Chapter 1: Royal Rime & Lustful Rain
Chapter Text
Andrealphus, the Mighty Marquis of thirty legions, crooked his elbow and thrust the tip of an icy blade through forged steel. Nails to a board, the horrid screech of penetrated metal reflected off shimmering walls that were coated in rime. His narrowed eyes, with all the might of a stoic glacier, peered at the hole he had created. With malevolent steadiness, the rapier's blade withdrew, swishing back into a holding position. The Marquis' avian beak formed into a frown, smoothing back a cerulean head of hair as its crest jutted behind him.
"Off-centered by a single centimeter." A dueling mannequin stood before the Marquis, with no eyes to witness the cruelty being exhibited upon it. No mouth to cry out, no ears to hear the baritone language spouted before it, not even a pair of legs to trot away from the indignation; a doll of pain and nothing more. Andrealphus turned to gaze upon a nearby weapon rack, a variety of violent instruments dangling from polished and secured riggings. Axes, maces, spears, halberds, longswords, short swords, and even a flamberge for when he was feeling particularly feisty, stood before his judgmental glow. Raising his arm at a ninety degree angle, he examined the blade for nicks, his phantom reflection tempting his gaze away from perfection. He would not have it!
"Sire?" Up above on the second level, a familiar tone echoed into the practice ring. Flanked by two observatory railings, there was no way to tell exactly which the source of said voice emanated from, so Andrealphus spoke to the distant ceiling.
"I am present: speak."
"There is an urgent call awaiting you, sire. I do believe it is the Sin of Lust, Asmodeus, who begs for you ear. I informed him that you were busy, and not to be disturbed at this hour, but he was rather uncouth and -demanded- I fetch you."
"Oh, how delightful." Andrealphus tugged at the hemming of his fencing gloves, gaze turned downwards. "Inform him that I shall be there posthaste." Even as he proclaimed fealty to the Sin of Lust, a frown tugged at the edges of his ivory beak, on his way through the icy portcullis. Lengthy strides skated along estate floors, shimmering in the reflective allure of ice and cold. Each breath was visible, an ever-present indicator of life to follow the eternal Marquis. From the practice ring, Andrealphus traversed to his sitting room, frozen suits of armor guarding his every step as his entire bloodline observed his stride. Pristine tailfeathers traced over the icy ground, magnificent hues of frostbite and snow patterned into shimmering crystals. The sitting room was adorned with lavish, glaring furniture that huddled in a pentagon, in the middle of which lay nothing but a singular rotary phone atop a pedestal. Snapping up the handset and placing the receiver to his ear, the peacock cleared his throat. "Hmm, yes?"
"Andre!" came the cheery roar of Asmodeus himself; Lord of Lust, the embodiment of carnal temptation, savage and depraved sins of the flesh. Placing the voice to a face was easy enough, with three faces; one of a man, one of a bull, and the third of a goat. Two were bathed in the fires of Lust, while the third stood at the front to voice all of his doctrines. "How's my favorite, cold-hearted pheasant doing this evening?" Strangely, the Sin possessed a jovial voice, one that spoke in dulcet tones and encouraged free speech.
"Splendidly."
"Fantastic! Now, I'm ringing you up because we need to talk shop. I have the drafts for our next product line, and I require your keen eye to come on down to Lust and finalize them. The model references are already here, so make sure you arrive before they get cold." A crack of laughter peaked the receiver.
Andrealphus pinched his brows together, tongue worming at the confines of his beak. "Of course, and when do you require my expertise in this matter? It will take considerable time for me to reach that particular Ring, as you well know."
"Right, right; I always forget that you live so far away from me Andre! We should rectify that sometime and warm you up, if you know what I'm saying?" Another laugh blasted through, this time in a sequence of three. "Be here at the next chime, and I'll have the staff whip up some tea and those...little mice cakes you like so much. You know I'm remiss to see such horny creatures go, but for you Andre, it's worth it! See you soon!"
A sharp click signaled the end of their call. A measured and meticulous inhale of breath rode up the avians' nostrils, escaping in an equally measured exhale before he spoke. "Edmund, fetch my cloak and ready the carriage, I leave for Lust!"
Pattering rain assailed the single window Andrealphus had into the realm, the light jostling of carriage wheels unable to stir him from a dreary reverie. Neon signs aggressively gleamed against the slick backdrop of risque establishments, advertising all manner of carnal delights and temptations. Love hotel and strip clubs promoting all genders, massive fluorescent breasts and muscular torsos, and numerous hearts guarding the windows of more...pedestrian homes. Each and every sight passed by the Marquis' gaze, drawing all the excitement of a buzzing gnat from his expression. Cheek to glove, he closed his eyes and allowed the rainfall to whisk him close to slumber. Wrapped in a drapery of glittering ice that was mostly transparent, Andrealphus sank into the comforting leather seating and allowed his head to tilt towards the window. Just as his temple touched the glass and frost began to creep along it, the carriage lurched to a halt. Brushing his feathers back, the door opened, and the peacock crouched through the open door to step onto the modern, concrete street.
All rain that fell towards him became snow, drifting harmlessly onto the ground and melting after his stride carried him far enough. An opulent club stood before him, maw agape to swallow any passersby, decorated with a prestigious and glowing moniker, OZZIE'S. The building was marked with many hourglass shaped windows, heart-red shawls draped over the biggest examples, and strung lights lead the average onlooker's eye to a big-top circus tent. Atop of it was another glowing sign, this one proclaiming, ASMODEUS. The entrance was reminiscent of a tunnel of love, lined with bright lights and hiding half of itself under a pair of open curtains. For such an expansive building to have a near equally expansive line wasn't unheard of, and as Andrealphus scanned his gaze down the unending line of horny deviants, he stepped to the front of the carriage. Two gargantuan beasts of feline nature, pillar-like tusks descending from their wide muzzles, sat on all fours in waiting. Each beast was the size of a horse, clad in thick coats of spotted and striped fur, intelligence brimming in their large, orange eyes. Their tails were short and stubby, but accented with a splotch of black fur. Mighty, curved horns of bedrock peeked from their scalps and brows; a special breed of hellcat crafted in the harshest tundra of Hell. At the Marquis' presence, they rumbled and tilted their heads, Andrealphus indulging them with a pet behind round, fluffy ears and a solid pat on thick, muscular haunches.
"Mishka, Sasha, watch the carriage. Have a snack of the locals, if they bother you." Rumbles and purrs of contentment were the only response he received. "Good girls, Daddy will be back soon."
Andrealphus took another look over the lengthy line; it would take ages to enter. While he was eternal, there was nothing more dreadful than unnecessary boredom. A thick red rope blocked his path to the front steps, so he conjured a concentrated beam of cold that began to crystalize it! In seconds, the once thick material was rendered brittle, and shattered with a simple tap of the Marquis' talon. The rabble took notice and chittered intensely amongst themselves, but Andrealphus would not need to bother with their stares much longer. As his large, taloned foot touched the first step, a deep voice reached his ears.
"Name."
The sound came from below. Tilting his head south, a broad shouldered incubus stood in his path, barren of a shirt with only black pasties to cover the nipples, white diamond markings tracing down his muscular abdomen. Cuffs at the wrists, bottoms and shoes worthy of a butler, a properly tied bow at the neck, and a shining golden brow piercing to top off the ensemble. Two wings, unclear if flight ready or not, sat upon his back with all the leather of a bat. Snow-white hair, parted slightly only by two thick, black and white horns that jutted back and down at the back of his head, trailed into an equally ivory hue alongside his rigid jawline. Andrealphus should freeze the lesser demon for their impudence, yet...he couldn't wrest his gaze from that sharp-angled jaw. Geometrically perfect, sharp as a sword's edge, it was more than enough to draw the master of mensuration. While his attention was grabbed, his eyes were filled with nothing but cold, crystalline edges.
"...Andrealphus." The faintest hint of a smirk etched itself into the corner of beak, brow stoic as it resisted the urge to raise in disdain for the doorman. "I am expected."
"This is a couples only club, and I don't see anyone apart from you. No date, no entry."
Even from on high, he could see the gears slowly turning behind the muscular demon's eyes. A half-lidded gaze gleamed down upon him, one slender arm draping across the other, bending at an exact ninety degree angle. His wrist did the same, allowing his gloved hand to rest before his beak. "How amusing."
A scampering of cloven feet echoed from the bowels of OZZIE'S, until an imp burst out from behind the curtains. Sweat ran down his balding head and wrinkled brow, a thick moustache sheltering his top lip. "Jesse, what in Lucifer's name are you fucking doing?! This is Andrealphus, the Mighty Marquis of Thirty Legions!" Every syllable was spit, and the imp quickly bowed at the hip, one hand attempting to force the bouncer to do the same. "I profusely apologize for his unacceptable behavior, sire! Please, head right on in! Pay him no mind, and enjoy your evening with our most gracious host!" Tiny tremors wracked the little red demon's entire body, increasing violently as Andrealphus bent over to hover above his prostrated form.
The peacock's voice was no louder than a whisper, but dripped with the menace of an unsheathed blade. "Cease your groveling, before I freeze the piss to your leg. Now, move." Striding past the doormen, he slipped through the half-drawn curtains and into the club, his regal tailfeathers the last piece of him that any onlooker saw.
Hellish flames of purple, pink, and blue hues ruminated inside hanging sconces that lined each wall of OZZIE'S. Acrobatic demons, flying demons, waitresses and waiters all filled the main hall. Guests for the evening sat at their respective tables, a single candle laid between them as performers spun on stripper poles and strut down the long center-stage catwalk. A low buzz of energy, interrupted with the enamored hoots and hollers of the patrons, created a warm atmosphere for all to enjoy. Zero judgement lay within the club, a bastion of perverted delights, mean to sate even the most egregious appetites. Yet, this area was not meant for him, and he quickly ascended a nearby staircase; his business awaited above. An open bannister allowed him to gaze out onto the main hall and its events, yet nothing on display tickled his fancy. No sooner did he reach the top of the stairs, than a suit-clad Hellhound stepped in his path.
"Apologies, sire, but it's protocol."
As the mutt held out both hands, a gleaming blade of ice formed over one of Andrealphus' talons, hovering a millimeter above black shades. "Touch me, and they'll be using you to chill the drinks downstairs." Cold vapor fogged up those concealing glasses, and a crackle of frost creaked in the air. A mere prod would freeze the Hellhound to the spot, and Andrealphus would feel nothing. The hound held a finger to his earpiece, and gulped.
"L...Lord Asmodeus awaits you..."
"Glory." he replied in a placated tone, dispelling the talon of ice. The Hellhound moved aside until his back hit the wall. Andrealphus felt eyes on the back of his head the rest of the way to Asmodeus' office.
"Andre, it's so good to see you! I see you're as punctual as ever; right on the dot." All three of Asmodeus' heads tightened their lips and shook agreeably, the Sin's massive hand giving a brisk snap of the fingers. "That's what I love about you. Go on, sit, sit!"
Between two lavish and large chairs sat a coffee table, upon which was a spread of teacups, a teapot, a tray of cooked peppers stuffed with fried mice, and a closed binder brimming with documents. Drifting to the nearest chair, Andrealphus brushed his diamond embroidered cloak back over the armrests and crossed his lengthy, crooked legs at the ankles. "Your help has become sloppy, Asmodeus, brazen even."
"You know how things work around here. Do you expect me to just let anyone in? This is a classy establishment."
Andrealphus' beak slipped into a rift between a frown, a smirk, and a bemused tightness. "I am not just anybody. I am the pinnacle of class."
"I'll give you that, you sure know how to roll up in style. To tell you the truth Andre, I love you birdy bird, I truly do...but you scare the fuck out of my staff."
"Speaking of your staff..." He reached for the full to bursting binder, flipping it open and eyeballing the documents. Each was a sketch of a different body; gender, type, percentages of fat and muscle compiled in a clinical document. Along each limb, each stretch of muscle, and every gap in bone was a measurement scrawled in tiny text. Imps, Hellhounds, Incubi, Succubi, snake demons from the Wrath Ring, shark demons from Greed; it was extensive and detailed. "...is the bouncer you have working tonight new? What was his name, it's on the tip of my tongue...oh yes, Jesse. At least that's the name I believe I heard before his manager scuttled out and practically soiled himself at my feet." Andrealphus scoffed, flipping a page and immediately stabbing a talon tip against the parchment. "This formula is incorrect."
"Now see...that is the exact kind of shit I'm talking about Andre."
"Who's in charge of these measurements? I'd see them gutted for incompetence." His comment was followed by a reach for a stuffed pepper, grasping it between two fingers and taking a bite, eyes never leaving the documents.
"Do you know how ironic it is for me to tell you to chill a little bit?"
The Sin and the Marquis locked eyes, the room thickening with near unacceptable levels of professional awkwardness. Before it could boil over, Andrealphus took another sharp crunch out of his mice-stuffed pepper, steely gaze now locked on Asmodeus' centermost head. "I'd assume highly. I ask because I want him for a project."
"Focus on this shit first, and then we can talk about that."
Page after page was observed with unflinching, analytical eyes, errors immediately marked for correction. Not only did he spot the errors in milliseconds, but thought up the solutions just as quick. By page twenty, he re-engaged in small talk just to fill the room. "I've heard mutterings that my brother in law has been in your hair as of late."
"Stolas? Oh, nothing big, but yes. I wouldn't say in my hair, but you know, he's useful. He helped with some legal issues recently, that's all."
"Legal issues?"
"Contracts, basically."
"Should I be worried?"
"Of course not, it's already been handled; thing of the past."
All Andrealphus gave was a skeptical scoff, pen gliding across page after page. Error after error; faulty equations, missing measurements, no scaling, it was enough to nearly start a friction fire. Tailors could alter fabric to make adjustments if measurements were off, but they were not dealing with fiber. Flesh was their trade, and it had been found to prove far less malleable. There were no lack of plastic surgeons down in Hell, but they mainly existed in the first ring, which was under...complicated jurisdiction. As silence descended between the two demons, the scratching of the pen was all that existed. Soon, the pages crawled with elaborate cursive scrawling that overwhelmed the original text. "When your workers read over these notes, ensure they actually have the intelligence to understand the corrections. You know how I loathe babysitting supposed professionals into properly doing their job."
"I do, but their flaws have allowed us to come together; we might not have met otherwise."
A memory surfaced in the Marquis' mind, one from his formative years as a youth...
On a gloomy evening within the deeper rings of Hell, a young Andrealphus sat in his quarters within his family estate, holding a craft of his own making. A dazzling swan, just as graceful as the actual creature, smoothed to near perfection. As he sat on the floor and worked on the sculpture's final touches, his inexperienced touch snapped the thinly carved neck from the body, the entire head shattering as it tumbled and crashed onto the ground. The young Marquis wept; all the hours he had spent were dashed to nothingness. His undignified cries attracted the attention of his mother. A feminine shadow approached, head tilted down at the debris upon the ground. Her voice cracked and creeped as a glacier, as unfeeling and monotone as a mountain of cold would be.
"You've killed another one, Andrealphus."
"I...I didn't mean to." he sobbed, crystalline tears dropping from his wide, iridescent eyes.
"Yet, it still has died. You have undone that which you have toiled to achieve, and unmade that which could have been. Do you know what you did wrong?"
"I made the neck too thin...it snapped off. All I did was pet it." The young peacock gasped as his mother's shadow descended upon him, her iron grip smoothed out along the back of his head. Slender fingers traced against his nape, the sharpness of her nails raking slowly through his feathers. A sob wracked his tiny form, eyes blurring with tears.
"You made it too weak to withstand you, my dear, dear Andrealphus. It was imperfect, because you made it so, and in doing so, ushered it to a premature and ugly demise."
Andrealphus shuddered as he felt his mother's grasp begin to tighten, bearing down to the point that he believed his shoulders would break.
"When you create, you must understand the responsibility you inflict upon yourself. If your creation shatters it is because of your own imperfections, Andrealphus, and just like your creation, you will shatter just as easily."
He gasped, face yanked upwards to stare into the unending void that was his mother's face. In the depths of that bottomless darkness, a mimicry, a faint line of two eyes seemed to peer out towards him. Yet, he wasn't sure, a primal terror welling in his tiny heart that comes from a fear of the dark and the unknown. As his mother spoke for the final time, a cold, burning pain scorched the muscles in his nape as he wailed.
"My son will not shatter."
The memory faded, and Andrealphus' outward expression remained blank. The flurry of his writing hand returned to his ears, and Asmodeus' voice graced him once more soon after.
“So, you fill the other chair yet?”
Translucent, cyan eyes flicked upwards from the page, darting between all three heads. “No.”
“I could get you a hook up.”
“Asmodeus.”
“It wouldn’t be a problem at all.”
“Asmodeus.”
“There’s actually a janitor here who’s really into—”
“Asmodeus!” He slowly inhaled, the force behind it tempering the temptation to scowl into a passive line. “You know exactly why that’s not possible.”
“Honey, I understand that dating isn’t your thing, but if you just give it a shot…things might turn out differently this time.”
“Dating is not the issue.” Eye back to the page, the peacock etched three harsh lines in different locations, then scribbled down an assortment of numbers above each. “I have a duty, and it does not involve marriage or siring an heir.”
“Wasn’t it supposed to?”
The scribbling stopped, slender, covered fingers tightening against the pen. Breath Andre, breath; he’s a Sin, do not bark when you can eat. “My darling sister received that honor. After assessment from an early age, father always said that I was destined for more. I was the reliable one who got the job done, and my sister was…genetically viable to advance the bloodline. We all had our uses, and still do.” Twenty pages deep, the errors continued to appear.
Asmodeus stood, towering above the Marquis with teacup in hand; diminutive enough that it appeared as if a misshapen piece of broken glass was between those massive, blue fingers. “You know that it’s my job to know when you desire something, right? You can’t fool me, Andre. There’s still a flicker of lust in that frozen heart of yours. What’s the harm in letting yourself relax and have a bit of fun?”
“That’s a rather clever way of implying that I’m droll, Asmodeus. I assure you, my work is my joy, and the results are always pleasurable.”
“Mhm.”
“Did you jus—”
“You asked me about my bouncer earlier; let’s focus on that for a second. What sort of job did you want him for? If you needed someone to help you with -that- issue, I highly disapprove.”
Andrealphus’ grip on the pen slipped, and it tumbled to the ground with a clatter. A vein throbbed in the side of his temple, as he reached out to grab a cup of tea and hold it to his beak. “…I want him to be the new model for the next product line.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why?”
“He’s…rather angular.”
“And that’s all?”
“Yes.”
A smirk bloomed on the Sin’s faces. “My man stops you at the door, treats you like a commoner, you make his manager piss himself, and now you want to give him a job?” A heavy step fell behind Andrealphus’ chair; the Sin of Lust’s shadow loomed over him. Every shift in that massive body was felt in the primal senses of the Marquis’ mind, the stink of vanilla and brimstone, wax candles, and bubblegum latex. “Andre…are you lying to me?”
“…no.”
“Oh, I think you are; I’m certain you are, as a matter of fact.” Blooming blue flames flicked and danced in dazzling pink hues, yet to the Marquis they were nothing but a deadly inferno that threatened to scorch his cold exterior. “Tell you what…” Asmodeus’ gigantic blue hands established a firm grip on the peacock’s shoulders. “…I’ll indulge you, but you need to be the one to ask him.” The Sin already had a cellphone to his ear, as Andre turned his head to utter a retort. “Gina, send a replacement down to cover for Jesse, then send him to my office.”
“This is preposter—"
The doors to Asmodeus’ office opened and shut with a swift clack of the door handles. Jesse stood at rapt attention, hands behind his back, chin at a neutral level as his gaze locked upwards on his towering boss. “You wanted to see me, sir?” The muscular bouncer's brow slightly tensed as he spotted Andrealphus, and his heart rate increased.
“Jesse, my man, come in, come in; have a seat, grab a drink!” Every uttered word was honey, warm and coaxing with all the affection of an old friend. As the incubus obeyed his employer, his stance far too rigid to be natural or comfortable, his eyebrow piercing gleamed in the flames of lust. “Been working hard down there?”
“Yes sir.”
“That’s what I like to hear. You’ve already met Andrealphus.” Motioning to the peacock, the Marquis glanced Jesse’s way, eyes steeled to mask interior unease. In their stoic state, they were able to observe much more when the piddling rains of lust weren’t sullying his finery. A diamond pattern adorned the imp’s torso from waist to neck, a perfect jewel placed at the center of his muscular physique. Its’ tip trailed up between those firm-looking pectorals, the main body framing his abdomen muscles and navel and tapering towards the groin. Broad shoulders, accented by a healthy set of red-leathery wings, provided ample room to highlight a solid neck, all to support that sharpened jawline. Andrealphus’ fingers pressed onto his leather armrest, as a breath threatened to disrupt his regal posture.
“I apologize for not recognizing him at the door, sir!” Jesse dipped into a rigid bow, hands at his sides, wings ruffling as he adjusted. “Even after we had a guest registry update, I struggled to remember all of the Royal families, and did not realize at the time who I was speaking to. His name also wasn’t on the list, and he arrived by himself, and—”
“Yes, yes, and this is a ‘Couple’s Only’ club, I’m fully aware.” Asmodeus laughed. “Don’t beat yourself up for taking your job seriously, it’s appreciated; sit up.” A teacup clinked against a small holding plate and was raised to the demon’s main head, jagged lips taking a leisurely sip as his guests remained tense. He didn’t speak until the incubus was resettled. “I didn’t call you up here to punish you.”
“…Sir?”
“Andre and I are business partners. He is in charge of the mathematical aspects of our thriving sex industry, specifically the statue line; Andre?”
Trapped between his own dignity and the desires of a Sin, an ancient being as old as Hell itself, Andrealphus could only begrudgingly play along. “Only the finest references are used in the creation of our products. While there are a vast variety of…particular tastes, the masculine form is by far one of the most commonly sought. As a denizen of Lust, I should not need to educate you on the numerous qualities of masculinity, or what effects it has when applied improperly. That being said, you…” Hesitant to let the compliment slip from his beak in such an obviously positive manner, Andrealphus leaned on an elbow, fingers tightening enough to pop each one. “…possess the adequate geometry and je ne sais quoi to create such a product.”
Jesse stared, “You…want me to be a model?”
“…yes.”
Everyone grew silent. Jesse’s eyes flickered as his brain absorbed the information and pondered over it, formulating question after question that his lips were hesitant to speak. An icy stare glared over white gloves as Andrealphus awaited an answer with bated breath. Asmodeus sat his teacup down, and the resounding clink of ceramic to ceramic broke the stalemate.
“Will this affect my work, and will I be paid?” That question was on more than just one demon’s mind, as Asmodeus turned his tri-gaze towards his business partner.
“Those are two very good questions.”
A slow, deep inhale closed the Marquis’ eyes, and his shoulders briefly bent under the weight of his cloak before rising back up. “You will be paid an exorbitant amount of money for your time, and I shall work with Asmodeus to ensure your continued employment at this establishment.” Andrealphus stood and held out his palm, then a miniature snowstorm billowed to life to reveal an ornate business card, which drifted towards Jesse. “If you accept, simply contact this number.” Turning the page in his binder of documents, the peacock sank his discomfort into rapid pen strokes, which concluded the remainder of his corrections. “Asmodeus, here are the revisions. You always have my number.” He then stood and exited the room, royal feathers and finery dragging behind him.
As Jesse examined the card, attention halved between it and the Marquis’ exit, he jumped as the voice of Asmodeus suddenly wormed into his ear.
“I’ve worked with Andre for millennia. When he’s interested in something, he’s -interested-. My advice, take the gig; a little greed goes a long way. Now, go wrap up your shift and think about it, but when you make a decision, call me first.”
“Yes sir.”
As Andrealphus stepped back into his hellcat-drawn carriage, and the door magically closed behind him, he found himself staring out the window at OZZIE'S. What a curious evening it had been, though short, and his thoughts strayed back to moments prior. Would Jesse accept his offer? Perhaps, or perhaps not, but either way a choice was required. Such an arrangement was odd, but he was a Marquis, and what was the life of a royal without a dash of something new? All the way home, Andrealphus pondered the future and all that it might bring. A concept caused him to smirk and chuckle to himself, "An incubus in the family estate...what would mother think of me?"
Chapter 2: Birds in a Cage
Notes:
Enjoy, and leave a comment with your thoughts about the developing story; it's much appreciated!
Chapter Text
Pungent smoke cast a thin miasma throughout the Thirst Trap. Demons of all shapes and sizes played billiards, watched television, and drank at the bar, sharing the same general malaise. A song that was all too familiar, and yet instantly forgettable, filled what space general conversation and smoke did not. At the head of the bar stood a four-armed demon that poured drinks for nearby patrons. Bowls and small plates of bar food were served, along with plastic cups of dip, to anyone with cash and a hankering for a more modest meal. Smack dead in the center of the bar was a winged demon, red and leathery wings protecting the back of a leather jacket. Damaged skinny jeans, faded with time and abuse, covered his legs, and a black pair of biker boots protected his feet. Jesse was deep into his evening meal; two bowls of fried chicken livers, a green bottle of skunk beer, and a plate of fried mushrooms with dipping ranch on the side.
None of the other patrons paid him much mind, save the bartender. “Doing good tonight, Jesse?” she asked, polishing a glass while pouring two different beers and sliding them each way along the bar. “You’re eating a bit more than usual.”
Cheek full of livers, the sharp-jawed incubus raised his pierced brow in acknowledgment. “Bhg paieday Mod.” The confused and unamused look she shot his way prompted him to swallow all that food, which he did with a huge sigh. “Big payday, Maude! I figure I’m good for it.”
“What happened; your rent suddenly drop or something?”
A smile crept onto Jesse’s face. “Let's just say I got a big job offer.”
“Well, congratu-fucking-lations big kahuna. Does this mean you’re finally gonna pay off your tab?”
“Only after I’ve got the money…and paid off my more outstanding tabs.” The incubus drank the remainder of his skunk beer, then popped a fried mushroom into his mouth. “Tell you the truth, Maude, I’m nervous about it.”
“Hey, I’m your bartender, not your therapist. I’ll keep bringing you booze and drinks until you upchuck, I’ll even clean it up, but I draw the line at hearing about your personal shit.” The sound of shattering glass crashed over the music and mingling chatter of the patrons, which drew both Jesse and Maude’s attention. “Hey, don’t be breaking my fucking glasses!” As the four-armed demon stomped towards the commotion, Jesse found a smirk at his lips.
He reached into his pocket; the business card he received earlier that day still cool to the touch. His index finger couldn’t resist tracing over that seemingly laminated material, the fine print bumping gently against his prints. Jesse’s smirk slowly vanished, as he fished the card free and took his first honest look at it. Glowing, cyan numbers filled the center of a floral frame; six on the top, six in the middle, and six on the bottom. The card’s material was stark white, and a thin sheen of replenishing frost easily stuck to his fingertips. Asmodeus’ words echoed in his mind, ‘Call me first, when you make a decision.’ Jesse’s boot drummed against the railing of his barstool, as he slipped the card back into his jacket pocket. "Hey Maude, let me get a to-go box for all this!”
High in the Tower of Lust, within the deepest chamber upon the highest floor, a phone rang. Asmodeus, in the midst of a soothing bubble bath, groaned and peeled a cucumber slice off his eye. “Always when I’m bathing.” One massive, muscular, blue feathered arm reached over the rim of the colossal tub and snatched up the receiver. “This is Asmodeus.”
“Hello sir, I hope I caught you at a good time.” Jesse’s voice crackled through the phone.
“Jesse, good to hear back from you so soon! You already figure out what you wanna do about that job offer?”
“I…think I’m gonna take it.”
“Smart man; let me give you some pointers about dealing with Andre.” Asmodeus shifted in the tub, and bubbles, along with hot water, slapped against smooth marble. “One, dress warm. If I know him like I think I do, he’s going to want to work at home. That means your ass is going to trek all the way to his manor, and that bitch is cold. Two—”
“Sir, when you say, ‘that bitch is cold’, are you talking about his house, where he lives, or him?”
There was no response for a moment, and then eventually, “Yes. Two, do what he says, and I mean that shit. You do not want to get on the Marquis’ bad side. Three, don’t touch him. Andre tends to accidentally freeze things that violate his personal bubble. Four, if the man offers to feed you, fucking say yes. Last bit of advice I can give you is this, do not, under any circumstances, mention the paintings.”
“The paintings, sir?”
“Jesse, the fuck did I just tell you?”
“…sorry sir.”
“Just keep those things in mind, and you should be fine; you good?”
“If I say anything, is he gonna cut my tongue out?”
“Maybe, but if you get into any trouble, I’ll know, and I always take care of my own.”
Oddly touching, coming from a Sin, but Jesse felt warmth and comfort from the declaration all the same. “Thank you, sir, sorry for interrupting your night.”
“You’re good man, you’re good.” Asmodeus hung up the phone and sank back down into the water with a sigh. As he did, a white-faced imp with a shower cap on his head popped out of the water between Asmodeus’ legs, gasping for air. “You alright, babe?”
“Yeah, just—” a hacking couch interrupted the imp’s gravelly voice. He punched his chest and covered his mouth as air returned to his lungs. “I didn’t want to interrupt your phone call!”
“I think you just really wanted to challenge yourself.”
“Okay…fine, yes.” Fizzarolli wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “How’d I do?”
“It made me want to return the favor.” Asmodeus said with a seductive grin, before leaning forward in the tub to wrap the imp up against his chest.
“Oh, Ozzie!”
