispered pleadingly.

He gave her a sympathetic grin while Andraelphus followed after his sister. “Just stay near me, Via. If we don't hear what they want to say now, they'll find a way to irritate us both about it for the next week at least.”

Octavia sighed. She hated it when he had a good point. “Fine,” she muttered under her breath, “but I’m going to be in a bad mood about it.”

She entered the dining room with her father and sat at his right; the fact that he was still granted the position at head of the table felt more like a magnanimous gift from her mother and uncle rather than something that was simply a given. Almost as soon as they were seated, the doors opened, a few of the imp kitchen staff coming in to serve the first course. Octavia saw her mother and uncle focused on ignoring them, as always, so instead gave her father a surreptitious glance to try and gauge his current state a little better before the talk started.

The prince looked, in a word, miserable. This was no different from the norm of course, but today there was a heaviness to his whole demeanor, some invisible weight pressing down on him. Perhaps it had been growing over time, and she simply hadn't noticed it until it was massive. He fiddled with his fork, uttering soft thanks to the servants as they waited on him. That was something he used to never do. But why did her father showing courtesy, even kindness, to his staff have to come with this soul-crushing depression?

Octavia furrowed her brow and looked down at her own place setting, which now held a salad the size that had been deemed ‘appropriate’ for her, and picked up her fork with a bitten-back sigh. She was already thinking about just how she was going to sneak out tonight to get to Pentagram City and find some food.

“So, Octavia,” her mother said, cutting through the silence like a knife digging into her ear drums. “You will be accompanying Andraelphus and myself to Greed in the morning.”

Ew. “Why?” Octavia asked, glancing up just enough to see her mother and raising an eyebrow. “You hate going to Greed.”

“Because that is where the most accomplished bespoke tailors have their shops, and you need to be fitted for several new dresses.”

“What— why??” Octavia fully raised her head, eyes widening. “I hate wearing dresses, Mum!”

“We know you do, sweet niece,” Andraelphus said with an odd sense of sympathy. “But it is to be expected for a young lady of your station at such a prestigious event.”

Octavia's father looked up sharply. “What event? We haven't discussed any—” His eyes went wide. “No. No, absolutely not, it is out of the question!”

“She will be attending,” her mother snapped, looking at her father for the first time that evening. “Her maggot of a father may have completely destroyed any semblance of a reputation in Goetian society, but Octavia will not live under your pathetic shadow!”

Octavia stared between them, raising her voice (a thing she rarely ever did) to be heard over their shouting. “What fucking event?!”

The three elder Goetia froze, all of them turning to look at Octavia. Unfortunately, it was her uncle who first regained composure.

“The most grand event Hell has seen in well over a century I'm sure,” he said. “The grand gala at Lucifer’s Palace, where the king will make his return to the public, and Princess Charlotte will make her own debut. They are calling it the Stairway to Hell Gala—some living realm nonsense, I think—but it is an event not to be missed. It would be appalling, and make quite the stir if you were not to attend, dear niece. Now that you've reached the age of majority… and yet you haven't yet made a proper public appearance since then...” He clucked disapprovingly.

“Because someone still insists on treating her like a child,” Octavia’s mother said bitingly, turning a glare back onto her father.

Octavia didn’t acknowledge that—neither the fact that her mother was right, or that she was being a complete hypocrite—too busy staring at Andraelphus to do much else. “King Lucifer…” she began slowly, trying to wrap her head around the idea of it. She had done very little in Goetian society her entire life, and such a sharp change… and straight into something so… “…that doesn’t explain why I have to wear a dress. Neither Beelzebub nor Belphegor ever wear dresses to events.”

“The Sins get to play by their own rules,” Andraelphus said with obvious disdain that he would never express outside of his immediate family. “It is understood that the lesser nobility adhere to certain… standards, at least until you've made a proper name for yourself.”

“Octavia may wear whatever she wishes,” her father said, his voice fairly weak, but his tone certain, growing stronger as he went. “But child or no, I will not allow her to be dragged into this den of vipers for a week of uncontrolled debauchery!”

“It isn’t your decision!” Octavia’s mother looked ready to get to her feet, her feathers bristling. Octavia herself simply put her head in her hand and stared at her plate, pushing vegetables around with her fork, while her mother continued, “She is of the age of majority, and is heir apparent to House Paimon, the only Goetian presence in Pride, and the only thing you could do better for the house’s reputation besides granting Octavia’s presence is staying home yourself so you can’t embarrass us in front of the Sins!”

Stolas did rise, his fingers braced on the tabletop, robe slipping off of both shoulders and staying up by virtue of his arms alone. “I am not going to entertain this any longer. I— I believe we have, the three of us, all made a grave error.”

“Oh please don't lump me in with your idiocy,” Andraelphus said dryly.

“As both of you have now stated, Via… Octavia… is of age. There isn't one of us in this room who can speak for her aside from herself.” Octavia's father turned his head toward her, his brow creased, all four eyes glistening. “I'm so sorry, Via. I should not be behaving this way. If you wish to attend the gala, you may. If you do not, you are under no obligation. And what you wear at any time and in any place is your business, as it ever was.”

The noise her mother made was low and furious, but she remained seated; it seemed like even she knew she couldn’t argue, since it was a point she brought up herself. Octavia looked up at her father, setting her fork down, her own eyes a little wide.

…I get to choose?

“I…” Octavia blinked slowly, then schooled her expression, speaking only to her father but making sure the other two were listening. “I’ll go. I want to see what it’s like. But I’ll make my own arrangements for outfits. There’s a sinner in Pentagram City who made dresses for Queen Lilith. I want to see if I can make an appointment with her.” She glanced at her mother, then. “And I’ll do it on my own.”

