Chapter Text
♫
It was going to be a good day.
Never mind that she had a to-do list three pages long, never mind that there weren’t enough hours in the day to accomplish most of it, and never mind the chances of something occurring that would derail her perfect schedule of activities to keep things running smoothly and avoiding having the veritable fuckton (yes that was a unit of measurement and it was apt holy shit she was succeeding) of people staying at the hotel trip over each other’s feet on their way to and from wherever they were going. No, despite all of those setbacks, it was going to be a good day, because it had to be. Charlie Morningstar had worked too hard and come so far to have any more disappointing days.
It would be accurate to say the hotel was bustling, which was a nice, cheerful word for a nice cheerful place that was almost, almost reaching the point where maybe she could change the name back to ‘Happy Hotel.’ It had been a year now since the final extermination when Eve destroyed the original hotel, and there was no sign of anything else coming for them and for that reason alone, Charlie felt like she could breathe easily. Just for a moment, though. She did have other things to do- things that didn’t involve murder and gore and death, except for the occasions where one of the guests got a little ornery or a pimp or drug dealer came looking for someone that had retreated to the hotel for sanctuary. Then bloodshed was permissible, if still gently frowned upon as anything but a last resort.
Her rounds started in the lobby, full of groggy Sinners leaning against the coffee bar while Trisha worked her hands to the bone getting them caffeinated. Despite it being early, the bar-slash-concierge desk was popping with people looking for a shot of whiskey in their coffee, though most, much to Charlie’s delight, were new faces looking to check in or asking Chance for information about the hotel. Thankfully, Lucifer had put in for brochures to start handing out so the tiny Sinner didn’t have to handle all of that, himself, even if he did love standing up on the bar and extolling the virtues of the Hotel. In song, usually.
Next was to check the quiet room where Razzle, Dazzle, Keekee, and even Fat Nuggets were assisting in pet therapy for some of the more traumatized Sinners. She flashed a thumb’s up and received four in response from the bleary-eyed and nervous assortment within, all of them lounging on soft pillows with a cuddly animal in their lap to pet. Once she closed the door, she allowed herself a little squeal of delight at how cute it was and then moved on.
She passed a tiny cyclops armed with a broom and dustpan, currently tutting as she swept. “Morning, Niffty! How’s it going?”
The maid huffed and stamped her foot. “It’s already so dirty! Can’t we make people take their shoes off before they come into the hotel? Pleeeease?”
“I’ll add it to the list,” she laughed, awkwardly. Given Cherri had taken to throwing caltrops down the hall to assist in her self-defense classes since Charlie had absolutely forbidden landmines after the last incident, that probably wasn’t going to happen.
No sooner had she left Niffty, a succubus in a powersuit slid up next to her carrying a binder. “Do you have a moment, Ms. Morningstar? I have some color swatches to confirm for the wedding.”
She checked her to-do list which at no point had made room for wedding prep. Fuck. “I, uh, thought we agreed red and silver?”
The succubus stared at her condescendingly over her her half moon glasses. “Yes, but what shades?” She flipped open the binder to reveal swatch after swatch of every shade of red and silver that existed in nature and maybe a few that only existed in Hell. There were bright reds like candy cane stripes and dark reds that were practically the color of dried blood; silvers that had glittery diamond dust embedded within that made the whole of them sparkle and silvers that were more like a prettier cousin of rainy gray. Charlie’s eyes crossed staring at them.
“Uh… Um…” She coughed, closed her eyes, and then picked whichever ones her finger landed on. “That and… That.”
“How discerning of you.” And with that, the wedding planner was off to lurk somewhere else- probably to see if Vaggie would pick something better, which wasn’t likely. Charlie had learned that trick of handling difficult decisions from Vaggie.
She checked in on some of the therapy rooms, currently being covered by actual Sloth-ring therapists sent by Bel, courtesy of that time she visited, realized Charlie wasn’t equipped to be handling that sort of task, and sent her best and brightest. It had taken everything to not be offended, but, truth be told, she was grateful, and it was nice to not have to be spread so thin when she was already barely covering a cracker as it was now that things were popping off.
She turned a corner and found her first real delay in the form of Husk baring down on a trio of female Sinners, barely out of their teens with matching skirts and vests in different colors that made them look like schoolgirls. Oh no, not this again.
“I’m tellin’ you bitches right now to stay the fuck away from the kid, you got me?” Husk was saying, pointing a claw at the girl in the middle- a short, plump, pretty-faced raccoon Sinner who proceeded to prod him in the chest right back.
“You’re not the boss of us. You’re barely the boss of her.”
“The fuck I am! I’m the one responsible for her staying sober. She hadn’t touched a drink in months before you three showed up.”
Charlie sucked in a breath between her teeth and quickly stepped in. “Verge, he has a point.”
The raccoon shifted her gaze to her, offended. “He’s so toxic, though. How can a sponsor be good at his job when he barely stops drinking? I bet he’s got a bottle on him right now.”
“If I did, I’d shove it right up your ass, you-“ Charlie quickly clapped a hand over his mouth, her clipboard clattering to the floor.
“You fine young ladies!” She cut in, but the damage was done. The trio looked scandalized.
“I’m feeling so attacked right now.” The raccoon, Virgina- or Verge as she preferred to be called, placed a hand over her head and fainted into the arms of her friends- a lanky, rail-thin opossum and a waifish skunk. Those two were Alex and Tara, respectively, and the three of them made up the Trashinistas, the hot new band that Velvette had signed to open for her mother’s return to the stage who believed that the Hazbin Hotel was the perfect place to rebrand their image as enlightenment-seeking little angels when, in reality, they were the worst things to happen to the hotel since, well, Eve smashing the original into splinters and kudzu.
And because they were Velvette’s problem, she couldn’t exactly throw them out without alienating her and since she was really helping her mom out, she didn’t want to do that. Part of her kept waiting for them to annoy Alastor who could not be controlled by God or Sinner or angel, but they gave him a wide berth, choosing, instead, to annoy Husk and Angel by picking on Crymini, which wasn’t not a death sentence, but Charlie felt Husk and Angel definitely cared more about not upsetting her than Alastor did.
