doublejango

[doublejango]

Without a single thought in his feathered head, Stolas FLINGS a floppy meaty disc of bologna in Blitz's direction. Wherever it lands, it is bound to make a terrible sound.

Unfortunately for Stolas's musical inclinations, the bologna did not land anywhere that it might splat with grace, igniting a beautiful melody of intrigue and wonder, or even where it might make the sound of one cloaca clapping.

No, the single slice of lunch meat, if one was being generous about whether or not it even was lunch meat, landed directly in the imp's open mouth. His jaws snapped shut and he hummed in pleasure--then launched himself at Stolas's legs and wrapped around them both like a Living Rope of Doom (which in retrospect was probably a snake) and looked up at him with wide, hungry eyes.

"That the only meat you're gonna feed me, big boy?" He started climbing, slowly inching his way up, while staying as fully in contact with Stolas as he could.

[doublejango]

Von slides a large and very pink drink towards Blitz. With it is a small pastry bag containing a few of the day's specialties. They leave without giving the assassin a chance to respond, happy to gift him with his favorite beverage. It had been a while, after all.

Blitz was momentarily distracted by the sugary goodness of the Sweet Valentine smoothie, but after a few sips, he came back to reality. Blinking, he sat up with a happy sigh.

"Thanks, Von... wait. Shit. What the fuck, come ON! Von, you sneaky disappearing bitch!" Pulling his coat on, Blitz took off, racing down the stairs to try and catch up with them. When he saw them sauntering away down the street, he huffed, hands on his hips--but yeah, no, the time had come! No longer would Von be a drink bearing ghost or a treat-yourself ninja. No, no. The time had come to Befriend That Fucker.

So, abrupt as could be, Blitz went tearing off after them. He didn't say a word until he vaulted over a trashcan (he had to dodge a lady with a stroller, it was the only way) and came up from a somersault right in front of Von.

"You! You, you, you and your do-gooding stealth shit! That's it, fucker, it's you and me now. We're gonna be friends! And we're gonna get to know each other, dammit! So, gimme your number, or--wait, fuck, here. I have a card. Call me," he said, trying to look stern as he handed it over, "and we'll go like hang out and shit. Alright? Like, you're always just kinda there, but you should like, Christ, this is so romcom coded, just--you should be here, too. Alright?"

[doublejango]

Got a chunk of drafts done, gotta go get some more housework done now. But also, and this is cheesy, I just want to say... these past few days off have been so nice, and like ninety percent of that is having you wonderful people to pop on and I see. I know I'm not always hella active, damn I appreciate and cherish all of you so much <3

[doublejango]

for @brokendreamscreation because you are a monster enabling my love of mer-things... merperson AU! hopefully this works okay?

For the third time in an hour, Blitz had to stop swimming. Breathing hard, he let himself drift down to rest against a pile of rocks. The current was gentle here at least, not strong enough to roll him against them, not strong enough to injure him. He closed his eyes, as if that would help with how lightheaded he was, and dug his fingertips into the rock, shivering in pain.

The waters here were still black, but it barely felt dark anymore, not to him. This was the shallowest he'd ever been, and his body was struggling to adapt. It would adapt, damn it he would make it adapt, but for right now? It felt like dying. He twitched and shivered for several minutes, before the pain eased and his body started to feel like his again. This was necessary, he had to do it, he had to get the fuck out of the Trench and find help... but fuck, it hurt so much worse than he'd expected.

"You're not a fucking plankton, bitch, get your shit together," he growled at himself, once he felt capable of speaking at all. With one last shudder of pain, Blitz looked up, sighed, and continued swimming. Somewhere up there, somewhere, was the world of light, the kingdom of the shallows. Supposedly, life was safe there, the people were beautiful, and there were no dangers to beware of, no monsters, no dark magic.

Sounds like heaven, he thought, forcing himself to continue up and up and up...

-

Nearly a day later, Blitz had swam far enough that he almost wasn't even sure he was in the ocean anymore. The light was so bright here. It shimmered and danced. Coral grew in every color, there were fish everywhere, and nothing seemed afraid. Stunned by the abundance, tired, and still trying to adjust to this strange new pressure, he swam slowly through a reef.

The fish here looked at him, but didn't seem perturbed at all. His rich blood-red coloring didn't even seem out of place--look at some of these fuckers! Nor did his spines. Blitz had venomous spines on his head, a few between his shoulders, and more on his tail, something that had set him apart down in the Trench. But here? There were fish with venomous spines just drifting along all over the place! Sure, maybe no one had horns like he did, but still! Golden eyes huge, he held his spear tightly as he continued drifting through the glittering waters, looking around.

"Hello? Are there, uh, any people here..? Hello? Fuck, there's gotta be someone," he added, muttering that last part to himself. This was too idyllic a place for there to just not be anyone here!

[doublejango]

Vepar might be a shepherd of the beloved and the lost, but love was rarely something he himself spent much time experiencing. He fiercely loved his children, both the living and the dead, and he loved the Hellborn in a protective if somewhat distant way. He loved sea creatures as a whole, and loved the oceans of every world, any world--but the way one loved an ocean was not the same way one loved a bright little soul. No, Vepar could count on one hand the number of people he loved in a personal, pleasant way... and he smiled to himself as he added Vox to that list. Seeing the Overlord's reaction to the shark was absolutely endearing--

And the helicoprion seemed to feel somewhat the same. It immediately recognized Vepar and swooped back to bump against him, causing him to float a little farther away, but then she turned her focus onto Vox. This strangely shaped bright little thing floating in her domain, crackling with intriguing energy, and cheerfully insulting her in the way that felt most loving, was too fascinating to ignore. Accustomed to the gentle, friendly caring of the Goetia, she wasn't shy of getting close to Vox, swimming in near enough to let him touch her if he was brave enough. Creatures with claws gave thoroughly satisfying scritches, she had discovered upon first meeting Vepar; with any luck, this bright little being would offer similar services.