At the click of the phone, Jesse immediately began to dial a new number, a mutter under his breath to help him remember. The phone rang three times, and right before the fourth, he heard the line pick up.
“You have reached the estate of Marquis Andrealphus. His radiance is unavailable at the moment; to whom do I speak?” The voice was crisp, every syllable punctuated without a slip, like a finely tuned typewriter.
“Uh, this is Jesse, from OZZIE’S. Your boss told me to call this number; it’s about a job he offered me?”
“One moment…the Marquis has confirmed that he did indeed make such an offer. Do you accept the Master’s proposal, or do you require further information?”
“I’ll take the job.”
“Glory. In three days', time, a parcel shall arrive at your personal abode. Open it posthaste and observe the contents within. Then, follow them to the letter, and your employment shall be official. Failure to comply with the instructions will nullify the employment offer.”
With a click, the call disconnected.
“…the fuck?”
Hellish streaks of dark, bloody light painted the arctic horizon. Eldritch hues of stunning, cosmic cerulean stars glimmered in the abyssal skies, the darkest of the ice giants visible to Andrealphus. Glass of red wine in hand, wrist idly twirling to stir the heady aroma, he gazed out from atop his balcony at the landscape before him. Bitter winds whistled against his crystalline fortress, their screams whimpering back into the frozen snow mounds below. A single sip of red wine was enough to put an endcap on his stargazing, his cloak flowing along the floor as he turned on a heel and retreated inside. A spiral staircase instantly greeted him, acting as the spinal column for the entire tower. Any fall from such a height would vaporize whoever was unlucky enough to slip over the banister, but Andrealphus had traversed these steps from a young age. His palm ghosted above the fine ivory railing, as the Marquis hummed to himself. Down along the royal banners, his musical inclination grew to a higher pitch. In the vast quiet of his home, who better to provide momentary company than an echo? Eventually, his talons touched the bottom step, and Andrealphus glanced back up the staircase. “Shame, I was rather enjoying myself."
Freed from his own tower, wine glass three-quarters drank, his attention turned to a far less leisurely matter. Through an open archway, two lines of displayed, armored suits stood in procession before him. Towering, weighty iron stared forward; a mighty halberd clasped in a singular gauntlet. Each suit was identical in appearance and mannerism; unflinching, unfeeling, vacant. No wind could penetrate the windowed halls of his manor, leaving the sole clacking of his talons against the polished floor as the only sound to be heard. At the end of the hallway was another open archway, and through it stood his butler, Edmund.
“Did you enjoy the view, Master Andrealphus?” A sharp dressed imp, gray and peppered hair pulled back to stretch a tight widow’s peak, stood at attention with impeccable posture. Two curved horns, reminiscent of a goat, sat on either side of his head. His face was vacant of any facial hair, yet a small scar on his chin and a set of deep blue eyes more than made up for it.
“To be truthful, it was rather dull.”
“Perhaps this news will brighten your mood, then. A gentleman named Jesse called to accept your offer of employment. I passed along the details, and the parcel is constructing as we speak.” His master’s face shifted from a weary gaze to an alert cock of the brow, if only slightly. Anyone else would have missed it, but not Edmund.
“Excellent; tell me, how did he sound?”
“At first, hesitant, but when I asked him the most vital of questions, his answer was resolute and short. I dare say, he likely lacks the social graces to commune with royalty in a proper manner.”
“I can attest that he at least knows when to bow…and grovel. Walk with me, Edmund.”
“Of course, sire.” The towering peacock and the miniscule imp traveled deeper into the manor, passing through the kitchen and the foyer to a room on the opposite end. Tiny hooves tapped against the floor in greater tempo than the graceful slice of the avian’s large talons. They passed through the open arch, the only thing in their way a translucent set of shimmering drapes that did not even brush Andrealphus’ crest. Another hallway, this one capped with a gigantic, wooden door at the end. “Master, may I be bold?”
“You may.”
“It has been an age since anyone outside of the royal family has set foot inside the manor. While I trust your judgement with my entire being, I must pose the question; are you certain it is wise?”
“He will be kept under strict observation; those particular details, I’ve prepared myself. If he were to go wandering, he would not find much.”
“Even in the upper wings, sire?”
“Especially in the upper wings, Edmund.”
“Shall I assume that during these visits, you are not to be disturbed for any reason, sire?”
“You shall. If I need you, I will summon you, but not a peep beforehand, understood?”
“Of course, master.”
As they approached the colossal, great wooden door, the hinges began to creak and bend. Heavy, burdened maple stood aside with all the grace of an elder, eventually creating enough room to allow full passage through. Inside was Andrealphus’ workshop; a refuge on his darkest days. Half-formed ice sculptures lined the center of the room, a low chair sat next to an unaltered cube of ice, and a workbench housed neatly organized blueprints. Next to the bench was a tool rack containing ice picks, chisels, and mallets. Unlike the rest of the manor, there were no windows to the outside. Andrealphus gestured forward with a flat palm, and every ice sculpture slid across the floor, stopping at the far wall. With one hand tilted down and fingers to the sky, a chair of ice formed in one particular spot of his imaginary circumference. Quickly calculating the radius of the required space, Andrealphus waved his wrist. Edmund scurried forward, a large, square platform gripped in his tiny arms, and placed it directly where the peacock pointed.
“Perfect.” Andrealphus crooned, with a final sip of his wine. “Lock it up for the evening, Edmund.”
Right as the Marquis turned to leave, the ring of a phone echoed from the foyer. A call, at this hour? Waving away his servant’s attempt to rush and answer the phone, he strode down the hall to answer it himself, his evening dress fluttering. His mouth turned downwards as he snatched the phone off the receiver. “Do you have any idea what hour it is?”
“Uncle Andre?”
“…Octavia?”
The heir to the Goetia throne found her back to a wall, cellphone pressed tightly to her ear. Deafening music pounded in the background, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol filled the air; she could hardly hear. What she did hear, however, was the reassuring tone of her uncle; he’d be there soon. All she had to do was meet him outside the building in five minutes. She could do that; could easily do that with time to spare. Octavia pocketed her phone; all she had to do was walk downstairs, make her way through a sea of party goers, and walk out the front door.
Shoulder to shoulder and back to back, a muddy sea of demons were all that stood between her and freedom. Why’d she ever come to this party? She didn’t know anyone, but it was better than being back at Goetia Manor. Yet, that didn’t stop her from turning a few heads. Random catcalls and lingering glances shot Octavia’s way as she bumped by body after body. Eventually, right when it seemed that she was finally out of the crowd, two demons stood blocking the door.
“Hey baby, where you headed?” A hellhound’s rabid, yellow eyes peered into Octavia’s soul, their patchy brown fur shedding at every twitch. Ratty clothing, too many belts, and an abhorrent smell immediately marked him as an undesirable person to talk to. Before she could answer, another demon spoke.
“Looks like she’s trying to leave the party!” a shark demon, too much jewelry hanging around his neck, laughed.
“Guess she’s not having fun. We should help fix that problem, right boys?” an imp sneered, a spiked helmet covering her eyes.
Octavia took a step backwards, glancing over her shoulder to see if she could retreat. “I’m good, just looking to go outside and get some fresh air.”
“Oh, come on, don’t you just love that thick, party stench?” Both nostrils flared, the hound taking an exaggerated inhale that swelled his chest and hollowed out his stomach. Pronounced ribs mashed against a skull-decorated shirt. “Have some smokes with us and we’ll show you a good time.”
“Yeah, a great time!” the imp giggled; hands jammed down into her pockets.
“Come party with a real gangster, baby! I’ve got some party tricks that will ruffle your feathers!”
As the three demons surrounded Octavia from the front, their laughter rang above the noise of the party. With her back to the crowd and her forward options gone, there was nowhere for her to go! Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t get through all of them. The collective cackling continued, when the imp began to shiver, her breath misty and visible.
“F-f-fuck, who opened a window?!”
The shark shivered as well, hands cupping over his gills, “Shit, it’s f-f-freezing!”
With a thunderous crash, the front door flew open, its impact powerful enough to snap the metal hinges straight off. Bone-chilling wind poured into the party house, the occupants wailing in surprise and anger as winter’s bite assaulted their unwilling bodies. Frost infected the walls and floor, spreading like a cancer, crackling as it painted a snowy portrait in dazzling swirls and waves. In seconds, the room went from a foggy smoke shack to a frozen cave, and a deadly hush descended over the room.
Andrealphus’ foot talon impaled the sheet of ice below him, head cocked high, blistering cyan eyes piercing through everyone present in the room. Where there was once sinful merriment and revolting intent, only fear and confusion brewed. No one dared speak a single word, widened eyes and shivering limbs a testament to the Marquis’ aura. The three demons in front of Octavia were no exception, and as the peacock laid his icy gaze upon her, he spoke.
“Octavia, darling, come.” Miniscule tapping from her talons echoed through the stark silence, as she slipped into the protective grace of her uncle. Gratitude and awe swarmed the inside of her teenage mind, the reflective glimmer of his magic dancing in her glowing, crimson eyes. As she finally tilted her head towards his face for guidance, she saw only a statue of a man. He didn’t look her way. “Go wait with Edmund in the carriage. I shall be along shortly.” The young Goetia turned out the open doorway, without argument. Andrealphus’ gaze dropped onto the three demons in front of him and tightened. Raggedy, malnourished, sickly, pungent: lower class trash. Their words, which he had the grand misfortune to her on his way up the steps, carried an extra layer of nausea. “Do you know…who that girl is?” As an ice pick to a slab, his words crashed and dug into the silence, shattering it.
“We—”
The hellhound was the first to speak, his whole utterance a mystery as Andrealphus’ hand crashed into his face. Thick, royal digits gripped the demon’s face, rooting him to the spot and muffling his cries. Anxious whimpers burst into agonized screams, as his body began to freeze from the head on down. He thrashed for his life, but the peacock’s grip was too powerful, those furry legs stomping and thing arms flexing to free their host from a grim fate! Only when the ice clawed down his esophagus and crushed his lungs did the sickening gargling cease entirely. Everyone watched in horror, their symbolic, freezing fear brought to life before their very eyes. The Marquis regarded the newly created statue with a steely glare, his grip tightening further until the ice began to crack and splinter. In a burst of crystal, the hound’s head shattered into fragments, not even a drop of blood to show he was previously alive.
Hot fear thawed the imp’s legs, and she leapt for the door. A wall of spikes formed from the ground and shot diagonally forward, impaling both legs and rooting her in place. The slender demon’s cries grew increasingly frenzied as the Marquis turned her way. His large, gloved hand gripped the nape of her neck, and her body quickly succumbed to the fate of her now deceased companion. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, don—” Her pleas froze in her throat, that final expression of terror locked in time forevermore. A knock of Andrealphus’ knuckle shattered her memorial.
Only one remained; he crawled rapidly along the slick floor, jewelry jingling against his neck. The shark demon, having just watched his two companions perish, made a desperate lunge for a nearby window. His frame launched through the air, only to plummet straight to the ground and knock the air from his lungs. Terror flooded his heart, as the thunderous clacking of talons grew louder behind him. “Someone help, this bird is fucking crazy!” No one stood to his defense, physically or vocally; the power balance was more than clear to them all. The shark demon tilted his head, eyes widening as the towering peacock bore down upon him. He tried to roll out of the way, but was simply trapped on his back soon after, having failed to miss the Marquis’ descending foot. Vision obscured by a heavy, taloned foot; the demon screamed as the pressure on the back of his head increased. Two hands grabbed at the thinnest section of the avian’s ankle, trying to wrest the leg away and escape to freedom. Only when the pressure increased, it became difficult to breathe, and a migraine began to form did the situation become clear. One final scream was cut short before the lesser demon’s head burst like a watermelon, now-useless eyes and brains splattering over the icy floor.
Andrealphus wiped his gore-covered foot on the slain demon’s shirt, further black blood welling to the surface of tearing skin. Since entering the room and slaughtering the three demons, his expression hadn’t changed. Even as he turned his head to the mortified partygoers, their evening summarily ruined and their minds stained with the power of a single royal, it was unflinching. Cape whipping as he turned, the Marquis strolled out the front door and down the steps, his footsteps the only sound for miles until he opened the carriage door. Octavia sat inside, knees to her chest in a tight hug, eyes wide as she stared at her uncle, who hoisted himself inside and closed the door. “Hello, my dear, let’s get you home.”
Octavia spoke nary a word to her uncle, as the world passed by her unseen. The only indicators that she had were the momentum of the carriage and the rattle of its wheels. When the silence finally broke with the sound of her uncle’s calm, steady tone, she flinched.
“Why were you in Gluttony?”
“Be…I didn’t want to be at home, so I snuck out.” Octavia’s form shrank under the peering of her family member.
“You didn’t want to bask in the riches of your father, so you crept into the night to converse with common rabble. Octavia—”
“It’s not like that, alright?! Dad is…he’s…” The young owl’s shoulders sank as she sighed, “…he’s acting strange.”
Andrealphus perked a brow, his niece’s social slight against him already forgiven. “Acting strange, Stolas? You’ll need to provide far more detail, my dear.”
Octavia folded her arms and looked away. Her hesitation wasn’t unique for a teenager, but something about the way her eyes narrowed caught Andrealphus’ attention. It wasn’t the glare of someone holding back tears or trying to conjure a memory, but of one who was hesitant about what might come out of their mouth. “He went out earlier to meet with his…boyfriend. Dad said he was going to ask him a really important question. When he got back, he was…” Octavia’s head finally turned, her red eyes lightly glistening. “…I’ve never seen him like that before, Uncle Andre.”
Andrealphus reached out his hand and set a finger in the path of a singular tear that dripped down the young princess’ cheek. The moisture morphed into a thin, frosty veil atop his glove. “Tears do not befit a Princess, my dear Octavia. Your father shames his station by acting in such a manner; it’s why I don’t wish for you to follow his example by communing with lesser demons.”
“They’re not bad; I’ve met them, they’re just trying to get by.”
“Is that what I witnessed back there? Honest souls just looking to get by?” Her mouth opened, but no words emerged. She couldn’t argue; what would she have done if her uncle hadn’t arrived and bailed her out? “There are reasons as to why you are above them, Octavia, and their jealousy permeates across every one of their kind. They crave your power, your influence, your body, and will gleefully strip you of it all should you allow them. You are destined for a higher calling, one that the universe has deemed most necessary, and I will be twice damned if I allow that to be taken from you.” As Octavia absorbed her uncle’s words, the carriage slowed to a complete stop. Andrealphus opened the carriage door and stepped onto the cobblestone drive, the opulent marble steps of Goetia manner mere feet away. His niece emerged shortly after. “I shall have a word with your father; it is his responsibility to raise you properly so that these temptations don’t sway you. Where is he?” The question was asked as the peacock ascended the steps and opened the front door.
“He was…in the library, but I don’t think he’ll be awake!”
“Then I shall wake him.” As the Marquis strode into the halls of Goetia Manor like he owned it, he felt Octavia’s gaze follow him the entire way to the library. Whether it was to ensure he didn’t become lost, worry for her father, or just curiosity about her uncle’s temperament was unclear. When he entered through that final doorway, the sensation vanished. The ovular room was dark, nary candle or crystal to light the way. At the center of the room, beyond a pairing of Goetian busts and large candelabra was an ornate desk stacked with books and globes. A singular, unmoving figure sat in the darkness, torso splayed out across the desk. Andrealphus walked forward, and the sound of his steps stirred the figure. Four dimmed, red eyes peered out from the darkness, half-full and slowly blinking in solidarity. The clink of bottles barraged the air, rolling across the table and falling to the floor before rolling away to depths unknown. The Marquis did not speak, and stopped at the center of the room to stare at the shadowy figure. “Are you not of royal blood, Stolas Goetia?”
“Andrealphus…what are you—”
“I just retrieved your daughter, the one destined to succeed you, the future of the Goetia bloodline, from a rat-infested house party two Rings down.”
“…how did you get in my house?”
“Are you even listening? Octavia called me, terrified, who knows what would have occurred had I not arrived when I did?” Andrealphus strode towards the desk and placed both hands upon it, towering down over his brother-in-law. Finger joints popped, muscles tensed, and wood creaked as the weight of royal strength tested the desk’s craftsmanship. “Your daughter is the future of this royal house, as well as mine. What is more important than that? What takes higher priority than the shining star of our family?” The entire time, those four red eyes strayed from the Marquis’ cyan stare and all its judgement. Harsh admonishment hardly invited welcoming glances, after all. As the peacock’s gaze intensified, clarity struck as inspiration often does, out of the blue. Pieces fell in just the right places, the infidelity and all its details clasping together to create utter clarity, to which Andrealphus lowered his tone for the first time. “Is it that imp?”
Stolas’ eyes brightened, if only slightly, at the final question.
A sickened and indignant sneer split the Marquis’ beak. “Of course, it is.” he spat. “You’d rather run off with some demonic trash than raise your daughter.”
“Don’t...you...dare.”
“You possess the power of the stars, live as a King, command legions of demons, watch over the prophecies of the universe and even bless the moon; and yet none of it is as valuable to you as some shitty circus freak.” Stolas’ raging glare was met with an equal, refined mirror, Andrealphus’ contempt for his brother-in-law threatening to bubble over into something far uglier. “You broke the rules, your oath of stewardship over the Grimoire, for some lower-class cock. You’ve betrayed the oath you swore to my sister on the day you both were wed, and now you betray your daughter by forsaking her love in favor of someone who only uses you for your royalty, the exact thing I have warned Octavia about countless times! If you are meant to be her father, I cannot fathom a worse example; one who throws away a proud legacy rooted in the power of the very universe, betrays his duty mandated by fate itself, and balks at the consequences of his actions behind a false concept of love!”
The prince’s posture rose, allowing Andrealphus a better look at him in the glow of their eyes. Tear-stained cheeks, blouse ruffled and messy, a trail of green dripped down his beak; the cleansing stink of absinthe. His crested head was undone, improper, an ironic bird’s nest. His chest feathers rose, a breath expanding the owl’s ribs…and fell as he sighed. “Do I not deserve to be happy? Do we not all? Is duty all that we can aspire to? I do not want that life for my daughter, Andrealphus. I…I want her to be free to make her own choices, to find what gives her joy and the will to cultivate a future that she can be happy with.” A small scoff slipped from Stolas’ beak. “Yet, how can I free my daughter from her cage if I cannot even escape my own?”
The Marquis remained silent, for he could not answer such a profound question. All he could give was a cold truth, and it would likely fail to stir the Goetia at all. In checkmate, Andrealphus turned and strode from the room. Upon closing the door, he paused, and a low sob crawled from the now closed room.
Chapter Text
A sea of stars wrapped around Andrealphus and astral water flowed over his feathers. There was no moisture, only temperature. It was a soothing cold, akin to one used to soothe a sprain or a headache, enveloping the Marquis in waves of meditation. Stardust touched his fingers, danced around his limbs, and rejuvenated his mind. After the previous day’s events, he needed it. Burdens of nobility weighed heavily on his mind, Stolas and Octavia at the forefront. While Octavia knew she was always welcome in his home, he knew her heart laid with Stolas. He could never replace the prince as a father figure; the power of thicker blood was simply too strong. An unfamiliar sensation sparked across his mind, which disrupted the meditation. With ruined reverie, Andrealphus drifted free of the star field, his bare body dripping with glimmering, cascading starlight. In the frigid temperature of his home estate, his feather’s provided natural protection, aiding his developed tolerance after existing within the frozen walls and biting winds for so long.
His towering form, slender muscular structure basked in the light of femininity, strode forward to pick up a thin bathrobe. It helped add a layer of decency, but the Marquis’ stride easily parted that robe and displayed a large amount of thigh. Turning back to the cylinder of stars he had just emerged from, Andrealphus ran his fingers back through the comforting cold of space. Amongst the stars, his mind similarly drifted; back to that trip to OOZIE’S, back to his first encounter with the incubus he had invited into his home. Had it all simply just been for the sake of geometrical excellence…or was there more? Resolute, he slowly shook his head; no, of course not, he was not as lowly as Stolas. His heart was not as corruptible, or as foolish to believe in such falsehoods. Bemoan the day upon which Andrealphus, the Mighty Marquis of Thirty Legions, was made a fool by the weakness of the heart.
“Edmund!” The tone was sharpened, but not elevated. It wasn’t a bark or a yell, but a brisk command wrapped in a singular word. As quickly as he was called, the imp appeared in a nearby doorway. “Answer a question for me.”
“Of course, sire.”
“Why…” Andrealphus did not turn, did not glance, or even picture his butler within his own mind. “…did I have him wait three days?”
“Are you speaking of the incubus, sire?”
“I am.”
“I do not know, sire.”
“Humor me.”
A light pattering of hooves, as the imp entered into the room, and his gaze drifted onto the many pictures along the walls. Ornate, silver frames decorated the edges of multiple photograph that preserved the family lineage. Anderalphus’ father, his grandfather, and his great grandfather, each visage more decorated than the last, stared outward with unflinching eyes. “Loneliness is a complicated matter, sire. There has been an absence ever since your mother left.” Edmund rested his eyes upon the portrait of his master’s father and grew quiet for a moment. “As for your father—”
Stars shattered, the entire cylinder collapsing in on itself as an ear-splitting snap tore through the air. Spilling onto the floor and cascading around the Marquis in a beautiful and violent display, the shimmering matter of space soon dissipated entirely, cloaking the room in a dim sea of darkness. All that remained was the glow of the Marquis’ eyes, and the cerulean magic that twisted around his fingers. Andrealphus finally turned, face on the precipice of what lay beyond a contemptuous scowl, restrained solely by his royal demeanor and cold heart. In less than five steps, he was out the door.
“Very good, sire…” Edmund sighed, watching with heavy eyes as his master left.
In the midst of unpleasant memories, the glamor of his home gleamed in the sun and narrowed the peacock’s gaze further. Past plated suits of armor, banners, and towering windows, he strode alone, the only sound the clacking of his talons. Straight to his royal bedchambers, their guarding doors flew open and slammed shut with a bang, leaving Andrealphus alone once more. Powers replenished, a tempest of boiling emotion in the palm of his hand, destruction glowed in his eyes. Temptation; what was another snowstorm? What was a tornado of hail, an avalanche, or even a furious tempest? Each and every natural disaster of blistering cold and piercing rain was at his fingertips! Yet, even still, his fingers twitched in hesitation, creaking into a fist to snuff out the potential wildfire.
Andrealphus stared at the nearby rotary phone, his balcony door also drawing his eye. There was a vast distance between the two, but both called to him in equal measure. Perhaps a particular phone call would calm him…or the vistas and wide mountain ranges of the hellish landscape. Ultimately, he decided to ignore the urge to pick up the phone and instead pushed open his balcony doors. Endless stretches of frozen land filled the horizon, a steady showering of snow keeping the ground glittering and frozen. He held out his palm, uttered a soft whisper, and as he did so a ghostly butterfly formed. With a simple, soft blow of air, the butterfly fluttered away and into the distance, Andrealphus’ desire its sole purpose in life.
“Show him to me…”
“There ain’t no sunshine in Hell!” An electric guitar riff blasted through Jesse’s apartment, as a skillet smoked atop the stove. A seven hundred square foot space, with a single bedroom and bed, was all the incubi had, but he made the most of it! Couch, television, coffee table; the living room was basic as basic could get with all of the living essentials. His kitchen was a sink, an oven, and a fridge lined up next to one another, taking up an entire wall of space. Tapestries and artwork covered the walls outside of his kitchen, flanked by thin bookshelves that were stacked to the brim with tomes. Thick tomes, thin tomes, tomes on music, tomes on film, and many more lined every shelf. Fantasies lined the pages with equal fervency to those who held practical knowledge, theories and guides abound for the inquisitive mind.
Jesse’s rectangular phone sat in pocket, blaring the rock music that he danced along to as he cooked. The aroma of bacon and sausage sizzled to life, as the incubus turned and flipped each with a set of metal tongs. A single window sat in his living room; blinds drawn, didn’t want anyone knowing he was home. In a set of fluid motions, the incubus snagged a plate, a fork, and a glass all from the drying rack next to his sink. Five sausages and eight strips of bacon dropped onto his plate, his bass tone humming along to the song as he grabbed a carton of orange juice from the fridge.
Once his breakfast was served, Jesse reached into his pocket and turned off the music, his attention fixed on watching some television. The felt couch was warm, and although it was worn and torn in a spot or two, the incubus never had better sleep elsewhere. Leaning forward in his seat as the news channel flickered on, he rolled his broad shoulder and packed up two sausages at once for a big bite.
“Today’s top story, a house party in the Gluttony Ring ended with cold reception. Three demons were killed in, what was described as and I quote, ‘The most fucked up shit, I’ve ever seen, and I’m from Lust!’ We go to our field reporter for the story.”
“Thanks Jim. I have several witnesses here who saw the entire event go down, and out of the half-hundred that were present, are the only ones willing to come forward. What can you tell us about the incident?”
“So, we were just hanging out, right? Beers, smokes, music, fucking; nothing weird, nothing sketch. All the sudden, the fucking front door fucking flies off its ass, and this giant…ice chicken walks in! It talked some shit, killed three dudes, then dipped.”
“An ice chicken?”
“Yeah! It thing had these beady, blue eyes and was tall as a motherfucker! It smashed a dude’s head…”
“And what about you, ma'am, what did you see?”
The camera moved to a sniffling hellhound; hands jammed into a loose hoodie pocket. Jesse ate another piece of bacon as he observed her puffy eyes and sniffling nose. “It all happened so fast…I’m just talking with some friends about crypto, looking at a cute dude’s ass, then I just hear screaming…” She rubs at her arms, mashing down against the puffy material to show just how thin her arms are underneath the sleeves. “I’m still cold…still so, f-fucking cold…”
“Mmhm, mmhm; wait…” the reporter held a finger up to their ear. “…I’ve just received more information from the investigation team. The body of Dario Bernardi, who has been linked with multiple organized crime incidents within the Greed Ring, has been identified among the dead! Could this have been a mob hit? Back to you Jim!”
Jesse hit the mute button on his remote, his plate now vacant save all but the fork, and stood up to go clean his teeth. “Just what we need, more of that gang shit going on…Hope it doesn’t slip into Lust.” The muscular incubus stepped into his bathroom for the daily inspection. His ivory locks smoothed back with ease, muscular neck tilting as his demonic tongue traced over those pearly white fangs. Biceps clenched as Jesse moved both arms behind his head, tightening his core and striking a pose in the mirror, tongue still on his teeth. A wall of red muscle rippled up his abdomen, two firm pecs guarding his thick collarbone, trailing up into the protein enriched fingers of his neck. He turned to the side, hands on his hips, demonic tail curling upwards as he flexed an arm for a bicep check. Solid bulk with decent definition, as if lightly carved, formed into view as he flexed. “Fuck yeah.”
Sharp teeth bared themselves in the mirror, their owner grabbing a string of floss and curling it around two fingers before putting it to work. Not only did he have to look presentable, but he also had to smell presentable too, and decaying food between teeth was always a bad look. Asmodeus never settled for anything less when it came to representing his club; standards were strict, and falling short would be rewarded with a swift kick out the door. Working for a Sin was…interesting, no different than any previous job he’d had, except for the fact that the pay was much better, there were actual benefits, and Asmodeus actually seemed to give a shit. One last inspection laid his mind at ease, but then goosebumps traveled up his arms.
“Did I leave a fucking window open or something?” In search for the source of the sudden chill, the incubus wandered into his bedroom to check the window. Parting the blinds, a set of thick, blackened bars sliced the outside world into quadrants, but there was no cool air seeping through the glass. Satisfied, Jesse shut the blinds and moved onto the only other window in his apartment; the living room window. Parting a second pair of blinds, Jesse placed his hand to the glass, and naught but the warming moisture of Lust’s rain touched his palm. As he pulled his hand away, the warmth was immediately replaced with a brisk chill. “Is it the damn air conditioner? I don’t even remember turning that shit on!” Over to the wall he strode, annoyance causing his tail to flick and whip in the open air. He stared at the panel; nothing was wrong. Perturbed, Jesse began walking to his bedroom to grab a shirt, but along the way spotted something peculiar; a nearly translucent butterfly atop the one book not on his shelf.
Wary, Jesse bent his knees and crept forward, one hand out as if to snatch the butterfly should it attempt to flutter away. In response to his stealthy approach, the misty creature hopped on its tiny legs to face the incubus, wings softly fluttering as if in an attempt to communicate. Despite this, the promise of a warm apartment was too powerful, and Jesse rolled a magazine up in his hand. He raised his arm, and right as he was poised to swing down, a distant and booming chime breached the walls of his home. Jesse froze, “Shit, the train!” In a flurry of movement, the incubus threw on a quick set of clothes and ran out the door. Several clicks of locks snapped to attention, and a series of hurried steps slowly faded away, the butterfly forgotten.
Two hours later, Jesse stood in the heart of Gluttony, eyes locked on a scratched and heavy steel door. He dealt a leisurely rap to its brutish surface, which caused a door slot to snap open. Two red eyes glared in his direction. “Password.”
“Tangerine Sunshine.”
The door slot slammed shut, followed by the sound of multiple locks clacking and jingling, before it opened wide. Jesse stepped inside, turning his head to look at the doorman, who was already halfway through closing the door. A towering creature, head hidden between a wide brim hat and a tall coat collar, bent at the middle to look down at the shorter demon. “Are the girls on tonight?” Jesse asked.
“Always; you’ve got an hour. Have fun in there, Jesse.”