The look she received in return was one her mother usually reserved for her father; she was clearly furious, but also backed into a corner by her own logic. Eventually, she turned her head away sharply. “Do what you want. You always do.”

Andraelphus was muttering something disdainful about sinners, but clearly didn't want to make his position any weaker than it already was.

Her father, on the other hand, just looked surprised, possibly bordering on a bout of Extreme Dad Worry. “Oh! Pentagram City! It is… well, you know how dangerous it can be. I don't— but— if you're sure you'll be alright…”

Octavia tilted her head at him. “If you’re that worried, you could just come with me. You need to get out more, anyway, and maybe she could make something for you, too.”

His eyes were so wide. It was as though the other two were no longer in the room anymore, he let himself get so excited with no care for how silly it made him look. “You would… welcome my company? I— yes. Yes, I would love to!”

Octavia had to tighten her jaw to keep from smiling too obviously. When was the last time I saw him actually… I don’t know. Enthusiastic about something? “Okay, I’ll make arrangements tomorrow, then.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her mother shooting her uncle a look that was probably full of significance. Octavia didn’t bother acknowledging it, instead finally picking up her fork to begin eating.

Whatever it was, neither her uncle nor her mother seemed particularly inclined to attempt bringing up anything else while her father was in possession of his own spine, so the meal passed in a rigid tension that was somehow so much more relaxing than Octavia had felt the last time they were all at a table together. What helped a lot was the sporadic gentle smiles Stolas would give her, that all seemed to reiterate just how pleased he was about their upcoming outing. And just like that, the chief family of the Ars Goetia made it through a meal without screaming for more than fifty percent of the time.

As the staff cleared the table, Andraelphus was loitering at the door to the foyer, appearing to draw out his goodbyes to Stella while he waited for Octavia before he finally left. She gave her father a glance but it wasn't necessary. He didn't seem inclined to let her uncle alone with her, and stayed close to her side as they both made their way across the dining room.

“It was a terribly lovely meal, I cannot thank you enough for having me,” Andraelphus said to her father with painfully obvious sarcasm. Her mother was standing closer to Andraelphus than either Octavia or her father; the delineation between what was their core family and what wasn’t seemed to blur day by day.

“We simply must do it again soon,” her father said back in kind. “Now if you would be so kind…”

“A moment, please,” her uncle said, his tone growing soft again as he addressed Octavia directly. “I want to commend you, Octavia. I know I can be… oh, what word shall I use… difficult. But truly your mother and I want what is best for you. You know that, don't you?”

A few years ago, Octavia would have rolled her eyes and muttered a ‘whatever’, but she had learned since that such things made matters far more difficult on her father than she ever intended. “You are simply thinking of my future,” Octavia said, skirting the edge of agreement and merely implying that she knew they both had some kind of ulterior motive without outright stating it. “I understand, Uncle.”

“Of course you do, darling.” He gave her a truly foul smile and cupped her cheek briefly with his hand. It was freezing, as it always was. He released her before she was too taken with the need to pull away. There was something about his gaze, so sharp and seeming to know something, something that pleased him far too much to be anything good. “Please, at the opening ceremonies, do save a dance for your uncle, won’t you?”

I would literally rather throw up my own pelvis.

“I don’t know if my dancing skills will be up to your standards,” Octavia said. “But I’ll do my best.”

After giving both of them rather clipped advice to go to bed, her mother walked her uncle out the front door, closing it behind both of them. Octavia released a long, slow breath she hadn’t even realized she had been holding, turning to face the wall and leaning forward until her forehead hit it with a dull ‘tnk’.

“...Via?” Her father sounded extra apprehensive, and she was sure he was doing that thing where his arms were out to help in some vague way but he was utterly perplexed as to how to go about it. “Are you alright, Owlet?”

“Nhmh.” Octavia closed her eyes for a second before straightening up, turning to look plaintively up at her father. “I hate it when Uncle Andraelphus comes over for dinner. Why doesn’t he have his own family to annoy?”

Stolas smirked wryly. “He’s always been around. Ever since I was a boy, first becoming… acquainted with your mother. I can’t help but wonder if even when he was young he scared off the rest of their relations.” He laughed, but it was definitely bitter.

Octavia almost smirked, but it became a frown quickly. She crossed her arms. “I’d say I wish he’d just get married already, but I wouldn’t want to put any woman through that.” She shook her head and looked down, picking a loose thread on her cardigan sleeve. “…do you really want to come to Pentagram City with me? I know you never go.”

“Oh, Via. For you, I will happily go.” She felt his finger curl under her chin and gently urge her to look up. It felt completely different from Andraelphus. It was kind, comforting, safe. “Consider it just a small gesture to start making up for lost time, hm? I won’t even be all… weird or cringy or whatever it is I am prone to do.”

Octavia did smile this time, just a little, hugging herself. “That’ll be a nice change,” she teased, glad to see she actually got a smile out of her dad.

Maybe getting a chance to talk to him away from the house would give her an opportunity to figure out what was up with him lately. It was a stretch, but she could always hope.