The helicoprion circled him several times, moving in close for each pass before circling away just out of the light. The last time she came through, she put her face near his, looking into what passed for eyes.

The shark had some sense of the immensitty of time that had passed between her life and his, but more than that, she could sense that he wasn't entirely alive. And yet here he was, making little noises, moving about in interesting ways, glowing like an angler from the deep. What sort of creature produced such an offspring as him? Was he edible? She tilted away and circled him as tightly as she could, then very carefully wrapped her mouth around his narrow little midsection. He seemed to like her mouth, so perhaps he should be in it...

But she was careful, gentle. The Caretaker was always gentle with her, and yet could crush her like a newly-formed shell. He had brought this little one here for some reason, but surely it was a gentle reason. So, much as she might like to bite, and satisfying as it would be to feel him struggle and attempt to free himself from an inescapable mouth, she widened her jaws again and flicked Vox free, then disappeared into the shadows.

Vepar had gathered a little gleaming ball of energy in one hand, prepared to protect the Overlord if need be, but he gave a small, sad smile as the ancient soul let him go and moved away. He watched as she descended into shadow, until there was nothing more to see, then reached out to touch Vox's shoulder. Without a word, the two of them dropped to the sea floor--

And then they were standing in a round room, dry despite there being pools of brine on the concrete floor.

"I'll give you a moment, if you'd like. Meet me back in the lobby whenever you're ready." He bowed his head politely to the powerful Sinner, then made his way up the short flight of stairs and into the hall, leaving the doorway open behind himself.

If there had been any doubts whether Vox was the right person to approach about this, Vepar mused, they were dismissed by how he'd reacted to that one simple life. Strange, perhaps, for a damned soul condemned to Hell to love so purely--but as Vepar remembered Heaven, and the purity of their hatred and justice, he reminded himself that perhaps it was not so strange after all. Perhaps those condemned to lose it all were the most capable of loving, when they were ready.

He settled onto one of the small couches and gazed into the twinkling lights of the little candles, mind wandering, in no mood to hurry Vox. Let the Overlord explore the rest of the aquarium if he wished, let him spy, let him do whatever was necessary; Vepar chose to trust him, and was willing to embrace the attendant risks.

A microsecond of thoughtful confusion flickers across Vox’s face when Vepar starts to speak, unsure at first of where the conversation is going. Truthfully, he’s more bemused by the direction Vepar has taken than by the Goetia’s actual slip-up. While a record of Vepar’s voice and image are made in his RAM, Vox doesn’t ascribe any note or point of review to the moment. Subconsciously perhaps he attributes it to the rather conceited view the Goetia seemed to hold of themselves, an instinctual correction to avoid associating oneself with any Sinner, even one as high of status as Vox.

Even that is quickly forgotten as Vepar leads him along, lost in the excitement of following in the metaphorical footsteps of the megalodon. Moving without moving, stood in place as the creature swims; he’s reminded of the massive VR rooms VoxTek had been testing within the last couple of years, only massively improved. After all, he can reach out and graze his fingers over the shark’s skin, and neither of them are falling over from vertigo.

At least, not at first. When they start to descend, Vox’s visual algorithms clash against the information from his gyroscopes, but Vepar’s hand in his own helps him steady out. He pulls away once the view stabilizes, tucking his hands behind his back and hoping the Duke won’t mind the light squeeze as Vox had found his footing.

And then that too is forgotten, a faint ray of sunlight just barely illuminating the creature swimming a little ways off. Vox takes a step forward, closing the difference while positively vibrating with excitement. His screen brightens just enough to better illuminate the creature, and he bounces on the balls of his feet, seemingly unsure of what else to do with himself.

“Holy shit! Holy shit. Holy shit lookatyou—You’re so fucking stupid looking!” Never has an insult been said with such absolute adoration; Vox practically has hearts for eyes. “How are you even real?!” He circles it and marvels, trying to toe the line between getting as close as he can without upsetting the creature. “What even was the purpose of that jaw? Man, just think of everything we could learn…”

A momentary trail-off, knowing full well that he had no chance of selling any investors on the prospect of using the aquarium to research the ecological niches of long-extinct aquatic animals. Vox was great at finding the silver in the lining of any cloud and auctioning it off to the highest bidder, but even he had his limits.

At least they were still here, he supposed. Maybe some idiot crazy enough to research them on their own time would eventually turn up, and then Vox could bug their devices to see everything that they learned. (Not quite comparable to a fully organized and funded research team, but better than nothing.) And in the meantime, he’d double down on getting R&D to produce a bioengineered version for his tank.

Eventually he steps back, raising a hand to his casing. His expression remains bewildered; eyebrows knit in confusion, but a soft grin on his face. “I can’t… what the hell. It’s so… funny to think that I only ever even learned about these after I died. I kinda figured I’d never even get to see a fossil. A living specimen wasn’t even a consideration.”

[doublejango]

Yves was the one to receive the text, curled up in a tent and cursing quietly as he tried to hide from the wind. When Vepar's phone chimed with a very special ringtone, one Yves had never heard before, he didn't hesitate to reach out and unlock the screen...