“Thanks Ricky.”
Both demons bumped fists, twirled their knuckles over one another’s, before knocking elbows and ending with a side five. Bouncer solidarity was a beautiful thing! Fingering his pockets, Jesse descended the hallway, barely a bloom of light to guide his way. The deeper he went, the brighter it became, one guiding light at the end of the tunnel to ensure he arrived at his intended destination. Golden light poured over him as he stepped over the end of the line…and into a dazzling nightclub.
Neon panels of varying colors filled a square pit at the center of the room, flanked by tables and chairs on the elevation just above. Booming music and the cheers of happy demons mixed together in a cloud of atmosphere that permeated every inch of the club. Fluorescent yellow lights hummed quietly under the crowd’s dull roar, drinks were being consumed at every angle and opportunity, and demons of all kinds were present. Hellhounds, incubi, succubi, imps, and even a few avians of higher rank filled the tables and dancefloor. At the far end of the room was a wide stage that sat vacant, until the current music scratched to a halt and an unknown voice began to speak over the crowd. “LLlllllladies and gentledemons, I hope you’re all still having a great time, because it’s about to become even greater! You all know who’s about to hit the stage; the one, the only, our fabulous Mistress of the Night, Bella Ambrosia!”
The crowd fell to a hush as all eyes fell center stage, the lights dimmed, and a new track began to play over the speakers. Immediately, a keyboard began to play, followed by a variety of string instruments that grew to a crescendo. At their peak, a crimson cloud of sparkling starlight exploded onstage, and a feminine voice sang out with the instrumentals.
“Baby, you can…” A set of slender gloved hands burst from the cloud, wreathed in black velvet. They parted the cloud, and a tall, elaborately dressed bat burst forth, her magnificent wings stretching with the movement of her arms. Scarlet rubies danced in her sockets, large bat ears and a triangular bat nose framed her dark-furred face, but her voice was that of a siren at sea.
“…find me under the lights! Diamonds under my eyes. Turn the rhythm up, don’t you wanna just come along for the ride?”
As she began to sing to the music, her body turned and twisted in a choreographed dance number, glimmering golden earrings bouncing along both of her ear ridges. “Oh, my outfit so tight. You can see my heartbeat tonight! I can take the heat, baby, best believe that’s the moment I shine! ‘Cause every romance shakes and it bends, don’t give a daaaamn! When the night’s here, I don’t do tears; baby, no chance. I could dance, I could dance, I could daaaaaaaaance!”
Bella winked at the crowd, and they erupted in joyous excitement! “Watch me dance, dance the night away. My heart could be burning, but you won’t see it on my face. Watch me daa-aaaance, dance the night away! I’ll still keep the party runnin’, not one hair out of place.”
Jesse grinned and walked through the patrons towards the bar, grabbing the first vacant spot he could at the bar. Above the shelf of booze was a neon sign that spelled out ‘Blood Fruit’ in imposing shades of red. “One Golden Glow please, no changes.” As he watched Bella’s performance, he noticed two backup dancers had also appeared onstage. Their gyrations and complicated hand motions enhanced her performance, yet she remained the star of the show. Jesse waited for the dance number to come to a close, when his drink was slapped onto a coaster next to him. A thick golden swirl of color coursed through the glass, akin to that of a lava lamp, and two cherries floated inside. The Golden Glow was one of the sweetest drinks in all of Hell; even great demons swooned at a single sip! Jesse was so involved in the taste of his fruity beverage that the song came to a close in a blink, the crowd’s applause thundering throughout the club. As Bella took a bow, the incubus polished off his drink and burped quietly into his fist, ass already lifted from the barstool.
The route to Bella’s private dressing room was one he could never forget; straight left of the bar, through the double doors, right down the loop in the hallway, and end at the door with the biggest, brightest neon lips on the door. A grin gripped his cheeks. Jesse’s tail flicked in anticipation and barely contained glee. In the time it took him to arrive, Bella should’ve already been seated and kicking off her platform heels. One musical set of knocks to the door…and there she stood! “Sup, Bella?”
A second grin joined Jesse’s, as the bat gave a squeal of excitement and bent at the waist for a hug. “Jesse; oh, my Satan it’s been a hot fucking minute! How are you doing babe? Get in here!” Tugged into the dressing room without complaint, Jesse kicked his foot back to ensure the door fully shut. Warmth rolled along his shoulders; the inviting glow of mirror lights beckoned him deeper. Every chair was deep and rounded, egg-like, while a singular table sat between a pair of multi-tiered shelves. Bella took a seat, and Jesse joined her, the bat beaming in his direction with pearly white fangs. “Since when can you afford a train ticket?”
“Since I just landed a new, big job.”
“Shut your ass and tell me all about it!” Bella snapped her fingers, and a tray with two champagne glasses appeared from the wall. One was filled with a deep red liquid, and the other with Golden Glow.
Jesse scooped up the glass of Golden Glow and took a sip. “It’s a modeling gig.”
“So, does this mean you’re not working at Ozzie’s anymore?”
“No, I’m still working at Ozzie’s; this is more of a side gig…I think.”
“You think?”
“Well, I don’t know if I’m going to like it.”
“How’s the pay?”
“Fat as fuck!”
“Then what’s the holdup?”
“The guy.”
“There’s a guy? As in…a singular guy?”
“A rich guy.”
“How rich are we talking here?”
“Royalty rich.”
“Ooooh, shit! Which one?”
“Andrealphus.”
Bella spit out her crimson drink, mid sip, eyes wide as the conversation crashed to a halt. She sat that way for what felt like a century, pointed ears raised like dagger points, red eyes gleaming with a sheen of astonishment; not even a breath left her body. Eventually, she choked, waved it away, and cleared her throat. “Boy…did you just say Andrealphus?”
“Yeah, why?” His tone was hesitant, lips slowly seeking the comfort of another hit from his glass of Golden Glow.
“Jesse,” Bella’s hand gripped the incubus’ shoulder. “Andrealphus is a mean mother fucker. He’s an ice cold, calculating narcissist with the wind at his back and all the fans on the market. Did you see the fucking news this morning, about those three poor bastards who got iced up here?”
“Oh, come on, they have no idea who did that.”
“One of my girls was there. She called in today, told us everything. It was him. No one else is speaking up because the instant they do, they know they’re fucking dead.” Bella smoothed down her hair, fingers side by side in a tight wall. “Out of all those…pampered fuckballs, it had to be him!”
“Look, we live in Hell; I can’t walk down the street without seeing someone get stabbed, or…tongue-fucked in an alley. Besides, i’ve seen you snuff out more than a few candles.”
“The difference is, I never crushed a man’s head with my foot.”
“Okay, fair.”
Bella sighed and sat her glass down, completely unfazed by the mess she had spewed onto the carpet. She snapped her fingers for a second time, and a slender male imp with gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes hurried into the room, rag in hand. The servant slid onto the ground in a near instant, scrubbing vigorously before the liquid could dry. Clad in no more than some work slacks, a wrinkled shirt, and suspenders, the small demon worked with an energy that outclassed his size. “I just don’t want you getting into some deep shit that you won’t be able to fly your way out of.” As the imp finished his cleaning duties, he stood to leave the room, when Bella turned her head and snapped her tongue to the back of her teeth.
Hesitation seemed to flow through the imp’s limbs, legs tightening and tail curling with nervous energy. Yet, despite it, he turned and walked back over to Bella. Standing before her, he held out a slender arm, the tendons nearly visible alongside the bone of his forearm. Bella’s gaze intensified, eyelids narrowing halfway, as if she were about to slip into a deep trance. Daggers flashed amongst the rim of her luscious lips, the corners of her mouth hissing in a violent sneer as her fangs sank through red flesh. A deep pool of freshly pumped blood gushed forth; the conversation drawn to a halt yet again as Bella indulged. What could only be identified as a satisfied moan vibrated around the servant’s flesh, only overshadowed by the sigh that Bella gave as her fangs unsheathed from her food source. The nanosecond he was freed, the imp scurried out of the room while Bella licked her chops.
Jesse cleared his throat, one leg crossed atop a knee. “It’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you do that.”
“Sorry baby, but I get thirsty whenever my anxiety flares, and spiked black cherry shit don’t cut it.” Bloodlust sated, the bat shifted in her seat, posture relaxing into a puddle of cool. “So, did you come all the way down here just to scare the shit out of me, or was there actually some good news too?”
“It’s a lot of money, Bella.”
“It better fucking be to get Diamondback Jesse on the fucking podium.”
He hadn’t heard that stage name in ages, and it brought a pinch of nostalgia to his heart for a mere moment. “I’m talking enough to wipe out all my debt; get my dues paid, including the one I owe you.”
A harsh line fell upon her brow, fingers gliding together and snapping to crooked branches at the joints. She peered over the tree line, mouth concealed from view. “Jesse…”
“I’m paying it. I know that what I incurred it for didn’t…pan out the way we both wanted, but I pay my dues, damn it.”
A hand rose for pause, “Just promise me that if you get a whiff of anything funky, regardless of the money, you’ll dip.”
“Bella—”
“Promise me!”
“…I promise.”
“Good, that’s good…real fucking good.”
As another set of drinks were poured, neither incubus nor bat noticed the butterfly that sat in the corner of the room.
Notes:
(The song that Bella sings is "Dance the Night" by Dua Lipa.)
-As always, comments are greatly appreciated!
Chapter 4: Royal Trappings
Chapter Text
Jesse had an entire day’s worth to digest Bella’s warning. Laid out on his bed, he stared at the ceiling. What reason did he have not to trust her? Was Andrealphus as bad as everyone said? Asmodeus’ educational material on the royal houses wasn’t exactly extensive, covering appearance more than anything. Why fill the doorman in on who he’s letting in? Hundreds of demons walked into that club daily; how many potential hitmen, spies, con-artists, and otherwise had been allowed inside on his watch? The thought was humbling and planted a worm of unease in his stomach. What did a royal want with him anyway, like, really want with him?
The brisk chime of his doorbell roused the incubus from his bed, only for there to be no one present once he opened the door. Instead of a living creature, a small box sat upon his doormat. It wasn’t a package, but a small lockbox. Since Jesse couldn’t recall having any packages in transit, he concluded it had to be from Andrealphus; speak of the Devil. He grabbed the box and shut his door, immediately locking it up and examining the box, only to find that it was lacking a lock of any sort. Upon popping the lid, a slip of paper, no larger than a business card, greeted him from atop a lavish pillow. Written text shimmered with an astral glow; if anything, the bird was consistent with his gimmick. “Dress for Winter, and when you are prepared, speak the written word…” Jesse turned the card around. There was a single word written on the other side.
All the winter clothing in his closet was rather outdated. Hopefully, this wouldn’t cause some royal slight that would get his ass frozen! A black, brimmed and woolen winter cap, a fur-lined denim jacket, and worn winter boots comprised the entirety of his winter ensemble. He’d just wear a hoodie beneath the denim for an extra layer of insulation. A hint of shame spiked in his mind as Jesse began to dress; he felt stupid dressing like this when there wasn’t a lick of snow outside! Still, the instructions were clear, as was the voice on the phone. If he failed to follow them to the letter, he was out of that life fixing dough. Properly dressed for the cold, he double checked the card and uttered the word on the back.
A single snowflake materialized from the lockbox, then another, and another. At first, they simply hugged against Jesse’s rugged jawline and sideburns, but quickly began to drift alongside him. Glittering snow soon whirled around him, and a foreboding chill dipped into his bones and calcified his horns. Faster and faster, they spun, blocking his view of everything but a wintry gale! Then, the storm calmed, and Jesse found himself somewhere entirely new. Blinding sunlight poured through two monolithic windows, beams of gold glancing off an icy arena.
“Greetings, Master Jesse.” The incubus swiveled on his heel in surprise, and the slick floor swept his feet out from under him! He found himself laid upon his back, eyes to a crystalline chandelier and soreness in his spine. A groan slipped from Jesse’s mouth as he sat up, only to find a sharply dressed imp standing before him. Deep blue eyes, slicked back hair, curled horns, and a scarred chin looked down at his prone form. “I am Edmund, Master Andrealphus’ butler and ward, ‘tis a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” A slender, white gloved hand extended to help.
“Thanks…Ed. You ever think about not polishing the floor so much?” Jesse grunted as he accepted the aid, the help’s grip cold to the touch. Due to the height difference, his gaze tilted down, and in doing so noticed that the floor wasn’t of rich tile, but instead a sheet of pure ice! “…You’re not the decorator, are you?”
“Perish the thought; no, that would be Master Andrealphus. He will be overjoyed to see you can follow basic instruction. Now, before we set foot outside of this chamber, it is my duty to impart you with the proper knowledge necessary for your stay.”
“Okay, first question…” Goosebumps surged up his red flesh, and Jesse’s nose curled in a moment of sneeze suppression. “…how are you not freezing your ass off right now?”
A bemused smirk twitched at the corner of the butler’s lips, “Tolerance, Master Jesse, tolerance and multiple years of acclimation. Low temperatures sharpen the mind, jumpstart one’s biological systems, and allow for wondrous sleep; it is as state my master values highly. You shall come to appreciate it, perhaps, during your visit."
Jesse rubbed the tip of his boot against the icy floor. Satisfied that he did not slip a second time, another question came to mind. “How long have you been doing this?”
Edmund blinked. “As long as I can remember, when Master Andrealphus first took up his responsibilities as Marquis.”
“You…like it, right? He doesn’t—Hey!” The imp was walking away, elbow bent, and finger crooked to gesture Jesse to come hither.
“Follow me, young Master, before you shiver out of your skin.” Jesse swore he heard the faintest chuckle, as he followed quickly after. Out of one ice rink and into another; a lengthy hallway opened up as he strode to catch up. Half of his attention was wrapped in the anxiety of preventing another slip, and the other half on taking in the scenery. Tapestries of deep blue, stitched with an occult crest, hovered beside suits of armor wielding lances. Multiple chandeliers, all constructed with hundreds of crystals, stretched along the entire ceiling. Jesse glanced towards one of the many windows and gawked at the landscape. An endless sea of snow and ice, capped with an ominous sky, almost like that of a black hole, and smeared in the blood of the cosmos. The longer he focused, the louder the sound of whistling wind became, and as it drew him in, a sharp snap of fingers yanked him from the reverie. “Do try not to stare too long, you might find yourself unable to stop. Come, Master Andrealphus awaits.”
Just outside of the allure of the unknown, a cavernous foyer stretched out before Jesse’s eyes. A massive crystal chandelier dangled what appeared to be miles above the ground, a monstrously wide staircase sat on his right to an upper level, and multiple arches expanded the manor’s reach into parts unknown. The patter of Edmund’s hooves atop the slick, marble floor echoed throughout the chamber. “The Master is currently within The Freezer; it is where you will be working for most of your professional stay. Whenever you need to leave The Freezer for any reason, I shall escort you elsewhere. This is the Grand Foyer, and it is the nexus of all other points in the estate.” The butler sharply gestured with his arm, chopping the air to punctuate each archway by room. “To your left, in clockwise fashion, we have The Kitchen, The Drawing Room, and The Freezer. To your immediate right is The Armory, The Feeding Pens, and The Planetarium. During your stay, only the ground floor is open to you. Everything on the Upper Level is strictly forbidden.”
As Jesse digested all that information in stride, key questions bloomed in his head, but one cut line in front of all others. “What’s the room we just came out of called?”
“What room, Master Jesse?”
Befuddled, he turned around, only to find a towering mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling where the hallway used to be. Before he could prompt further, Jesse turned and recognized the sudden and massive distance between himself and Edmund; the imp was already on the other side of the entire foyer! In haste, his foot flew forward, and the depths of the ceiling stared down upon him. Frost and ice scraped over the material of his coat and pants as the incubus rolled onto his front, gliding along the ground with uncontrolled speed. Spinning, flailing, tail trapped beneath his ass, Jesse gasped as the world came to an abrupt halt and spun his head. A pair of deep blue eyes, one eyebrow perched in amusement, stared down upon him with stoicism.
“There will be time for ice skating later, my good fellow, or do you require a pair of cleats to traverse the estate?”
Face flushed in embarrassment, Jesse brushed himself off and got to his knees, palms placed to the ornate marble floor. “I’m good, I’m good; just...most of Hell is fucking hot, you know! Who had the idea to make this place into an ice rink, anyway?” No sooner did the incubus get to his feet, did his feet fly out from under him again.
“Master Andrealphus did, many, many, many years ago. Each and every inch of architecture was crafted in his mind and forged by his hand.” This time, Edmund did not ask Jesse if he needed any help. He simply reached down and yanked the taller demon to his feet with surprising grace and strength. “He is a scholar, a scribe, and a craftsman of the highest caliber; you should be grateful to take part in his craft. Now, allow me to establish further ground rules.” This time, as Edmund walked forward, he kept a grasp on Jesse’s arm, just in case his guest might slip for a third time. “This process will be meticulous, and you shall be expected to stay for several hours. At the end of the day, so long as you abide by all preceding rules and requests, payment shall be rendered to you immediately. If you require hydration or nutrition, it shall be provided posthaste so long as it does not interrupt the Master’s focus. A particular time schedule shall be established, and you will follow it to the letter.”
Jesse’s mind overflowed, eyes flicking astray as he was led through an archway. Eventually, he found himself in front of a large set of wooden doors and tugged his arm away from the butler. “Got it. I’m assuming I hash all the details out with the bird?” he asked as he reached for the door. Sharp, brisk pain bloomed on his gloved hand, and stung in retreat. A sharpened set of blue eyes bore into Jesse’s gaze, the imp butler’s presence filling the hallway. His tone was low, almost to a whisper, yet it was all he heard in startling clarity.
“You shall address my Master as ‘Sire’ or ‘My Lord’. No other phrasing shall escape your lips while you reside within these halls, unless the Master himself deems it acceptable. Is that clear, Master Jesse?”
“...Crystal.”
Edmund raised his hand to rap upon the door. Before his knuckles could touch wood, a voice echoed through it. “Enter.”
Door hinges creaked and groaned to reveal a massive room bathed in sunlight. Towering windows let the light inside, glimmering blue drapes accenting their presence amongst the many chalkboards and bookshelves that lined the sleek, white walls. An L-shaped table sat at the center of the room, covered in various tools, what appeared to be a wine bottle, and large pieces of paper. Amongst the craftsman’s tools stood a familiar figure; one who towered far above the lower demons that entered the room. Feathers pale as snow, with tailfeathers decorated in diamond patterns, covered the royal demon from face to talon, save for the deeper hue of blue that made up his slicked back hair. A sharp, frostbitten beak framed two glowing, light blue eyes that completely ignored the new presence within the room. Jesse’s heart quickened, the newfound knowledge of whom he had dismissed a mere three days ago searing into his mind. What had he gotten himself into?
Clad in a form-fitting diamond patterned craftsman’s vest, sleeves rolled below the elbows, Andrealphus gazed up from a man-sized block of ice. Royal hues of purple morphed in the faulty mirror that was the ice block, reflected from his shirt and into the very thing he was about to change. In the now open doorway of the room stood his royal butler and the guest of honor, to which he provided a neutral look of acknowledgment. “Thank you, Edmund, you may leave.” The peacock gave a light, dismissive wave, leaving only himself and Jesse in the room as the doors closed with a slow, laborious groan. Andrealphus snatched up the wine bottle and strode towards the incubus, tailfeathers dragging gracefully along the floor, one arm folded behind his back as a keen, observant eye peered down at the winter-dressed demon. All that clutter obscured the majesty beneath, and it must be removed. “Drink this; it will keep you warm.”
A rare vintage of fire wine, brewed within the darkest sulfur pits in all of Hell, carried the color of a deep red ruby. Normally, he would loathe to part with such an item, but such things were inconsequential in the face of his life’s purpose. Careful consideration was made when handing the bottle to the incubus, fingers curling back like the pincers of mantis to avoid contact. Two glowing eyes locked onto the incubus’ neck muscles as three gulps of wine undulated into his gullet; such smooth texture on something so masculine kept Andrealphus’ gaze locked, until Jesse took notice.
“Thanks, An—My Lord.”
The peacock’s beak twitched, as if he were about to break into a smile; but no smile came. “I see that Edmund has filled you in on the appropriate nomenclature when addressing me. It’s good to see that, aside from a minor slip up or two, the peasantry knows who their betters are. As for your name, Jesse...” It hovered at the tip of the Marquis’ beak, a final vowel that rumbled deep within the darkest patch of his ivory feathered throat. When he finished pronouncing the demon’s name, Andrealphus clasped both hands together and closed his eyes, taking a deep inhale. “...it’s delightfully pedestrian. I can practically feel the bile brewing in my stomach at the insult to my tongue.” Before any sort of retort could be made, the Marquis waved a dismissive hand and sighed. “You may keep the wine, as I’d rather not have you blacken in the cold. That being said, do remove that ridiculous attire; I can hear my ancestors wailing at the sight of it.”
Jesse’s face and gut broiled in a stew of indignation and potent spirits; this motherfucker! Was he always going to be this prickly? Shit, maybe the best course of action was to not talk at all during these visits. Despite the snark, newfound warmth ran through Jesse’s veins, banishing the chill outright. As he began to unbutton his denim jacket, the tapping of talons gripped his attention. Andrealphus was walking away from him and towards the untouched ice block, each step echoing through the room and flooding Jesse’s ears. It was almost as if he wasn’t staring at a bird, but a predator; a sleek, cold-blooded predator that could snuff out his life at the drop of a pin.
“Do you always leer so lecherously at other men?”
“No! I mean...I’m not!”
“Good; I have no time for such things. I fully expect you to keep your nature under control.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you do not wish to crawl back into Lust with nothing to show for it, I highly encourage that you finish undressing; down to the last scrap of fabric.”
Jesse ‘s hands stopped in their tracks and his eyes widened. “Wait, you never said this was going to--”
“Do you object? By all means, crawl back into Asmodeus’ comforts and toil your life away; debts unpaid, dreams unfulfilled, comforts forever undiscovered.” In a lightning quick flourish, Anrealphus snatched one of his sculpting tools from the table and embedded it into the ice with a brisk thwack. His neck turned; gaze locked on the half-dressed incubus as he stood before his soon to be masterpiece. “I am offering you salvation from your modern woes, and you’d bite my hand over a dash of tasteful nudity? I thought that’s what your kind lived for.”
The leathery texture of Jesse’s wings tensed and creaked woefully as they stretched into a tight hug against one another. Without a formal response, and merely a tightened lip, the lesser demon removed his hoodie to reveal his bare red skin. There’d be plenty of moments where he’d shown off; Hell, it was required in his dress code at OZZIE’S. At that moment, however, a knotted ball of unease and shame knocked against the thin lining of his gut. Asmodeus’ words rang in his mind, conjured up by this exact situation. If he didn’t follow Andrealphus’ commands, he’d earn the ire of the one and only Mighty Marquis. Jesse grimaced and sighed as his torso twisted, showcasing a dense muscle structure honed by a combination of genetics and proper training. He swore that the peacock’s brow perked at the sound of his jeans unzipping, but the urge to double check didn’t outweigh his instinct to live. With two waistbands in his grasp, he placed the toe of one boot to the heel of another and popped the first boot off, followed by the second. Despite the appearance of the floor, not even a shiver registered in the incubus’ body as he removed his socks and finally bared it all in front of the Marquis. He didn’t need to double check on the peacock’s eyes to feel his cold, observing gaze.
“Good, now up on the podium, and assume a comfortable stance.” Pencil in one hand, its leaden tip poised against a sheet of thick paper, Andrealphus took a moment to fully observe Jesse for the first time. Pepper-red skin stretched over stone-like muscles, the pale patterning of diamonds that trailed down his chest also registered on the tops of his feet. Peculiar; no hooves. Trimmed hair, light as snow, almost faded into the background were it not for his black and white striped horns. An acute, masculine jaw completed the edges of his face, rivalled only by the odd gleam of white fangs that slipped free of his lips. There wasn’t a singular flaw that Andrealphus could find! His pencil took to paper with precision and grace, bold lines arching and jutting across the page to form the base of Jesse’s body. As the Marquis sketched, his eyes remained fixated on the model atop the icy platform until the drawing was completed. “Excellent, now--” Andrealphus froze, head perking up as a foreign sound breached his ears. A low hum, growing louder by the second, began to vibrate in his fingers. In a flash, Jesse’s discarded clothing flew back onto him, nearly launching him off the platform! “Put your clothes back on.”
“Wha--”
“Now; and stay quiet.” One of the window’s drapes unfurled towards the ground, providing the perfect place to hide. At the behest of winter winds, Jesse was whisked into obscurity behind royal fabrics. No sooner was he hidden did the door to The Freezer burst open. A cloud of buzzing bees coiled through the air in a spiral of stingers and yellow hues, crashing into the ground at Andrealphus’ feet. Papers flew from his desk, his tools rattled in unholy winds, mobile chalkboards slid along the floor, and the drapes billowed. The bees swarmed upwards into a small tornado, their harmonious buzzing threatening to implant a permanent phantom echo within the chamber. They formed into a feminine figure, and then burst away to reveal Queen Beelzebub, all four of her arms crossed atop a lava-lamp torso. A watery rainbow of colors made up her flowing, liquid mane to the point that he was forced to squint, and her simplistic attire sparked sharp criticism within Andrealphus’ mind. Instantly, a sickly-sweet sensation throbbed atop the Marquis’ tastebuds, nearly enough to make him sneer. “Queen Beelzebub, to what do I--”
“You crashed a party in Gluttony the other night, Andre!” came a whip-like retort, all four of the demon’s furry arms jabbed at the Marquis. “Big house, two stories, packed wall to wall with demons before the door was kicked in; ring any bells? I was vibing, soaking it all up; their offerings were pouring in, making me that delicious motherfucking honey, and you ruined it!” Her voice roared throughout the room and cracked the icy walls, eyes brimming with transformative rage.
“Your Highness, I had every reason--”
“Three partygoers, Andre, three!” The demon’s canine teeth clamped down against one another, muzzle flared as she snarled into the avian’s face. “That party...was a brightly glowing lamp, one that was cutting through the shitty fog of all the bad vibes in my territory like a beacon, and you...” Queen Bee snapped a single pair of fingers, directly next to Andrealphus’ ear. The corner of his eye twitched. “...snuffed it out. Now, because of you, I’m behind on quota.”
“Your Highness--”
“Don’t you ‘Your Highness’ me! Be at peace, until thine own peace is tarnished, Andre; and I am not at peace! You will recoup every drop that I lost because of you, and you will do it before the end of the week.” By that point in the Queen’s chastisement, she had grown quintuple in size to tower menacingly above the peacock, a bulging third eye glaring down at him. Before Andrealphus could utter another word, two colossal, clawed hands hoisted him into the air and squeezed until his bones creaked. “If you don’t, I’ll use you to put a smile on the party fiends of Hell in another way!”
The ground rushed to meet him, and Andrealphus hit the floor with an undignified grunt, pain welling up his lower back. By the time looked up, Queen Beelzebub had vanished, just as quickly as she had stormed his estate.
Jesse, eyes brimming with exposure to higher demon politics, peeked out from behind the giant curtain. “Is she gone?” He cautiously walked forward; the workshop was a mess! Everything was knocked onto the floor or dangled off a table. Papers fluttered around his recently covered feet, until one caught under his boot. Was that...was that the drawing of himself? Jesse bent down and picked it up with the intention to look closer, but quickly tucked it into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie as Andrealphus surged to his feet. “Now might be a bad time...my Lord...” the demon’s lip curled at having to add that title into his speech pattern. “...but do you want me to just come back later? You know, since there seems to be something more important to deal with?”
Andrealphus reached into the pocket of his craftsman’s vest and pulled out an envelope, bound in a blue wax seal and a thick band of string. As if handing out an award, he turned and held the parcel to Jesse, who accepted it with both hands. The incubus’ fingers twitched at the cold that emanated from every inch of the envelope.
“I will double that if you wait.” the Marquis said, then snapped his fingers. Within the span of a blink, Edmund stood poised at his master’s side, spine straight and head high. “Edmund, reinforce the wards around the estate and fetch our guest something to eat. When I return, I want a detailed report on how the Sin of Gluttony waltzed into my home without so much as a raised alarm.”
Edmund bowed and looked to Jesse, face impartial in the presence of his lord. “Come along Master Jesse, let us reside within the dining room for a spell. I shall make you my Lord’s favorite soup.” Before Jesse could say anything to Andrealphus, the Marquis vanished in a swirling cloud of snow. One second later, there was only empty space where he once stood.
“Is this...normal?” Jesse asked, as he began to follow the butler out of The Freezer and into The Kitchen.
“Is what normal, Master Jesse?”
“I just still can’t believe any of this is real. It feels like a dream to me, like I could wake up any second and I still haven’t met him, or you.”
“I assure you; we are both real. Few lower demons are allowed to witness such grand displays in a short span of time; your mind simply needs time to acclimate to reality.”
Warmth washed over Jesse as he and Edmund stepped through a new set of doors, their brief conversation having carried them through the Grand Foyer. Spices, meats, and the scent of bread wafted through the air; brick walls and ornate ovens abundant throughout the kitchen. Jesse stood amongst the nearest table and withdrew the picture from his hoodie pocket, as Edmund began whipping up a meal. The paper crumpled in his hand as he unfolded it; and the cool edges soothed the space between his fingers.