•••

Stolas did not like Pentagram City. It wasn’t anything necessarily against Sinners themselves. They were as varied in quality of character as any Hellborn, he thought, and certainly had a terrible burden placed on them with the yearly threat of vicious extermination hovering about their awareness at all times. But their particular circumstance, and the nature of their forms, made them inherently dangerous to even the Goetia in a way that other demons could not claim. He was more powerful than the vast majority of them, if not all of them, he supposed, but sheer power mass was not the only thing that mattered. It was something he was aware of only in the intellectual sense, but it was something he couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous about whenever Sinners were around. And Octavia was so young, and her upbringing was partially overseen by Stella, so her magical training thus far left something to be desired. It wasn’t her fault. If anyone was truly to blame it was Stolas himself, for not insisting at least on ensuring that his own daughter could learn to defend herself. He always talked himself out of it.

Maybe he really didn’t take things seriously enough.

Stolas had dressed in a manner only a little toned down from how he would normally dress. There was only so much he could dress down, really; the prince’s wardrobe simply did not allow for it. Octavia, on the other hand, was dressed as she always did, in whatever it was that she found comfortable or trendy or however young demons liked to dress. Comfortable was the key thing, he thought. He wanted nothing more than for his daughter to feel safe and comfortable, to be herself. That was why they were here, too, walking side by side into what they called the Gluttony District of Pentagram City, looking for the community called Cannibal Town.

“I don’t suppose they ever considered putting more clear signage around,” Stolas said, casting his eyes over the red drenched streets. “Everything looks the same around here.”

“I guess they don’t need it,” Octavia said. “I mean, since they’re all kinda stuck here. Maybe it’s easier to tell when you’re here all the time.” Octavia had always had a fiercely independent streak, one that had gotten only stronger as she reached adolescence, but even she was walking closer to Stolas than she did under most other circumstances when they were out together. It didn’t help that Octavia hadn’t told them where in Cannibal Town they were going, just that it was their destination. “Do you think it’s… y’know… literal? The name?”

Stolas made a face, considering. “I suppose it must be… It is said that these are the worst of humanity, and humanity is… well, I won’t go into that right now, haha. But I wouldn’t worry… after all, we’re Hellborn, not Sinners! So consuming our flesh wouldn’t technically be cannibalism, now would it?” He tried to give her a comforting laugh, but his voice hitched up and he squawked.

“I guess not,” Octavia agreed. She didn’t seem to have the same concerns that her father did. “…cool.”

They finally located the community, right in the center of the Gluttony District. For a Sinner-led township, it was… surprisingly clean and charming, actually. Most of the architecture that weren’t the building walls themselves appeared to be made of bones, yes, but the bones were very clean and everything had been carved and styled quite intentionally. Sinners, most of whom had the empty and black cavernous eyes that Stolas had heard many of those who had been cannibals as humans developed after death, seemed to be simply going about their day shopping or working or simply enjoying what there was to enjoy of the Pride sunshine. They were all remarkably well-dressed, too, if each and every one was at least a little blood-splattered.

Octavia hooked her arm in Stolas’s, and as they headed for their apparent destination, Sinners greeted them with ‘good morning’s and smiles that seemed genuine, if full of incredibly sharp teeth. Octavia pivoted when they reached a store that was, apparently, an emporium belonging to someone named Rosie, and also once belonging to someone named Franklin, but apparently no longer. Inside, it looked very much like any boutique, displays of trinkets and clothing and baked goods inside the surprisingly empty interior.

“Is that you, Miss Goetia?” a voice from the back called. “One moment, I’ll be right with you!”

Stolas remained close to her daughter, though he could feel his curiosity at the emporium’s wares threatening to distract him from his mission. It was the kind of boutique he so rarely frequented, and was becoming quite certain that he would be hard pressed not to purchase every single thing Rosie had for sale.

“What a fascinating place,” he muttered, his head turning completely around to take it all in.

Octavia was just as interested as Stolas was himself, heading over to one of the glass cabinets and crouching to examine the baked goods for sale. Even though she was barely moving, Stolas could practically hear her mentally calculating costs with the money she had on her.

It was just a couple of minutes before a Sinner woman entered from the back. She was a little above average height, for a Sinner, her black and white clothing elegant and well-fitting. She had the empty black eyes of many other cannibals, but somehow seemed more expressive than many of them.

“Good morning, Miss Goetia,” the woman, Rosie most likely, greeted as she approached Octavia.

The girl stood up, adjusting her cardigan sleeves. “Hey. You can just call me Octavia.”

“Octavia, then,” Rosie said, before turning to Stolas. “And you must be her father. I’m Rosie, overlord of Cannibal Town. Delightful to meet you, Your Highness.”

“An absolute pleasure, Miss Rosie,” Stolas said, giving a respectful bow. “Octavia speaks quite highly of you, and your reputation precedes you besides.”

Rosie laughed, waving the praise off. “I’m glad to know my work is appreciated! Now, why don’t you both come with me? I closed the shop for your consultation, so we won’t be interrupted.”

Octavia raised her eyebrows at Stolas, but said nothing, following along behind Rosie as she led them down a hallway and into a large room that looked to be some sort of crafting room or studio. An entire wall was dedicated to a shelf full of bolts of cloth, there were drawers with labels like ‘lace’ or ‘rhinestones’ or ‘glass beads (gold)’, a large table with measurements painted on the surface held large metal fabric shears, pins, and tape measures, and there was a large sketchbook open to some half-completed suit designs.

“Now, Octavia, you said you wanted some outfits for an upcoming party, is that right?” Rosie asked, turning to them and folding her arms. She smirked. “It wouldn’t be the Stairway to Hell gala, would it?”

“Uh… yeah, apparently,” Octavia said.

Rosie nodded. “I thought so. Everyone is in a panic over that thing.” She waved Octavia over to stand on a stool. “Cardigan off, please. Now, you look like a tailored suit sort of person to me. Would that be accurate?”