Lucifer?

Vepar had contacted Lucifer? The King of Hell was here?! Eyes huge and heart pounding, Yves quickly buckled a padded leather vest back on, shook his wings, and hurried out.

Lucifer wasn't difficult to spot--he practically shimmered in the dismal landscape, a beacon of light, something so pure it almost hurt to look at. Yves ran up to him, trying not to think too hard about how dangerous it was for Lucifer to be here. Maybe the king was benign, but what if he wasn't? What if he somehow took one look at the duke and just knew, and ripped Yves's world apart? But that's not what I should be worrying about. He's not used to it up here. A good right hand would take care of him.

"Your Majesty," Yves called out as he approached. He bowed deeply, but as soon as he stood, he stepped closer and wrapped his wings around the king, cutting off the buffeting wind. "Air is the last stage of the elemental battle today, in theory, the storm will abate soon. My name is Yves, and I serve as His Grace's right hand. May I bring you to shelter? Or would you prefer an observation point, to witness the battle? I've notified His Grace that his company is requested, and trust that he will join us as soon as is possible."

As he spoke, he wished fervently that he'd put a scarf on today to hide the scars on his throat, or that he didn't have what Sinners called a "French" accent. Yves felt messy and out of place and terribly, terribly bad at his job--but he remained calm all the same, and kept his wings taut and protective over their small but powerful king.

Please don't let today be the day our world ends, Yves prayed, to the only power he believed mattered.

@doublejango ; Vepar gets to turn Lucifer into a stress ball or whatever happens. . . . .

"Listen, I'm clearing my schedule for today and the next two. No meetings, no calls, nothing! The only exceptions are if it's an absolute emergency, or it's Charlie. Otherwise, they can leave a message and I'll get back to them wheeenneevver. Okay? Great! Thanks!" He leaves his assistant with that information before anything can be said or argued.

Lucifer's hair is an absolute DISASTER, and even worse are the feathers all mussed from the wind. Realistically, he should have just used magic to get to his destination, but it felt improper and a bit disrespectful to take such an easy method to get from point A to point B. Today it did, anyhow. Besides, he needed the opportunity to stretch his wings. Lucifer had even insisted on making the trip to him, rather than the other way around. He needed out of those walls; needed to separate himself from too familiar shadows and the thoughts that crowded in. There he went, running away from one problem to the next, and away, away, away. . . .

What he did not need, however, was the wind attacking him from every Sin-forsaken angle no matter how he made the flight to the mountains. Lucifer understood the WHY for choosing such a remote location. . . . it was the HOW that rattled around and made him antsy with frustration. Even upon landing and magicking his wings away, the king still nearly found himself blown to the ground with an invisible force. He had half a mind to ask if some of it were magic more so than natural.

He takes out his phone, finds Vepar's contact, and taps a short series of messages.

: HEYYYY BUDDY! : Just flew in! It is WINDY up here. : You wanted to chat?

[doublejango]

Blitz was the best kind of tired right now, having spent the last few days physically working himself to the limits. IMP wasn't taking any contracts this week, they were closed for a week of training--something that had only ever been a day or two at a time before, but now that they were doing a little better financially, and Blitz actually had the budget to do this? It felt good. They'd had a few days of training together as a team, but today was all about going off and doing one's own thing, getting some more experience and expertise in whatever they each wanted to. For Blitz? That meant working on his accuracy. Moxxie was the best shot in Hell, and was really all they actually needed, but if something ever happened to him? If he broke a limb and was out of commission for a while, Blitz wanted to be able to step in and make sure their work still got done.

The past few days had him pleasantly tired, sore, and relaxed, and his time in the shooting range was almost certain to be satisfying. Humming to himself, he stepped back outside and onto the sidewalk; the owner needed a few minutes to finish setting things up, and Blitz didn't mind waiting. Besides, it would be fun to hang out and see if that intern showed up, and--

Oh shit. Vox's voice suddenly blaring at him, cheerful and bright and yet somehow ominous all the same--which Blitz fucking loved him for--made him jump (and fall directly onto his face). He was up just as quickly as he had gone down, though, grinning and tail swishing. Whipping around, he looked up at the drone, looking for a reason to fight it... but when he put the dots together, realizing that it was actually Vox behind that little machine's big voice, Blitz perked up, smiling, tail relaxing.

"Hey, there! You know, I kind of expected an intern. Do you, like... fuck, how do people talk to drones? Do you wanna land on my hand like a fuckin' bird or something?" He held a hand up, flat, palm empty. "And nice to kinda meet you. In retrospect, I guess it might've sounded like I was threatening you or something when I was like hey come where the bullets are, wouldn't want your ass getting dented though, but nah. I may be dumb, but I ain't looking to pick a fight with a fucker who consistently brightens my day.

"You wanna come in with me? Just like, be fucking advised or some shit. This place," he jerked his free hand towards the doors of the range, "is privately owned by some magic fucker, so just to warn you, it might like.. I don't know, potentially mess with your uh... spells? Do you do spells? If you come in with me like this. But we can try, right? What's the worst that could happen?"

Chipper, blissfully unaware he might be happily chatting too much (and probably not making a single ounce of sense), Blitz's eyes were bright and friendly. This was fun! Weird, sure, but fun!

    Vox's first thought is, who the hell makes an appointment at a firing range?