Heavy black pencil lines peeked from beneath the bottom hem of the page, growing darker and smoother as the sketch was unveiled. Jesse froze as the entire portrait was revealed. As if he was gazing into a mirror, his own visage stared back at him in lifelike detail. While it lacked color, not a single fray of lead was seen, nor a bend in any of the lines. Even though they were his own, Jesse found himself staring deep into the eyes that Andrealphus had seen upon that podium. Deep pools of gray, shaded in and rubbed perfectly to resemble smooth marble; they sat beneath a bent brow and gazed away from the artist in question. Bare muscle, down to the last fiber, was present; about to leap off the page. As Jesse’s eyes reached the sketched groin, a memory from one of his history books sprang to mind of one of the most famed artists of the human world, Michaelangelo and his famous statue ‘David’. A man, a mortal, who had left such a powerful mark on the world, at his absolute peak was comparable only to a sketch from Andrealphus. Warmth bloomed in his chest, his heart skipped a beat, and his breath hitched unwillingly; was this how the Marquis saw him? “Yo, Ed.”
“Yes, Master Jesse?”
“How the fuck is this artwork so good? He didn’t even look at the paper.”
The butler glanced over his shoulder as he stirred a bubbling pot; the imp worked fast! “Ah, you see, Master Andrealphus was trained at an early age in many artistic and mathematical fields. It is a tireless pursuit for perfection, as his responsibilities require him to be as precise as possible.”
“Is that why he’s so...” Jesse twirled his hand in search of the proper term. “...blunt?”
Metal tapped against metal, and before Jesse knew it, a bowl of steaming hot soup was placed in front of him. Thick, creamy broth bubbled softly inside; small chunks of meat and chitin floating atop the surface. One sniff made his brow perk; heavy, but sweet scented with a dash of acidity. “I suppose you look around at the majesty of the manor, Master Andrealphus’ skills, and assume that he has never faced hardship.”
“I mean...yeah. He has money, a mansion, a personal butler, and is insanely talented at art, apparently; forgive me if I’m not crying for him.” Heat brimmed at his lips as he sampled the soup, eyes widening as a jumpstart of energy coursed into his brain. Jesse ate another spoonful, the broth soaking his tongue before chasing away the chill, just as the wine did before. “From what I know, and I know about as much as any other demon in Lust, he was born with a silver spoon.” Another bite, and the meat caused his tastebuds to sing in low baritones. A third spoonful of soup was in his cheeks, yet his opinions continued to carry on in mumbles. “He either slaps money on the table or freezes his problems away. How do you even feel bad for a guy like that? Fuck, this is delicious, Ed!”
“No matter one’s station, the universe places weight upon us all. Sometimes, a single weight is heavier than multiple, and money cannot rid one of all woes, despite the rhetoric of those within Greed.”
Jesse paused, a spoonful of broth halfway into his open mouth, and the news report from days ago jumped to the forefront of his mind. Testimony from the witnesses and the general rumor mill from Bella all pointed to one bird in particular. On top of that, the Sin of Gluttony herself had practically kicked in his door over that same issue! Perhaps it was coincidental, but perhaps not. Now reminded of that harrowing possibility, his gaze turned towards Edmund. Stoicism ran rampant in those steely blue eyes, but there was also a cold indifference, one that made Jesse’s tail twitch and his toes curl. “Right...a lot of us just wish we could figure that out for ourselves; live and learn and all that. So, we drink, we fuck, we...party.” The imp’s eyes remained still, nary a flicker of acknowledgement within them. “I’m gonna assume he doesn’t do much partying.”
“You’re rather inquisitive, Master Jesse, for someone whose only attachment to my master is his wealth.”
“I like knowing who I’m working for.”
“Quite.” Edmund walked towards the door and opened it. His steps paused in the archway, “I must attend to the wards, so while I am gone, you shall be furnished with a new caretaker.” A brisk snap of the imp’s gloved fingers crashed through the halls of the manor. Then, the sound of something rather large came from beyond the door. It grew louder and louder, and a low rumble joined in until whatever was making said noise was right outside the door. A massive hellcat brushed past Edmund and sat just inside the doorway; massive spears for teeth, dragon-like horns jutted from atop its furry scalp as two fiery orbs glared at him. A rumbling snarl, almost as loud as an illegally modified engine, rippled out from the beast’s jaws and made Jesse lean back against the table. The clatter of his spoon and mostly empty bowl caused the creature to lean forward, hackles raised until Edmund stroked its thick haunch. “Do watch over him Mishka, for the Master.” The door closed, leaving Jesse to stare at the hellcat, every muscle in his body frozen.
“Oh, fuck me.”
Chapter 5: Stirring the Pot
Notes:
Warning! Sexual Content of a semi-graphic nature is present. Guard thine eyes if this offends.
Chapter Text
Within the darkest reaches of the estate’s upper floor, Andrealphus rifled through a shelf of glass globes. A pitch, inky blackness enveloped the entire room, save for the glow of the Marquis’ eyes, the glow of the orbs, and the glow of a large basin filled with luminescent liquid at its center. His eyes scanned row upon row of identical spheres, seeking one amongst hundreds. A magical touch was required, as the shelves stretched far too high for him to reach. With a wave of his hand, the shelves themselves slid free of the frame, their contents trapped in suspension fields, and swapped places vertically. Finally, he found what he was seeking, and reached out his hand with apprehension.
As his palm touched the orb, the light within blossomed into swirling hues of blue and white. Within his mind, and only his mind, a child’s laugh resonated. The Marquis’ brow furrowed, his grip tightened on the orb, and the laughter turned into an unending giggle. Lavendar and wild berries filled his nose amongst the soft caress of a pure winter morning and the calming warmth of the sun. Andrealphus closed his eyes as the memory began to shape in the darkness of his mind. Images and sounds came in fragments; the parental touch of a guardian, the marred and scratched surface of a frozen lake, the bustling drone of an occupied ballroom, and the screech of a bird. Then, a voice, one deep and masculine.
What do you have there, Andrealphus?
“No.” Newfound focus snapped the Marquis current reality to the forefront. He had found Queen Beelzebub's requested payment; there was little need to linger on old memories. Globe in hand, he moved towards the glowing basin, waved a hand over it, and a dusting of cold magical energy floated down into the water. Within, his reflection rippled and straightened, the lines of his mirror image enveloped in a dim glow. “Upon the jungles, thick and warm, show to me the Queen of Hounds. Show me the ring of excess want, for those who strive but fall ever short. Reveal a kindness in this realm, shielding wrath of Hell unbound, and place me at her inner court, so that we may speak of hearts and hearts.”
Andrealphus closed his eyes, and when he opened them, found himself in the middle of Queen Beezlebub’s mansion. Yet, he was not himself, but a mere projection linked to his mind. He could gaze upon the possessions of the Sin of Gluttony, even tread within her domain to a certain degree, but he could never touch a thing. Vacancy wasn’t what he had expected, yet vacancy was what greeted him; no elaborate parties, no jovial drinking sessions with companions or subjects, just an unusual quiet that choked the room. From the emptiness, a familiar voice boomed.
“I gave you a whole week Andre, and you’re at my door in less than an hour.” He did not move his gaze, for he had no need to visually confirm whom he was speaking with. Queen Beezlebub’s voice was harmonic, even in the throes of anger and annoyance; like a soothing lullaby into complacency. “There’s no way you already have what I asked for.” From the shadows, the Sin of Gluttony strode, her heavily mascaraed eyes glaring at his astral projection. Her stride didn’t case until she stood directly in front of him, two hands on her hips and two arms folded across her chest. “You didn’t even have the balls to show up yourself, so that says all I need to know.”
“Think of me what you will, your Highness, but the humidity of your domain has never agreed with me. As such, I elected to take an alternative route. I do, also, have what you requested; all of the joy and merriment that you would have gained from that party.” Andrealphus held out the orb.
Queen Beezlebub’s nose raised, then furled. “You’d give me a ball? Is this some sort of dog joke?”
A sigh pushed against the fringes of the Marquis’ beak, but never emerged; oh, to be the most knowledgeable one in the room. “It is not, your Highness. Within this globe is a captured memory from my life. I assure you, it will more than suffice to quell any bad blood between us.”
A brow raised, and one of four hands reached up to take the ball, casually tossing and catching it within her gloved palm. Then, all four sets of fingers touched the cold glass, the color within churning and collapsing into a vortex of primary shades. Queen Beezlebub’s cheekbone twitched, her brow tightened, and her insectoid wings fluttered as the memory within revealed itself to her ancient mind. “...You would give me this with the understanding that you will never experience this memory again?”
“I do.”
“Perhaps I gave you too little credit, Andre; this is more than enough to cover your debt to me. Be warned; it will take much more the next time around if you ever decide to fuck with my bottom line again.”
“Do not misunderstand me, your Highness. My trespass was not in error, and if another trespass ever does occur, the toll of its punishment shall be paid. I am not so childish as to misunderstand the weight of my actions.”
“If you know better, why did you stick your nose in my business?”
“For my niece.” Both demons went silent for a moment, and the Sin’s gaze diverted from her newfound prize to look up at the copy of the Marquis. “You think I would allow the future of the Goetia line to be dashed to pieces in any circumstance? That I’d stand by and let Princess Octavia be assaulted by those animals for the sake of not stirring up a fuss?”
“That you’d risk pissing me off for her says a lot. She must be something special.”
“She is, and if I ever receive another terrified phone call from her in the middle of the night, the body count will be much higher.”
“I see; consider the debt paid.”
Andrealphus closed his eyes once again, and his astral form vanished from the Queen’s sight. He found himself back in his dark room, safely nestled in the unholy halls of the manor. As he left the room, an explosive crash reached his ears; it came from the lower floor. “What in the Nine Rings...”
“Down! Down! No!” Jesse gripped the topmost corner of The Kitchen, his leathery wings mashed against the sharpened edges of the brick walls. An angry hellcat paced below, constant rumbling and growling stirred up its predatory blood. Pots and pans littered the floor, his soup bowl shattered in the chaos as well. What remained of his meal was untouched, ignored entirely by the big cat for bigger prey. As Mishka stalked her future meal, the cat’s spear-like claws slapped against the tile, and her thick haunches tensed. In a display of feline grace, she soared into the air, claws outstretched, fang-filled mouth agape, and swiped at the air in front of Jesse. “You stay the fuck down there! I am not your food!” The beast leaped upwards once again and took another swipe, causing Jesse to tense back into the corner, veins bulging in his hands. Sweat oozed down his brow, his throat ragged and scratchy; there wasn’t enough room for him to fly in here, he was stuck! At the opposite end of the room, the door pushed open. Before he even saw who it was, Jesse cried out, “A little help would be greatly fucking appreciated!”
Mishka turned and padded towards the door and sat down, then greeted whoever was there with another rumble. Jesse had expected it to be Edmund, but to his surprise, it was the Marquis! A cold, steady gaze raised itself upwards to the corner of the room, and he swore he nearly saw the peacock smirk.
“Why are you antagonizing my cat?” he asked, a hand over Mishka’s head. The massive feline did not move, only giving the rumble as its master began to pet its’ scalp.
“Cat; that thing is a fucking monster!” Jesse carefully relaxed his arms and legs, providing enough space between his hands, his feet, and the two walls to allow gravity to do its job. He slid down to the ground, completely unharmed, and began to cautiously step through the minefield of glass and cooking ware. “Your crazy fucking butler left it in here and it tried to eat me!”
Andrealphus gently raised a brow towards the intense tone of Jesse’s voice; all of the pleasantries and decorum were dashed, it seemed. “Mishka is one of the guardians of the estate; if she found cause to pursue you, it was for good reason.”
Jesse’s arms raised up, palms out, as if to concede the argument. Yet, his hands gripped the sides of his head and ruffled up short white locks with near manic intensity. A mixture of exasperation and rage thickened his voice, as a groan burst from his lips. “That’s it! That’s it, that’s it, I’m fucking...I’m done! I’m done with this shit for the day! Send me back home, now!”
“We have not completed the session.”
“Your model doesn’t care! How am I supposed to focus when I’ve got Sins busting through the fucking door, things trying to eat me, and your cold ass castle making me slip and slide all over the damn place?! If you want my ass back up on that podium, you will get your shit together!”
Andrealphus tightened his gaze, and the petting motion of his hand halted entirely. A single step left the hellcat at the door, and his feet began to gracefully step along the floor towards the irate incubus. Each clack of his talons against the tile bounced off every metal fixture in the room, pinging against one another to heighten the intensity of the Marquis’ presence. “Beware the anger of a patient man.” he chuckled, beak brimming with a slight smirk. “Here I thought that I was the only one in this manor who could apply that adage; it seems I was mistaken.” In a flash, the temperature in the room plummeted, and each breath became visible as Andrealphus bent forward at the waist. Both peacock and incubus drew closer to each other’s face, and where one’s anger began to simmer and cool, the other’s flickered to life with steady temperament. “I have allowed you into my home. I have offered you wealth at nothing but the cost of your time and presence, and while more important matters certainly derailed the smoothness of that venture, it marches ever onward despite them. For some reason that eludes me, a commoner has managed to pique my interest, and how does he show his gratitude for my generous hospitality? He wants...to leave.”
“I’m not quitting, I just need a break.”
“So, he said with a belly full of food and a pocket full of coin.” Andrealphus scoffed.
“You want some collateral; fine!” Jesse gestured over to the thick envelope that housed his large payment and sat on the ground; having been knocked over during Mishka’s hunt. “Keep the cash. When my head is clear, I’ll read the damn card and come back.”
The Marquis grew silent and stared into the incubus’ bright yellow eyes for any sign of deceit. At that distance, the smell of the demon’s breath tickled beak, the sight of a vein pumping with adrenaline appeared amongst that thick, red neck, and he could practically pick up the sound of a hurried heartbeat. A brush with death was certain to cause all of these ailments, and yet Andrealphus considered for a millisecond that perhaps it was caused by something else. Vain hope buried at the back of his psyche; he broke the silence. “Very well.” Magical, blue energy clouded around the envelope and sucked it directly into the peacock’s hand. Upon receiving it, he carefully placed it into Jesse’s grasp, ensuring not a single part of his hand touched the incubus. “I shall abstain from providing the remaining payment until you return to finish the session. This portion, however, you have already earned; thus, it is yours.”
Before Jesse could react, snow began to congregate around his body and quickly enveloped him in a blinding tornado of winter flurries! He could hear Andrealphus from beyond the snow.
“Don’t waste it.”
As the incubus was swiftly teleported back to his apartment, only the whispering winds of winter echoed through the room. Now alone with Mishka, the peacock straightened his posture and placed a hand over his eyes. He tugged at both, dragging the bottom lids downward before raising them back up to pinch and knead his brow. A vacancy, like the one that he felt back at Queen Beelzebub's manor, descended upon the Marquis, and as he glanced around the vast emptiness of his royal house, a weight bore itself into his chest. Andrealphus couldn’t recall the last time his existence had been so lively, even though it had only lasted for a short while. In the absence of his usual cold demeanor, warmth bloomed in his chest, to which not even his icy touch could quell. The day’s events were now a new memory that could replace the old, and so they did.
“Edmund,” he called out, unsure as to where his butler was in the estate at this point. “Where’s my report?”
Jesse shivered and stepped through the tornado of snow, only to find himself teleported back into his apartment. Between his feet sat the business card that Andrealphus had handed him half a week ago, which had once brought curiosity and now only brought aggravation. In a huff, he began to undress and tried to ignore the chill that infected his denim jacket. Fortunately, the snow didn’t appear anywhere on his floor; the last thing he wanted right now was a soggy carpet. He whipped his jacket onto the couch and growled, jaw grit as a vein bulged on his temple. Too much had just occurred, and Jesse’s powerlessness to do anything through it all ignited his blood. His crimson skin itched in invisible irritation, like clinging hay. He pulled his hoodie off over his head and paused to cock an arm back and chuck the garment into his living room. The thick envelope that housed his payment had fallen to the floor, and that blue wax seal mocked him, tempted him, and brought back the image of Andrealphus in that frigid manor. While his adrenaline began to settle, the crumpling sound of paper reached his ears from his hoodie pocket. Right, the sketch; should honestly just pitch it, just to somehow spite that blueblood prick!
His heart jumped into his throat at a sudden knock on his apartment door, and before he could restrain his temper, he barked out, “What?!”
A pause greeted his snap, and then a feminine voice spoke through the door, “Whoa, didn’t know this was a bad time. If you’re gonna be so fucking grumpy, I’ll just come back later, Baby Bat.” Jesse rushed to the door and threw it open to see Bella leaning against the frame, her chest practically about to dive bomb his face. The fang-filled smile that she wore dipped into a small frown as she saw him. “...Jesse, are you alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m cool, I’m just...” Through clenched teeth and tussled hair, he forced out a sigh and ran some fingers along his head. “...Sorry, I just got back from something, and it didn’t go well, and I wasn’t expecting anyone to drop by my place today, and--” He blinked as Bella raised a hand to his face.
“Let’s head inside, crack open a beer, and you can tell me all about it, alright?” Her singer’s voice slid through his mental haze, and the incubus gave a nod as he stepped back into his home. As he stepped back and drank in the full picture of Bella’s attire, Jesse caught the scent of perfume in the air; a sweet and powerful aroma that traveled deep into his nose and hooked at his throat. Tight jeans hugged her tall legs, tucked into black biker boots; just as her hands were tucked into the pockets of a leather burgundy jacket. “I’m digging the new pad, Jess; way better than your old one, gotta be honest.” she commented, amidst helping herself to what was in his fridge.
“It doesn’t have a woman’s touch like the old one, but I try.”
“Yeah well, your fridge needs it back; nothing in here but Beelze-Booze, sandwich ingredients, and...” There was nothing else. No milk, no eggs, nothing healthy or sustainable. Bella turned her head and closed the door, then closed the distance between herself and her friend. His cheek felt as smooth as she remembered, even as her fingers brushed against his white sideburns. All the physical attributes of greatness; flawless skin, deeply hued eyes, and a monstrous metabolism were traits of Asmodeus’ servants. They could be starving, and no one would be able to tell. “...Jesse, are you doing alright? I don’t remember you skipping meals.”
Jesse sighed; eyes downcast to the bat’s wrist. Tightness coiled in his chest, a sharp twitch erupted in the back of his brain, and shame boiled in his cheeks. “It’s...been a few rough months, Bell.” he admitted, voice barely above a mutter. In the palm of her dark hand, he found comfort. It was an old comfort, a familiar warmth that conjured memories of freshly washed bed sheets, hot showers, and the lips of an angel against his own. “Doorman salary isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but I’m getting back up there.”
“Oh Jesse, you should’ve told me; I would’ve helped you out.”
“I didn’t need anyone’s help.”
Bella’s hand moved from the incubus’ cheek to his shoulder. “I know, but I still wish you had told me you were going through some rough shit.”
“So, you could throw me a pity party?”
“So, I could’ve known to make room in my schedule to hang out with you more. We used to have a good thing, remember, back when you performed?”
Jesse’s wings twitched, then gave a single flap as it to stretch a muscle or air themselves out. “I do.” As he glanced away from her crimson gaze for the second time, his eyes locked onto Andrealphus’ envelope that still lay upon the ground. His lips parted to speak, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted.
“You’re clearly stressed and high-strung; you need to have some fun, and you remember how much fun we used to have together, right?” Both of Bella’s shoulders rolled back and caused her leather jacket to drop onto the floor behind her. Smooth bat wings stretched out, as if they were about to embrace him, but only her thumb touched against his bottom lip. Red eyes gleamed in dim light, a hypnotic gaze that rendered those unversed in the magic of seduction and mental fortitude into subjugated thralls. Yet, Jesse’s infernal and lustful nature prevented said effects, and even though he still saw beauty, it was one that did not grip him into servitude. Lengthy fingers traced up his torso and explored the rigid musculature of his body, before stopping at the collarbone. Another set of digits journeyed in the opposite direction and curled around the waistband of his jeans.
“Bell, you know that vampire shit doesn’t work on me.”
“I know, it’s why we were such a good match; you can’t charm me, I can’t charm you. We both need to work for it, and that makes it real.” One of Bella’s hands curled back behind Jesse’s neck and smoothed down the middle ridge between his wings. She slid against him in a close embrace, exchanging body heat and the vulnerability that came with it. “You know the biggest guessing game in life, right; who really loves you...for you? Who sees you, and not what they see of you.”
He didn’t move to stop Bella as she began to unclasp his belt.
“You see me Jesse...and I see you.”
The demon’s heart skipped as the vampire bat leaned in and planted a gentle kiss against his lips. Hers were as soft as he remembered, laced with tenderness and controlled desire. Jesse quickly slipped into Bella’s embrace, and the earlier stress began to melt away, like sheets of ice cracking and plummeting from a glacier.
“Where did the interference originate, Edmund?” Andrealphus stared at a floating, translucent blueprint of his estate home, scanning for abnormalities in its magical defenses.
“I still do not know, sire; it’s quite perplexing. Queen Beelzebub shouldn’t have been able to slip past the far perimeter, but somehow, she was able to navigate through the snowstorm.”
“What about the exterior sentries?”
“They never activated.”
“Impossible; their magic is as ancient as my father’s father. They are always active.” A 3-D model of a stone statue, carved in the likeness of a suit of royal armor, rotated in mid-air.
“It belies all logic, but it has nevertheless occurred. All wards have been reactivated, but given the malfunction, I hesitate to leave them unsupervised.”
Andrealphus pinched eyes and muttered, “Lucifer’s Leggings...”
“Sire, might I propose a theory?”
“Go on.”
“Since the defenses were unlikely tampered with from the outside, it stands to reason that something within the manor caused them to malfunction.”
Andrealphus frowned and crossed his arms. “That something being the incubus...”
“Precisely; he is the only new variable, the first newcomer to set foot in this manor in recent memory.”
“...but he does not likely possess the aptitude to disrupt ancient, familial magic.”
“I agree, so we must also consider the possibility that someone knew of his employment here and has decided to take advantage.”
The peacock’s face firmed; could it be Asmodeus? No, there was no motive. It had to be another, but whom? “Tis an interesting theory, Edmund, but without any evidence, I can hardly follow up on the assumption.”
“Then perhaps a more discreet approach would be appropriate.”
With a wave of his hand, Andrealphus dispelled the floating image that stood before him and Edmund, magic blooming at his fingertips. “Then it is fortuitous that days ago, I sent a set of eyes to keep watch on him. It has yet to be destroyed, thus I can assume that it remains undetected in his home. Let us see what he’s up to...”
Where the projected statue once stood, a whirlpool of magic swarmed. Round and round it rotated, forming a black pit at its center which expanded outwards. A dim light peered through the darkness and began to create an image, like looking through a spyglass. Muffled sound began to form as everything shifted into focus, and what began as a blurry dream shifted to a reflection of reality. The creaking of wood and grunts of pleasure assailed the peacock and the butler’s ears, as they were provided with a hidden view of Jesse’s apartment. Demonic red skin brushed atop pitch-black fur, the muscles in the incubus’ back tensed as his hips delivered a deep and slow series of thrusts into the woman below him. Rapture filled her face, earrings bouncing as she moaned out his name, claws dug into the back of his shoulders. With each movement of Jesse’s hips, the entire bed rocked, and the baseboard slammed against his bedroom wall. The woman’s back arched as she unleashed a loud moan and ran her hands up the back of Jesse’s neck and gripped his hair. Trapped in the throes of passion, ruby red eyes shimmered and a pair of soft lips split wide to bear monstrous fangs that sank deep into the male’s sweaty flesh. A brief hiss of pain filled the room, then a groan of bliss as Jesse’s hips continued to gyrate and thrust.
Andrealphus stared at the intimacy on display, a small tightness of the throat holding back an awkward and flabbergasted cough. While all genitalia were completely obscured, the motions, the sounds, and the lust were enough to cause the Marquis to swipe his hand down to dismiss the butterfly’s view. Edmund said nothing and neither did Andrealphus. Their shared silence lingered, as if waiting for the aftershock to fade entirely. That rigid back and powerful set of hips played on loop in the royal’s mind. His beak tightened, and his blood pressure spiked, “Well...that’s quite enough of that.”
“...shall I prepare you a bath, sire?”
“...that would be excellent, Edmund, thank you.”
“Oh, fuck!” Jesse gasped out, his sweat-drenched back hitting the cool sheets atop his bed. Bella mashed her nude form against his side, sensual lips planting kiss after leisurely kiss along his neck. Her pointed tongue dabbed at the two punctures in his flesh; their own doing, and an apology was warranted with healing spit. Each rise and subsequent plummet of her lover’s chest pumped vigorous life into her palm, which traveled south to trace along his diamond patterns. “Thanks Bell...I really fucking needed that...” he huffed, elbows propping him up so he could fish out a cigarette from the nearby nightstand.
“I’ll say; so...” she paused and shot him a devilish grin. “...aside from how stressful it was, tell me more about your day.” As the pack of cigarettes lifted into view, the bat leaned over Jesse’s chest and slipped one free. Joined at the tips, the snap of a lighter ignited their post sex smokes in unison, and they each took a slow drag.
“Oh, now you wanna talk about it?” he laughed, smoke puffing out from between his fangs. “Man...it was wild.” Another drag, this one deeper than the last, helped mask the stench of sex that drifted in the air. “So, way back when I first got the offer, the royal pigeon gives me a business card; sharp, rich-looking, fucking fancy. I waited a few days, like I was told, then I looked at it. I read the instructions and next thing I know, I’m off in some fucking castle at the ass end of Hell!”
Bella raises a brow and shifts against him, then tilts her cigarette far away before planting another kiss to his cheek.
“Then I get jump scared by his fucking butler, who’s an imp because of fucking course he is, and the guy immediately starts laying out rules while showing me around. It was huge, Bell; something like eight different rooms on the ground floor alone, and I’m only allowed in one of them without an escort.”
“That doesn’t surprise me, you’re practically a stranger to him.”
Jesse scoffed, “I’m not sure whether it was because I was a commoner or because I was an incubus. Supposedly, I was the first non-blueblood to set foot in that place in years; the whole place was an ice rink. It was freaky how out of touch the whole place was. “
“So, I guess you could say the reception was...frigid.” Bella laughed before resting her head in the crook of Jesse’s neck. Aside from the sex, his natural scent made her smile, laced with sweat for that extra salty flavor. As the demon went on, she took another sample of him against her lips.
“Ha-ha, you’re hilarious. Anyway, I get to where I’m supposed to be, start stripping, and then he tells me to take it all off.”
The soft aftercare stopped. “I don’t remember you saying anything about it being a nude modeling gig...”
“That’s because I didn’t know it was. Get this, he made some racist ass comment about how baring skin was, ‘what my kind do best’ and that if I wasn’t willing to do it, I should crawl back to Asmodeus and ‘toil my life away’ again. Fucking prick...”
A frown flickered along Bella’s lips, but quickly slipped into a neutral line. Her hand touched the side of his face and gently tilted his head towards her. A soft kiss embraced his lips, one of many in the past hour, but this one was born from a place of empathy and the desire to heal. Jesse’s eyes began to close at the taste, one that he feared would be gone too soon, and leaned in to deepen it; albeit briefly. Bella was the one to finally lean back and break it, then draped an arm over his torso and grasped his shoulder. “Jesse, even if you were a shark demon, with your personality, I’d still fuck around with you.”
“...because two dicks make up for an ugly mug and scale burn?”
The bat rolled her eyes, as she mounted his lap, cigarette glowing between her lips. “Because I like you, dumbass; I always have since our training days. Back when you called yourself ‘Diamondback Jesse’ and every girl in a thirty-mile radius wanted to suck the soul out of you.”
“I wasn’t that hot!”
“Oh, horseshit in a cowboy’s hat; you were the talk of the women’s dressing room for years.” Bella’s voice shifted into a mocking tone as she pantomimed from her memory of a time long ago. “Oh, he’s got the best ass! Those eyes are to die for! I bet he fucking rocks at sex, all Incubi do! His sideburns are so cute!” She lightly shifted her hips, eyes fluttering at the rigid and supportive thighs that held her up from below. “On, and on, and on with those bitches.”
“Okay, you’re fucking with me.”
“I’m not! Well...at least not in that way.” Chest to chest, she could hardly contain her smile. “I missed you though, even if it was only three months.”
A slow inhalation surged through Jesse’s nose, his chest rose, and his eyes closed before he exhaled. “Bell, I... I never said sorry, did I?”
Her smile began to fade, and a resignation washed over her face; gaze down, mouth tight, and a flick of one bat ear. “You didn’t, but you didn’t need to. I told you before, it was a mutual breakup, we’re cool.”
A flash of grit teeth entrapped the retort that rocketed towards Jesse’s lips. In his mind, it echoed perfectly, as if he actually managed to say it. If we’re cool, then why does this hurt so fucking much? With a sigh, he allowed both shoulders to hit the pillow. Eyes to the ceiling, only seeing his ex in his peripheral, Jesse slowly blew out a stream of smoke through pursed lips. Further stress, all having accumulated in his shoulders and back, released all at once. That newfound bliss brought a soft groan to the world, and if only for a moment, he was content enough to keep going.
“You got paid though, right?”
Yellow eyes blinked, then narrowed. “I did, but...”
“...but what?”
“...I didn’t even get to the crazy shit yet.”
“You getting butt naked in front of Andre-motherfucking-alphus wasn’t the crazy shit?”