“I thought you guys were supposed to be at dress rehearsal? You know? For the concert?” Still holding Husk’s mouth, she began to drag him down another hall. “So, uh, why don’t you go get a coffee from Trisha and head that way? Anyway, I gotta go now. Bye!”
She made it four feet down the hall before Husk finally flailed his way out of her grasp, wings spread and mantling. “Y’know, you gave me the job of sponsorin’ Crymini and I can’t fuckin’ do that job if you’re gonna undermine me to those three little twits.”
Charlie huffed. “I knoooow. It’s just for a little while longer. Velvette’s trying to get them a tour going now that the other Rings are opened up and they’ll be out of our hair. They probably won’t even care about redemption after that.”
“Don’t you feel even a little salty that they’re turning this into a trendin’ thing?” That didn’t come from Husk- that came from Angel, strolling down the hall with his phone out and playing the latest clip the Trashinistas had posted to their social media- a clip of them in the middle of group therapy doing yoga chants while the poor Baphomet therapist running it looked a bit lost and confused in the background. “We’re gettin’ so many new people in and half of ‘em think this is just the cool thing to do.”
“That’s not… That bad? I mean…” She stopped, cleared her throat, and held up her hands. “You didn’t join the Hotel with, uh… unselfish goals in mind either. And now look at you! You’re our success story.”
Angel’s expression twisted into a grimace. “If I was your success story, I’d be in Heaven by now, but fair point. Just keep an eye on it, Charlie. And maybe don’t get disappointed if this place goes back to crickets when it’s no longer hip and trending.”
He placed a hand on Husk’s shoulders and steered him back. Charlie slumped against the wall. Right, right. Cool, cool, cool. He definitely had a point. A lot of the new arrivals were coming in because of the Trashinistas’ social media making it all sound hip and fun and not a whole of work and self-betterment, but that was… Fine. It was publicity, wasn’t it? And maybe people really would latch onto it instead of using it as a hip new wellness experiment instead of a rehab. Maybe?
Still. They shouldn’t be corrupting the people who were actually trying to seek help. Panicking, she whirled to shout at them. “I’ll talk to my mom about it! Okay? D-don’t worry!” They were already turning the corner and, once more, she hit the wall. “Shit.”
She’d have to add that to tomorrow’s list. She stared at her bare hands and cursed when she remembered she’d dropped her clipboard. She’d lost too much time and now she had to double back. She took the hall at a steady trot, finding the abandoned clipboard left in the now-vacated hall. With that in hand, she could continue her rounds… She might even have time to grab breakfast if she hurried-
“Your highnessss! Might I have a word?”
Crap. She spun on her heels and greeted Pentious with a bright, though tight, smile. “Can we walk and talk? Gotta lot of stuff to do today and whoo boy does that time fly.”
The serpent stood up straighter on his coils. “Of course! But, ah- this way, please. I do not wish to be, erm, overheard by anyone. He glanced around shiftily and began to drag her down a hall that led away from the kitchen and the promise of still-warm bagels.
After a moment of confirming that they were, indeed headed down a rarely used hall and no one was lingering, he wrung his hands together awkwardly. “Well, you see… It’s about Cherri.”
Oh. Oh. “Ohhh,” she said out loud, trying to make the syllable sound less alarmed and more… concerned? Honestly, if Cherri and Pentious were having relationship issues, the structural integrity of the hotel was at risk and she could not have that right now. “Well, uh… We don’t have a relationship counselor on hand right now, but I’m sure if I call Belphegor, she’ll send one right over!”
Pentious’s tongue flicked out like he was tasting the air to better sort through the unspoken parts of her statement and then shook his head, appalled. “What? No! No, we’re doing fine! In fact, after a year of courtship, I feel obligated to do the proper, gentlemanly thing and, erm… Well, I realize this is an outdated term, but I am stuck in my ways as a Victorian Gentleman.” He paused, cleared his throat. “I intend to make an honest woman out of her.”
Now it was Charlie’s turn to stare. “…You… Wait. You wanna ask Cherri to marry you?”
“If that will not step on your toes, of course! I realize you and Vagatha-“
“Not her name,” Charlie corrected gently.
“- are planning your own nuptials, as it were. I don’t intend to steal your thunder.”
“Uhhhh… You wouldn’t really be stealing our thunder. I, uh… Well, you know Cherri.” Maybe she was being unfair, but she could not see Cherri Bomb being the kind of person who wanted a huge lavish royal wedding. Maybe a quick elopement in Lust. Now that Ozzie was rebranding, he was making a killing in drive-through wedding chapels.
All Pentious seemed to hear was the fact that she didn’t give him a hard no and he threw himself into this perceived blessing with all the enthusiasm of a general preparing for war. “Splendid! Then I shall wait for the opportune moment to make my strike! She will not know not what hit her!”
As he slithered away, she called after him, “Maybe don’t… phrase it like that? Um. Okay! Good talk! Hnngh.” She looked down at her clipboard and swore. She was running late for the tour she was supposed to be giving for a new resident and she still had three more check-ins… No big deal. She could do her rounds while she was showing the new Sinner around! Multi-tasking!
Her stomach rumbled in protest, but she ignored it, doubling back over the paths she’d already walked to reach the lobby again. In the time she’d spent wandering, most of the crowd had dispersed, making it easy for her to spot the poodle demon with the big bow in her hair standing confused in the middle of it all.
She launched herself at the girl before she had a chance to make a move in any direction. “You must be Villa! Hi! I’m Charlie Morningstar, the manager here. Usually, Alastor would give the tours, but he’s doing his radio show and, uh. Also he’s reaaaally not good at not scaring people off? So you get me! Hi!”
Villa blinked and then smiled warmly. “Oh you’re enthusiastic. I like that. Weirdly, though, I think I’ve met Alastor? Isn’t he dating your dad? And your mom? And that TV guy?”
Charlie’s own smile never left her face as she grit out a desperate, pleading, “Please never ever say those words to Alastor’s face.”
She locked arms with Villa, dragging her room to room, using the tour stops as check-ins for some of the spaces she hadn’t gotten to yet, prattling on and on to avoid any silence, as if silence would suck away time she didn’t have. Villa smiled and nodded, but didn’t run away from the half-mad look in Charlie’s eyes as she went from room to room, praying that when she opened it she wouldn’t find something completely unexplainable that might derail her.