    He's never physically been in Imp City— rarer still, ventured anywhere outside of Pentagram city. Wherever the symbol on the sky is, Vox is content to stay under it; clear, and visible, and Hellish. He's stepped above the world of the poor. He can picture what it might be like. Worse, somehow, than the streets here. Screams a thousand times louder, and more trash on the sidewalk as you head to a coffee shop with a broken neon sign set aflame.

    Imp City... I.M.P...

    〝Ohohoshit! The little guys?!〞

    Talk about shooting your shot.     I'll think about it.

    Maybe things are different there, composed in a chaotic sort of order where you can schedule yourself to shoot someone in the face rather than do it outright. It's a funny thought. It's enough to wipe the grimace on his face at the dent comment. Colour him curious; inclined. I.M.P have made enough waves to travel into the ears of his own business, and that marks them as a threat. Something to be investigated.

    He travels by drone, and watches by drone. Enough are situated around the place, though not well-monitored. The one he picks is dusty, chugging along like a rusty windmill. The sidewalks are brimming with germs. There are imps everywhere, crawling about like rats. 4pm. Shooting range. Which shooting range? Vox has so many eyes, and now he has a target. He loves a good stalk.

    A white eye of his own on his face. Blitz... Imps are all reds, whites and blacks. They follow routine. Hell hates routine, so why create it?

    The drone whirrs above the entrance, waiting until the right moment to spew out his voice like a broad announcer over a megaphone, jovial, and slightly scratchy.

    〝Hell-ooo!〞

[doublejango]

a semi-plotted starter for @southpawsjournal !! am so excited, thank you for being so patient, and for being down to do the thing!

"Southpaw," the mixed beast's voice rang out, sweetly-singsong despite the ever-present threat in it, "I hope you're not too busy tonight. I have a job for you." Melon came around the corner and smiled when he saw the kangaroo. He paused for a moment, tilting his head and just looking at the fighter as if he'd never seen him before, then hummed and walked closer, reaching out to trail his fingertips over Southpaw's chest and shoulders as he circled him.

"And by hope, I think you know that I mean, whatever else you have going on? Drop it. You're only useful to me as long as you're useful to me..." Tap, tap, tap; he walked his fingertips up the back of Southpaw's neck, laughing in an almost silent, breathy way, before he came back around to stand in front of him. They were in a storage room that supplied one of the more underground businesses in the Market--one of the few places it was really safe for them to meet here. And, despite Melon's apparent good humor, despite the way he smiled and leaned back, wrapping his hands around one knee and giving his tail a little swish, there was something dark in his eyes tonight--much darker than before. Melon had sent Southpaw on all sorts of errands before, but tonight? Tonight was when it was going to count.

"It's been a terribly disappointing day, and I'm sure you don't want to be just one more disappointment to go onto my list. You remember, of course, that I was--sliiiiightly irritated when that little deer waltzed back into the Market and took the Shishigumi back in hand?" It had been a quiet, frustratingly bloodless coup, the lions taking Louis back as their boss as if he'd never betrayed them at all. Melon had stepped back with good grace in the moment, but no one was foolish enough to think he wouldn't eventually lash out. Betrayal always warranted a response, after all--and he was finally done being patient.

"Well. Rumor has it Louis might be alone tonight up in the Shishigumi estate. The lions have been... busy. Being sent out on one errand or another, putting out little fires in their territory that I absolutely had no hand in... And I would just love it if you, and I mean, you're basically a deer yourself, if you would go and give Louis my regards. Those hands of yours have healed up nicely from the last fight, haven't they? And I'm sure you don't object to beating the hell out of a cripple. He's down a leg--eaten by a wolf--so he's practically helpless. Since morals are hardly your strong suit... this won't be a problem, will it?"

[doublejango]

Norrington would fit right in with the Goetia, Blitz thought, feeling the man's disdain pouring all over him like icy water. It dampened his own cheer and enthusiasm, although after a moment, he realized that was probably for the best. He'd had a fuckton of caffeine today and it was absolutely goddamn showing. Consciously making the effort to calm down, Blitz sat a little more calmly, a little more like a civilized person, and focused on James.

"Your skills sound pretty useful," he agreed. "And I'd love to hire you. But I'll warn you, if you're just looking for a way to get back to the living world, that might not necessarily work out. I'm not even sure you can come with us through the portal. I'm down to try, but there's... I mean, I don't know if it would be painful for you, or kill you like dead dead," Blitz cautioned, his voice serious for once, minus most of its bullshit. "We can experiment and stuff, we'll figure it out, just... don't get your hopes up too much, you know?" The spade of his tail came up to pat Norrington -- the way he'd said it all slow and bitchy had been simultaneously insulting and extremely useful, and Blitz appreciated it -- on the shoulder before Blitz settled again.

Folding his arms in a loose, comfortable way, he leaned back and looked the guy over, really taking him in. If nothing else, Norrington seemed like he had a lot of discipline, and that wasn't really something that came cheap. So there was a good chance, Blitz concluded, that he actually wasn't lying.

"Even if you can't make it through the portal, though... if you've got the skills you say you do? I can at least hire you for a few months to maybe do some training for us a couple times a week. Help us keep our skills up--and fuck, like. I could sure use a lesson in sword fighting. Fuckin' bizarre that apparently it comes up, but, say love Vee." [Translation from Blitzese to French: c'est la vie].

"So that's what I can offer. Trial run as part of the team, and worst case scenario, you have a job for the next couple months. That sound good? And... I ain't looking to insult you here, but gotta ask: you got somewhere to stay? Are you gonna be safe when you leave here?"

James’s eye twitched. It was a brief, barely perceptible movement, but the way his fingers curled just slightly against the polished table spoke volumes.