“No, just...wait here for a sec.” Jesse tilted his body to put his feet to the floor. The bedsheet snagged on in the space between his thigh and his groin, desperately trying to curl around his leg. It draped down harmlessly, and the incubus couldn’t help but give a short laugh at the wolf whistle that came his way. Into the living room, his eyes made a beeline for his hoodie pocket. Andrealphus’ sketch was still in there, completely undisturbed. Jesse slipped the paper between two fingers and walked back into the bedroom, collapsing chest first onto the bed and immediately shifting onto his side towards Bella. “He drew this in like...ten seconds.” As he handed the picture over to her, Bella’s eyes slowly widened, and her gaze shifted between the paper and his face.
“Ten seconds?”
“Ten seconds, give or take.”
“It’s fucking amazing.”
“I know, right? According to his butler, that asshole of a bird has been doing this shit since he was hatched.”
Cigarette smoke began to clog the air, to which Bella ground hers out on a nearby ash tray atop the nightstand. She stared at that drawing for what felt like twenty minutes, eyes darting all over the page. “Jesse...did he say anything else?”
“He did make fun of my name; called it pedestrian and gave me some wine.” The side-eyed look he received made him tilt his head a bit. “What?”
“A rich guy invites you into his house, demands you get naked, draws you like a Greek god, gives you fancy wine and hands you a paycheck. Are any of these dots connecting, at all, in your head?”
“...You think I look like a Greek god?”
Three harsh snaps near his face made those yellow eyes wince and blink rapidly. “Focus; remind me how you got this job in the first place.”
Jesse reached back and cupped his neck, slowly tilting and kneading that muscle as he dug into his memory. “I was standing guard at the front door to OZZIE’S, he rolled up in some fucking fancy carriage, I stopped him because OZZIE’S is a couples only joint and he was alone, then he told me his name, my manager came out and pissed himself, then Andrealphus threatened us and went inside.” Gears to a machine, the thoughts began to formulate in all the proper places, turning around in his head as the memories sped his thought process along. “Then Asmodeus called me to his office about half an hour later...and I got offered the job...”
Bella groaned and ran a hand over her face, her wing stretching out as her wrist moved. “Satan’s...fucking sac, Jess; you didn’t think that was weird? You didn’t question it?!”
“I didn’t! Asmodeus was cool with it, he was in the room, gave me some advice about the potential work relationship...I saw dollar signs and mulled it over at The Thirst Trap.”
“It can’t be a coincidence; opportunities like this just don’t fall out of thin air.”
“He took one look at me and said I had the right stuff for his project; that’s all. I guess I impressed him in my work uniform.”
“Right, because ducktape pasties are just what royals are into.” Bella rubbed her chin and eyeballed the drawing again. The details were too fine, too intricate and lifelike for it to be another run-of-the-mill piece of art. “You don’t think that you accidentally charmed him?”
Jesse arched his pierced brow and put his cigarette out, his response slow. “I guess I hadn’t thought about that. I wasn’t close to him that often, so I doubt the ol’ incubus charm managed to do anything.” While there were many ways to skin a cat, all of Asmodeus’ demons possessed a passive and innate charm wherever they walked; which provided a boost to their already potent seduction capabilities. While it was impossible to disable, there were resistances available to well-connected parties. Surely, someone as wealthy as Andrealphus would have something in his pocket to prevent being charmed.
“...maybe he wants to fuck you.”
Jesse recoiled, eyes wide, “What?!” The beginning of an astounded laugh puffed against his lips, that crimson skinned chest of his heaving. “No, no, no, no... no.”
Bella perked a brow in his direction, “You wouldn’t fuck a royal?”
“I’m a bouncer, not a whore; being born an incubus doesn’t suddenly make me a total slut.”
“No, but you are his personal nude model now. How do you know he isn’t at home, sitting around and thinking about your dick right now? You might as well play your hand, right? Shoot your shot; if it blows up...you got closer than most probably do.”
Splayed fingers tapped Jesse’s furrowed brow as his knee bounced and made waves in the bedsheets. “I’m sorry, but are you actually encouraging me to stick my dick in crazy?”
“I know he’s bad Jesse, and I know that I explicitly warned you about him before, but that’s before I knew you had leverage! Seduce him; how hard could it be?”
Far from that smoke filled bedroom in the Lust Ring, far from the dazzling neon lights and the comforting drone of constant rain, sat the Ring of Greed. A pungent, polluted waste pit of a city that floated amongst an uncountable foundation of waterlogged corpses and concrete. Oily, artery clogging smog billowed from factory pipes that littered the streets and docks; not a single unbusted window in sight for fifty blocks. Deep within its crime-infected alleyways and chop shops, a morgue, the only morgue in the entirety of Greed, housed a rather special guest.
An imp stood beneath a cracked and dying lightbulb, the light flickering in spasms of its last life. Sludge and muddy water oozed through the cracks in stone amidst two wall freezers of corpses; slots lining the walls with the unfortunate dead. One corpse tray was exposed, unsheathed from its frosty resting place and covered in a sheet. The imp adjusted his wide brim hat, an oaky cherry flavor brimming against his lips from the wrapping of a fat cigar and flicked open his lighter. A brief flame illuminated the sawblade-esque white mark along his right eye, which in itself housed a piss pool of malice. A clink of his lighter snapped the flame out.
“Uhhh, Boss, what are we doing here again?”
The imp sighed, his voice gravely and tight; like a tensed coil of metal rods grinding together by an unwanted clamp or hand. “Identifying a body.”
“Uhhh...who’s?”
“Shut the fuck up and tell Alessio to come in here.” Without another word, the bumbling thug nodded and jogged out the door. The metal slab slammed closed and left Crimson to his thoughts. Sharp cherry smoke billowed from his nostrils, razor sharp teeth clinking against each other as the urge to pierce into his cigar clawed at their deadly points. Water slowly dripped from an unknown location, slapping onto the concrete floor every few seconds. That singular unearthed cart loomed in the distance, and it didn’t take the imp long to journey over. His square-toed leather shoes clapped against the ground with each short step that he took, combatting the dripping water with an equally dread-inducing doldrum. Crimson raised his hand upwards, placed it upon the sheet, and allowed it to linger. Damp touched his skin with a pallor moisture. He threw the sheet to the right and stared at the corpse that lay beneath. The skin around his eyes tightened, further clouds of black smoke tumbled from the corners of his lips, and his cigar sagged in his mouth. “Shit.”
The burdened screech of a metal door filled the room, and another set of footsteps bounced off the makeshift metal coffins. Crimson didn’t need to turn; he simply draped the sheet back over the corpse before the newcomer could see it. A tall shadow hovered along the ground next to him and a protective presence draped itself over his mind like a suit of armor. Half a body emerged in his leftmost peripheral view; striped linen pants and an overcoat of deepest blue adorned it. A hand that was much larger than his own, and protected by a black leather glove, clenched the white sheet and tossed it aside. Silence descended on the room, save the ever-present dripping. Metal creaked under whitening knuckles; broad shoulders hunched in sorrow as a powerful shark’s tail slammed against the ground. Crimson swore he could pick out the softest mutter of despair, but anything that was potentially said was entirely undecipherable.
“We’re gonna get the bastard that did this, Al.” Crimson reached out and placed his palm against the clenched forearm of his shark demon bodyguard. “No one fucks with the family and gets away with it, not even a fucking Marquis. We’ll get revenge for your boy...”
The dripping water stopped altogether. “Where’s his head...sir?”
Crimson had capped too many souls to count; tortured, extorted, intimidated, and manipulated even more. None of their cries matched the composed anguish in Alessio’s tone. A venom-filled pipe, set to burst if it didn’t dissolve first. “...Fucker crushed it; Mortician only knew to call because of a few teeth and a skull fragment found lodged in the neck stump.”
“...did he have any last words?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Metal creaked once more, and then cried as it began to shift under the shark’s bloody fingers. “Boss...please, tell me what my son’s last words were.”
Crimson sighed, closed his eyes, and took a slow drag of his cigar. Smoke flew into his lungs and burned their inner lining before being expelled in a slow and remorseful exhale. Voice no higher than a grim mutter, “Someone help, this bird is fucking crazy.”
A fist slammed into one of the nearby metal doors, and a rolling table of tools was launched across the room. Scalpels and other tools for examination and surgical work flew every which way, clanking and clattering as they bounced off the floor. Crimson watched as Alessio sank to the ground, back to the corpse of his murdered son, and gripped the back of his head with curled fingers. Ringed red eyes peered out through pained slits that the shark demon called his eyelids, tail curled around the front of his feet. No tears were shed, but one look was enough for Crimson to confirm that even the most unbreakable walls could break. That just wouldn’t do.
“We’ll bring him in, and you’ll get the first and only crack, Al. Bury your boy and take the time that you need.” Crimson turned, removed the cigar from his mouth, and unleashed one more cloud of smoke. “I’m gonna go make a call.”
Chapter 6: A Missing Piece
Chapter Text
Amidst a wintry night within glacial walls, Andrealphus stirred from a deep slumber. Stark silence greeted him within the darkness, the outline of his cracked bedroom door barely visible. He stared into the darkness, head upon an embroidered pillow, his mind callously crafting imaginary specters just outside his door. Tickling claws of fear danced under his lungs; yet they were swiftly pulled down as the peacock stood from his restful bed. His talons clicked...and clicked...and clicked, until he stood within that same fearful darkness. He found nothing; not a light, nor a sound, nor a single sign of life. He was...alone.
Into the dark, he traveled down the hall and listened to his footsteps echo back. Between each, they took an entire three seconds to return. Andrealphus stared into the vast emptiness of his home, as if a void had enveloped it entirely. Not even a whisper of wind managed to breach the ornate windows, no matter how near he drew to them. Endless snowdrifts swirled and howled, blocking the outside world from the estate view. Two glowing cyan orbs gazed in his direction; his own reflection looking back...and behind him at the gleam of a blade.
Andrealphus whipped on his heel, yet he felt no weight upon his back nor cold steel against his neck. There was nothing, save the staircase descending to the Grand Foyer. The peacock’s eyes snapped towards the chandelier...and saw nothing. A calming stroke through his head feathers trimmed the peacock’s paranoia as he descended the stairs, the air of his estate oppressive and unfamiliar. Many a time he had walked the same staircase, and yet this time there was tension in his feet; fit to flight at the first vibration of trouble.
“Edmund,” he lightly called. “I believe we have a rat.” No response came. Andrealphus stepped towards the kitchen, fingers cautiously pressing their tips to the door. “Edmund?” Due to his butler’s impish nature, it only made sense to gift him sleeping quarters near the stoves and ovens. His constitution for the cold was admirable and well earned, but Andrealphus knew his ward had limits. At the back of the kitchen sat the door to Edmund’s quarters; its pathway cleared of the chaos and mess from earlier in the day. “Edmund, don’t tell me you’re--”
A mighty chime from a grandfather clock crashed through the manor. One chime, two chimes, three chimes, and four. Heavy bells continued with their song; it was top of the hour. Andrealphus whipped around on his feet once more and strode back through the Grand Foyer and up the staircase; hellish thoughts nipping at his ankles. Upon reaching the second floor, his head turned in the opposite direction of his private quarters. At the farthest end of the hallway sat another door, and through that door emanated a low humming. Deep tones carried the nonsensical tune, and the longer Andrealphus stared towards the invisible melody, the louder it grew. A memory began to reform itself in the back of his mind; it carried a familiarity to it that he couldn’t quite place. He took a step towards the door and could instantly, miraculously, make out the words.
“Once upon a midnight moon
Through ragged straits of haughty doom
I saw my enemies again
Hordes and hordes of hordes they came
To nearly swallow up the day
But when the last one hit the ground
There were none left to make a sound”
Andrealphus froze in place. “No... no... this is...what is this?” The rapid drumming of his heart ached against his sternum and propelled his feet, rushing towards the door as the world seemed to shrink before his eyes. The door drew further away, the hall stretching endlessly in an infinite track for him to run upon. In his futile attempts to reach the door, the song continued.
“We took their gold, we took their tomes
We froze the earth and claimed their homes
Royalty let royals be
Bastards everyone of thee”
Memories surged through his mind, curving from the back of his brain to the front and fully enveloping all that he was. He remembered this song; this was a memory! Upon that realization, unstoppable horror stopped the peacock’s heart, and the death throes of his composure propelled his feet beyond their limits. He reached the door with a gasp and violently threw it open to find...
Warmth; a dull glowing hearth with highbacked chairs, a gramophone, and many books worthy of a study. Yet, the background details did not matter, for the only thing of any consequence was what sat in the chair; what was singing. A long, gloved arm jutted outwards at an angle; elbow propped on the to armrest; a full wine glass cradled in a palm. Ivory silks and abyssal shades combined to highlight the crimson sleeves that trailed to the hidden body. Pink tailfeathers offered makeshift mat for taloned feet, avian legs that crossed at the knee nullifying the offer for the sake of refinement and dignity.
“Father!”
The chair turned, not a soul to physically move it, and the inquisitive smile of a flamingo greeted the peacock. Soft, friendly, and warm yellow eyes shined in the Marquis’ presence, and a smile sat below his downturned beak. “Ah, Andrealphus, my darling boy; what do you have there?”
As the flamingo spoke, a wardrobe on the far wall jumped. Yet, he paid it no mind. Andrealphus stared at the piece of furniture, fresh fear coiling over the joy of seeing his father. The wardrobe rattled, hopping left to right in place, as if dancing. Its doors rattled, doorhandle knockers bashing against wood, swinging violently to try and free themselves. A knot bunched in Andrealphus’ throat, smothering all moisture and clawing at his eyes. “Father, please...run.”
The Count looked directly through him and tilted his gaze lower. “Another ice swan; it’s perfect, my boy! I shall have to place it in the gallery, along with my own work. Come, sit with me by the fire; I have a gift for you.”
The wardrobe jumped once more, and its doors began to bulge and strain. The knocking increased in volume. The barrel of a gun, embroidered in the glow of angelic influence, scraped between the doors.
A single gunshot shattered the air, and the world went black.
Andrealphus shot awake and stared at the glimmering curtains surrounding his bed. Acid churned in his stomach; pain throbbed in his temples at an annoying tempo. Both hands acted as cushions for his face, fingers mashing and rubbing into the sides of his head for any level of relief force could provide. Flashes of memory assaulted his eyes, which teared from the stress, and were promptly smothered and rubbed by his fingertips. Despite his rational mind telling him that he was fine, Andrealphus’ fingers still trembled, and his breath was slow to push from his throat.
A sudden knock at the door made him jump, and through an agitated squint and a tight jaw, he growled. “What?”
“Good morning sire; I have your breakfast.”
Weary, Andrealphus sighed and dragged a hand down his sunken face. “Thank you, Edmund...”
“Are you feeling well, sire? Do I need to make a house call?”
“I’m fine; just leave the tray at the door.”
“Very well, sire. Do enjoy your meal; and don’t forget, his sinfulness Asmodeus is awaiting a status report on the latest sculptures.” The soft patter of imp hooves trailed into the distance before Andrealphus opened the door. On a golden-lined tray sat his breakfast; a bowl of snake and scorpion soup with a bowl of cherry tomatoes on the side. He picked up the tray and shut the door, then sat at the edge of his bed and gripped the soup spoon. Scorpion and snake meat soup was healthy for the immune system, as well as a potent source of protein. Andrealphus swooned on the first bite, an immediate percentage of his emotional and physical woes vanishing with the drop of his shoulders. A tiny moan rumbled from his beak, as he took another spoonful down his throat; the warmth dropping straight into his stomach providing him with a sensation of fullness. Upon grasping a tiny tomato betwixt two fingers, the status report came to mind. It was far behind schedule, with how catastrophic the first day of modeling was. Sadly, the only piece of work he accomplished had vanished with Queen Beelzebub’s untimely intrusion!
If he wanted to keep his record clean, he needed to expedite the process somehow; but how? Andrealphus mulled the question over and took his breakfast to go, heading straight down and into the Freezer for another look at his virgin sculpture. Surely, he could simply craft the demon’s form from memory? The clink of his tray atop a workshop table, followed by the clink of his ice pick and mallet, set an artistic fire to life in his mind; motivation swirled throughout his limbs, and he swung down. His mallet yanked back to a halt in trepidation; no, the first strike must be perfect. Perhaps the horns would be the best place to begin? No, too thin, and they required the presence of the head to attach to. Andrealphus searched his mind, trying to recall the measurement he had jotted down the previous day. Yet, for all his mental cataloguing, he couldn’t retrieve the precise details. “This is absurd! I shall simply...go with the flow.” What an utterly repugnant phrase, but there lay no other alternative.
Sharp and honed metal struck deep into the block of ice with a sharp chink. As the peacock tapped away, his limbs began to move on their own as his mind took centerstage. Memories of the incubus’ rigid definition, the broadness of his shoulders, the tightness of stone at the lowest reaches of his torso ran through his mind; each image translated into intention within his tools. It wasn’t long before a head was formed, and the Marquis brushed the collected ice shavings onto the floor. A rather solid recreation, especially coming from his memory alone. As Andrealphus began work on the shoulders, the world passed by; hands on the clock ticking away until they chimed at the top of the hour. Thunderous, the roar of ten individual chimes in sequence snapped the Marquis out of his artistic zone. An hour of work had passed, and as Andrealphus stepped back to view his work thus far, a frown crossed his face. “Edmund!” he barked. Tiny footsteps scuttled into the room soon after.
“Yes, sire?”
“Does this look off to you?”
Edmund gazed upon a nearly complete sculpture of Master Jesse, save anything below the belt. What had once been a brutish block had been smoothed and trimmed to majestic crystal; the eyes of the demon he escorted just the other day appeared to pierce his blackened soul. “Does what look off, my lord?” he asked with a passive glance, hands behind his back.
“The chin; I recall him having more of a divot.” A thumb pressed to midair, as if to punctuate the depth of the cleft chin. “Yet despite my confidence, I remain unsure without my blueprints.”
Edmund lightly shrugged, “It looks positively pronounced to me, your grace.”
Elbow to his ribs, chin to the top of his hand, Andrealphus tutted with a glaring brow. “No, no...it doesn’t feel correct.” A set of fingers reached out to grip said chin, then gave the sculpted head a sharp tweak to the right, followed by a backhand that sent the head careening into the far wall. Ice shattered as a bomb would, with a mighty crash and a hailstorm of shrapnel. “I must begin anew.”
The imp watched as his master flicked the icy torso and caused it to shatter as well; his palm then brimmed with magic to recreate the material he had just sacrificed. “Master Andrealphus, wouldn’t it be far more beneficial to your time, and to your sanity, if you simply altered the mistake instead of destroying the entire object?”
“I refuse to cast from an imperfect mold, Edmund.”
“Yes, but--”
“I refuse to put anything into this world that is anything less than the best it can be, knowing that its’ flaws were allowed at my own hands.”
“Sire--”
“To do so would showcase a mockery of the responsibility and power of creation.”
“Sire, if I may, Master Jesse is still in existence; this is simply a... copy.”
Andrealphus slowly inhaled, and his shoulders sagged upon the exhale, his elbow propped against the smooth ice block. Through the material of his robe, its hard surface mashed against his thin bone. “Yes, but it will be around when he is long gone; thus, it must be as perfect as he is.”
Edmund’s tail flicked, his eyes fully closed for a solid three seconds, and his tiny chest elevated slightly before he gave a soft response. “You are always so fretful of the future, sire. I worry that it might do you more harm than good. We cannot control what occurs tomorrow, only what occurs today.”
The corners of the peacock’s eyes tightened; stress lines folded amidst his ivory feathers. “The only use for today is to prepare for tomorrow. If you don’t, you have no future.”
“Yet I constantly wonder what our future even is, sire. Business dealings and artistry abound, yet...you eat alone. You wake in the middle of the night with no one to comfort you. Everyone who isn’t an immediate rival is far too frightened to entertain the thought of a future that involves you.” The tap of tiny hooves grew louder, and Andrealphus felt a gentle, gloved touch brush against his leg. Edmund’s voice was much closer, yet softer. “What is the point of perfection if you are not happy?”
Andrealphus grew silent and closed his eyes, unwilling to meet the imp’s deep blue gaze. Resolute, he responded in a steady tone that was uninformed of his tightly clenched fist. “Duty, Edmund; the same that was entrusted to my father, which he entrusted onto me, which I will one day pass to Octavia. She will be the one to adhere the planets to their proper place; spiritually and scientifically. My niece will have a greater level of responsibility than either myself or Stolas, and since I cannot have an heir of my own...” The Marquis swallowed, and his throat scratched all the way down. “...what other use do I have, as a man of royal station?”
“Andre.”
Upon hearing his shortened name, the peacock finally looked down at his butler.
“My duty is to care for you, that means in all aspects. I cook your meals, I make your bed, I tidy the manor and I keep its secrets; but you are the most vital part of my job. If you are not cared for, then I am failing at my duty. Your emotional wellbeing and mental state are just as important as the thread count in your sheets. As your guardian and caretaker, I ask you; what would make you happy?”
Andrealphus dribbled his fingers atop the ice in sequence, and his eyes darted left and right before they closed with a sigh. “To have that incubus back.”
The Lust Ring; a polished leather paddle adorned with too many tassels to be considered a respectable section of Hell. Debauchery was a staple in many of the rings, in one form or another, so to have an epicenter of carnality was rather redundant. However, far be it for Edmund to question the designs of the almighty. Slick rain dribbled atop his umbrella and created a pattering that quickly flooded his ears. Warm water splashed against his hooves, and each breath was clogged with perverse moisture that reeked of...carnal fluids. For the Master, Edmund; do it for Andrealphus! His master detested the rain ever so; thus, Edmund had offered to search for Jesse in his stead. An imp would prove to be far more approachable than the Mighty Marquis, in any sense, and it would save Edmund the extra laundry.
Dazzling neon signs stretched for endless blocks, nary a denizen to be seen in the barren streets. Yet, in the unobstructed windows of local buildings, shadows danced and folded into one another. A wide array of shapes and sizes, tempos and energies assailed him with each window passed. He had rendered such temptations moot long ago, in an act of royal solidarity, and as a gift of trust from the Sin of Lust himself. Such basic and passive charms, those carnal temptations, would not affect him; as it was a butler’s sworn duty to remain steadfast in the face of all obstacles. Chambermaids were notorious for ruining entire estates with a sultry glance and one too many quick romps in the broom closets; or so he had heard tale of.
In the distance, less than two blocks away by quick estimation, sat the vibrant decoration of OZZIE’s. A healthy line of demons awaited, all with a partner on their arm; male, female, and everything in-between were welcome, so long as they were joined. Edmund mulled over the beauty in that rule as he stepped to the side of the line, deeper waters splashing against the bottom hem of his trousers. When one was in a rush, the need to wait amongst the rabble only afflicted the docile, and so the imp skirted around to the nearest alleyway. No matter the location, an alley was an alley; decrepit, smothering, diseased at the foundations and filled with the puss of nature. His hooves would certainly require great care upon returning home. As Edmund turned at the end of the shortcut, he spotted an enormous gentleman in front of a back door. Easily big enough for two, the demon possessed three heads, their gaze covering all directions save south. A bipedal Cerberus; fiery of gaze and broad of shoulder, a crimson and thick coat of fur ordained every inch that tight clothing did not smother. A pair of dark glasses for each head, plus an earpiece for communication, and a massive black shirt that read SECURITY, spoke volumes. That was a door far less traveled, and likely allowed access to the backstage of the proscenium; which also meant all other areas were accessible from a single point. Edmund adjusted his tie and stepped out of the alley.
A snarl, throaty and fierce, immediately sounded. “You!” A harsh bark, flicked with foam and animalistic authority, snapped its jaws around the imp’s ear. “This area is off limits, piss off!”
“Good evening, gentlemen. I’m not looking to enter, merely to talk.” Edmund responded, his steps wide and arched with a casual gait; they created distance, yet not too desperately.
“We don’t talk.” The middle head growled, its voice slightly deeper than the one to its right, whose own gaze was tilted his way in the scope of a single eye. “We guard.”
“Guard the door, guard the door, no one enters; except the pretty dancers!”
“Come now,” Edmund cooed, as he twirled the umbrella in swift jaunts of rotation. “Surely you can help a lost imp such as myself find who he’s looking for? Between the three of you, one of you must know who I seek.” Mountainous and furry arms tightened at the imp’s question, and an equally monstrous chest strained against the material of that pitch black work shirt. “Think of it this way, gentlemen, if you answer my questions and I leave, then you’ve successfully guarded the door, haven’t you?”
All three heads glanced at each other. “Alright,” the leftmost head began. “On one condition.”
The middle head bared its teeth. “We’re sopping wet out here, so throw in that umbrella and we’ll answer...within reason.”
“No names, no schedules, no presents; touch the pretty girls and we bite!”
Edmund sighed and glanced solemnly at his umbrella; 'twas his favorite. “Very well, but only after my questions have been answered. Do you know of an incubus who works here named Jesse?”
“Yes.” All three heads answered in unison, their voices combined into a new sound altogether.
“Is he currently here? I need to speak with him.”
“No.”
“Terribly sorry, but is that no meant to establish that he is not present, or that you will not allow me to speak with him?”
“Jesse called in.” the middle head spoke by itself.
“Don’t know why.”
“He never calls, never; workaholic!”
Edmund sighed. “Very good gentlemen; the umbrella is yours.” His arm raised upwards, palm sliding down until the front of his wrist bumped against the smooth wooden handle. The guard’s massive arms unfolded and pinched the tip of the umbrella, then raised it higher to clench the handle between two fingers. There was only room enough to shelter a single head at a time! Edmund turned to leave, the warm rains of Lust slipping and gliding through his salt and pepper hair.
“We know one extra thing that might help, if you still plan on looking for him. Jesse hangs out at a place called The Thirst Trap; about twenty blocks from here. We can’t guarantee he’ll be there, but it’s where we’d look.”
“There’s a bus station a block up; if you run you should be able to make it before the bus arrives.”
More was owed to their generosity than a simple gracious bow, but Edmund apparently didn’t have time to spare. A quick slap of both hands to his sides, just below the hips, and a deep forward lean was the best that he could muster. “A pleasure, gentlemen.” Rapid pattering of puddles splashed around his hooves and the drops of rain grew sharper as he sped towards the bus stop. The deep blues, purples, pinks, yellows and greens smeared among the background as Lust became an abstract art piece. Edmund breathed deep of the hellish air, each color surged into his nose and poured into his eyes; color, it was an endless gallery of color! Angelic humming began to rise in the background, a chorus of feminine and male voices on the cusp of ascension. Each note escalated, rising in spirit and volume; Edmund’s world sharpy turned as the rain vanished and two yellow orbs appeared in the distance. Closer and closer they drew, the chorus continued to rise, and roar, and scream, and--!
Dingy bus doors hissed and screeched open. Lust was back; he had made it to the bus stop in time. In the driver’s seat sat a sparking, rust-stained torso wired to the leather. The mechanical driver’s head, topped with two bulky, curled horns and two mesh-lined yellow eyes twisted like a top to tilt at its new passenger. “Greetings!” Sparks flashed and the eyes flickered, the androgynous voice wavered and crackled. “Welcome to Lustful Lines, where we offer service with, with-with-with-with...VIGOR!” The driver’s head snapped back forward, as Edmund climbed three steps onto the bus and the doors closed. Without even waiting for him to take a seat, the bus began to move. Open seats were plenty; red velvet lined with golden edges to the side of a red carpet. Tassels dangled from the drapes along the windows, swinging and shivering in the vehicle’s momentum. Vanilla and cinnamon with a dash of water-based lubricant filled the air. Edmund chose a seat near the front of the bus and gazed out the window, counting the blocks as they passed.
Amongst the streets of Lust, few demons tread. All that greeted Edmund were random passersby, concealed under an umbrella. How Master Jesse managed to stand in the rain for hours at his job baffled the imp. He did not possess the ability that his true master did, to turn harsh and compounding raindrops into harmless, beautiful snowflakes. A testament to the incubus’ grit, if nothing else; it was a wonder he didn’t grow ill. Perhaps it was an accumulated immunity, but without knowing how long he had worked under Asmodeus’ employ it was foolish to assume. “Sixteen...seventeen, eighteen...” Edmund muttered, then yanked the hanging wire that sat in front of the window. The bus came to a slow stop, then the brakes hissed, and the doors opened with another creaking screech.
“Thank you for choosing Lustful Lines; have a pleasant day and remember to Go Fuck Yourself!”
Edmund wasted little time escaping the rain, the hanging sign of The Thirst Trap merely a few buildings down. The dull thumping of music vibrated against the wooden door, mingled with the steady drone of patrons conversing inside. As he opened the door, every sound from inside the bar intensified and washed over his ears. The cacophony of socialization dulled when Edmund stepped inside and shut the door, his brain attuning to the overall volume within the bar. Meat, sauces, hops, thick and syrupy nectars coupled with cigarette smoke and low-quality vapors rushed the imp in tandem. Edmund wiped back his brow and scanned the patrons; all shapes and sizes of demons, yet none of royal standing from an outwards glance, and no one familiar. A multi-armed demon manned the bar, grabbing bottles from a towering shelf behind her and filling four small glasses in unison. Demons sat on high stools or stood around the counter, leaning against it as they glued their eyes, or in some cases ‘eye’, to wall mounted televisions. Edmund took one step towards the bar and stopped as his hoof stuck to the floor. He peeled Satan-knows-what away with a slow bend of the knee, lips sank in a stony expression that mismatched his tone. “How...flattering.”