She put her hand on the next door. “And this is the lab where our scientists and inventors can do supervised, not-evil experiments. We at the Hazbin Hotel believe in proper enrichment for everyone’s interests in safe, friendly, constructive-“
The door strained outwards, spewing smoke, following an explosion and a maddening cackle of glee. Charlie couldn’t bring herself to look down at Villa just in case she saw horror or revulsion or a deep desire to run. “-ways,” she concluded, voice squeaking so high the poodle Sinner’s ears twitched.
A little flash of cream and red diverted Charlie’s attention with the promise of an opening. She shot out a hand, lightning fast, and dragged a squirming Crymini over to her. “Villa, I’d like you to meet Crymini! She’s been here six months and she’s making so much progress. She can help you pick out a room and finish up the tour!”
“The hell I will,” Crymini squirmed out of Charlie’s grip.
The world narrowed to just the two of them, Villa forgotten entirely. Charlie leaned forwards and pressed her palms together, all but pleading on her hands and knees. “Please, please, please, Crymini, I’ll make it up to you, just please help me.”
Something about the desperation in Charlie’s eyes must have broken through her tough punk exterior, because Crymini recoiled as if she’d been shot. “Don’t look at me like that! Augh! Fine!” She turned to glower at Villa, standing politely with her arms behind her back. “All right, Fifi. Let’s go.”
Charlie watched them go, taking in the gentle banter for a brief second (“It’s Villa, actually.” “Nah, this place is prison rules. You gotta earn a cool nickname.”) before remembering the door behind her was still smoking. Rolling her eyes heavenward, she threw open the door, freeing more acrid black smoke. She coughed and fanned a hand in front of her eyes.
“Baxteeeer,” she whined. “I told you I had a tour today.”
Baxter, bent over his work station, as if he was curling protectively over his newest creation, suddenly snapped to attention. “Was that today? My deepest apologies, your highness, but this formula came to me during yoga and I had to rush over to write it down before it slipped from my mind.”
The way he coddled and cooed over that vial in his arms was… disturbing, but why make a stink about it when there were other things to focus on. “Well, uh, at least you’re actually attending yoga?” She cleared her throat and rocked back on her heels. “So… Do you know what it is?”
Baxter hemmed and hawed and let the luminous green liquid in the vial swirl beneath his eyes as he turned it this way. “It could be a bio-weapon or it could be a cure for Slothpox. I can’t be certain. I’ll need a test subject.”
The laugh that escaped Charlie in that moment was tense and awkward and devoid of true humor. “Oh well, uh… You know the rules! No guests or staff!” She darted out the second she got confirmation- half-hearted though it might be- that Baxter had no intentions of testing it on anyone in the hotel, and tried to orient herself to her next task.
The EAT SOMETHING task had been circled three times by Vaggie’s silver pen she kept on hand to sign in deliveries. Her stomach growled in protest, backing her fiance’s insistent reminder up. “Okay, okay. I get it. There’s always time for breakfast.”
Fortunately, the kitchen was close by, set up that way in the hope that maybe Pen and Baxter wouldn’t forget to eat as often as they did if it was only a short jaunt down the hall for a snack. She stepped over the threshold where soft plush carpet gave way to linoleum patterned to look straight out of an eldritch tome and found Vaggie doublefisting slices of bread at the island. The boxes of bagels and donuts were tossed in the corner empty of everything save for crumbs and when Charlie looked longingly, she received a sympathetic glance for her troubles.
“Yeah, they’re animals in the morning. Go figure. Luckily, there’s still enough bacon for a sandwich.”
Charlie threw her arms around Vaggie’s waist and rocked side to side with her. “I have the best future wifey ever~” she sang.
“Don’t tempt the orchestra,” Vaggie chuckled, only to break into a full belly laugh when Charlie began to sloppily kiss her cheek. “And hey, wait until after I finish to kiss the cook.”
“You said eat something,” Charlie purred, eyes half-lidded. “Didn’t specify what.”
“Babe, not in front of the condiments.” She tapped her nose with the mustard spoon, causing Charlie to recoil dramatically to paw it off and lick it off her fingers. Her stomach rumbled more in protest of such a meager offering.
Vaggie gave her a stern look. “Yeah, see? You gotta eat before you do your rounds.”
“I always think I’ll swing back around before it gets too late, but it seems like something is always going on around here.” She huffed and slumped against the counter. “Don’t get me wrong- I love how hopping we are, but it’s… You know?” She pressed her fingertips together.
Vaggie shoved a sandwich at her. “A lot. You can say it. It’s true. And it’s only gonna get busier now that it’s been a year since the last extermination.”
Her appetite vanished in an instant and she stared at the sandwich in her hands as if it were made of lead. “It really has been that long, huh? And Heaven’s been quiet the whole time.” She looked at Vaggie, pleading with her eyes for something she knew couldn’t be given.
She shook her head and held up her hands. “I wouldn’t know, Charlie. And your dad went over the whole Embassy top to bottom and tried to go up to Heaven himself. Nothing’s getting through.”
“But that is weird, right? I mean… I guess I understand locking everything down when the whole thing with Eve went down, but for this long since?” Her sandwich flopped over in her hands, slowly starting to lose its contents. Vaggie reached out to take it and hold it up to Charlie’s mouth.
“We’ll worry about it when it needs to be worried about, Charlie, not before. Now eat.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve really got the mom voice down.”
“Damn straight- hey!” Vaggie almost dropped the sandwich when Charlie took a bite of it big enough to gently graze the pad of her finger. “Rude.”
She snapped her teeth, playfully, and Vaggie smashed the sandwich into her face, causing her to erupt in squeals. Any passer-by to the kitchen would hear the giggling that followed and choose to seek other avenues- the princess and her consort were finding a little bit of time in their busy schedules for one another. Nothing to see.
♝
There was a radio in Vox’s room and if you asked him, the thing was haunted and appeared no matter how many times he chucked it out the window. It clicked on at the same time every morning and every afternoon, the static crackling around Alastor’s dulcet tones as he began his broadcast, and both times Vox was always somehow around to hear it. Damnedest thing.