“It’s Norrington,” he corrected, his voice crisp and controlled, though there was a definite edge to it. He even took a moment to enunciate it, syllable by syllable, as if Blitz were a particularly slow student in need of extra guidance. “Nor-ring-ton. ” He inhaled sharply through his nose, smoothing a hand down his coat as if to physically brush away the offense. The sinner exhaled sharply through his nose, reigning himself back in. Patience. He had endured far worse than being mistaken for a brothel owner.

But then—tea.

James’s posture stiffened, his jaw tightening. Insulting his name was one thing. But tea?

“You’ve clearly never had tea made by a Brit,” he stated flatly, his voice taking on the sort of authoritative finality one might expect from a man who had once commanded fleets. “Properly brewed, it is a sophisticated, refined beverage—not ‘dirty water.’ But, I suppose, a palate accustomed to—” he gave Blitz a quick once-over, taking in his unpolished, unhinged energy “—whatever it is you consume, would hardly appreciate the difference.”

James closed his eyes for half a second, exhaled again—longer this time—before neatly folding his hands on the table. When he spoke again, his voice was back to its carefully measured calm. “Now then..I’m here,” he began, “because I am seeking employment.”

He straightened his coat, regaining his dignity. “I believe my particular set of skills would make me a useful asset to your industry. Tactics. Strategy. Precision. Marksmanship. Swordplay” His lips curled into something that could almost be called a smirk. “And, if necessary, as is often the case, Murder.”

He sat back now, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve as he composed himself. “I am not in the habit of wasting time. If you believe my skills could be of use, then let us proceed. If not, I won’t bother wasting yours.”

He did not mention why he truly needed the job. That was a matter for another time. And, ideally, not Blitz’s business.

At least, not yet.

[doublejango]

Blitz paced back and forth in front of the Striker-Doll several times, looking skeptical. The details were good and when he reached out to poke it, it felt like it had some real heft to it, a pretty dense core, none of that cheap foamy crap. But there was just something about its presence... and why was it in front of his apartment? Frowning more and more, he poked it a few more times--then leaned in close and sniffed.

Shit.

It even smelled like that fucker. It--

Blitz's eyes abruptly widened.

"Oh shit. Did someone turn you into a fucking doll? Are you in there?" Taking it by the shoulders, he gave the Striker-Doll a good hard shake. "Hey! Come on! Snap out of it, fucker! You're alive, you--"

"Shut the fuck up!" a neighbor shouted from down the hall.

Blitz turned and flipped them off. "Mind your own fucking business, bitch! What I say to my Striker Doll is none of your--"

"Striker?" a different neighbor asked, sticking his head out. Steve was a Hellhound, and there was nothing he loved more than chewing up stuffies.

Blitz looked from him to Striker, eyes darting from one to the other, then stepped in front of the doll. "Yeaaah, um, it's a custom item, you know, for my custom... uh.... fuck, preferences?" He pressed a hand to his forehead. His neighbors were going to think he was a goddamn freak now--and it wasn't like he could really tell them they were wrong, was it?

Steve didn't look daunted. "I mean... when you're done with him... give him to me, alright?"

"Fuck. Yeah. Sure thing, bud. If there's anything left of him." Blitz smiled awkwardly, waiting until Steve had gone back inside, then whirled around and stuck his finger in the Striker Doll's face. "I don't know who the fuck turned you into a doll," he growled, "and you might be an asshole, but you deserve better than this shit, so don't fucking, like, come apart at the seams or anything. We're gonna fix this. Come on, bitch." Taking him by the arm--why the fuck did they give this thing a core? What was this shit supposed to be under there, muscle and skeleton? ugh!--he dragged the creepy plushie into his apartment and locked the door.

Once he had the fucker propped up on the couch, hopefully comfortable, Blitz perched on the end of the couch near him and got his phone out. One of his brain cells had fired a bit ago, and he realized, he could just call Striker. If Striker answered, then this was just a harmless doll. If he didn't? Then maybe this thing was Striker, under a fucking curse, and Blitz was going to find a way to save his treacherous, petty, pretty, stupid ass.

A life-sized plush of a local saloon owner had found its way to your doorstep, it had advertising that it's a "Unique" item only for "Select" customers of the local build-a-boar shop that they send out with features as "Heats up on those cold nights", and "Can keep you and your credit cards and personal bank statements safe from criminals".

You swear a faint snickering could be heard when your back was turned, but you were unsure of where it came from, or if it was in your mind.

It looks comfortable at least, and a nap would not be bad right about now.

[doublejango]

for @advlox, continued from here if you're feeling the muse, but also no pressure whatsoever, also hi! hi hi--

Blitz snorted when he read the return message, equally parts charmed and annoyed--but that was par for the course with Vox, he figured. He'd never met the guy, of course, but he'd sure as fuck seen him all over the damn place, on screen after screen. The guy really did ooze charisma, even when he was being ridiculous. It was impossible not to like him at least a little bit...

Not that the reply was actually from Vox. Why would it be? Absolutely sure of this, positive that any messages he sent would only ever make it to an intern or a new AI program, Blitz went and dug his phone out.

"Alright, fucker. You want to be all modern and shit? I got you," he muttered at his phone. Surely, the phone number wasn't real... so he might as well have fun with it. Cheerful as could be, Blitz typed up a proper electronic message:

>>Whatever you want to know, you can ask me in person. I've got an appointment at the firing range in Imp City at 4pm. Want to meet me there? We can do some shooting, then grab a coffee and like chat and shit. Unless that'll get you in trouble? Hanging out with an assassin might be a bad look for that shiny screen-and-image of yours. Wouldn't want someone to put a dent in you!