If he was going to locate Master Jesse, he needed to garner further information. Simply eyeballing the establishment wasn’t doing him any favors, and thus he was wasting time the longer he deliberated. Edmund strolled towards the bar and ran into an immediate issue; there were no unoccupied stools. Due to his diminutive size, his ability to gain attention past all the patrons would be tenuous, and he could not afford to waste any more time; Master Andrealphus was expecting him back posthaste. “Excuse me, sir.” he greeted, prodding a rather broad demon on its side. The head of an octopus, wings of a dragon, and the tail of a bull fixated to a herculean body all turned and looked down at Edmund with blinking, purple eyes. “I just entered and was passed by someone who said that your mother must have been quite a whore for you to be born looking as you are.” As the demon’s eyes narrowed and its face tentacles trembled in rage, Edmund hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “They headed out the door and took a right.” He stepped aside as the chimera-like entity surged to its feet and nearly shook the entire room with its stomping on the way out; the resulting slam of the door drew more than a few heads.
Now with a proper seat, which the imp quickly took up residence atop, he quickly tapped the bar counter. “Pardon me, but I will have one shot of Sinful Gin. I also have a question...” Pinned to the bartender’s apron was a small, laminated nametag that Edmund had to squint in order to read. “...Maude.”
“You looking to start a tab, Short Cake? I’ll tell ya, I wouldn’t recommend it.” she rumbled, grabbing a thick, transparent glass bottle from the shelf and procuring a small glass from under the bar. In one smooth motion, she poured the drink midair and slid the glass towards him, the gin bottle alternating to her lower set of arms to be re-corked and re-shelved. “Anyway; what’s the fuckin’ question?”
“I’m looking for an incubus who frequents your establishment, or so I’ve been told.” Edmund lifted the glass and slowly rolled his wrist in a counterclockwise motion for a waft. Pungent, sharp, medical flavorings mixed with juniper shocked his brain, to which the imp simply closed his eyes and allowed his brow to furrow. Without taking a sip, he sat the glass back down. “His name is Jesse, and it is of the highest importance that I find him.”
In the time it had taken Edmund to ask his question, Maude had already poured six refills and slid them down the bar; the light impact against wood and the following drag of glass against a smoothed surface was nearly comforting by the end. Sunken eyes, rock-ridged brows, a swine’s nose pierced with a thick metal hoop, and messy black hair done up in a loose bun glared down at Edmund. Hard, dull eyes of brown flicked up his form, and one of her pudgy elbows leaned against her side of the bar as she gave a snort. “He ain’t here.”
“I see.”
“I don’t know you.” came another snort, the towering boar-demon's tusks jutting forward alongside her chin. “What do you want with him?”
“That is a private matter, madam.”
“Madam?!” Maude barked out, a booming laugh causing layers of jowls to jiggle and dance. “Yeah, you definitely ain’t from around here Fancy Britches; you ain’t a tourist, and you definitely ain’t in bed with Jesse. He don’t fuck around with rich-type folks like you off the clock.” Another laugh slipped free, this one more of a chuckle as the nicety was simply too humorous. “Madam: hah! I’ll tell you what, Itty-Bitty Goat Man; you buy a bottle, and maybe I’ll tell you where he might be right now. No guarantees, no refunds; deal?”
Oh, how droll; yet it was the way of the common world! Palms needed to be greased, incentive needed to be given, reason was required and supported with mutual gain. Edmund took one glance at a chalkboard near the alcohol shelf and fished into his inner vest pocket. When he pulled out his hand, a cool roll of currency sat within it, and he pointed to the gin bottle. Maude yanked the bottle off the shelf and sat it down with a thud, then took the roll of cash and unrolled it. Every bill was counted in the span of ten seconds, and she pocketed them with another snort. “He bought a ticket down to Gluttony last week; which is odd because those tickets cost an arm and he typically ain’t got one to spare. Must’ve got an advance at work or something. Since he hasn’t been fired, far as I know, he might be rooting around down there; you know, since he ain’t here.”
Gluttony: excellent! Edmund scraped his chair back against the wooden floor, grabbed the bottle of gin, and hopped down. “Thank you, Madam Maude, your cooperation is most appreciated!” Now, all he had to do was get to the train station...when did the bus come ‘round again?
‘Twas marvelous what a simple train ride could do for the scenery. Edmund stepped out of a golden bullet train and onto a similarly golden platform. Warmth hugged and hummed against his cheeks as rays of artificial sunlight beamed down from on high. Thick, moist air clogged his nostrils, and a thin, dampening layer of perspiration formed under his suit sleeves. Gluttony gleamed amongst jungle-like fauna and flora, accented with the cries of chittering insects and birds. A nearby map, established as a directory for visitors to Gluttony, stood nearby. Edmund pulled a pocket watch from within his suit jacket and pressed his index finger to its closed ridge; popping the lid open and exposing the face of a clock. He quickly shut the watch and returned it to his pocket; time was running short before Master Andrealphus would become...irritated by his prolonged absence. Approximately an entire minute of eyeballing the map went by before Edmund realized a rather important roadblock; he didn’t know exactly where in Gluttony Master Jesse would be. Further investigation was required, of that there was little doubt, but where to begin?
Unlike Lust, Gluttony’s streets were brimming with occupation. Shoppers in lightly layered attire conversed as they walked on white and yellow streets. Demons lounged on ornate, golden benches that could easily fit six rears. Repurposed buckets tapped and dribbled away as a street performer enticed a small crowd. The district was bustling and there was no shortage of establishments to enter for information, but which to choose? They were all just as likely to know nothing as they were to know something relevant at all; decision paralysis wracked his mind. Edmund scanned the storefront signs and muttered them off as he approached each window. “Endless Entrees’, Doug’s Boundless Beer Bongs, Casual Cannabis...oh, Satan preserve me.” Resignation pooled at the top hem of his mind, brimming with growing dejection and agitation. Shops were going to be of no use if they were simply food stands or party favor factories! Perhaps a local would be far more helpful?
Makeshift drumbeats snapped in Edmund’s ear as he traveled down the sidewalk. Sitting cross legged against a brick wall was an imp. A spade-tipped tail kept beating against the pavement as rough, ashen red hands set to work creating music. An upturned cowboy hat yawned at the sky upon the sidewalk, loosely pattered with spare change and bills. Ragged brown pants, an undershirt, and a tanned, unbuttoned leather vest lined with cowboy fringes were all the demon wore; his flat hooves exposed to the hot sidewalk. One of his horns was broken, shattered with an ugly, cracked wound that ruined all symmetry. The imp’s intact horn had an orange bandana tied around it, and as the street performer turned, Edmund saw that one of his eyes was scarred, blank and filled with a milky blur. Edmund reached into his pocket, pulled out a small roll of bills, and flicked it into the hat. The performer stopped and raised his head and spoke, his voice thick as Gluttony’s air.
“Thank you, brother; I’m glad you like my tunes.” The demon’s one good eye narrowed and his mouth tightened into a thoughtful purse. “Pardon my assumption, but you seem to be a fish outta water. It’s good to see another imp do well, but you shouldn’t be dressed like that here; the air will bake you.”
“I’ll admit, I’m used to a more frigid climate, but I’m here on important business and have had little luck. Perhaps...you could help me?”
“I suppose; not like I got much better to do, and I’d hate to spit on your generous donation.”
“I’m looking for an incubus; white hair, broad chin, rather large shoulders, wings, and diamond patterned skin. Have you seen anyone like that?”
Edmund watched as the imp’s brow furrowed in thought, and his hand rose up to scratch at the ragged scar of where his horn used to be. “Kinda rings a bell, you know, up in my brain; but...” Boney fingers curled deeper, and the scratching intensified to the point that an audible scraping tickled the air around them. “...shit, wait. There was a guy like that who used to be really big down here, but that was a bit ago; fuck, what was his name...” Hard scratching turned to rapid scratching, then a sudden and sharp crack of snapping fingers burst out. “Diamondback Jesse! Yeah, that was his fucking name; used to be a dancer down in some underground nightclub.”
The corners of Edmund’s lips lifted, “My good imp, that is exactly who I’m looking for. Tell me, where is this nightclub?”
“It’s at the center of Gluttony; smack dab in the middle of the whole ring! It’s exclusive though; there’s a password to get in, and you gotta be a member to know it. If you want to try your luck, head to Beelze-Boulevard. There will be a statue of Queen Beelzebub in a park; in that park you’re gonna find a big bridge over a canal. Go under the right side of the bridge and there’ll be a door; that’s the club.”
“That was...an excessive amount of specific information. How are you so well versed in the location of this supposedly secret establishment?”
“Mister, that was way too many big words for me to keep track of at once, but I got the gist of it. Let's just say that, once upon a time, I got to knock boots and bump shoulders with the upper crust. Nowadays...well, not so much.”
“I frown at your misfortune but smile at your generosity; thank you sir, may Satan smile upon you.”
“Would be nice if he hurried up; I ain’t getting any prettier!”
“Before I go, which way is Beelze-Boulevard?”
In response, the scarred imp gestured to his right. Edmund gave a final bow to the stranger and went about his way; the street performer soon vanished from view. Alone once more with only his objective to keep him company, the butler’s pace quickened.
Having followed the stranger’s instructions to the letter, Edmund wiped his brow with the back of his hand as he hunched over before a massive, glimmering, golden water fountain statue of Queen Beelzebub herself. Sweat drenched the imp’s brow, temples, and neck; each individual wipe was merely ground for further perspiration to form and clog his pores. The black suit jacket he wore was discarded, draped over his shoulder against one of his suspender straps. Both of his white sleeves were rolled above the elbow, yet his tie remained neatly bound around his neck; some dignity needed to be maintained, after all. Edmund sat down against the stone rim of the glittering fountain, eyes narrowing as intense warmth beamed straight into his back. Scratched breaths ached alongside his lungs with every breath, unable to inhale enough air to satisfy themselves. As he drank deep, the air stuck to his mouth and refused to go down. No matter how much he tried, Edmund couldn’t fill his lungs; as if trying to climb over a massive, cresting tidal wave, he was simply pushed down with each attempt.
Weakness surged behind his closed eyes, wrapped in the allure of tweeting birds and the hum of a hot sun. Sleep, rest, slumber, and grow full by the chalice of sloth; an urge in the back of his mind whispered. Weary legs and slick skin were both far too eager to submit, yet the butler’s sharpened mind resisted. “Shade...I need shade...” he panted, his tired head hoisting up to search for the aforementioned canal. Two different cobblestone paths stretched into the jungle; surely, they’d interconnect. Too weary to waste time on a hypothesis, Edmund chose the left path and trudged onward. Amidst what shade the canopy of leaves provided him along the way, the humidity of Gluttony was simply too powerful for it to have any noticeable or meaningful effect! A twitch of the imp’s brow honed his growing irritation. “Damn this accursed jungle foliage!” While the walkway was well kept, the park itself was merely a verifiable junkyard of vines, palm trees, and sticks. Perhaps the locals from the past two Rings were right, maybe he was too out of his depth to find Master Jesse. Yet, the trust that Master Andrealphus had placed in him kept the spark of hope alight! Then, through a dense fan of palm leaves, he heard the babbling of water against rock, and finally laid his eyes upon a stone bridge that arched over a wide canal. Sparkling, clear water rushed towards parts unknown. Bright stones of varying colors and speckles of minerals formed the bedrock of the artificial river. If he wasn’t so dog beaten, a moment or two of hoof soaking sounded positively pleasant; vacation worthy, even.
In the distance, two figures stood beneath the bridge and knocked on a steel door; even as Edmund stealthily crept his way along the grassy bank. Mind sharp, focusing on the lips of the demon speaking, he mouthed the words, ‘Liquid Gold’. Shortly after, both demons vanished from view, and the door shut with a swift yet soft click. Right on the heels of their entrance, Edmund rapped upon the door and slicked his sweaty hair back as a slit placed high above snapped open. Two red eyes peered down in his direction, and a deep, gruff voice spoke. “Password.”
“Liquid Gold.”
The slit clicked shut and the steel door opened wide to reveal a stone tunnel with descending steps. He walked inside without a second thought and stopped, rapture washing over his skin in a breeze of cool air! “Oh, thank Satan...” the imp groaned and closed his eyes, head tilted back while his body rapidly began to cool. Not even the sensation of eyes upon him could ruin the relief that enveloped his entire being; tail curling in bliss as sweat cooled in his graying hair. Once he felt level, Edmund descended the stairs and winced as a dim light began to swell in power the deeper that he delved. At the bottom of the steps, the light was nearly blinding, and as Edmund stepped through an archway, low and serene music wiggled into his ears.
Nullifying hues of blues and grays lulled a pond of patrons into quiet observation. Graceful synth music drifted through the large room; keyboard and bass strings plucking and chiming in harmony. Both instruments sat upon a proscenium stage at the back of the room; and while patrons sat in their rounded booths, some stood in a square pit to watch from below. Atop the stage, betwixt both musicians, stood a dark furred bat in a glimmering red dress; and as Edmund walked towards the bar she began to sing.
“I looked to the stars
But I couldn’t see you
What a fool I must have seemed
To be waiting for a cue that never came
You left me there, baby
On a morning like today
I searched near and far
But I never even came close!”
Melodious, powerful; a spark of nostalgia and pleasantries hugged around Edmund’s chest. An incessant tug, like that of a needy child, heeded his hooves to turn and his head to snap the singer’s way. He soon found himself seated at the bar; the urge unheeded. Deja vu tickled the butler’s brain, even as he examined his loneliness at the counter. Turned away from him, standing behind said counter, was a towering but lanky figure. Not a speck of meat on its bones, a long, striped robe and a wide brimmed hat with antlers jutting through either side were its most defining features. “Pardon me, my good man; I’d like the house special while I ask you a few questions.” The creature turned, its face the polished remains of a deer skull, and two glowing orbs for eyes gazed down upon Edmund. Skeletal human hands peeked from expansive and thick sleeves and the entity’s jaw clacked as it spoke.
“Welcome to The Blood Fruit Lounge, good sir. The House Special is, and always will be, our signature Golden Glow.” Procured from beneath the bar, boney joints cracked as undead fingers coiled around a potion-shaped bottle and sat it upon the table. True to its name, a nearly mythological shade of gold shined within, and as the bartender popped the cork free of the bottle, it oozed into a shot glass with the viscosity of honey. As the liquid took its time to descend, a pop of purple smoke revealed two cherries that levitated to one side of the glass. Edmund’s eyes locked onto the speed of the beverage, noting that it appeared to move faster the longer that it was allowed to pour without interruption. Both cherries dropped as the flow was broken and sank into the honey, as if a tar pit or quicksand. Shades of red, purple, and blue opened within the layers of gold, then began to mix together. The result was a rather colorful beverage that warned of an overabundance of sugar, but Edmund took the task to head and raised the rim to his lips.
Euphoria; pure and undiluted happiness washed down his throat in a single sip. Perked brow, a low rumble of satisfaction and curiosity, and a flick of the imp’s tail brought a desire to linger. The Golden Glow’s thickness caked the back of his tongue and drowned his tastebuds in rich, almost forbidden flavor; despite the liquid itself already having made the descent into the stomach. “I seem to have found myself in the wrong realm; I thought I was in Hell, but this drink is...”
“The drink is top shelf quality; our esteemed patronage deserves nothing less. Now, you had queries for me?”
“Yes, what can you tell me about Diamondback Jesse?” As the demon opened its mouth again to answer, Edmund took another savory sip of Golden Glow.
“I see he’s becoming popular again; no surprises there. Back in the earliest days of this establishment, he was the Blood Fruit Lounge’s best dancer on the more...high-energy evenings. He earned his moniker from the natural diamond-shaped patterns on his skin. After a healthy five-year stardom, he retired; much to the dismay of Madam Ambrosia. However, he did reappear around a week ago, but it was merely for a short while.”
“So, you have not seen him this evening?”
“I have not. Are you seeking an autograph?”
“No.” Edmund sighed; another dead end. “Yet, I need to locate him nonetheless, and my day has been fruitless; as it were.”
The demon’s eyes flickered; with no eyelids to speak of it must be deep in thought. “Perhaps after the set is complete, I can have a word with Madam Ambrosia for you. She may know where he is, or potentially have his number on hand.”
“That would be delightful! Please, do; but why wait until the set is complete?”
“Why, because it’s her set, sir.”
Edmund’s head turned towards the stage, and for the first time since he entered the nightclub, looked at the singing bat onstage. Crimson eyes, swaying hoop earrings, and a towering height...it was her! That previous sensation of familiarity slipped into place yet again, and as Edmund picked out subtle cues from her singing voice, stark realization dawned upon him. Madam Ambrosia was the very same woman that him and Master Andrealphus had spied beneath Jesse! “Oh, dear.”
“Stunning, I know. Normally, someone with her status likely wouldn’t bother addressing every question and need under their roof, but Madam Ambrosia is a rather hands on type personality. You may not even recognize her once she steps off stage.”
Edmund doubted that.
Applause cascaded through the club as the orchestration ended, and all the musicians began to walk offstage. Body now mostly cooled from the interior airflow, Edmund opened his suit jacket and quickly began to slide it onto his shoulders and arms. “If it will help expedite her interest, inform her that it is a royal matter.” Slicked and smooth hair: check. Fully buttoned jacket: check. Unruffled tie tucked perfectly into proper position: check. Edmund turned his head, and saw the bartender simply observing him, with the Madam nowhere to be seen.
“Journey down the hall, take a right, and you shall find her private dressing room. Madam Ambrosia will be awaiting your arrival; good luck.”
Edmund slid from atop the barstool and wandered thusly; steps brisk, eyes straight, chest forward. It would be most unbecoming to tarnish the reputation of his Master’s house with improper posture and mannerisms. No one impeded the imp’s journey, nary a security guard or employee to be seen. In fact, somewhat alarmingly, as he pressed his hands against a cool set of metal double doors and stepped on through, silence enveloped the space around him. The path ahead was dim, illuminated solely by large, upturned bowls for lights that dangled from the ceiling. Each step echoed deep within the hall, and the faint scent of cigarette smoke drifted into his nostrils. He walked, and walked...and walked, until the hall curved at a right angle, which he then turned down and stopped in front of a door. A bright pair of red neon lips decorated the entryway. Edmund raised his hand to knock, but before he could, a feminine voice called out from the other side.
“Enter.”
Rows of light bulbs greeted Edmund as he pushed through the door; rows of mirrors and shelves lining the walls in perfect file. Velveteen ottomans, drapes, and couches sat at the center of the room. Atop one said couch was Madam Ambrosia; it could be no other. Those tall bat-like ears, jingling hoops, pitch-black fur and a height that the couch could hardly contain were the exact qualities he had spotted from afar. Now, as the imp walked closer, he caught the crimson gleam of her eyes and the weight of her legs as they rested atop one another at the knee. Rectangular shoes with thick heels lazily mulled about midair as a lit cigarette decayed between her lips; its’ corruptive and expiring breaths sharp in his nostrils. Edmund felt those blood ruby eyes scrape the back of his neck as he gave a gracious bow; one hand to the chest, a knee bent, and head low as he dipped low on one leg. “Madam Ambrosia, your performance was impeccable.”
A glint passed beyond the bat’s gaze and through a cloud of exhaled smoke; her brow low and lips taut. “And you are?”
“Edmund, my lady; I am the personal servant of The Mighty Marquis, Lord Andrealphus.”
“I see.” Skin at the corners of her lips tightened, yet her eyes remain half-lidded as she tapped the cigarette against the edge of a nearby ash tray. “My man told me you’re here on royal business; before you ask, no, I’m not selling.”
“Oh, I am not here to purchase this club from you Madam; in fact, I was unaware of its existence until an hour or so ago.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I was hoping you could point me in the direction of one Diamondback Jesse. I’m told you have a previous and positive relationship with him.”
Light bloomed in Madam Ambrosia’s eyes, and her lips stretched back into a pensive state. “Is that right?” An awoken and attentive gaze scanned the imp from the bottoms of his hooves to the pinnacle of his horns. Between her lips, a brief gleam of ivory peeked out, then vanished just as fast.
“Yes; I am to believe that he used to work here and was quite popular, as a matter of fact. Considering his reputation, I can only assume that someone of such considerable talent would be monitored by their employer.”
“Yet your Master didn’t think to even get a phone number.” A harsh scoff brushed along the bat’s molars. “So, you come into my world and make it my problem.”
“My intrusion is not malicious in nature; it is simply required.”
“Required.” Madam Ambrosia repeated, a cynical grin splitting her lips from cheek to cheek. An ill bark of laughter bounced around the back of her ribs, and her gaze tilted down to her cigarette. Another deep inhalation stoked the embers of medical meditation, yet the edge of her smile did not fade. “Required, as if your ‘Lord’ has any right to take my shit.”
“You misunderstan--”
“Oh, do I; because the last time that I remember demons like your master ‘requiring’ anything from us, they didn’t send a messenger. They simply came and took.” Lean muscles stretched and flexed in both legs as the towering bat leaned forward; even as such, she still glowered down at Edmund from on high. Thick, leathery wings stretched alongside her arms at the wrists. “The only way to reach my club is by invitation, an invitation by which you have weaseled your way around, because I did not send an offer to your Lord, nor would I ever.” Ashes and sparks flared as a harsh flick of the cigarette sent the death stick smashing into Edmund’s finery, only to crumble and drop to the floor.
To offer a rebuttal was logical, yet...he could not part his lips. All muscles within him refused to move, refused to obey; what was happening? All Edmund could do was make direct contact with Madam Ambrosia’s sharp and bloody gaze.
“Can’t move, can you? How does it feel to be trapped in a room with a dangerous beast? Not very good, I’d assume.” A harsh pinch and pull of Edmund’s cheek, then a shake and a swift slap deepened his complexion. Even frozen, the pain was rather real, and his facial features could still move. “Imp was always my favorite.” she crooned, a pair of shining, ivory fangs flashing into view. With their addition, the bat’s gaze sharpened, deepened, and enhanced its red hue into a near-black shade. “I’m sure your precious Lord wouldn’t mind letting you pay his pound of flesh, would he?”
As the vampire dipped towards his neck, the entirety of Edmund’s body roared in a fight or flight response. Each muscle flexed and clenched at their maximum strength in an attempt to break through whatever paralysis had overtaken him! To no avail, as a sharp stab of pain burst into his neck, and an immediate suction began to steal his blood.
“Fuck!” came the sudden exclamation of Madam Ambrosia. Fangs pulled free as her head yanked back and her lips pursed to spit out what they had nearly ingested. Sharp, cold tingling covered the holes in Edmund’s skin, and the butler began to feel his brain synapses make contact with his limbs; he was beginning to break free! In his efforts, a powerful grip clamped over his mouth and hoisted from off the floor, leaving his tail and other limbs to dangle mid-air. Grip like an iron vice, her fingers dug into his cheekbones to try and bruise them altogether. “I don’t know what Andrealphus did to you, but you taste like shit!” A sharp snap of fingers caused the door to fly open, and two hellhounds in suits and earpieces rushed in to stand at attention. Madam Ambrosia threw her arm back and tossed Edmund into their waiting arms. “Get this little royal cocksucker out of here. Dump him in another ring, change the password, and blacklist him in the system. I don’t want to see his face in this end of Gluttony again, got it?”
The last thing that Edmund saw before a dark, stuffy bag descended over his head was Madam Ambrosia dabbing blood off of her lips with a tissue.
Chapter 7: Pound of Flesh
Chapter Text
Edmund stared into darkness, his only companion the occasional pothole that shook the vehicle. How long had they been driving? By his own estimate, it was around an hour and change. While at the start of the unintended road trip he had kept track of the number of turns and their direction, he stopped around turn twelve. Was it twelve turns? There was no way to be sure now; he was blind and paralyzed, but his ears and nose were still active. Sadly, they provided little to no practical information; the itchy burlap burned his nostrils with clinical alcohol while the rumble of the engine was the only sound, he could hear. Two goons had grabbed him, and during the initial loading of the vehicle it seemed there might have been more, there was no further sound; not even a cough of a shuffle of fabric. Then, as Edmund pondered over his ultimate location, the tires lurched to a stop. A door slid open, and the drumming of rain filled his ears with a welcome melody. Gravity surrendered him to powerful arms; and then took him back as warm air surged around him. Harsh and unforgiving ground slammed against the imp’s shoulder, and he felt something rough scrape along his trousers before his head collided with something hollow and flimsy. Still occluded in darkness, Edmund tugged at the bonds around his wrists, warm rain slowly matting his attire to his skin.
Rugged rope hugged against his wrists, burning with each attempt to loosen it. The skid of tires roared for a moment, then vanished into the distance. Irritation and pain both throbbed throughout his upper body; he needed to stand. Edmund threw his weight to the right and braced his outer foot against the slick ground, righting himself. Then, a flex of his core allowed the imp to slowly rise to his feet, both of his shoes shuffling and scuffing in his ears as he groped for a wall. Fingers splayed out, trapped behind him, a blind search for any solid surface occupied his mind. A headache was coming on, and the dull, cold burn from Madam Ambrosia’s bite was unrelenting. Eventually, a rough and rocky surface edge touched his fingertips. Edmund shuffled to his right, seeking out a bend or a sharp curve; anything that could create an edge to strain his bonds against! It was there, in his search for freedom, that the splash of footsteps through rain graced the air.
“Hello, good sir or madam; I can hear you! Would you be so kind as to remove the bag from my head? I would be most grateful.” Despite his plea, the footsteps continued and eventually faded into the droning of lustful rain. Considering all the good fortune he had stumbled upon today, a dash of poor luck was to be expected, he supposed. Finally, he located what felt like the corner of the building and locked his elbows; sawing his arms up and down in a backwards manner. While awkward, he had no other means of escaping, and what was a few moments of shame in exchange for freedom. An entire three minutes seemed to have passed before the ropes snapped open, just in time for Edmund to yank the hood from atop his head and gasp for air.
Familiar neon lights and dark, vibrant colored architecture stretched out before him; Edmund was indeed back in the Lust Ring. Suit ruffled and soaked, pain in his neck, and a shortness of breath all piled high with his accumulated fatigue. Malignant brick walling hit the back of his shoulders, as Edmund drew a rain-soaked hand across his face. While the moisture seeped into his eyes and helped energize his weary soul, a commotion in the distance slithered into his ear. It was loud, near and dense, as if at the other end of the very alley he found himself hugging. Voices bounced between brick and steel, one unknown and one all too familiar.
“Where’s the rest?”
“Bruno, you know I’m good for it; this is just an installment!” A hefty thud and a pained groan interrupted the conversation, followed by another thud. His fatigue forgotten, whisked away by a surge of adrenaline, Edmund sidled along the wall to the other end of the alley. That was Master Jesse’s voice.
“You were told not to pop your head out until you had the whole thing. This ain’t the whole thing, Jesse boy.”
Deep, heaving coughs responded. “I’m getting…the rest!” A blow, much weightier than the previous one, dropped against Edmund’s ears. Heaves, and the eventual sound of something wet splattering against the ground followed. “Bruno, come on man…it’s with interest…”
“After all the time we’ve wasted on you, you owe us more than just interest.” Edmund’s head peeked around the corner. A hulking slab of a shark demon had Jesse by the neck, mountainous and scarred arms seeming to hoist him with ease against the wall. The incubus’ hands gripped a much thicker wrist, tail and legs squirming for leverage. The thug was clad in nothing but a white undershirt, suspenders, and striped, brown pants with polished black shoes. A lit cigar glowed brightly in the rain, and Edmund frowned as the shark blew a noxious storm of nicotine into Jesse’s face. “Maybe I should take some collateral from you, just to make sure you’re on the up and up. What would you prefer; I’ll let you choose. A finger, some teeth, or maybe even one of your pretty peepers.” An unwieldy, serrated knife scraped against a leather sheath at the shark’s thigh and poised itself at the incubus’ face. “I’d hate to carve up such a handsome mug, but unfortunately, you’re leaving me little choice.”
Edmund loosened his tie and slid his suit from both shoulders. He needed to act fast. Necktie wrapped around one hand, he rolled his jacket in the other and grabbed a garbage lid from a nearby can. The alley was a dead end; nothing but a solid wall of brick extending high into the sky, dotted with cooling units and clotheslines. Once Edmund stepped inside, the space would be confining, and there’d be only one exit back the way he came. Resolve reinforced his forearm muscles, and Edmund reared his arm back before hurtling the metal lid at the thug. A harsh whip sliced through the air, and as the improvised weapon streaked forward, it seemed to activate the shark’s survival instinct. He turned and recoiled with a cry of pain as dirty metal smashed directly into his snout!
Jesse fell to the ground and grasped at his own throat for air, eyes wide and limbs slow to cooperate. As wide yellow eyes landed on his savior, the incubus stumbled underneath his assailant and booked it to the end of the alley. Over the shark’s howls of pain, both hands gripping over his bloody snout, Jesse exclaimed, “Ed?!”
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to find you, Master Jesse; now, get behind me, quickly.”
“You MOTHERFUCKER!” The thug turned, scarred face a chaotic carving of pain and rage. Multiple golden teeth glared from his gaping maw, and an indiscernible tattoo crawled up the beginnings of a thick collarbone and neck. “You’re fucking DEAD!” With the flash of a cleaver-sized blade, the demon bull-rushed towards Edmund. Footfalls of thunder, each pound of the ground comparable to an earthquake, rattled and knocked over everything in their path; from trash cans to refuse upon the ground.