”Salutations, Sinners! It’s a lovely day in Hell today with temperatures at a perfectly balmy 109 degrees. That’s Fahrenheit, you cheeky devils. We’re painfully Americana-centric here, but as they say ‘so above, so below.’ Ha-ha.”
From the bathroom, Vox rolled his eyes and mumbled a mocking ha-ha in a nasally intonation of Alastor’s Midwestern accent, as he worked on making sure his bowtie was straight. He could mumble along with Alastor’s usual spiel to introduce the first leg of music as if he had written the script himself. Fuck, even his patter material was out of date and predictable.
He stared at himself in the mirror, scowling. Who was he to complain about anyone being out of date? “You’ve still got it,” he growled at his reflection, staring at his own hypnotic left eye like it might give him the little bit of a boost to make it through this day, all those ripples like fish disturbing the water, ready to school themselves into a proper amalgam of a functional demon.
All it really did was make his vision blur and something behind his screen pop in protest. He cracked his neck and made a face like he was trying to unclog his ears after they popped during a long flight, despite not having the parts for any of that. No ears, no nose to wrinkle, no jaw to work back and forth. It looked absurd to go through the motions. Humanity was a phantom limb that clung to every part of you, regardless of how long it had been since you’d been flesh and bone.
Wincing, he pulled away from the mirror, and let out a staticky hiss of air from his vents. No sense thinking about any of that. “Okay.”
His next movements were precise from months of the same schedule being hardwired into him, all the better to keep Lucifer focused and on track. He exploded into static to travel the length of the wiring, burst back into existence into the royal suite, and threw open the curtains to shed bright red light into the room, all in a series of rapid-fire fluid motions. He spun on his heels and faced the carnage of the King of Hell scrambling under the covers to escape the light, his shark-like grin spreading from corner to corner. “Rise and shine, your majesty!”
“You always do this!” Lucifer shouted and then broke into a whine when Vox ripped the blanket off of him. “It’s Saturday, Vox.”
“And what a stacked Saturday it is, sir.” He produced his tablet to start going over the schedule, pacing back and forth in front of the bed the way his own assistant used to. He wasn’t going to think about that either, thank you. Just delete that file and empty the recycle bin, yessir. “Your wife is at rehearsal for her show with Velvette. I cancelled your three PM so you could pick up her up for a late lunch.”
Seeing no other option but to get up, Lucifer crawled out of bed, yawning. “What did I have at three PM on a Saturday?”
“Fuck if I know. Some king thing for the Doomsday District, but why do they need any pep talks? If they actually stop being cynical about the end of the world, they’ll have to change the name, right?” He barked a laugh. Truth be told, sometimes Vox just scheduled bullshit to give Lucifer that little microdose of relief when he canceled it. The problem was that sometimes he did forget whether something was genuinely important and requested or something he just made up because it looked good on paper.
Whatever. Lucifer couldn’t deliver personalized messages of hope to every down on their luck district in Pride. Hope wasn’t as marketable as the other things Vox had put himself in charge of- they could be making sure more asses ended up in seats for Lilith’s show, for example. That was how you made an impact on Pride- bread and circuses. Distraction. Fill their heads with so much entertainment that they didn’t stop to think about anything but purchasing the next fix.
Which was why he had the last scheduled item on his tablet underlined and highlighted with the notes DON’T PUSSY OUT scratched out in a shaking hand to the side. He glared at his own traitor penmanship. “We also have that unveiling for the new Overlords taking over the Entertainment District this evening.”
Lucifer snapped his fingers and his pajamas became his suit with just a dusting of golden sparkles and angelic intent. He brushed the dust away, fiddled with the cufflinks, and then winced a second too late, as if the implications took their time settling. “Oooh. That’s rough, buddy. How’re you feeling?”
With the tips of his fucking talons, thank you very much. It wasn’t every day you got to meet the assholes who replaced you while you were off getting rugburn on your knees from all the genuflecting and ass-kissing and metaphorical dick-sucking for the royal family.
He plastered on his best smile, the static dancing across his screen from the amount of force he was shoving into each individual pixel to make it stay perfect. “Oh I’m doing great, your majesty. I have every one of the Sins on speed dial and Leviathan desires me carnally. If I ever get sick of working for you, I have a future as the next Fizzarolli, I just know it.”
A slow, froggish blink from Lucifer, then an exhale. “You gotta tone down the passive-aggressiveness a tad this early, Vox.”
“Duly noted, your majesty.”
“Solitude,” as covered by Eartha Kitt, faded out on the radio and Alastor’s voice returned, dreamily, as if he was still riding the high of the woman’s velvet voice. “That was an old song redone in a new way by a lovely lady. Quite a bit after my time, but she could have done numbers back then if she’d been born a bit earlier. Ha- ha. Now don’t let anyone tell you I only stick to the classics and the originals. Some things are meant to be redone! Which brings me to the most exciting news of the day- yes, yes, I know you’ve been waiting a year for this! That eyesore Vee Tower in the Entertainment District is finally under new management and this afternoon we’ll finally be treated to what those mysterious entrepreneurs have in store for us. It can’t possibly be as garish as what the previous lot-“
A sharp burst of static turned the radio into a smoking crater on the nightstand. Lucifer yelped and leapt away. “What the fff-“ the curse was cut short by a second radio up on a high shelf clicking on and continuing.
“Let’s hope we’re done with our beloved fellow citizens of Hell scheming with angels, yes?” There was an edge to the Radio Demon’s voice, a threat, a warning. It was so intense that Vox’s anger turned to liquid and he had to grip one of the bedposts to steady himself.
“He can’t keep getting away with this,” he growled.
“Getting away with what? Insulting you in the same breath that he threatens insane violence on everyone who ever crosses him until you get all gooey?” Lucifer rolled his eyes, tracing a circle in the air with a finger until a sparking, golden portal opened up. ‘’Cause that’s Al. He’s gonna keep doing it and we’re gonna keep letting him.”
“I know that,” he scoffed, practically flinging himself back into a less pathetically horny position, adjusting his tie and vest with all the stubbornness of a man insulted and doubling down. “I’ve known it longer than you.”
“Yeah, but I read souls, so, you know, I think my reads are better by default.”