Octavia’s eyes widened as she froze in the process of pulling her cardigan off. “…yes.”

Rosie laughed. “Darling, I’m here to make clothes for you, the only thing that matters is what you want. Oh, Prince Stolas, feel free to make yourself comfortable or look around, whatever you like. Just don’t touch the fabric, please.”

“Of… of course. Thank you.” Stolas was staring, too, even as he backed off to give them both some room. That she, this Overlord clad in a stunningly tailored dress herself, so easily stated that Octavia could be dressed in a suit was such a strange shift from his lifelong expectations he could hardly believe it. It seemed to make Octavia so happy… Stolas covered his beak, holding back an emotional sniffle.

As Stolas watched, Rosie took a measuring tape in hand and began taking Octavia’s measurements. Octavia raised and extended her arms as requested, only speaking when Rosie didn’t seem to be concentrating on numbers. “I’ve never been to something this big before,” Octavia said, her voice the usual quiet, almost brooding tone she used so much these days. “It sounds boring.”

Rosie actually laughed at the mild complaint. “Oh, they definitely can be, darling,” she said. “I don’t typically attend them myself, but then, most of the galas thrown in Pentagram City are by VoxTek.” She didn’t elaborate. “But I think this one will be quite different.”

“Are you going to be there?” Octavia asked.

“I’ve been hired as caterer, actually,” Rosie said, making some notes of Octavia’s measurements. “Though, I probably would have been attending either way. There is no way that I am missing the chance to observe all of the Sins and the Vees, and quite possibly the Radio Demon, under the same roof.”

Octavia blinked slowly. “…that… sounds like a disaster.”

Rosie laughed. “One I would much rather watch unfold than read about, I can tell you that. Wouldn’t you?”

“…yes,” Octavia admitted, fidgeting where she still stood atop that stool. “…you actually think the Radio Demon will make a public appearance? I thought he didn’t do that.”

“Oh, Alastor loves his social engagements,” Rosie said. “And he is, after all, an overlord. But he also can’t stand Vox, so it’s a coin toss with him.”

“I can't imagine that they'll be allowed to get away with anything particularly violent, would they?” Stolas asked, feeling the nerves return. It wasn't exactly known just how powerful Sinners could get, let alone if any overlords had managed to reach the heights of the Goetia. “After all, the most powerful demons in all of Hell will be in attendance.”

Rosie turned her head and smiled at Stolas; her mouth, which had seemed so petite and delicate, stretched into a sharp-toothed grin that looked as though it could bite off an entire head. “I wouldn’t think we would see much violence before the Night of Wrath, no, and Vox is supposedly handling security issues to prevent that kind of thing. But the Hellborn have said that we Sinners are uniquely unpredictable, and all of the overlords have been given invitations.”

Octavia almost smiled at that. “…this sounds a lot more fun than my dad makes Goetian galas sound.”

“Is this what we’re calling fun?” Stolas said weakly, but even his mind was beginning to wander. That kind of danger, debauchery, unpredictable excitement and danger… it was what he always wanted, wasn’t it? It was the sort of promise that he had brought with him for that precious and fleeting dream they shared…

…but it was truly not meant to last.

“More fun than listening to Uncle Andraelphus brag about his library again,” Octavia muttered.

“Alright, darling, hop down,” Rosie said, smoothly diverting the topic. “Let’s go look at some fabrics.”

In the end, Octavia agreed to seven new suits, one for every day of the event (she had tried to insist she only needed one, two at most, but Stolas had talked her into more with the promise that her mother would be more forgiving of the cut if she at least appeared to be making an attempt to impress). Rosie drew up some sketches, asking Octavia for her input every step of the way, and after Octavia approved them, Rosie turned to Stolas.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Your Highness?” she asked with a smile that was almost coy. “Since you’re here, anyway.”

Stolas couldn’t keep from blushing. He hadn’t intended to do anything for himself here, but… “Well… maybe it is time to try some new styles, hm? What do you think, Via? Does your father need an update to his look?” He laughed.

Octavia gave him the same withering look she had perfected when she was practically a hatchling. “Obviously.”

“We’ll see what we can come up with,” Rosie said. “Now, if you— oh, no, standing on a stool isn’t a good idea,” she murmured, tapping her lower lip in consideration. “Oh, whatever, I’m not afraid of the floor.”

She began taking his measurements, having to stand on the stool herself to accurately measure his neck circumference and shoulder width. It wasn’t until she was measuring his leg length that she spoke again. “I don’t suppose dresses are currently in fashion for male Goetian princes, are they?”

“Robes are back in,” Stolas said. “You know, the floor-length, sweeping, type, wide and with great big collars and feathers and such.”

Immediately, the overlord straightened to stare at Stolas with wide, empty eyes, holding her hands up before flipping them down at the wrist. “Oh, please tell me you’re a fan of adornments and being extra.”

“Well… not to be that guy or anything…” he giggled, swiping his own hand through the air. “...but I will say that I will die before I’m caught chasing the same trend as my brother-in-law. You will make at least one dress for me, Miss Rosie, a dress that can not in any way be mistaken for a robe.”

Rosie clasped her hands near her cheek, “Oh, no worries, darling, I will make something positively ravishing for you.”

After finishing his measurements, Rosie sat him down to begin sketching up some concepts. It came together like magic, each design bringing a rush of inspiration and excitement to Stolas that he didn’t think he was capable of anymore.