There! Perfect! Amused and very pleased with himself, Blitz sent the text, followed by one that included the address for IMP's post-office box, in case the intern he was chatting with was a liiiiiittle too cautious (and rightly so) to just go meeting a stranger at a gun range.

[doublejango]

You just got a letter! You just got a letter! You just got a letter! Wonder who it’s from~? ✨

The envelope is stamped with a golden seal with a halo and wings insignia. Enclosed is a letter scrawled in fancy cursive and a shimmering blue feather. The letter inside reads as follows:

Dear Blitz,

I hope you are well! It’s been so long since I properly came down to pay you a visit dear friend. No more bad guys have been after you with guns have they? How is your horse collection coming along? Next time I see you I’ll bring ya a lil something! Speaking of visiting, the feather enclosed can be used to summon me anywhere at anytime! Just hold it up and say my name “Lucid Eveningstar!” You can make it more epic by adding something like “I summon thee, Lucid Eveningstar, Angel of Dreams!” or you can even say “Lucid Eveningstar, get your feathery ass down here right now!” Either way, I hope to come see you again soon! Until then, take care Blitz ❤️

Best wishes!

Lucid Eveningstar

If Blitz was a civilized person, he would write a letter right back, or send a text, anything. But, since he could so rarely be accused of being civilized, and it had been a long time since he'd seen his pretty friend, that sweet damn angel who looked so much like Lucifer it was unsettling sometimes? Blitz opted to have #Zero Chill.

Beaming, he gripped the feather and ran out into the hall, then up the stairs and through a few fire doors until he made it to the roof. Sure, Lucid could probably just appear anywhere, being an angel and all that, but this felt more dramatic. And Lucid had encouraged the dramatics!

Spotting a nice tall chimney of some sort, Blitz climbed up and stood up as tall as he could, holding the feather up.

"Lucid Eveningstar, Angel of Dreams, Friend of Imps, Kindest of the Heavenly Horde, Prettiest Princess, Sweetest Strawberry, Most Precious Peach, I summon thee! Come to me, coooome to me, come down to Hell and let's go to the park and feed some ducks and hang out and shit! Lucid! Luuuuuucid! Hey, hey, Lucid Eveningstar! I got your feather, fucker, and ain't giving it back til you've been properly fuckin' hugged! Yeah! How do you like THEM apples?!"

Happy, enthusiastic, tail swishing, eyes bright, Blitz waited, hope making his heart feel particularly light. Things had felt strange recently, but goddamn if the thought of seeing Lucid again didn't breathe sweet life back into the world.

[doublejango]

A letter arrived. It was addressed to Blitz, from Roth. It seemed it arrived late, possibly lost in the postal malaise. It reads.

“Blitz,

I’m going away and won’t be coming back. Please, don’t come looking for me. I don’t want to be found. I’m sorry.

You’ve been a good friend. I wish there was something I could have done for you. Help you and your friends. I dunno, I never help anyone.

Blitz, you got a lot against you. Hell is a cold cold place for people like us. But I know you can beat the system. It’s a monstrous machine but it's not invincible. It can be beaten and humiliated. Maybe even destroyed.

Just stand tall, be yourself and take it to the man. Treasure your friends and never take them for granted.  You’re capable of great things Blitz. I know you can do it. I’m sorry I won’t be there.

Blitz, sharks die when they stop swimming.

Never stop swimming."

Sincerely,

Roth Kruger.

There was no shortage of heartbreak in Blitz's life, but when he read Roth's letter, it hit him like a metric fuckton of bricks, hard and fast and utterly crushing. For all the energy he was spending these days trying to keep up a cheery front, trying to keep Stolas from wandering off into oblivion or whatever the fuck he was up to, trying to help Millie keep her secret as long as she wanted to, trying, just trying, he was running on empty--and now, suddenly, it all caught up.

He sat down hard on the floor, not even making it to the beanbag, and read the letter again, eyes widening, tears streaming down his cheeks before he had even really started processing it.

When he finished the re-read and was sure he'd gotten all of the words right, Blitz took a shaky breath and crushed the stupid piece of paper against his chest for a long minute, trying to keep his shit together. He wanted to yell at Roth, to chew him out for breaking his fucking heart like this--but what good would that do? His idiot friend was probably going off to get himself into a world of trouble and a world of hurt, and the last thing he needed was to hear some bullshit from an unhappy imp.

And maybe he won't even read it. Might already be too late, Blitz knew, as he got his phone out. He immediately opened the messaging app and sent Roth a reply that felt more honest than most of Blitz's communications, at least to the imp:

>>I don't want you to go, but I get it. I see a lotta souls, Roth. Most of them are weirdly at peace with their fate. You never have been. Your story ain't over--and you've never really been safe in Hell, either, not with that guy stalking you. You're not crazy, I know that. And you're not a mess, which I hope YOU know.

>>Knowing you helped. Idk if you'll even get this, maybe your cell's already turned off, but just... you made my life better. I really fuckin enjoyed everything about you. And if you ever come home? I'll be here. Open arms. Whatever you end up doing, whatever happens, Hell might not be the place you're meant to be, but you still got a home here.

>>I love you. Always have, always will. You're a good friend.