They would have kept arguing the whole way through the lobby had a sudden crowd not been gathered in front of the TV. Vox snatched up the little Cannibal brat who always dressed like she was going to an anime convention by the back of her ruffled collar as she surged past him. “What’s going on?”
She flashed her sharp teeth at him, unconcerned that she was dangling a good three feet off the ground. “They’re announcing the new media overlords’ identities.”
Vox dropped her and she skittered off, clearing the couch to force herself between two Sinners. He exchanged a glance with Lucifer and the two pushed their way to the front of the pack.
The TV was showing a black and white still image of Vee Tower in its heyday that left Vox with a pang of nostalgia. A perky narrator was explaining the fall of the Vees with far more gusto and a sense of schadenfreude that made Vox make a note to find him and make sure he never worked in this town again. Probably one of Killjoy’s peons.
”For a year, it’s been left empty, though sources have confirmed that the tower was bought and has been secretly been refurnished over the past six months, though no one knew who the new owners were- UNTIL NOW.” The still image shattered, revealing a brand new image of what used to be Vee Tower, now lit up brightly, the logo torn down to reveal a new one made up of linking cursive C’s.
The narrator went on. “Are you ready, Pride? It’s time to meet the newest Media Overlords- The Cees!”
Vox’s vents released a stream of air hot enough to scald. At least one Sinner in the lobby squealed when it brushed their cheek and fled from the room in a panic at their reddened, blistered flesh. “What the fuck?”
The TV began to show a montage of a blue jay Sinner- typing on his phone, standing in front of models barking orders, doing all the things that Velvette used to do with an even more tyrannical attitude about it. The name Claudio flashed over the screen just before it cut to an interview with him. There was a cocky, almost borderline cliche amount of gay camp to him, as if he’d stepped out a sitcom from the late 90’s when the only way to be gay and accepted by society was to be flamboyant and mean.
“I believe in fast fashion. Honestly, if it isn’t falling apart after a week, then it’s just going to encourage people to keep wearing it way beyond when it’s socially appropriate. I’m doing people a service in making sure that nothing stays past its expiration date.”
The program then shifted to a series of clips of a Fennec Fox Sinner with a mane of blonde hair pulled up in pigtails with white furry scrunchies. She was posing seductively, teasing her boobs by lifting up her shirt just so, crawling towards the camera, basically serving every bit of camgirl fan service that was could be shown this early in the morning. Her name, as a little scantily clad fairy sketched out on the screen, as if this was some perverse Disney fare was Carlotta.
When Carlotta spoke, it was ditzy, valley girl-esque. “Well, I’ve been running a cam studio for private influencers since I got to Hell. It’s suuuuper important to me for people like me who wanna show off their bodies can do so with full control over what they do.”
Midway through the girl’s spiel, Angel suddenly peered over the back of the couch. “Oh huh, that’s the chick I got an interview with today.”
“You have an interview with the person who took Val’s job?” Vox hissed, scathingly.
“I didn’t know it at the fuckin’ time, okay?”Angel pulled back, offended. “She’s been around the block a bit. I figured she was legit. Now I ain’t so sure.”
The camera cut again, revealing Claudio and Carlotta in the same studio. The narrator’s voice, off-screen, chimed in, “And who do we have to thank for bringing such insightful, compassionate persons to the Entertainment District to fill the hole left by our deviously incompetent former moguls?”
“Deviously incompetent?” Vox sputtered, but when the camera panned to a desk just in time for a chair to spin around and reveal a tall, lanky Arctic hare Sinner with cropped white hair showing black roots, he lost all control over his systems.
The hare Sinner folded her hands under her chin and grinned like she was grinning directly at Vox and Vox alone.
“Clea,” he snarled before the introduction could give him the name. He didn’t see anything else of her before the rage burning through his systems found their way to the television and cooked it. It died with a dull whine and a series of sparks, a crack straight down the middle.
The power to the hotel followed with a shriek of protesting circuits, leaving only Alastor’s voice from the radio tsking over the frustrated muttering from the rest of the denizens.
”I’m afraid we’re having technical difficulties due to an unfortunate temper tantrum. Well! At least it isn’t the entire Pride Ring offline for once! Let’s hope that our new media overlords are much more conservative about overloarding the power grid!”
In the darkness, Vox muttered, “Fuck.”
♜
A perfume bottle hit the wall of the dressing room with enough force that the ensuing stain left a spatter on the wall worthy of a psychiatrist’s collection of inkblot tests. Velvette, panting heavily, tried to calm herself by figuring out what the shape reminded her of, but all she could see was the faint outline of a bird. A blue one. With a nasally voice and a fucking obsession with microplastics.
Sitting pretty at the vanity in only a purple robe with faux fur around the wrists and neck and blinking slowly at her outburst, Lilith pulled one of the other perfume bottles closer to her and therefore out of reach. “Thank you for not throwing the good one.”
“Behave,” she spat back before remembering who it was she was talking to. It was easy to forget. She and Lilith were more like bosom friends than a queen and her assistant, mainly because as much as she certainly filled the role of one, an assistant she most assuredly was not. She could say things to the queen she used to say to Vox and Valentino. This partnership was equal, thank you.
Well. As equal as it could be. You take your victories.
Lilith reached over and turned off the TV mounted against the wall before Velvette could be encouraged to throw something directly at it, instead of just around it. Her appetite for destruction wasn’t nearly what Valentino’s had been- or even Vox’s, really- but it was a force that shouldn’t be taken lightly. “I realize this feels like a slap in the face after only a year, but if it’s any consolation, you’re doing a lot better now than you were.”
The personal designer, manager, not-assistant-but-maybe-it-rhymed-a-bit, and all-around best girl to the Queen of Hell was worth ten of whatever the fuck Claudio was doing, yes, yes, that was true. Velvette had never claimed she wasn’t the girl practically gagging for not only the most cake, but every bit of cake in the whole bloody bakery. Satisfaction was a fickle mistress and greed was a good motivator.
Still, she had work to do and getting pissy over some sorry asshole stealing a following that no longer served her would only distract her from what was going to make the Cees old news on their first week of existence. She exhaled, put on her game face, and sauntered up to the dressing room door, pausing only to throw a coquettish little wink over her shoulder. “We need you onstage in five minutes, your majesty. I wanna see that gown from the tearjerker number.”