They left Rosie’s workshop once Stolas had approved fabric, entering back into the main room while Rosie wrote up an invoice. Before she finished, a sharp knock on the door drew her eyes up, and she motioned to whoever was on the other side of the glass to come through.

The door jingled as it opened. “I’m real sorry, Rosie, we didn’t realize you ain’t open yet,” a feminine voice said. The two who stepped through were absolutely not what Stolas would have expected in Pentagram City; the first was a female imp, one who sounded as though she was from Wrath, and the second was a young hellhound with long silver hair. “S’this a bad time?” the imp asked, glancing at Stolas and Octavia in what she probably hoped was a surreptitious way.

“Oh, no, not at all, this will just take a moment.”

He took his eyes from the odd pair and settled up with Rosie, but before signing the receipt slip and both commission agreements, he glanced at his daughter. Octavia was staring, in that way she did without realizing what she was doing. When he followed her line of sight, he saw she was looking at the hellhound. There was something about the hound that felt in a way… familiar to Stolas. But it was in such a detached and dreamy sort of way, he couldn't begin to say just why.

Something told him that wasn’t the same way Octavia was looking at her.

“Thank you so very much, Miss Rosie,” Stolas said as he straightened to tower over them all once more. “I truly am so very excited to see your brilliant work come to life. I don’t think there’ll be a better dressed pair among any of Lucifer’s honored guests.”

“You’re too kind, Your Highness,” Rosie said, placing her hand against her cheek and waving him down with the other. “I’ll let you know when things will be ready for your fittings!”

Octavia thanked Rosie as well, and they left, the imp giving them a nod that was less subservient and more simply friendly as they passed. Once back outside, Octavia rubbed her hands together, looking around. “Does this mean we have to go home now…?”

Stolas smiled down at her. “Do you want to go somewhere else? It isn’t as though we are expected or anything…” Stella would be angry if they came home at any time she deemed as ‘late,’ which for all he knew they had already passed by. So what harm could it do to enjoy time with his daughter just a little while longer? He’d be the one to handle her temper, anyway. And he was an old hand at that by now.

Octavia looked surprised; she had probably been prepared for an apology or a possible argument, not for Stolas to agree so easily. “…can we really…?”

“Absolutely, Owlet. Anywhere you want, whatever you’d like.”

He chuckled softly when she threw her arms around his middle, the way she had done so often all those years ago. They had earned this, he thought, both of them. And someday, somehow, he was going to make sure that Octavia never had to be burdened with the pain he had no choice but to bear. The stars were always mutable in the songs they sang throughout both space and time, but after his last reading, he was certain of one thing…

…This party was going to change everything.

•••

Over the past few months, Alastor’s manor house had become a place that Angel Dust saw more often than his most recent hostel or his job. As soon as Blitzø had turned his team loose, they had started work, discussing plans and putting together lists of equipment and parts they would be needing for said plans. They ended up dividing up into groups (primarily those working the floor together, those working the background together, and those posing as guests together), and Angel had found himself spending a lot of time with Fizzarolli, Husk, and Millie when they would get together. Blitzø flitted between groups, getting involved in everything, and after so many weeks observing him Angel still hadn’t figured out if the guy was a genius or a moron.

The day of the opening ceremony was almost upon them, and most of the past several days had been searching out the last few things on their lists (which ended up being the Hellborn’s responsibility because they could leave Pride) and trying to avoid getting conscripted into construction by Sir Pentious. Now, the serpentine Sinner was doing some kind of tweaks on a machine Angel didn’t understand while a few others carefully packed things away to be moved into Lucifer’s Palace as stealthily as possible.

Honestly kinda glad I don’t have to deal with that shit.

“Hey, Angel.”

“Huh?” Angel started, then looked down, wondering how the hell Blitzø had snuck up on him. “Hey handsome, what’s shakin’?”

Blitzø smirked, but ignored it. If Angel had to guess, he’d say the guy looked really tired. “You busy?” Angel shook his head. “Then can you go find Alastor and tell him we’re about ready to move all this shit? He said he had an idea or something, I don’t fucking know.”

Angel shrugged. “Sure, Mr. Boss Man,” he said, wandering out of the room and heading off in search of Alastor. The Radio Demon went through periods of what Angel could only think of as ‘being all antisocial and shy’, and sometimes, they didn’t see him for three weeks even when coming over to his place so often. On the one hand, bothering him was probably a bad idea, but on the other… hey, the boss told him to. What else was he gonna do?

Alastor’s house was… big. Angel realized that it wasn’t long before he couldn’t hear anything, from the sounds the others were making downstairs to any sign of Alastor’s activity. “Alastor?” Angel called, ignoring the way he thought he saw the shadows moving on their own in this damn hallway. “You around?”

Through a sensation that crept up Angel’s spine, it felt very much like the shadows themselves were answering him. He was around, Angel was somehow aware, not that he could actually see him anywhere. The feeling shifted around him like a chill that was localized underneath his skin and nowhere else. It was almost sort of tugging at him, guiding him forward down the dark and twisted hall. He followed the feeling, not really knowing what else to do. It took him through several turns that he was pretty sure weren't possible if this house existed in any sort of actual physical space. Finally, he had no idea where he was anymore, and he landed at a dead end. There was a door on the far wall, one he could only barely make out, save for the thin line of bright green light that peered through the cracks.

It looked like there was literally anywhere else Angel Dust should be, but still that feeling tugged, until he was almost sure there was an intangible hand tugging on his wrist.

Angel frowned, wrapping two of his arms around himself as he stepped forward to the door. He raised one hand, hesitated, and then knocked. Nothing happened, so he knocked again. When that still got him no answer, he ran his hand across that barely-visible door until he found something like a handle.