Edmund held his ground, braced brow like a ship’s mighty bow. A brutish arm pulled back, elbow bulky enough to smash rock, and hurtled down with the intent to cleave the imp in twain! As the blade carved through the air, he opened his jacket and swung to the left; ducking beneath the knife and catching it in that rich, thick layered material. With the blade now nullified, Edmund braced his leg and threw all of his weight forward into one foot, stomping directly against the shark’s wrist. The splintering crack of bone bounced about under the jacket, and the demon took a knee with another exclamation of pain! Edmund uncoiled his tie from around his hand and rushed atop the thug’s shoulders, then wrapped the silk accessory around the demon’s thick neck and yanked back. Veins bulged atop his hands as the butler put all of his strength into cutting off his attacker’s air supply; said attacker gagging and flailing atop the ground. With the combination of a disabled hand, two massive pain points, and an arm too thick to scratch his back, the massive brute was unable to remove his smaller, far more dexterous opponent! As Edmund poised a foot to smash against the shark’s neck, the behemoth rolled onto his arm and slammed his back against the brick wall. Grit bit into the imp’s back as immense pressure pinned him, then quickly released.
Vision spinning, Edmund sucked in air and flaring pain shot through his scapula. A chunky fist hurtled his way and smashed into the wall beside him, then sprung open and leapt his way! The imp’s arm rose high and slammed down at the correct moment, trapping a thick, calloused finger between his ribs and elbow. With a combination of a sharp elbow drop and a firm grip on that finger, a sickening crack popped into the air as Edmund snapped it backwards.
His assailant roared, the tones of pure rage wavering with a pain too intense to fully resist. “YOU LITTLE SHIT!” Edmund’s face became intimately familiar with the filthy, puddle-ridden concrete below; a kiss of flaring white thundered in his eyes. One slam became two, and as the air rushed around him for the third time, the imp’s ribs creaked under the thug’s grip strength. “I’m gonna pop you like a--!”
Before that threat could be completed, a crimson fist smashed into thick and scarred shark skin; right at the gills. A shocked, raspy gurgle rushed from the brute’s throat, and his slits flared in agitation. Edmund seized the opportunity and pried those remaining fingers open to secure his freedom. Using gravity’s provided momentum, his calves tensed just as both hooves touched down, then launched him upwards to punch directly at the center of the shark’s throat. With two blows to his airway, the hulking demon’s posture dipped low. Edmund grabbed his coat and unbound it from around that giant knife, then kicked the shark’s fingers free from around the hilt. The butler’s arms flexed as he gripped the handle with two hands and pulled upwards. He turned the weapon, aimed, and with a mighty thrust pierced it clean through the side of the shark’s neck!
Torrents of black blood gushed free, gargling deep within thick neck tissue as it spewed to the surface at the reluctance of its host. In the throes of death, anger and defiance remained; but as two maimed hands extended towards the imp, Edmund stepped to the side and kicked the bottom of the hilt further into his opponent’s neck! Flesh scraped and tore with enough savagery to put a finite end to the struggle, as the thug breathed his last and the light fully dimmed in his eyes.
“What the…fuck?!” Jesse yelled, hands atop his head, eyes flickering rapidly over the scene in front of him. Heart pounding, adrenaline mixing with fear and astonishment, Jesse wiped his face with both hands. “Ed, what the Hell?!”
“I’d be a poor excuse for a guardian if I could not fell an assailant.”
Jesse kept a wide berth, eyes flitting between the deceased bruiser and the butler as the latter retrieved his jacket and tie. Gratitude mixed with disgust in a potent cocktail of emotion. “That wasn’t fucking felling, Ed; you brutalized him! Fuck, I think I’m gonna be sick…” Nausea rushed up his nose from the combination of blood and garbage that permeated the alley. Lust’s warm rain felt greasy now, against Jesse’s face. A preventative hand shot over his mouth as a lurching gag caused his entire torso to heave into a hunched over posture. Dark blood trickled in tiny rivers upon the cracked concrete and joined the nearby puddles, turning them into muddy stains of corruption and disease. Another gag ballooned out Jesse’s spine.
“You show much empathy for someone who was about to gut you, Master Jesse; a most peculiar quirk.” Edmund commented, wet and dirty jacket draped over his shoulder.
“I’m not ungrateful; just…I wasn’t ready to see that.” Edmund could clearly fight, and not just fight, but KILL. For someone of his size, an imp, who made beds and cooked meals all day; it was uncanny. Yet, Jesse couldn’t deny how dangerous the clean-shaven servant was with the corpse eight times his size pooling in its own blood right in front of him. A short, wracking cough caused Jesse’s head to turn, upon which he spotted Edmund holding the side of his torso and grimacing.
“Apologies Master Jesse, but could we continue this conversation elsewhere? I’d prefer somewhere private and dry, as it’s been quite a day and I still need to report back to Master Andrealphus.”
As the butler’s grimace deepened and his head tilted down at a slight angle, Jesse rushed in and supported him at the shoulder. There was only one place he could think of taking him: home.
Jesse braced a splayed palm against the front door to his apartment and pushed; familiar scents and room temperature air conditioning luring him in like an old friend. He and his guest dripped onto the entrance rug, clothes definitely needing a wash and lengthy air dry. A short hallway adorned with framed photos stared at the two demons, and the door clicked shut behind them just as Jesse flicked the light switch. At the end of the entryway sat his couch, which was the incubus’ immediate destination. He turned and gently eased Edmund onto his sturdy, felt, secondary bed; and brushed decorative throw pillows to one side.
“Much appreciated, Master Jesse…” Edmund groaned, as the tip of his tail gave a sharp flick and sank behind him.
Given that the imp had saved his life about twenty minutes ago, Jesse wasn’t about to bitch about a slight wet spot on the couch. “You need help getting your clothes off?” Edmund blinked, then shifted in his seat as Jesse’s eyes clenched shut and his lip curled back. “That came out weird.”
“I understood the basic mechanics of your intent. I can undress myself; thank you kindly.”
Jesse turned to give the butler privacy and walked into the bathroom to find a bathrobe. It wouldn’t be much, and any pair of undergarments would be far too large, but with the right amount of tightening he could at least cover the vital bits. “I’m gonna bring a towel in; you can throw your clothes down on that, so don’t get too far ahead of me!” Thankfully, his singular robe was hung on the inside of the bathroom door. Jesse returned, gray robe in hand, and saw that Edmund had already managed to fully unbutton both his suit jacket and dress shirt. A white undershirt clung vigorously to the imp’s rising and falling chest; each breath causing a shudder that narrowed those blue eyes of his. Without saying a word, Jesse flapped the towel open and draped it along his carpet, upon which Edmund immediately dropped his already stripped clothing. “Hey, before I get too distracted, thanks for saving my ass; but why were you hanging around in Lust anyway?”
A brief self-examination by gentle touch brought the imp’s teeth to bare. “Master Andrealphus and I realized that we had no means of contacting you should professional matters arise…” Edmund began to peel his undershirt upwards and over his head; suspenders already slipped off of both shoulders. Trembling ribs rattled with a hot, fractured exhale, and the undershirt was tossed down to leave the imp entirely bare chested. An ugly blight sat upon his right ribs; purple, black, and blue spots congregated together to compile a fresh and nasty bruise. “…and so, I set out to locate you.”
Jesse’s gaze locked onto that wound and tilted down at the brow. “I should have some painkillers in the medicine cabinet.”
“I’m quite alright, Master Jesse; just need a moment to catch my breath and…readjust my thoughts.”
The incubus turned his back as Edmund began to unbuckle his pants. “So, what, you just wandered around Lust and happened to find me?” He stared at his wall as the clink of a belt tapped at his ears.
“In the beginning, I went to your place of employment.” Relief washed over the imp’s legs as his soaked pants; equal parts blood, rain, and muck, slid off and onto the towel. That was the last of his attire, save his undergarments. “One of your co-workers told me about your fondness for a particular drinking establishment, so I went there next.”
Jesse’s head began to turn, but snapped to its original position as his peripheral caught a bending motion. “You went to The Thirst Trap?”
“Yes; quite the interesting hovel to spend your time in, if I may comment. It was rather…sticky.”
“Their food is amazing.” All of that work for a fucking phone number? He had to give the imp credit; that was an attitude he didn’t find in many demons anymore.
“I’m quite sure it is, Master Jesse.” Edmund gave a grunt as the slightest movement caused the bruise to flare up. Alongside that single witnessed injury, clenching soreness made itself known along his back on both sides of his spine. The fluffy texture of the robe provided scant relief, despite seeming more like an entire blanket. “Alas, you weren’t there.” Should he tell Jesse about the trip down to Gluttony? A harmless little jaunt to the most obvious ring was nothing major. Asking around and receiving intel from a co-worker also wasn’t anything to raise a brow at. Buying an entire bottle of high shelf booze and traveling multiple hours down to Gluttony on the word of a total stranger was…problematic. “So, I resolved to head back home and, luckily, stumbled upon you in the nick of time.”
Upon hearing the shuffle of the robe being donned, Jesse took a second peek and mentally sighed in relief; good, Ed wasn’t naked anymore. He bunched up the towel like a makeshift sac and carried it into the other room to dump it into the washing machine. In silence, the incubus began to strip down as well behind closed doors; each article of removed clothing made him feel like a new demon, save the cold damp that lingered on his skin. Thankfully, Bruno hadn’t messed up his duds; denim jackets weren’t cheap, and neither was the black V-neck shirt under it. Tattered jeans; he could care less about! Spare clothes, fresh but unfolded, sat unclaimed in a nearby standing hamper. Jesse quickly grabbed a fresh set of everything and began to put it on; shirt, underwear, sweats, and socks. None of it was remotely matching or sexually appealing, at least in the ways he knew, but dress for success; as the saying goes.
As Edmund became the sole occupant of the living room, the faint sounds of movement from behind closed doors kept a modicum of his attention. Idle eyes looked around the apartment; not very large, by a quick examination. Stocked bookshelves of poor-quality stole more square feet than the butler would ever personally allow. Yet, the titles amidst the shelves were all well-kept with smooth and polished spines and edges. Not a single fray or nick, whether it be hardback or softback, to be seen. Edmund leaned forward for a better look and managed to read off a number of book titles; Mammon’s Guide to Investment, Tantric Yoga: A Comprehensive Compilation, Cocktails for Royals, Love and Lust: The Hard, Hard Line. While half of the content on offer was hardly worthy of a passing glance, the other half raised Edmund from the couch to walk around the ottoman. Sure, an incubus would have written material on sexual practices and the like, but mixology and finances were a bit less expected. Perhaps it was simply a compounding series of unexpected sights amidst Jesse’s home that peaked the butler’s curiosity; his taste in literature being one of them. Aside from that, where the imp had expected gaudy pinups, brazenly displayed sex toys, and neon he instead found humility. Dim lights, the fresh scent of clean linen, and a tidiness that could incite claims of prolonged absence compiled together, along with dark toned furniture and a disconnecting quiet from the outside world. As he heard the door behind him open, Edmund partially turned; Cocktails for Royals opened to the glossary. “Forgive me, Master Jesse, but I couldn’t help but notice your literary collection.”
“Thank you?”
“Tell me, where did you procure this tome; Cocktails for Royals? The accuracy is rather high, given that the author’s name eludes me.” Two of Master Andrealphus’ favorite mixtures were easily spotted within the lengthy glossary list.
“It’s from an old job; split on good terms and the barman wanted me to have it.”
“I see. Would I have perhaps heard of it, considering it’s…assumed high class clientele?”
“No offense Ed, but your boss doesn’t seem to get out much, so you probably wouldn’t have.”
“An apt and fair, if hurtful deduction. It is true that the outside world hasn’t been to my lord’s liking for some time, but the mind requires social interaction to thrive.”
“I take it that royal orgies aren’t exactly considered social gatherings?”
Edmund blinked and flicked to the sixty-fifth page; his voice lowered in volume and amusement. “I did not take you for a gossip hound, Master Jesse; such things are bloated falsehoods and nothing more.”
“Well, commoners like me tend to come up with our own answers after being shut out.”
“Indeed; I have heard many rumors, all of which are mostly false.”
Jesse’s tail perked and flicked, his eyes glancing between the opened book and three wide bruises on Edmund’s back; tough imp. “Mostly false?”
“As is life; truth can be partially gleamed in the most ludicrous of inane ramblings. The trick is within the context, Master Jesse. If you grasp the context, all information becomes simple to accept or dismiss.”
“Like…if someone were to walk in on us right now, they might think we’re fucking; without the context that I’m just helping you out, of course.”
“Exactly.”
“So…what’s the context of your boss? Why is he so, so…” Shit, he needed to be careful.
“Cold?” Edmund flipped back to the glossary to locate another entry that might appease his master, then turned to page ninety-eight. “It is a two-fold matter. Normally, I wouldn’t indulge your curiosity, but given that you’ve been a hospitable host thus far, I shall.” The book closed with a brisk and weighty thump, then was placed back onto the shelf. The imp turned and finally made eye contact with Jesse again, hands poised behind his straightened back. A small wince flickered at the edge of his eye. “It is a requirement of his station. Master Andrealphus governs the alignment and gravitational properties of the many planets throughout our solar system. If a single error is made; one misalignment, a miscalculated rotation, or even a lapse in memory it would spell catastrophe for the mortal realm. It requires immense focus and dedication; and thus, he must be just as cold as the vast realm he governs.”
Jesse shuffled on his feet; eyes briefly turned downcast as he mustered the courage to ask the following. “…why do you work for a guy like that?”
Edmund’s eyes looked into the distance, not even prolonging the eye contact between him and his fellow crimson skinned kin. “The context, Master Jesse, is that despite all that it has taken from him, Master Andrealphus is resolute in his royal duty. It is vital that someone perform the role; that is where his kindness lies.” A pang of hunger tightened against his already tight abdomen muscle, and as the conversation drew increasing musings of his master, the urge to call him grew. “I respect his stalwart nature, and I have been lucky enough to have always seen it; even at a young age.”
Jesse folded his arms across his chest and leaned into the side of his couch, then grit his teeth as forgotten stomach pain reappeared. Bruno definitely hadn’t thrown any punches: fuck! A soft, sudden sigh puffed from between his sharp teeth, “So, why doesn’t he just…have a kid and pass on the job? You know, retire?”
Blue eyes snapped back to meet Jesse’s yellow gaze. A once absent sharpness rolled within the look that the butler gave him, almost as if they were attempting to bore deep. Both composed wrists tensed, those slender fingers squeezing deep into one wrist as the edge of his hands cut into one another. Edmund remained silent, his eyes unyielding as stone as they bore through Jesse, to the point that the incubus shuffled in place; unable to break the steely gaze.
“You hungry, Ed?”
“Quite.”
“Cool, I’ll…whip up something and let you rest. There’s…” Jesse briefly swallowed to moisturize his throat. "...there’s a first aid kit on the bathroom sink if you need it; lotions, creams, bandages, needles and…and sprays…”
“Thank you, Master Jesse; you are most kind.”
Finally freed from the chain of that deathly stare, Jesse dipped into the safety of his kitchen and made a bold mental note to not pry too deep with Ed again.
Amidst a mob of thick, yellow papers stacked high, Andrealphus slowly scribed the next page of his product report. Since Edmund had left to locate the incubus, multiple hours had passed. The sheer amount of progress that the peacock had managed to complete in a single session was a testament to his butler’s prolonged absence; something was wrong. Either his model was far more elusive than he originally believed, or there was a snag. The ink of his quill lightly spit flecks of ink onto the line below his present one. His beak pulled back to form a tight frown, as he pushed the document to one side and grabbed a fresh, blank page. A spark of agitation brought a heavy exhale to the Marquis’ mouth, and within it, the seeds of anger began to sprout. Too long had he sat in this singular room of the manor without word, without company; his thoughts rampant and possessive of his attention. Questions upon questions, filled with mockery, doubt, and fear chirped and barked with equal fervor.
He quelled them all to a dull roar; work was more important. If the report wasn’t drafted, proofread, and finalized he couldn’t send it to Asmodeus. If the Sin of Lust didn’t receive the update, there would be questions, investigations; a measure of his ineptitude to perform such a simple task. Oh, if only the powers of Hell hadn’t seemingly conspired to barrel down his doorstep at such a critical juncture! No, that was an excuse; these roadblocks were simply challenges to overcome. Fate would rue the day it attempted to make a fool of The Mighty Marquis! His quill spat ink upon the page once again and smeared the parchment permanently.
Elbows placed upon the table, the Marquis joined his fingers at the gaps and braced his forehead against the created ridge of both index fingers and his thumbs. A makeshift crown of therapy and reprieve; if only to remedy his swelling anger for a moment and nothing else. Andrealphus closed his eyes and took another deep breath. He then moved the second piece of ruined paper beneath the first and, once again, retrieved a fresh sheet. Elegantly, he dipped the tip of his quill pen into the ink pot, ensured the viscous liquid didn’t drip, and set the tip to the top left line on his parchment. Upon the first stroke…ink spit.
“FUCK!”
A hurricane of papers exploded through the air as unchecked arcane power burst from his body. Andrealphus increased his grip on the pen, tendons and ligaments hardening to iron until the quill snapped in half and tumbled onto the table. A tight, creeping rage curled up the sides of his spine as the peacock’s back muscles flexed with his arms. Both hands rested upon the table, bearing down upon it with steady weight as if to test the sturdiness of its construction. The urge to snap the table in half grew, spreading with every vein that bulged beneath the fowl’s feathers and each bull-like breath that escaped him. Exhuming the rage from his chest brought a tantalizing calm to the forefront of his mind, as would happen if one were to press their fingers to a throbbing temple and knead away. Destruction would serve little purpose, other than to vent, and when a private, rabid display was a viable option there was no need for collateral damage.
Partially concealed beneath the avalanche of papers he had caused; a rotary phone jumped to life and rang with a thunderous chime! Surprise, then regained agitation, muscled down his outburst. Andrealphus ran a hand through his hair to slick it back, the cold and smooth locks offering a minor relapse into calm, then picked up the phone. “Yes?”
“Master Andrealphus, I have located Sir Jesse.”
Every last ember of his rage was snuffed dark upon hearing his butler’s voice. “Glorious; you had me worried Edmund.”
“My greatest apologies Master, but the endeavor required far greater effort than I originally deduced. Please, forgive me.”
“It is quite alright. I shall prepare transport for you at once.”
“Would you like to speak to Sir Jesse, sire? He has prepared dinner and is in the midst of laundering my uniform; I would be remiss to deny his hospitality.”
Andrealphus’ brow furrowed; dinner, laundry, what in the Nine Hells? Yet, the thought of hearing that deep voice, picturing the way that those sharp fangs peeked out over a bottom lip, his sharp yet broad jaw, and those dashing yellow— “No.”
“Of course, sire, I shall relay any messages you have to him.”
“Is he prepared to return and finish his work?”
“After light convincing, I believe so. I also believe it is best if he resides on site, due to events from earlier today.”
“…within the Manor?”
“Yes, Master.”
“…Edmund, I will retrieve you upon the hour. Ensure that he is with you as well; I shall discuss current affairs to the both of you in person.”
“It shall be done, my lord.”
Andrealphus placed the phone onto the receiver with a harsh click and stared at it. Not long ago, it was Edmund who cautioned against even allowing visitation on business. Now, he was suggesting housing the incubus indefinitely? As he stepped away from the desk to exit his study, Andrealphus pondered over what exactly happened in the past few hours to cause such a change in attitude. Preparations were to be made for the demon’s extended stay, and thus it was with due haste that Andrealphus strode to the second floor of his manor. There was no space on the ground floor to house a guest, especially not one whose stay was indefinite. Frigid air brushed along his cheek as he ascended the grand staircase, and a single finger traced over the ice that constructed the railing. While the climate was proper for himself and Edmund, an exception would need to be made for Jesse. A room would need to be thawed and outfitted with the sole purpose of comfort. Only when the desired destination, a seemingly normal door of deep oak and steel framing, stood before him did Andrealphus stop.
Heat radiated through his face and an anvil of shame weighed upon his crown. What was the matter with him? Risking security, making exceptions, housing a lower-class demon; all at the scant thought of being able to have him closer? Andrealphus placed a hand to his head and another to his hip, royal drapery billowing to close around his hand. “Lucifer…what is wrong with me?” As he asked the question, images of Jesse’s face formed in his mind, and he found a worrying fascination in the size of his shoulders, the flap of his wings, and even his tail. Worst was the depth of his voice; the anger that sparked another layer of command when his frustration flared. That backbone…oh, how it made his own back shiver and his feathers ruffle. Jesse’s face had been fierce, dominant, resolute and fiery! Andrealphus struggled to recall the last time that someone below his station had talked back to him in such a way. It was only when his hip began to ache that he snapped from his reverie. Thankfully, eternally so, no one was around to have witnessed it…
Andrealphus pushed open the weighty door and stepped forth into a small study. Unlike other rooms in the manor, this particular room was of circular design. Ornate and embroidered bookshelves towered to the ceiling, each packed to the brim with arcane knowledge. A fireplace sat between two sections of shelves; cold and vacant with lack of use. Every fixture curved to hug the glacial walls, as if to embrace around the room’s centerpiece; a multi-level glass chandelier. The opposite wall was flat; and Andrealphus briefly recalled the blueprints of this particular room when he built it. Back then, he had penned it as “The Keyhole”; where one could glimpse into the unknown through the pages of tomes and attain higher understanding.
With space acquired, all that he needed now was a way to warm it. There was only one method which would work, and it required a jaunt to the Ring of Sloth. Andrealphus tilted his beak to the ceiling and closed his eyes, cerulean magic swirling upwards from his talons to envelop him completely. All things in existence had a center; no matter what form they took or how long they lived, and thus had a focal point. Locations were far easier to transport to, as they often stayed stationary and allowed Andrealphus to properly attune their gravitational energy. People; well, nigh impossible without innate and deep familiarity with the individual. Energy, as if a raging river, cascaded over his head and submerged his entire form. Floating, guided by the beacon of a distant and bobbing light, he allowed himself to slip from where he had been to where he willed himself to be. When Andrealphus opened his eyes, he was no longer in the vacant cathedral that was his home, but a darkened ditch of a street.
Up above, bathed in the sublime glow of pink and purple, drifted pillow-shaped clouds with all the speed of a narcoleptic tortoise. Towering buildings of peach; rounded into dull corners to resemble marshmallows more than stone, patted the sky above. Yet, where Andrealphus stood, was lacking that soothing glow. Dim enough to tempt his lids to droop, warm enough to tempt a yawn, and sweet scented enough to relax his muscles; but the allure of Sloth didn’t hold him for long. Before him sat a door, behind him rested an ascending stone staircase to the streets above; lounge in the sun or slumber in the shadows. The door was unmarked, save a seemingly paper-thin veil that covered a patch of broken glass in its little window. A dull clank of a goat’s bell clattered in his ear as he entered.
Unkempt, musty air pressed against his feathers. Natural lighting was all but absent, replaced with the dim, mystical glow of burning candles. Miniature barricades of melted pink and purple wax drooped into a single entity along each wall. Shelves of thin and shoddily crafted wood held an assortment of objects; all magical by Andrealphus’ mere glance. Trinkets and baubles passed him by, on his way to the front counter; boxes, masks, bottles, lockets, figurines, and jars that housed…unmentionable body parts. The front desk was wide yet drowned in stacked tomes to narrow its space to a small area. In that unobscured area sat a skull, its sockets stuffed with amethysts and its teeth lined with gold. Amongst its temples was carved an occult design, similar to the tentacles of an octopus, that stretched and curled all the way to the back of the skull. As Andrealphus’ approach came to an end, the gems glowed to life and a disembodied voice echoed in flashes of purple light.
“Welcome, welcome my dearest Marquis! Oh, oh, oh how your presence has been missed. Your mighty chill is an absolute wonder to induce a deep, pleasant slumber! How may I assist you on this fine, fine, hellish evening?” A jovial tone, clearly male, but possessing a lack of worry or urgency emerged. It stroked the Marquis’ ego as quickly as it spoke nothing but truth.
“I am in need of a Polymorphic Stone, blessed with the qualities that an incubus would find…accommodating.” Andrealphus kept his hands behind his back, eyes fixated downwards on the immobile skull, whose eyes brightened at the request.
“An incubus! My, what curious company you’ve allowed into your life. Yes, yes, I should have one lying around here. I am assuming they would prefer the rains of Lust, the smell of carnal desire, and the texture of tongues?” Random objects within the shop began to shimmer within clouds of magic and levitate off their individual perches. As each dipped down towards the skull in a line, they were quickly shuffled to the side so the next could be observed. The shopkeeper hummed a nonsensical tune as it worked.
“Something warm; tropical, if you happen to have it.”
“Oh? The lush jungle of Gluttony perhaps; with all of their humid extravagance and insects? Would the wastelands and dry crags of Wrath be more to their tune? Nice, unrelenting sun and cactus juice to scorch the skin and soothe the throat?!”
“A combination, if you would please.”
“COMBINATION?!” The voice burst into absolute glee, amethysts brimming over in humming energy that caused both to rattle in their sockets. “The beauty of Gluttony and the warmth of Wrath, the oases of the jungle and the sands of the scorching dunes; all joined into paradise, yes!” The current line of artifacts shot away like a bullet train, and another took its place. Smooth stones began to rotate around the skull, as if it were a planet with its own gravitational force and collided with one another. Brilliant sparks of purple and pink illuminated Andrealphus’ visage as well as the skull’s; until each stone molded into each other to produce a singular large body. Upon the massive stone, demanding no less than a two-handed grip to carry, was carved a glowing red symbol of lava-like texture. Sharp edges mingled with worm-like curves; all housed in a series of overlapping circles. Andrealphus took a small step back from its heat. “Is this satisfactory, my dear, dear Marquis?” the skull crooned.
“You shall know the answer if I ever return with it in tow. Now, I do believe there’s the matter of payment.”
“For you, my Marquis, it would be absolutely free…but the usual shall do.” From the back of the skull, an array of tentacles wriggled and stretched to life; peeling the carvings alongside their canvas into reality. Andrealphus picked at the tips of his glove with nary a glance to the tentacles, chin high. Once his taloned hand was bare, he extended his arm for a mutual handshake, a misty chill drifting from his grip. With a lurch and a snap, the tentacles sucked tightly to his touch, coiling and kissing at every inch of offered skin. Slimy, sopping tendrils hugged between his digits, curled around the stalks of each, then began to pulse. Pails of strength dropped from Andrealphus’ body; his brow knit in dutiful composure as he allowed the shopkeeper to sap power from him. It was a harmless amount, yet enough to procure such a valuable magical object. Thick, clear slime caked his hand as the tentacles pulled away, quivering in joy before snapping back to the skull. A low moan echoed through the shop, the mass of bone vibrating and hopping atop the desk for a moment in reverie. “Absolutely exquisite, my lord! I'd bow before your generosity, if I could; please, enjoy your purchase.”
A fresh surge of cold magic flash froze the slime around his grasp and was promptly smashed with a flex of the fingers. “If anyone were to ask, I was not here.” Andrealphus remarked, lifting the Polymorphic Stone with a simple incantation and a wave of his hand. He turned upon his heel to leave, the skull’s merriment flooding the air with hums and giggles.
“Always a pleasure, Lord Andrealphus!”
Instinctual flight whisked his feet out the door and beyond the gaze of the shopkeeper; that same goat’s bell clanging as the entrance closed behind him. Head tilted to the sky once more, Andrealphus closed his eyes and began to focus upon the focal point of his home. As his familial magic coiled about himself and the newly acquired stone, a needle of paranoia pricked behind his eyes; the invisible tether of another’s gaze laid upon him. Flight took hold before curiosity could, and as the pull of teleportation whisked him back to the manor, the burning stare of another branded itself upon his mind.
Who, or what, had been watching him? How much did they see, and how long had they been observing him completely unseen? Curse his haste, for now he may never know...but that was a matter for another time. There was much work to do, and time was not leaning in his favor!
Deep within the Greed Ring, Crimson sat at his office desk. A lit cigar in his mouth, a newspaper propped atop his crossed legs, and a mug of coffee were all present to keep him company; as was his personal bodyguard Alessio. Sickly, deep sea green light poured in through the windows of the room, and amongst the stench of smoke lingered a pungent cologne.
The rotary phone on his desk rang, and the imp snatched it from the receiver with a growl. “What?” He could feel the ever-watchful eyes of his guardian hovering above him, as a low, thick voice rumbled through the speaker. Crimson inhaled deeply from his cigar and exhaled as the voice on the other line finished what it had to say. “Oh really, down in Sloth?” A grimy, toothy smile split his white-marked face. “Just now; you get a good shot?” His smile fell into a deep frown. “I see; know where he went?” Crimson’s crooked tail twitched, and one of his feet began to bounce against the wooden floor. The voice rumbled in his ear for some time; theories, sights, and thoughts on how to proceed, but none clicked. “I’m gonna send a few guys down there; be there when they arrive, and make sure they know the score. After that, you get back to Lust and stake out the usuals; a little birdie told me that frigid fuck has business up there soon, and I don’t want him slipping through the cracks.” A short reply was all Crimson received, and he hung up with a click. Newspaper crinkled between his fingers as he folded the editorials and peered over at Alessio. Those ringed eyes of deep bloody red shifted in softness just enough to communicate the shark demon’s exact thoughts. “The jaws are closing, Al. He’ll fuck up eventually, and when he does, we’ll be doing Hell a giant fucking favor. Go get yourself a broad; you look tense as shit.”
“I’m fine, sir.”
“Did I fuckin’ stutter? It’s on the house; fat, tall, short, a bombshell, I don’t care so long as she’s legal and willing. Grab some dosh from Bruno on the way out and don’t come back until both your dicks are limp noodles.”