“Of course you do,” Lilith smirked before turning her attention to her mascara.
The moment the door opened, she was accosted by techs, stage managers, and her own actual assistants, arms laden with every bit of kit necessary for putting on the best show Pride had seen in years. Forget that disastrous Verosika Mayday concert six months ago. Verosika’s name would be mud after the Trashinistas opened up for Lilith and with Hell opening itself up to Sinners, a tour was inevitable.
Speaking of… “Where the fuck are those three slags? I don’t pay them to be fashionably late when it’s my time they’re wastin’.”
“I can call them right now,” one of the assistants tossed out and vanished from the herd like she was grateful to have a direction to sprint in. As soon as she departed, others came to fill space, asking questions about lighting, sound mixing, until she finally snapped, “Do I look like I know tech? Figure it out, because if I have to bring Vox in for this shite, I’ll let him do whatever he wants to you as compensation for his time.”
The tech team slunk away like wounded dogs, leaving only the designers and stagehands walking behind her, all of them arranged in order of most anxious. The clear winner by virtue of bearing no anxiety at all was the stage manager, a borzoi Hellhound wearing a black turtleneck and a pair of spectacles perched on her long nose. In fact, by nature, she seemed to be absent of any and all emotion. “We’ve got everything in place but the quick change screens.”
Velvette whirled on her, popping her hip out. “Sorry? This is a high school production, is it? I’m an Overlord, babes. Let me handle that part.”
“That does explain the opening number,” the stage manager mumbled. “I wasn’t sure how we were gonna pull that one off.”
“If I wrote it down in the show notes and you don’t know what it is, then rest assured, it’s handled by me. You just need to focus on the piddly bits.”
“Yes, the piddly bits.” The stage manager scoffed and wandered off towards the wings. “Just the lights and the orchestra and the dancers and the effects cues… You know. The little things.”
“Theater kids,” Velvette muttered as soon as she was out of earshot. She whipped around to her dwindling followers. “All right let’s make this quick.” She ran through each one, offering criticism and complaints and approval before anyone could even so much as present her with their offerings. Within five minutes she had dismissed them all and was already headed towards the orchestra pit, cursing at the first person she found lurking in the shadows with nothing to do to go send a jerk off the street to yank the Trashinistas into an unmarked van, maybe scare them straight.
She bullied the strings section into putting more heart into the song, and then took up her place on stage left to wait. Lilith emerged a moment later from stage right, wearing a floor-length pale purple gown with layers and layers of gauzy fabric that revealed her creamy shoulders and enough of a suggestion of cleavage to make it abundantly clear why Lilith knew it was one of her favorites.
The conductor cued the strings and whatever threats Velvette had tossed their way must have served as proper incentive. She had never heard such tragedy from that pit, the music a gentle low to lift up Lilith’s voice. Even Velvette, stone-hearted though she might be, found tears welling up in her eyes.
When Lilith finished and Velvette had carefully dabbed at her eyes to hide even the faintest trace of proof that she experienced that kind of emotion in public, applause broke out from the audience. Velvette peered out from the wings and rolled her eyes at the veritable army of Lucifers filling every seat, hooting and hollering and throwing lilies at the stage while Lilith broke into a gentle laugh.
Velvette made eye contact with Vox, the only non-Lucifer point in an entire ocean of him and the two of them shared an eyeroll.
Lucifer’s copies vanished in a sudden explosion of golden stardust as he bounded towards the stage. Lilith, gripping the skirt of her dress, caught him on the steps to gather him up in a kiss that left her husband gasping for air he didn’t even need.
“That song! Lily! Where’ve you been hiding that one?”
“You’d be surprised how much music you can write in a microphone.”
Off her casual deadpan, Lucifer laughed. “Really? Even a creepy one? ‘Cause that song is-“
“For Charlie,” Lilith cut in, gently. “And you’d be surprised how little Alastor is faking when it comes to fondness for our daughter.” She winced like something had bitten her, but before Lucifer could sputter some protest about her words or her flinch, she slipped past him, grinning. “Are we going to lunch?”
“Not in that dress, you’re not.” Velvette hopped off the stage to meet Vox in the aisles.
“Thank you, mother,” Lilith sing-songed. A barely restrained keening sound escaped Velvette’s pursed lips. Vox nudged her on the shoulder.
“Shut it,” she growled before he could say anything.
The four of them left the theater in a laughing, ranting, gossiping group, the streets of Hell open to them. No fall from grace could change the fact that if you walked arm in arm with the king and queen of Hell, you were invincible. That was enough, regardless of the people daring to fill their impressively large shoes and what it meant that one of them had a personal vendetta.
While Sinners and hellborn gave them a respectful distance, a thick, creeping, vine tightened like a constrictor around a nearby building until the walls began to crack. Pustules burst between the long, jagged thorns, spilling out black ichor onto the sidewalk below and within each fresh, open sore swiveled a single red eye that, upon orienting itself, locked on to the retreating backs of the King and Queen of Hell and their advisers.
The ichor dripped into a crack in the sidewalk and moments later, the most beautiful rosebush exploded free of the concrete, tall as a streetlamp, wide as a brownstone, and threatening to dig its roots in to squeeze the life out of this block.
This was seen as just another day in Hell. Someone would come to fix it, eventually. Until then, people found themselves whispering, excitedly, to one another as they passed it by.
”Have you seen the roses?”
♰
Contrary to what most would expect of Heaven by virtue of the people who spent most of their time talking about it, it had an R&D Department and was deeply concerned with progress. Many of the greatest minds on Earth occupied its halls, crafting new advancements in their fields for the sake of continuing to create. If it didn’t benefit anyone because there was nothing in Heaven to cure except boredom, well… At least the scientists and inventors and assorted other folk who treaded the marble halls of academia in life and wished to continue in death were happy.
Like any R&D Department, it had levels that were closely guarded by biometric scanners and keycards, accessible to no one but the Thrones who buried themselves in their work and brought no one but the highest orders of angels to see it. This was where the proverbial sausage was made and no one in Heaven needed to how much work went into surveillance and adjusting climate to maximize contentment for the denizens nor how much work went into keeping eyes on Hell. It was better for everyone to keep their minds on hosannas and happiness and nothing else.