The handle offered resistance when he tried to turn it, feeling locked. But before he could make an effort to pick it, he felt that weird not-hand again wrap around his own.

Glancing around to see a sign of what was happening, Angel saw the shadows shifting around again, and this time, they coalesced into a sort of a shape. Above him, there was now a face. It was grinning wickedly with big empty eyes that he could still feel looking at him. They locked ‘eyes’, the shadow seemed to laugh, and then the doorknob clicked, and the door swung slowly open.

Angel felt the handle slip out of his hand, but he didn’t look away from the shadow’s face. Running was probably the best thing he could do. Screaming was probably expected. “Thanks,” he said instead, his voice barely over a murmur.

The shadow-thing closed its eyes and kept grinning, looking a lot like a pleased cat, then it vanished.

The room Angel Dust stepped into wasn't so much a room as it was a sort of patio leading into a deep and apparently endless swamp. Where he walked was normal enough, hardwood floor paneling, shelves on the walls containing books and odd things, a fireplace that had no fire, yet was emitting a bright green light from nowhere in particular. Then the walls and floor simply gave way to the bayou.

And at a table in the center of the actual room space, sat Alastor, leaning back in his chair with a highball glass in one hand, eyes closed, bobbing his head to the jazz music that was playing from nowhere Angel could see.

Wow.

Angel clasped two hands behind his back, walking in cautiously and looking around. What a strange place. “Nice room you got here, Smiles.”

Alastor's eyes shot open, two dim beacons of red light with tiny black dots displaying his unnerved expression. The record that must have been inside the overlord’s head scratched to a halt, and those ear tuft looking things on his head flattened.

“...Evening. Sha,” Alastor said with a strained smile. “What… are you… doing… here? In my room?”

“Lookin’ for you.” Angel couldn’t help smirking a little; after the months of preparation and observing Alastor from something of a distance, he couldn’t help wondering how many people had ever seen the Radio Demon taken by surprise. “Blitzø asked me to tell you we’ll be done packing soon.”

“Ah.” He recovered fairly quickly, but the impact of the moment didn't fade. “I suppose he's eager to see what exciting surprise I have planned for everyone, hmm?” He waved his hands in a jazzy sort of way.

“Guess so.” Angel stepped further into the room when Alastor didn’t immediately kick him out. “He was real vague, but he’s actin’ weird. That because of your… excitin’ surprise?”

Alastor swept his hand through the air, and a second chair and glass appeared on the other side of the table. He gestured for the other sinner to join him. “I can't really say. In what way is our noble mastermind acting strangely?”

Oh. Well, that’s fancy. Angel settled into the chair, pulling his legs up to his side and leaning on the arm. “Distracted, I guess. Maybe agitated,” he said, thinking. “Tired? It’s like he’s anxious about somethin’ that don’t have anythin’ to do with our prep.”

There was something off-putting about the way Alastor's grin shifted, even to Angel Dust, who couldn't bring himself to truly understand just what it was about the Radio Demon that instilled that particular type of fear in so many sinners and hellborn alike.

“Think about it, sha. A wild and dangerous plan like this, being cooked up by an imp? An exceptional imp, don't get me wrong, but an imp all the same. Don't you think there might be something going on, something providing some sort of motivation to our curiously fearless leader?”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “Nobody organizes a buncha strangers to break into one of the most protected places in all of Hell because they found a buyer for a thing,” he said dryly. “So yeah, obviously. My point is that he seems worried, and whatever it is that’s goin’ on, it’s showin’.”

Alastor withdrew a bottle of what looked like some kind of whiskey from the aether, then poured a couple fingers for each of them with a practiced ease. He probably thought he was being coy, but it couldn't be more obvious that he wanted so badly to spill the gossip on whatever he had learned from Blitzø that no one else knew. “It could cause us a fair bit of trouble if Blitzø's nerves are already so frayed. Tell me your take, sha. Do you think we have cause for concern?”

“Absolutely,” Angel said. It wasn’t his job, of course, but it was very hard to not start thinking about this sort of thing in the context of his life and the Family. He thanked Alastor as he picked up the glass, then settled in the chair again. “Your lynchpin gettin’ distracted is never good. And there comes a point where mindin’ your business don’t mean shit if his own personal motives fuck us over.”

“Hmm…” Alastor sipped his whiskey—a potent rye, Angel determined—and swirled it around thoughtfully. “Then it's something we're going to need to keep an eye on. I have a proposition for you, Angel Dust.”

The spider couldn’t help a wide smile from pulling at his lips. “I like gettin’ propositioned by rich, powerful men. Hit me.”

His implication appeared to soar clean over Alastor's head by a good six feet, and he simply continued. “I want to know… no, I want to understand what, precisely, is driving Blitzø in his frankly wacky endeavor. I know some of the particulars, which must not leave this room. You see, there is someone close to the imp who is facing a threat most dire by an unknown assailant. And he is willing to risk more than everything he has, everything he is, in order to save them.”

Secrets, huh? Angel liked secrets, and focused on what Alastor was saying rather than the fact that the Radio Demon, apparently, just presumed that he was trustworthy enough to give any of this information to. …provided it was true, in any case. “…wait,” Angel said. “You’re tellin’ me that Blitzø is pulling together this suicide mission to pay a ransom?”

“Absolutely fascinating, wouldn't you say? And all I know of this terrible force is that it can surely follow through on its threat. As for Blitzø, I would not have pegged him for one so… so…” He flipped his hand around limply, fishing for a word for a concept he clearly didn't understand.