>> xoxo, Blitz

[doublejango]

Blitz, I was thinking of you earlier today. I can't say anything in particular brought you to my thoughts, as I truly don't think I was even doing anything special. . . . Nevertheless, there you were. Occupying my mind and making my heart ache (in a good way, I think). In any case, I wanted to. . . .I wanted to thank you, I suppose. For everything, and nothing in particular if that's too broad. Your name alone creates a warm and safe feeling in my bones and beneath my feathers. But I. . . . I know I was not always that for you, and I am sorry. I am sorry for a lot of things but I don't think an apology on paper or over text or a phone call is good enough. So I will leave it at that. I hope you are well and everyone is safe!

Thinking of you fondly,

Stolas.

Blitz read the letter over a few times, frowning hard and trying to understand it. Was this--was this supposed to mean something? Was Stolas expecting him to understand something out of it, like before when he'd dumped Blitz because Blitz couldn't read his mind? Frustrated, confused, and feeling oddly hurt, Blitz read it one last time, then balled the piece of paper up and threw it in the trash.

At first, he told himself that he wasn't going to reply... but when he tried to get back to work, he couldn't focus. The letter kept replaying through his mind, so he fished it out and smoothed it flat, reading it over yet again.

Yeah. No. No.

Blitz dropped his head into his hands. They were over. Stolas had ended the situationship, and no matter how much each might care, they weren't back together now. Hints and allusions weren't going to change that, and if there was actually an apology in these words, Blitz didn't understand it, what was being hinted at. It was so fucking vague, just like everything between them--and he was tired. He was so goddamned tired of pretending, of being the chipper one holding shit together...

Fuck. He wasn't going to cry at work. He had a three o'clock appointment to go do some goddamned murder, and he had to keep his shit together. Feeling oddly angry with Stolas, in ways he wasn't sure were justified, Blitz ate the paper, stood up, and pulled his jacket on.

Fuck it. He'd take care of the contract early, then maybe go out dancing. If he stayed out late enough, danced long and hard enough, he wouldn't have to interact with Stolas when he got home--and he knew it was cowardly of him to just not want to deal with whatever that had been, but he didn't have the energy anymore. There'd been a time when he would've pursued Stolas to the ends of the earth if he thought there was a chance for... something, anything... but that time had passed. There was so much more to it all, but he couldn't think about it now. If he did, he might fall apart, and this job was going to be a difficult one.

So, he sent Stolas a simple reply, via text:

>>Got ur message.

>>Home late. Dont wait up.

Blitz stepped through the portal sensing that he had done something wrong, but too tired to really care.

[doublejango]

for @rapid-as-sass-in-nation-team so eighty-four years ago, we wrote a thing! and it was an excellent thing! and although i can't really write on Discord anymore, here is a continuation of the thing! but also no worries if you don't have muse for it anymore, i absolutely understand <3

-

This wasn't how any of this was supposed to go.

Striker sighed as he looked out at the horizon. Some things you just knew were trouble from the start, maybe more trouble than they were worth, but knowing didn't stop you from getting involved, from getting in too deep... and he was absolutely in too deep. What should've been a fling--if even that--had turned into something more. Maybe it was just because it had been so long for Striker, so damned long since the last time he let anyone in, let anyone touch his heart, let alone his body, or maybe it was something in the shark's eyes. All those signs, all those damnable little signs, that Chaz had been misused, maybe abused. The way he reacted like a kicked dog even when he hadn't done a damn thing wrong, how eager he was to please, how sweet, how kind...

If someone really needs you, it's damn near impossible not to love 'em, less you got a heart of stone, Striker reminded himself, not for the first time. And that was why he was here, that was why he was doing this--bringing Chaz here, to Wrath. To his home. Because somewhere along the line, somewhere in the whirlwind of--what was it, just two days now? Somewhere in this haze they'd lost themselves in, he had started to care, and he knew that getting away would be good for the shark. Chaz needed the chance to be safe, to just rest where there was nobody to try and hurt him. Maybe then, he might sleep enough, eat enough. Maybe he would start to recover enough that he would start finding some sense of safety, of pride in himself. It shouldn't matter to Striker whether or not Chaz was happy, he really shouldn't--but it did, and it was too late to pretend otherwise.

"Alright," he said, and turned back to look down the rugged, rocky path; they had been hiking on foot for a few hours now, and he had left Chaz down below while he went up to make sure it was safe. "Come on up. It ain't much farther now, then we'll be home." He offered his hand to help Chaz climb up the short but steep section.

From there, the ridge dropped away down to an open desert plain. Nothing but hardpan, sagebrush, and cacti as far as the eye could see--and one small house, casting a long shadow in the burning evening light.

"Fire twisters come hunting out here on occasion," he said, trying to keep his voice level, neutral, "so if the sky ever looks strange to you and you're out alone, get in between rocks to hide, or down into an arroyo. You probably won't see one, but if you do... well, they're always hungry." He twitched his tail, letting it rattle and rasp for a moment, then nodded to Chaz. "Trail gets easier from here; you wanna lead the way? That house is where we'll be stayin'... for as long as you need somewhere to call home."

[song referenced in the tags, that i am using as their tag for this, is here]

[doublejango]

"From the inside," Blitz said, expression turning serious. He sat up and swiveled his chair to face him properly, leaning forward now. "Listen, I know you got like, no reason to believe me, but I hope you do. Most of the stuff I do is only legal on some planets, sure, but I don't... hurt people like that," he said, trying to hide how heartbroken he was over the fact that Loose Fur had understood exactly what he'd been hinting about. The fact that the guy understood how entitled people might be, that he bristled--he had to have some experience with that side of humanity, and Blitz hated that. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Loose was just that smart, but... fuck. The galaxy was hardly kind to anyone, let alone someone at a disadvantage, or enough of one to have to serve some "lord" named Urine.