It was here that the First Man had come forwards with a Throne who had either been bribed or cajoled into revealing the uptick in souls in Hell and what a threat that meant for Heaven should they ever organize into a concentrated strike. Within these walls, Sera had, in a panic, signed the agreement for the Exterminations.
And now she feared that they were going to need something stronger than that. Emily would never agree to it and she was worried about her so dearly- the past year had been difficult, but she remained stalwart in her duties and belief in Heaven. If she had less to worry about perhaps she would even think to find that strange that her doubt had not caused her to slip.
But there was a lot to think about and she would not cast Emily out on her own terms if the archangels were not worried about her. Everything depended on them now that they were back and so she stood out of the way, wringing her hands like a cherub, as the archangels leaned over rows upon rows of opalescent computer terminals, code and wires all tucked with a bright nacre shell, each one manned by a Throne, distinct with their rail-thin bodies and their heads of many-eyed interlocking wheels that spun either lazily or so rapid that it was dizzying with no in between. Sera had always found them very difficult to look at and she averted her eyes both in shame for her dislike of one of her own flock and to keep from falling ill from watching their wheels spin.
Michael circled the space like a hawk, hemming and hawing but painfully confused by what had become a numbers game in his absence. Only Uriel, of the four, seemed to be following the streams of code and accompanying feeds from deep within the depths of Pride where a Garden had been built once upon a time, its soil watered with golden ichor.
“The activity has been spiking steadily for the past year. The Garden’s perimeters have expanded right on the borders of some of the Pride Ring’s slums.” Lines of silvery scrollwork danced in her eyes, reflecting off the screens. “What has to happen for you to act, Michael?”
The eldest archangel pressed his fingertips together as he paced. “Just a bit more time. We don’t know if Lucifer is handling it.”
A horrid little laugh wheezed out of Uriel. “Right, that’s a great plan, especially since you never told him much about it.”
“Don’t start.” Michael winced and then sighed, wearily.
“She has a point, brother,” Raphael spoke up. “If we had communicated better…”
Michael’s wings mantled, his stoic expression wavering. When it felt like some part of his demeanor was about to shift, he jerked his head towards Gabriel, silent and leaning against the wall. “Gabriel, could you explain it?”
“Open your ears, you dumb fucks,” Gabriel snapped as he kicked off the wall, cracking his knuckles as he towered over Uriel and Raphael. “We told him that tree was dangerous. We told them not to mess with it, and what did they do?” He paused, letting that question hang and the second Raphael started to lift a finger to offer an answer to what was only rhetorical, he spat out, “They messed with it!”
Sera pursed her lips. She was a fledgling when the archangels left. Could nostalgia and youthful faith have colored her memories or had all that time sealed away done a number on them? She couldn’t be certain. There were so many things in Heaven she was finding it hard to trust, much as it made her ache with fear of falling.
One of the Thrones stumbled into the room, suddenly, their multitude of eyes wide as if they hadn’t expected such a gathering. “Arc-archangels, my apologies…”
That was all they got out before a silver holy blade appeared in the doorway, the flat planted on the Throne’s chest to push them to the side. Sera’s eyes followed the tip of the cold steel to the gauntleted hand, to the leather and chainmail of an Exorcist uniform all the way up to the cold eyes and bare face of Adam’s lieutenant. She stepped in as if she were always meant to have a seat at this table, sheathing her blade and even standing at firm attention, expectant for orders.
Sera’s patience for audacity was at an all-time low. Her extra eyes opened, narrowed to cat-like slits of aggravation. “Lieutenant, what is the meaning of this? Only Thrones and Seraphs are welcome here.”
Lute didn’t even look at her, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead, unfocused on any particular higher authority in the room, likely so she could claim she never slighted any of them. “I’m only curious why we haven’t acted yet, ma’am. My girls have been awaiting orders for months now.”
“You were told to stand down,” Uriel pointed out, her voice fully lacking in chastisement. If anything, she seemed amused by this act of disobedience.
“My entire work is to protect the First Man and defend Heaven from unholy threats. I believe I deserve the right to know more about why I failed in the first endeavor and have not been utilized at all in the second.”
Sera sucked the back of her teeth, but Michael held out his hand to still the slow-burning wick of her anger. She lowered most of her eyes but kept the one in her halo pinned on Lute as the eldest archangel approached her.
“Losing Adam is a great burden to all of us. He was our first soul and it’s a shame he was lost.”
Whatever bitter thoughts might have uncharitably popped into Sera’s mind about Adam- despite all promises to herself that she would not speak ill of the dead- were waved away by Lute’s disrespectful scoff and the coiled tension of her shoulders- a wildcat looking to pounce. “Respectfully, I don’t need platitudes, sir. I need results.”
Gabriel leaned casually over Michael’s shoulder. “She basically said ‘fuck you and the wings you flew in on.’”
While Sera choked on rapidly inhaled spit, Michael only sighed. “Thank you, Gabriel.”
“We-eeeeEEEEE-eell,” Uriel drawled, sashaying away from the computer terminals up to Lute. “The kitten’s got claws. Rawr. I like that.” She gave her a little hipcheck that staggered her slightly, but she quickly put herself back into parade rest as if she was spring-loaded into that position.
“We should tell her.” Raphael finally said, pinching the space between his thick, dark brows. “We would be having Adam handle this if he were here. She was his wife-“
Michael winced. “Eve was his wife. Whatever is down there isn’t fully Eve any longer and hasn’t been for a long time.”
The four of them were so consumed by their own debate that none of them were watching Lute and because Sera could not take her eyes off of her, there was nothing about her that passed her noticed. The second their eyes were off of her she scowled as if she were unaware that there was another seraph burning holes into the back of her skull, her fists clenching at her side. She had the embittered look of a child who had finally met her heroes and found them wanting and while Sera could not say that they were as she remembered, she could not bear the thought of not only thinking that, but making it so blatantly obvious.
Lute met her eyes, then. A sharp, violent electric spike jolted between them- a mutual warning that came from two different stations to meet at the true crux of all of this.