“…sentimental? Selfless in the most selfish way possible?”

Alastor chuckled. “I knew you were the right man for the job. What I want from you, Angel Dust, is for you, during the execution of your other duties of course, to investigate this question. Who is worth so much to him? And why… truly… why? Call it a personal request.”

“Hmm…” Angel contemplated the proposal, taking a sip of his alcohol. It wasn’t like it would be taxing on his time, considering all the bullshit he was already going to be doing, and keeping an eye on Blitzø meant he wasn’t too unlikely to find out anyway. But still… “Sure, Smiles, I’ll do some diggin’ for you… on one condition.”

His smile widened. “I'd be concerned if you didn't expect anything in exchange, sha.”

“I wanna know why you’re so curious,” Angel said, crossing his legs as he kicked them over one of the chair’s arms. “It ain’t a matter of just wantin’ to know who it is. Y’woulda just asked Blitzø, in that case. If I’m gonna do this for you, then you can tell me what you’re gettin’ out of it.”

One of those ear tufts twitched, and Alastor's head shifted in what looked like confusion. He wasn't expecting that, and it showed. When he settled, he turned his head away, his expression becoming thoughtful. “I am very good at what I do. At everything I do. I make it a point to be, and I don't like it when something comes along that doesn't fall within my realm of understanding.

“Knowledge truly is power, sha.” He turned back to look at Angel Dust, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. It looked hungry. “And I simply want as much power as I can claim. This is a rare opportunity to understand a certain mode of thinking that I don't precisely have much experience with, one that can be so very useful in my line of work. And I imagine that with your experience, with your social skills, you are exactly the sort of fellow I need to recover from this particular strain of ignorance.”

“I could teach you a lotta things, baby,” Angel said, his suggestive smile returning. He then shrugged, raising his glass again. “Alright, but I can’t guarantee you’re gonna find the knowledge satisfyin’. Emotions don’t make sense, especially if somethin’ like love is involved. …not that I’m sayin’ it is, just an example.”

Just the word ‘love’ being uttered aloud seemed to cause something in the Radio Demon’s brain to short circuit. Static crackled through the air, and his neck cracked. Angel’s flirtation, however, missed him completely yet again. “Any motivation can be understood well enough to be used. That is all that concerns me, sha.”

Angel snorted, shaking his head. “Hey, you’re a big boy, you can make your own decisions,” he said. If Alastor—who, Angel had discovered, truly had absolutely zero experience with interpersonal relationships—got more confused or just uncomfortable by whatever Angel found, that wasn’t his fault. “So it’s going to kick off with the Night of Sloth, isn’t it? Wonder how that’s gonna go. Got any ideas on what you plan to do?”

Alastor shrugged with an almost forced casualness, sitting back with his rye, swirling it in one hand. “I hadn't really thought about it. In all likelihood I will be spending most of the week in my room.”

“That’s no fun,” Angel scoffed. “You’re invited to the biggest shindig Hell’s ever seen, packed with food and drugs and sex and blood, and you’re gonna hang out in your room?” He placed his fingertips against his fluff. “I’m gonna get absolutely spaced. Sloth’s supposed to have the best drugs that exist.”

“I don’t not like drugs,” Alastor said, crossing his arms and sounding almost huffy.

Angel giggled. “Maybe I’ll break into your room and get you to do drugs with me.”

“You. Break into my room.” Alastor tilted his head up and smirked. “If you manage to do that, sha, I'll take whatever you stick under my nose first.”

“I’ll remember you said that,” Angel said, his smile sharpening. “Though, I guess I should say I’ll break into your room again.”

The overlord sneered. “How exactly did you get in, hmm? I do recall locking my door.”

In contrast, the spider didn’t let his own smile falter. “You think I’m just gonna tell you all my secret little tricks? You’re cute, Smiles.”

He furrowed his brow, and Angel Dust could swear that the big bad Radio Demon actually looked embarrassed. “You are ridiculous. And I will uncover how you managed to get in. And I will ensure you won't pull it off again.” He raised his glass, filling each of theirs one last time for a toast.

Angel raised his glass. “Here’s to your imminent victory, then,” he said, his voice so clearly teasing that Alastor’s eyebrow arched. The rims of their glasses clinked, and Angel took a sip of his rye, not breaking eye contact.

Proving Alastor wrong was going to be the highlight of his week.

•••

The night before the party wasn’t nearly as hectic as Blitzø expected it to be. He had a big team of dumbasses, sure, but they were very efficient dumbasses, which meant that there was almost no last-minute scrambling to get everything they needed finished.

Alastor had insisted that they all remain in the manor for the night—it would be easier for them to group up if they left from the same place, and this meant no one had to travel out of the city or the Ring just to come back the next day—and people were taking the opportunity to make use of the Radio Demon’s bar in the third floor lounge, alcohol and raucous conversation taking their minds off the looming heist.

Blitzø found himself going from the center of the group to the periphery, drifting until he was just watching everyone interact, and he started thinking that maybe clearing his head wasn’t a bad idea. He opened the doors to the balcony, closing them behind him and heading to the railing. He fished his box of cigarettes out and lit one before he leaned forward on the stone and folded his arms. Looking down, he turned his lighter over and over in his hand slowly, watching the logo for Ozzie’s catch the light from the lounge behind him.

Dunno why I kept this. That night was a fucking disaster.