Standing, Blitz headed over to the cockpit door, then nodded for the guy to come with him. "Come on. For as long as you're here, the room'll be yours. And listen... I picked your ass up from you being dead-in-space out there. So as far as I'm concerned, that means it's my job to keep you safe--and I ain't gonna breach that by trying to hurt you myself. You got my word on that, Loose." He waited just long enough for the guy to stand, then headed off.

As they walked through the ship, which was small but still had enough space to live in, and enough room to house a small crew, Blitz pointed things out: where the galley was, where the refresher could be found, fire suppression equipment, the ship's messaging consoles. He also pointed out the door to his bedroom, which was open and appeared to be the only one being lived in, but they moved on to a door a little down the passageway.

Touching a panel next to the door was enough to let it hiss open, and dim blue lighting came on.

"It's not much," Blitz said, looking in at the space, "but it's yours as long as you're stuck with me. You can lock me out, I won't be offended. It's the safest way to travel out here, right?" And indeed, it wasn't much. There was a bed, a small sink, closet space, a comlink built into the wall, a rug, and a small porthole, currently letting in the dancing lights of hyperspace.

"There's blankets and sheets and stuff under the bed," he nodded, but didn't try to step into the room to show him. "So, uh. Yeah. I guess just like--make yourself comfortable, you know? I'll buzz your room when we're getting close to the planet. And if you want to explore, just stay out of the engine room and my room and we're good. Help yourself to whatever you want to eat, and don't worry about drinking too much water. I got a pretty good water recycler on board, so we're good in that respect." Aaaand I'm rambling. Frustrated with himself, he took a small step back, nodded awkwardly, then headed off to his own room.

Once there, Blitz flopped down on the bed and closed his eyes. He left the door open, in case the guy had any questions or anything, but right now? He needed to think.

What am I doing? This is dangerous. This is so dangerous. I don't know a damn thing about him... but fuck. I gotta protect this guy. Someone's hurt Loose Fur, and fuck if I'm gonna let them hurt him again.

It was a risk the sketchier planets, always a 50/50, on being able to successfully hide away or run into the very person you were running from there. —-

However he needed cheap quick parts , and with his luck maybe something would pop off that could delay his decision to run or go back a bit longer .

“Sounds good to me, hopefully that stupid ship won’t be recharged by the time we get back.. “ if not he was gonna force lightning that bitch until it was pieces of scrap metal .

He smiled just a bit at the other’s reassurance , his own tail loosening from around his leg just a little, as he started to settle— only to bristle and re wrap itself around his calf when Blitz mentioned getting some sleep .

“Locks from the inside or out ?” He asked knowingly, he was a little tired but he wasn’t dumb , he’s been out here to long to be that naive .

[doublejango]

"It'd be really nice," Blitz agreed, unable to stop smiling now. That sweet kiss to his cheek had done something, changed something, and it showed. In every little way it could, from the light in his eyes to the way he stood, even to the way he held his tail, it was obvious now just how incredibly happy Blitz was--because of Moxxie. That soft kiss, the simplicity of it, the truths and understandings it held, all of it, meant the world the Blitz.

"When you're ready to sleep, I'll hold you. Until you're tired of it," he promised. There was one thing Blitz was never going to fucking do, and that was hold Moxxie against his will. He was forever going to be haunted by the vibes he'd picked up when they met, by the shit he suspected had happened to the other man, and could not fucking be another part of that legacy of abuse in his life, at least not when it came to physical intimacy. Blitz was a jackass and he knew it, he was probably Moxxie's least favorite person half the days of the week, but he still cherished the man and wanted him safe.

It was nice to have the place to themselves, he mused as he grabbed the remote so they could start the karaoke videos playing again. Not that he wouldn't do this with Moxxie if anyone else was around, Blitz shamelessly would--and Loona would probably blast music from her room to drown them out--but this was just... it was good. Millie and Loona were out of town together on a trip for a few days, work was quiet, shit was just nice.

So nice, he thought, looking over at Moxxie as he stood beside him, smiling even more sappily. But, remembering the mission, he quickly refocused on the karaoke--then fist-pumped the air and leapt up with a delighted little grunt.

"Yeah! Fuck yeah! This one! This shit right here! Do you know it? It's about a giant murderous plant and the guy who feeds him blood and body parts! Can we? The plant's trying to like, I guess seduce him to murder or something in this one. Please? Fuuuck, I love singing plant songs!"

Similar thoughts ran through Moxxie's head. Of how Blitz had been there for him for years now. And so he would not have turned away. Had their faces inched any closer and they closed the gap between them with a kiss. But Blitz slowed the pace and let him down, setting his hooves on the ground and allowing Moxxie's heart to slow just a tad. As if handing the reins back to him.

And he appreciated that immensely even if it was not necessary and he had not felt pressured in the slightest.

He couldn't help but remember right now the night Blitz had arrived when he was alone in jail. Moxxie did not know how he would survive the abuses he was enduring. Then there came the night the Blitz arrived. The friend who changed his life.

He could only smile back at Blitz right, the answer coming to him slowly. But before it did, he leaned in and kissed Blitz's cheek as naturally as if it was something they always did. Then pulled back and laughed.

"Let's uh. Let's go back to watching musicals and singing, heh," he rubbed one of his horns. "I'll probably zone out and sleep soon anyways. It might be nice to snuggle?" he asked hopefully.