Know your place.
We’re all the same to them- what’s a normal seraph or an Exorcist to those who stand by God?
And Sera pursed her lips because she knew that Lute’s unspoken words was right. That was why Lucifer gaining any kind of power for a possible rebellion terrified her. That was why his spawn with her ideas and her revelations and her desires that could ruin everything made her fret for the future of Heaven. In the end, no matter how high up the angelic ladder you were, there was nothing higher than an archangel.
All Lucifer lost was Heaven in the Fall. Whatever diminished in him only came that way by his own hand, not because Hell had swallowed his light. If she feared him- a fledgling, the lesser of them all- and knew she could never pick up sword and shield and hold him back from the Gates, then what right did she have to hold herself as anything but a speck in the presence of four of the greatest?
And something down there in Hell, growing hungrier and more cruel every day, had killed three of them and built its home with their remains.
She was nothing and Heaven was in danger and she couldn’t take this anymore. She snapped. “Please.”
Four sets of many eyes opened on her, beholding her with the perturbed expressions of adults who have been interrupted by a child tugging on their pants for the third time in an hour. It made her feel even smaller and yet she did not swallow the words threatening to choke her.
“We need to do something,” she said, voice husky with desperation.
That Michael was not dispassionate made her feel smaller still. She could almost feel herself shrink to Emily’s size as he approached her. “Until we can get better eyes on the situation, I don’t want to send anyone. It isn’t safe. You understand, right? I don’t want to feed it anymore of my siblings.”
“Is that all you need?” Lute sounded as though she had to fight to keep the scoff out of her voice, as well as an additional, crueler set of words. “Someone who’s been there? Someone who can still slip in undetected?”
Michael’s lip quivered as he fought to form syllables in the thrall of what must be passionate disappointment at her clear contempt. Failing to find the words, he swung towards Gabriel in frustration. Gabriel snapped to attention again, all but launching himself at Lute’s smaller form, his wings mantling. Her own snapped out in response.
“Woman, I will knock your catty bitch ass out. Say what you’re thinkin’ or don’t open your mouth holes.” A pause. “And don’t make big wings at me.”
Lute, once more, kept the altogether more scathing comments to herself, but her body language betrayed her from the way she leaned back to make herself seem bigger. Unlike Sera she would not be made small by them. Something about that terrified her. For someone to be that confident in the face of giants, what other giant must she know?
“Did you mean what you said? That if you had someone who could tell you about what’s happening in that putrid Garden, you would act? Put your halo on the table then, your eminence. I know a guy.”
That did not quell the unease that was starting to worm its way into Sera’s chest. It lodged there, behind her heart so every steady rush of blood to her organs felt as though it came at the cost of brutal torture. She walked behind the archangels, seemingly forgotten by all and thus neither invited nor uninvited to wherever Lute was leading them. She was nothing, insignificant. This narrative would play on with or without her and it would not matter.
It was a… heartening realization for a being who had kept the lights in Heaven burning while this lot hid and licked their wounds for ten thousand years. That thought might have turned her towards Lute had she allowed it to fester, but she held it for only a moment, until the bitter anise taste of it faded. Emily was on a dangerous path. Lute might be on one more dangerous still.
It was Pride that came before the Fall.
Sera would be happy to be an insignificant speck if it meant she remained true to her convictions. This was a lesson in humility, one that was sorely needed after so long of her being the most powerful. She deserved this.
It was with that thought that she settled into the role of pious furniture, following on the coattails of the great archangels, as they were led by the nose by a lowly Exorcist who spoke as though there were secrets threaded between the plates in her armor. It was good that she was here and ignored. She could keep an eye on things.
That was her job now, to watch. To observe. Lute gave little away now, beyond her confidence being striking. Anyone else would be shaking at the thought of wasting the archangel’s time. There was something dark around that Exorcist’s halo, like a cavity, like a festering wound, barely perceptible.
She was finally perceived as a fully functioning person with nerve endings and pain responses when, in her effort to understand what it was she was seeing in Lute’s halo, she slammed hard into Raphael’s back, having failed to notice that he had stopped. She wanted to apologize for following so closely, for not paying attention, for still existing, but he smiled so sweetly that she briefly forgot everything except the earliest dawn of creation and when she came back to herself he had already moved on.
There was loud rock music playing in the distance that put her painfully in mind of Adam. That unease within her intensified, unfurling like a flower to become genuine fear. The world was out of order.
Suddenly liberated from her desperate vie to make the world make sense again, she abandoned all sense of propriety that was right of someone of her station, flew forwards, past the archangels, all the way to the edge of a cliff that overlooked one of Heaven’s many pristine beaches. Someone was giving a concert. Someone with the same build, the same silhouette of horns, the same enthusiasm as a man she knew to be dead.
“Adam,” she whispered as the man below her gave a war whoop that was answered by a group of Virtues who did not seem to realize they were staring at a profound Wrongness in the universe.
“That’s not Adam,” Lute said, so close to her that Sera’s fingers brushed her chainmail as she pushed past her to stand right at the very edge of the cliff, half-kneeling, arm braced across one knee as she took in the sight of the proof that there was something worse than a dead angel crawling out of Hell like it was something to be proud of.
Sera didn’t need Lute to say it, but say it she did, and by speaking it, it became true. Up until this moment, she could have been a drone, remaining faithful to the hive, justifying every decision that simply didn’t make sense and adjusting herself to make herself more useful to the people around her, because so long as she could close her eyes and pretend she couldn’t see the flaws in Paradise, she could exist within the paradigm. All Heaven had to do was follow a single rule- Sinners could not enter Heaven, under any circumstances, without notice and without punishment. That was the farthest anything could go before she had to take a step back and realize that all those cracks she had been ignoring were wide enough to swallow her whole.
If she had taken a step back, she could have kept her hands clean of all the lies she’d never been warned about. She could have claimed ignorance.
If she had looked up to God for guidance, she might have found grace.
But she looked down and the doubt crept in, heralded by the two syllables that Lute whispered into the evening air where the very first breaker of a very dire Commandment- and therefore should be denied even the sight of Heaven- doing a power slide offstage and into a sandcastle.
“That’s Cain.”