His mind drifted to his cell phone, pressing into his chest inside his jacket. Not for the first time, he thought of the fact that he had Stolas’s number still saved, doubtless unchanged in five years the same way that Stolas never changed anything if he could help it. This would all be so much simpler, he thought, if he could just call Stolas, explain the situation to him, and…

…and what? Stolas had no reason to believe him, and even if he did, it probably wouldn’t change anything. It might even make it worse. And how would he even explain why he was the one who got the letter and not… anyone else who was still in Stolas’s life? Or, he guessed, why it was Stolas and not Loona, or Fizz, or even Barb?

How could I even start to explain this shit to anyone?

“Getting the pre-show jitters?” Fizzarolli’s shadow stretched out over Bitzø’s back, then shrank as his old frenemy stretched his arms over Blitzø’s head, lifting himself in a gentle flip to stand on the balcony’s railing beside him.

Deftly, Blitzø flipped the lighter in his palm so the logo was face down, then pocketed it, looking up at Fizzarolli. “Yeah, I’m terrified. You know me,” he said, taking a drag from the cigarette and watching the indigo ember flare to life briefly. “Mostly hoping those dipshits don’t end up too hungover to be useful tomorrow.”

Fizzarolli’s brow quirked up when he saw the color of the ember, but said nothing about it. Instead he flipped his body into a lazy handstand. “You really think they'll be much better sober? No offense, pal, but this troupe you've pulled together isn't exactly… ah… what's the word I'm looking for? Oh yeah. Competent.”

“Then you won’t be out of place as the face, Fizz.”

“Suck my taint, fuckstick,” Fizz said without heat. “Not having second thoughts, then? It's not too late to just say fuck it and bail. …It's not, is it?”

“You can,” Blitzø said, ashing off the balcony railing and watching the embers float down and vanish in the dark. “But you might as well stick it out, Mammon’s gonna make you be there anyway and you’ll get paid better. Maybe even enough to buy out your contract.”

Fizz flopped down and was finally mostly still, sitting on the ledge with his back to the open air. “Heh, wouldn't that be the twist of the century? But what about you? You're making it sound like you really can't get out of this, even if you wanted to.”

I never could.

“Come on, Fizz,” Blitzø said, folding his arms again and leaning forward just enough that he could still see his friend’s face. “You really think I’m gonna go so far as to conscript Sinners and a goddamn overlord into a scheme like this just to back out at the last minute? I thought my commitment to my ideas was one of my only virtues.”

“A virtue just as much as a vice,” Fizzarolli said, smirking in a way that said he knew full well that shit was heavier than Blitzø was letting on. But Fizz wouldn't push it. Not unless Blitø managed to really piss him off. “I'm impressed that you haven't joined in with the drunken revelry, honestly. And have you even fucked any of our cohorts yet? Figured you'd be bragging about it by now.”

“Some I fucked before all this shit even started,” Blitzø said, waggling his eyebrows at Fizzarolli and ducking before he could get his face pushed. “I don’t kiss and tell, what kind of a girl do you think I am?” Which was a damn lie, and they both knew it. And it wasn’t like the opportunity hadn’t come up (ha), Angel and Cherri had both made it perfectly clear they were up for some extracurriculars if he so chose, and he was positive he could get Moxxie, Millie, Niffty, and probably even Husk into the right mindset to let him hit it.

Why hadn’t he?

It was a damn good question.

Fizzarolli just chuckled. “Some things never change… and maybe that's a good thing. I… I like to think it's a good thing.” His shoulder popped up. He was smiling warmly, really warmly, his expression softer than he ever let it be these days.

Blitzø looked up at Fizzarolli, tilting his head a little. He felt himself smiling, just a little. “Yeah. Me too.”

Silence settled between them, a comfortable one that Blitzø hadn’t felt since the two of them were children and Fizzarolli had all his limbs. He didn’t let it sit for long, though. He couldn’t, because he couldn’t let himself get used to this kind of shit again.

“So come on, Fizz, spit it out,” Blitzø said, softening the words as much as he could as he ashed off the balcony again. “Don’t think I can’t still tell when you’re fishing.”

The other imp started sinking slowly, bringing them to eye level with each other. “Okay, fine, we can skip the coy shit, you dumbass. You’re not gonna tell me anything you don’t want to anyway.”

He reached out and grabbed Blitzø by the lapel, then pulled him closer, close enough that they were nose to nose. If he were any further away, he wouldn’t have been able to hear Fizzarolli at all, the way his voice dropped into a heady murmur.

“Blitzø… I want you to fuck me tonight.”

It wasn’t often that Blitzø felt his own breath stutter; usually, he was one making others lightheaded, stealing their words with his own forward advances. He was the one who propositioned others, not the other way around. And this was… A small voice in the back of his mind said he should check to make sure that Fizzarolli was sure, that he wasn’t fucking with him. Blitzø, however, knew Fizzarolli well enough to know he didn’t fuck around like this.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his tone matching Fizzarolli’s for volume and softness. “Yeah, okay.”

Blitzø didn’t look away as he dropped his cigarette to the stone floor and ground it out with his heel. He took hold of Fizzarolli around the waist and hauled him off the railing, throwing him over his shoulder and heading for the secondary doors that went to the hallway instead of the lounge where people were still laughing and talking, and probably would be for a few hours now.

For a moment, his mind went back to his phone. But it was only a moment, and he pushed it down, hauling the door to the room Alastor had leant him open.

Maybe I do need to stop thinking.

Just for a few hours.

Blitzø grabbed Fizzarolli again, flung him onto his bed, and closed the door.

•••

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#my writing #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hellaverse #hellaverse fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #helluva boss fanfiction #helluva stolitz #hazbin radiodust #stolitz #radiodust

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