Alessio hesitated until he caught a secondary side eye from Crimson, then paced out the double doors and closed them with a soft click. As his shadow left, the imp gazed up to his wall of mounted trophies; heads, jaws, claws...maybe he could mount a fan of peacock feathers with a gay little crown to match. A grin ripped at the corners of his mouth and yanked them back wide till the imp was practically laughing.
All he needed was a big enough plaque.
Chapter 8: Out of Your Element: Please Apply Wax
Summary:
Having licked their wounds, Jesse and Edmund return to the royal manor at Andrealphus' whim. While Jesse is presented with an offer from the Marquis, the Royal Apothecary is summoned to attend to Edmund's pressing injuries. As light begins to shine upon the higher class demon and the lower class demon, both parties seek to extend their influence over the other. Who will gain the upper hand in this metaphorical tug of war? Read on to find out!
Chapter Text
“So, like…do you get mad pussy with those moves or what?” Jesse asked, belly stuffed with an assortment of breaded chicken. Before Edmund could answer, a beam of light began to grow underneath his feet, and the same was happening to Jesse. Unlike a beam from the sun, this light was cold and blue tinted. Tiny, floating runes drifted upwards, and as Jesse went to touch one it shimmered in the looming presence of his finger. “Ed…”
“It appears that Master Andrealphus is ready for our return to the manor.”
“Why is it cold?!”
Edmund chuckled, and before Jesse could ask why he was laughing, the world crystallized. As if staring through a kaleidoscope, his surroundings folded. A hundred paper fortune tellers, each separating everything in his sight, frosted until he could count the individual flakes of ice. Cold bloomed in the tips of his horns and rapidly spread down into the top of his head. Jesse shivered and went to grasp his arms, wanting to rub them for warmth, but found that he couldn’t move! Right as he was about to shout out for Edmund, the cocoon cracked and shattered, and Jesse found himself looking directly at a pair of luscious and tall thighs. If not for the white feathers that peeked out from the bottom and top hems of fine silk pants, he would’ve mistaken Andrealphus for someone else. Jesse tilted his head back, expecting a cold stare, but only saw a pensive set of blue eyes; surprisingly, not directed towards himself at all, but towards the butler.
“Edmund...your horn.”
Jess turned towards the imp and saw him raise his fingers to a cracked coil. He watched those fingertips rub over the uneven groove, as if Edmund was trying to commit the sensation to memory. Horns didn’t grow back, so any shattering or severing was permanent, yet those dark blue eyes didn’t waver.
“It appears I should’ve looked in a mirror; tis but a scratch my Lord, no need to--”
“I will call the Royal Physician.” Andrealphus swiftly snapped his fingers, and a swift oriole soared onto his finger. Words too quiet for Jesse to hear muttered at a rapid pace, and then the bird gave a tweet before spiraling towards the ceiling and out of sight. It was then that the harrowing gaze of the Marquis fell upon him, and a shiver shot down Jesse’s spine and into the tip of his tail. “You…” A set of claws dipped low and gripped the edges of his chin; an otherworldly cold caused him to wince and grit his teeth. Andrealphus’ grip was a shock, an ice batch, and a blast of blizzard air against his skin. Prickling spread along his skin and moved towards his eyes as they were forced to stare into the peacock’s own. The hushed, deep lullaby from the Marquis’ beak was equally cold. “…are becoming quite the costly investment; cut me anymore and you might end up tasting blood.”
Bella’s words echoed in Jesse’s head; her suggestion the immediate thing his mind turned to in a flash. “I’ll…make sure to swallow; wouldn’t want to spill any of your high-class juices on my face…” From the corner of his eye, he could feel Edmund take a step forward, yet the butler said nothing. Andrealphus fell similarly silent, and for a moment those sharp fingers of his loosened. What was once a fierce gaze, despite lacking an iris, flickered. Was he amused, shocked, angry; there was no way to tell with how stone-faced that smooth, extravagant mug was. Then, the Marquis smiled. Jesse winced again as two firm pats landed against his cheek.
“Come with me, I shall show you to your room.”
Jesse blinked, “My what?” he asked as Andrealphus turned and began to ascend the massive staircase. All he could do was follow, unsure of what was happening. Vibrant, dazzling even, tail feathers brushed along the edge of each step; a warning not to nip at the peacock’s heels. Good a warning as any, Jesse climbed the steps to the side of Andrealphus, head constantly turned to watch his beak flap.
“Edmund has advised me that you might require safe haven. I found it odd, at first, that such a virile specimen whose job is to be hired muscle would need my protection…” Jesse tensed as a shit-eating smirk cut the Marquis’ beak. “…but I trust his counsel. Thus, you will take up residence here until I can properly educate the masses not to touch my things.” The top of the stairs caught up with them both in what felt like seconds, and it wasn’t until Jesse’s foot touched the top step that he spoke again.
“What if I say no?” It was a brave question, especially considering that he hadn’t bounced back from just being referred to as property.
“First you scoff at my wealth, and now my hospitality. You are quite a bulldog. Are all incubi like you; perhaps I should establish a vacation home down in Lust.” His hand touched upon a door no different than the others. “The least that you can do is observe my offer first.” Andrealphus turned the knob, and a brisk click bounced off Jesse’s ears. The scent of warm summer air rushed down his nostrils as he stepped into the room. Soft rays of sunlight poured in from a circular window above two towering bookshelves, decorated in garden vines. A square couch sat embedded in the ground; a stone square fire pit acting as a makeshift ottoman. At the opposite end of the room towered a metal spiral staircase. Jesse closed his eyes and allowed the oddly familiar temperature of the room to wash over him; traces of ocean air brushing along his skin and crashing waves echoing in his ear.
“This is…”
“Yours; if you choose to accept it.”
Tropical warmth without the presence of rain soaked into his skin, and Jesse’s lips curled into a smile. Compared to the rest of the manor, this was heaven. It was then, under the lulling song of pleasant smells and peaceful heat that a realization came to him. “You…melted an entire room for me?”
Andrealphus cleared his throat, and Jesse barely caught the sound. “You are a highly valued asset. As such, you shall be given all of the care and attention that I should have provided on day one.” A wide stride put the royal in front of Jesse in mere seconds, and this time, the frigid eyes that had pierced him minutes ago were closer to a clear glass of water. “I am not used to such…rugged company in my home.”
“So now you want rugged company to take up an entire room?” Jesse’s tail flicked to draw attention to his wings, which gave a little flap to shake off complacency and stiffening muscles. Now it was the incubus’ turn to step forward, head tilted back and both hands in his jean pockets. His neck cocked slightly, half to showcase curiosity and half to let those neck muscles work their magic. It was the little things; the tiniest details in the body that enhanced his sin-given allure. Jesse brushed the bottom hem of his shirt with both thumbs, pushing upwards just far enough to bare some skin.
“Is that query conducive to you accepting my offer?”
“I don’t have a change of clothes.”
“Easily obtainable.”
“What if I wanted stuff from my place?”
“It can be magically transported in seconds.”
“What if I want to take a hot shower?”
“There is a standing shower on the upper floor within your bedroom.”
Jesse paused, and his eyes turned to the bookshelves. “For someone who apparently doesn’t get out much, you sure know a lot about what I like.”
“These are basic amenities, nothing more; the means to bathe, literature to feed the mind, and a climate suited to your…lineage.”
“So, having a commoner under your roof isn’t going to kill you?”
“The pain is diminished by your backbone and genetics, but don’t push your luck.”
Jesse stepped forward and turned his head to look at the far wall, eyes running upwards along the multiple shelves of books. He had no idea what sort of reading was up there; it could be all science textbooks for all he knew. “Thank you, for making it so hot in here…but you do know that we get the best sleep when the covers are cold, right?” He slid closer, close enough where he could kiss one of Andrealphus’ fingers. Jesse softened his tone to a dull rumble, allowing his voice to lead with his eyes; lids half closed. “Maybe you can help me out with that, if I happen to…overheat, my Lord?” It took every muscle fiber in his face to stop a smirk from showing, as he watched those incandescent tail feathers shake. Pride filled his chest; he’d take that reaction, as small as it was, but progress was progress!
Andrealphus motioned towards the spiral stairs with an inverted nod. “Upstairs, you will find a notepad on the nightstand. Write down everything you need from your home, and it shall be acquired.” It took a few backpedals to escape the sweep of the peacock’s tail, but Jesse swore that was the quickest he’d ever seen the Marquis move. While that deep voice of his hadn’t wavered, the body indicated otherwise, and as Jesse began to climb the spiral staircase, a snicker freed his restrained smirk.
“Still got it.”
Andrealphus’ blinked through the raging heat that cooked the inside of his cheeks. Pounding, fluttering, and shortness of breath all collided to trigger aggravation. He brushed a hand back through his hair and began to walk back to the grand staircase, Jesse’s flirtatious mannerisms replaying in his head on loop! Was that simply how the creations of Lord Asmodeus talked? It was the first time he had ever seen such body language from Jesse; what changed? Rapid, echoing taps of his own footsteps banished the distracting thoughts from his mind; Edmund now in view at the bottom of the stairs. He frowned; no Royal Physician in sight. Then again, he had only been gone for a minute. Andrealphus approached his silent servant, composed expression masking the thundering of his flustered heart. “What happened today, Edmund?”
“In short sire, Master Jesse has a rather colorful past and an expansive catalogue of noteworthy acquaintances. I went from Lust, to Gluttony, and back to Lust before locating him; and just in time too.”
“Elaborate.”
“It appears that he was using the money that you bequeathed onto him to pay off an outstanding debt; one which his collector was willing to maim him over.”
“What?” Andrealphus’ retort slipped out quicker and sharper than he intended, but his brow folded down with the right amount of interest.
“It would also seem that the…” Edmund twirled his wrist, eyes flickering away from his master to search for the correct words. “…mistress that Master Jesse had relations with is more than a simple barfly. She is the owner of a secretive, prestigious establishment in Gluttony, and her relationship with royalty is…poor, shall I say.”
Andrealphus peered deeper at his butler’s face; all of the familiar features were present. Yet, within it he sensed an unfamiliar hesitation, and his interest was piqued. “Edmund, is there a detail that you’re omitting?” Narrowed eyes briefly widened as the imp tilted his neck and exposed two perfectly spaced punctures: a vampire’s bite.
“I did not wish to burden you further, sire. If it’s any consolation, she despised the taste of me, and her bite hasn’t shown any negative effects aside from a touch of weakness.” Edmund paused. “Master?”
Searing white fury scorched Andrealphus’ retinas, both of his hands balled until the tendons strained and bulged against the fabric of his gloves. His voice was low, the lowest it had been that day, but each syllable overflowed with barely restrained rage. “This shall not stand, Edmund.” Some vampiric whore dared to sink her fangs into his ward?! Did she not know; did the magnitude of her error simply slip her mind?!
“Master, please." Each word was quick as a hare, darting side to side as if to hypnotize the Marquis’ anger into slumber.
“How did this happen?”
“I investigated OZZIE’s first sire, and one of Master Jesse’s co-workers said he had called in. They gave me the name of a frequented establishment, so I hopped a bus. The bartender told me that Master Jesse wasn’t around, but that he had business in Gluttony and newly acquired means to get there. I took the train, and a musician on the street knew Master Jesse from an old stage name that he had from when he worked at the very club that his mistress now runs. I gained access, tried to see if she had any information on his whereabouts, and then was ejected back into Lust.”
“Ejected?!” Spikes of ice began to burst from the ground around his feet; their birth punctuated by harsh scraping, as if blades drawn from their scabbards. Edmund took a step back, but Andrealphus had stopped looking at his butler altogether. Instead, he glowered at the ceiling and the natural symbols on his tail feathers began to glow a shimmering blue.
“Master Andrealphus, please; your temper!”
His beak creaked at the pressure each half placed upon the other; a strength so fearsome that the polish began to crack. “I’ll kill her…shatter her soul to the darkest depths of Treachery and crucify each fragment until no bargain can be made with what remains!” Winter winds carved through the air of the manor, their bite like ravenous hounds, with all the persistence and unyielding fury of a bestial pack. His feathers whipped in the wind, as did the hems and sleeves of his royal attire. “Tell me where she is.”
“All of my current damage came from a now deceased thug, not from her. Please my Lord, I beg thee; quell your rage before Master Jesse hears you!”
A gritted beak tensed to the penultimate breaking point, and a snarl ripped through Andrealphus throat; magic dispelled from the air. Both of his eyes closed, animalistic heat tumbling and writhing in his chest to the point that deep relief came from a momentary lapse. Muscle softened, and a great weight lifted from his sternum. Andrealphus huffed into a deep groan, and only when his body and soul were still, did he open his eyes. “…Did you vanquish said thug?”
“I did in fact sire. The display was so impressive that it upheaved Master Jesse’s stomach.”
“They were the one collecting his debts?”
“Yes, but for whom I do not know. The situation did not call for measured conversation, unfortunately.”
“No identifying markers?”
“There were no gang related markings, sire, simply a name and a species. The thug’s name was Bruno, and he was a shark demon; a rather large one, as a matter of fact.”
“Likely from the Greed Ring, I will--”
As Andrealphus spoke, a golden pole slammed into the ground between him and Edmund! Gazing upwards, it appeared to extend all the way to the ceiling and beyond. The coloration and sheen made it immediately recognizable; the Royal Physician had arrived. A giggling chatter, the echo of merriment, carried down the pole as a rotund figure began to slide downwards. The figure picked up speed, its laughter growing in power, then stopped altogether as two cloven hooves beat upon the ground.
A meaty, hunched goat creature pushed a pair of bifocals up its face and dusted off a white medical coat. Four droopy cow ears, lined with thick fur, bounced as the elderly figure turned towards Edmund. Stark red fur, similar to a cardinal, covered the Baphomet demon’s body. A fluffy goat tail wagged behind, as a bell dangled from around his neck and clattered. Atop his head sat a blood-wax candle, a purple flame flickering with occult power and purpose with each tilt and turn of the head. “Alright, who’s broken?” he asked. The golden pole he rode in on shrank to the size of a baton and was swiftly hidden away within his coat. Before either one of them could answer, thick-nailed fingers pressed to Edmund’s face. The imp’s skin yielded, wrinkling and folding as it was stretched; eyes, cheekbones, forehead morphing to the doctor’s will. “Skin looks fine, save that scar. Where’s the—oh, there it is!”
“Doctor, as timely as ever. “ Andrealphus greeted the goat with a carefully measured tone. “Do be careful, he’s my favorite butler.”
“Don’t fret your highness, I’ve sealed bigger and nastier cracks.” The goat rubbed his gangly hands together, which caused the purple flame atop his head candle to blaze with great intensity. Red wax oozed downward and was swiftly scooped up with a flick of his fingers. He dabbed a trail along the crack in Edmund’s curled horn, and it began to seal with renewed strength; the red coloration quickly shifted to match the horns. “Do you have any Baphomet blood in you, young man?”
Edmund blinked at the question. “None that I’m aware of.” He wasn’t young at all but compared to the ancient caprine in front of him: well.
“The wax normally doesn’t seal this fast, and your horns are unusual for an imp. Given how the medicine is acclimating to your body, I’d say if you take a few days off, refrain from bumping into anything or getting into anymore headbutting contests, you’ll be smooth as silk.” The old goat adjusted his bifocals and applied more hot wax, his touch tender and precise. Each application brought another wave of overripe cherries and smoked bark; a hybrid of an aged campfire and perfume shop vapors. “No work; doctor’s orders.” A crooked finger, free of healing wax, poked at Edmund’s chest. “I mean it.” Smoke from the flame weaved and drifted into Andrealphus’ airspace as the physician turned. “Vampire bites cost extra.”
“I feel fine.” Edmund said, gingerly touching his repaired horn.
A brief gust of smoke whipped above the goat’s head as he spun back to face the imp. “Are you saying that, or is the bite?”
“Money is of no object.” Andrealphus curled his beak at the odor; he’d never been able to stand the royal physician’s unique presence for long. “Can you completely negate the effects?” With a nod towards Edmund, the imp pulled his collar aside to bare his bite mark. At first, the Baphomet spawn said nothing, but then let loose a pensive hum that raised the Marquis’ brow. “Is something wrong?”
“Vampire fangs are unique; thus, they leave unique wounds. To the normal observer, fangs are fangs, but the enlightened can spot the signs. Thankfully, by the grace of Lucifer, they did not sink deep enough to create a thrall.”
Tension fled Andrealphus’ body in an instant; not even the pungent scent of medicinal wax could bring it back. “Thank you doctor, your expertise has been invaluable.”
“You should be more careful, Mighty Marquis; one day my expertise won’t be around any longer. Until then, you know how to reach me.” By the time the old goat finished talking, he had retrieved the golden baton from his pocket. A reverberant clang struck the ground as he tapped it to the ground, and the pole extended back towards the heavens. Without another word, the goat shot into the sky and took the pole with him; as if he had just used his own personal lift.
“You heard the good doctor, Edmund; go and get some rest, you have more than earned it.” The imp sank into a low bow, and Andrealphus couldn’t help but trace that sealed horn wound with a cautious gaze. Before his aid could wander from earshot, he spoke again. “Edmund?”
The butler turned. “Yes, Master Andrealphus?”
Silence hung in the air for a moment, as the Marquis’ throat tightened and softened his tone. “Thank you: truly.” He watched as his loyal servant gave him another bow, this one deeper than the first; allowed to linger between them for more than a brief moment. Without another word, Edmund walked into The Kitchen and left the Grand Foyer with a single occupant.
Jesse stared at the checklist in his hand; his pen twirling between the fingers on the other. What he had written down covered a quarter of the page, and his brain was too dried up with suggestions to come up with more. “Okay, let's see here…” he muttered to himself. To prime his brain, the full words didn’t manifest on his lips, but the incoherent mush of a rambling man. “Buh, buh, buh, buh…alright, that’s gotta be all of it. A week’s worth of clothes should be enough, right?”
As the incubus mused to himself, a portal opened above the couch and deposited two stacks of outfits onto the cushions! Jesse blinked, hair on end, wings tensed at the joints as if ready to flap to safety. The portal didn’t stay open for long, and he barely caught sight of it as it closed. Cautiously, Jesse looked at the next item on his list.
“…Wallet.” Another portal opened in the same spot as before to confirm his theory. A smooth, folded leather wallet plummeted from it and thumped on top of his stack of jeans. His lips split into an amused smile, and his wings rustled. Jesse jabbed a finger at the couch, “Horn Polish.” Yet again, a portal reopened and dropped the object onto his clothes. “I’m really digging this magic shit!” He laughed, then took a joyous sidestep towards the couch and spun in a full circle. As he rotated an entire three-hundred and sixty degrees, he stopped on a dime and pointed again. “Hair Gel!”
It didn’t take long for the couch to fill with everything Jesse wanted from home, and as he mentally crossed the last item off his list, his ears perked at the click of a door handle. Cold air surged into the room and bit at his skin, and the demon shivered from head to tail as Andrealphus entered. Luckily, the peacock shut the door quickly, and that lovely heat washed over Jesse like a soothing blanket. “I see that you have already made yourself at home.” The magnitude of his height struck Jesse from the blue, as he watched the deep toned male clear half the room in a mere four strides. In that brief moment, he pondered how much the peacock weighed, considering this was the first time he hadn’t heard his talons click against the ground. As Andrealphus touched the stack of denim pants, his tone tipped and curled as is to…recoil? “Your choice of attire is out of sheer necessity, I hope.”
“What, my jeans? That’s sturdy shit.”
“Shit, indeed.” Andrealphus hummed, his tone skeptical. “We shall need to furnish you with at least one proper outfit.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“It is beneath you.” The Marquis’ words unfurled from his beak like a coiled snake.
“Beneath me; the fuck does that mean?”
“Tell me, do you shove food into your body with the same carelessness that you do when dressing it?” Andrealphus stepped forward, a crackling of magic forming around his hand to form a short staff; similar to a pointer. The rounded edge pressed against Jesse’s pec; not enough to hurt, but it was definitely cold! “Of course you don’t; look at you! You’re a slab of cooked, natural muscle garnished and reinforced with diamonds. You might as well be wagyu steak cooked to perfection but ruined by the application of ketchup. It’s criminal, barbaric, and I won’t stand for it.” The conjured rod vanished in a fine, cool mist.
Jesse gingerly touched his pec to register the vanishing cold, and the soft, cradling caress of a cooled breeze brushed over his fingertips. “Funny, because here I thought you just wanted to see me naked.”
Andrealphus sighed; not one from aggravation or weariness, but something else. His tone was heavy, but hollow; like a guilty thought wiggled into his lungs and smothered the air. Talons, thick as old oak roots, embraced one another in front of the Marquis’ lap. “Perhaps I should elucidate the purpose, then. The truest beauty is that of raw form; where no lies remain to trick the mind. While there is beauty to be found in the tailored creations of skilled hands; there is greater beauty in that which said hands cannot hope to touch.”
Jesse’s eyes watched Andrealphus’ arm rise and his finger gesture towards the ceiling above.
“When He created mortals, he did so from the soil. He took the Earth; filthy, grub-housing, bedrock infested with all manner of suffocating darkness…and formed Man. When Lucifer granted the First Man and the First Woman clarity, in defiance of Him, they created clothing from leaves and branches. Yet, in doing so they tarnished the natural beauty bestowed upon them; twisting nature to their own skewed desires.” The Marquis stopped talking and waited for the information to sink in, and continued once he recognized the attention in Jesse’s eyes. “The greatest artist in all of creation did the one thing that none other has been able to fulfill; and so, the natural form is the pinnacle of art. It is meant to be formed of rock, and ice, and the blood of flowers; not concealed under the false beauty of clarity.” Andrealphus turned towards the bookshelves, as if to seek momentary reprieve in the beam of sun drifting through the window. While Jesse couldn’t see his face anymore, he did detect the downward shift in the peacock’s tone. Where there was once a mixture of fervor and gospel now sank to a humble, almost solemn mumble. “It’s ironic…the more that we understand, the less beautiful our lives are.” His head turned, glowing eyes igniting from thought as they landed upon Jesse once again. “That is my vision, yet if the exposure of your true self is burdened by your trepidations…I will allow you to cover yourself as Adam once did.”
It was then, for the first time in the entire span that he had known this demon, that Jesse listened in wonder. Genesis wasn’t something most demons ever talked about with one another; best not to mention the big man upstairs at all in most cases. Yet, here was a higher demon speaking in nearly inspired tones about the beauty of creation. Was there jealousy? Perhaps; or maybe it was just an ultimate goal to aspire to. It all made sense, in a way. Jesse’s lip rolled over the tip of his tongue, “What sort of artist compromises on their vision? Sounds like…middle ground horseshit to me.”
Andrealphus stared at the incubus, and then the corner of his beak twitched. His brow rose, and a short chuckle slipped from his mask. The opposite corner of his beak twitched, and the sickness of a smile spread across the bird’s face. A bent arm raised the back a hand to suppress the laughter, but failed as a near infectious snicker turned the Marquis’ face into that of a jester. It was then that Jesse heard Andrealphus laugh for the first time.
A tiny seed of sound burst at the edges, growing tendrils extending into the open to suck sustenance and power from the sky itself. The laugh was small, then grew louder the longer it lived; not a single pause for air taken. Eyes clenched shut, the Marquis’ chest bounced with each laugh, and soon too did his shoulders. Deep, banging tones struck the gong of Jesse’s brain; a song which quickly reached a crescendo. Andrealphus soon cackled, head tossed back, beak open and curled as if in pain…and then a screech of joyous mania poured forth. Jesse jumped, body shrinking and curling away at the high demon’s boisterous cackle. Both of his eyes widened to witness an unnerving beauty that urged him closer, yet his body knew that doing so meant potential annihilation. He froze, mind paralyzed with the absorption of knowledge that he felt wrong to now possess!
When Andrealphus’ laugh finally subsided, his face slipped back into the mold he originally wore with unnerving speed. “Quite an astute observation, Jesse; I wholeheartedly agree.” In three strides, the Marquis crossed the room and left a chill in his wake. “Rest well; I have a meeting with Asmodeus in the morning. When I return, we shall resume our work. Until then, enjoy the provided comforts, and do not call upon Edmund for any assistance; he has done quite enough.” The door closed, and Jesse was left alone, still frozen in place. Even so far from the door, he swore that he could hear the peacock’s laughter trail into the halls of the manor.
Chapter 9: Loose Lips, Lustful Ships
Summary:
Andrealphus attends his meeting with Asmodeus in the Lust Ring and prods at the secrets behind incubi magic. Yet, he's early, and runs into an unexpected individual who threatens his life! Meanwhile, Jesse waits for his return back at the manor. Will they finally get the project back on track, or will confusing feelings and unexpected powers throw another monkey wrench into their plans?
Notes:
(As an aside, how are we feeling about the length of each chapter? Too long, too short, just right? They're as long as I feel they need to be, but when I read them back on certain platforms they feel short.)
Chapter Text
Deep within the center of Lust, Andrealphus pushed open the lobby doors to Asmodeus’ tower. Lilac and vanilla scents thickened the air over the melody of smooth, instrumental jazz; complimented by lavish furniture and deep hues of purple and blue. Short, trimmed carpet brushed against his talons, and the Marquis lifted his foot to curl them with a scowl. Each step sent coarse, grating brushes from his feet to the back of his neck; deepening the scowl and drawing deep wrinkles to his brow. An unaware succubus, hand busy scribbling away at paperwork, shivered and glanced upwards. A simple, disinterested glance mutated into a shocked jolt in the neck, and her suit-covered back slammed into the chair.
Andrealphus regarded those wide eyes with a simple touch of the desk. One fingertip balanced atop the wood, and another joined it to strut forward; like a lion stalking a gazelle from the brush. Ice formed beneath his fingers and spread with each step; sharp popping and crackling speaking alongside the Marquis. “Nine o’ clock; under Andrealphus.” Unabated, his chill continued to spread, even as the rapid clacking of keyboard keys reached his ears.
“Yes…yes, it’s r-right here.” Hesitation smothered her feminine tone, bright red eyes darting from her screen to the iceberg of a desk. “It’s not nine o’ clock right now though; it’s eight.”
“What is your name, my dear?” Andrealphus leaned down, elbows propped upon the desk as both hands formed into a bridge to rest his chin upon. A passive face stared at the well-dressed succubus; threatened under pressure as the discomfort in her eyes triggered a twitch along his beak. A dark colored striped suit, plentiful cleavage on display despite not possessing the largest of assets, hair wrapped up in a clean bun of black hair between two pink, ridged horns: apt for Lust.
“K-Katie…my name is Katie.”
Andrealphus twirled his wrist and brought all of his fingertips together to a single point. All of the ice that he had conjured, that now covered her desk, curled at the edges and converged at the center. Embracing, twisting, the ice formed into a glittering lotus blossom that began to rotate on the spot. “Tell me Katie, how much do you know about incubi?”
“Is…is that a trick question?”
“Humor me, my dear; it’s work related.”
Katie’s eyes shined with the sparkle of Andrealphus’ ice sculpture; her tail flicking into view from behind the desk. “What do you want to know?”
Familiar muscles tugged at the corners of Andrealphus’ beak as he smiled; brow perked in accomplishment. “Everything that you can tell me; but let us start with something simple. How does their unique seduction work?”
“Their seduction magics? It’s hard to explain; more of a natural thing we all have instead of something we, you know, do.” Katie glanced over her shoulder. Odd, was she looking out for someone? Andrealphus’ blood quickened at the thought; what secrets could she impart onto him? “Have you ever had a feeling that was so good, you got lost in it? A beautiful sunset, a song that hit just right; our magic finds that and we…” The succubus mimicked the act of reeling in a fishing line. “…pull it to the surface.”
“So, you cannot force anyone to fall in love with you?”
Katie giggled, her tail bounced in tune, and her wings gave a soft flap. “No, Lord Asmodeus is all about consent. Anyone who falls under the spell of a succubus or incubus does it because there’s something already there to work with; you can't force it.”
Dread gripped his heart, and a hollow hunger enveloped his stomach. Katie must have noticed, because her sunny disposition darkened with a tense of her lips. “Could you tell me where the restroom is, Katie?”
“Yeah, it’s just…down the hall next to the elevators.”
Without even so much as a thank you, the peacock walked past the front desk and down the colorful hallway. Past rows of inaccessible doors, potted plants, and wall mounted candles of dancing blues and pinks; mind adrift in its own woes, Andrealphus ran over the new information repeatedly. If it was not a spell similar to a love potion, then everything he had felt towards Jesse came solely from within. Only a truly mighty incantation of ancient strength could have hoped to seduce him, to push through his family’s enchanted wards, but if what Katie said was true…
An elevator ding stirred the Marquis from his thoughts, only for him to watch two incubi emerge and instantly grant him a wide berth. Looking upon the demons, he felt nothing as they paced by; not even a spark of attraction, yet they possessed similar qualities to Jesse. They each had broad shoulders, leathery wings, and sharp jawlines that accented their eyes and fangs. Perhaps it was the fear in their eyes as they spotted him; whether it be born of royalty or his reputation, Andrealphus couldn’t say. All that he confirmed was that contemptuous bile boiled in his throat at their cowardly behavior and yet, satisfaction bloomed in his heart.
With a single strut, he took their places within the elevator before its doors closed. Knowing Asmodeus, or any powerful figure for that matter, he would live atop the pinnacle of the building. Andrealphus hit the highest numbered button and waited, his mind easily drawn back to the topic of lustful machinations. Beneath him, gravity exerted upwards to hoist his bones, and the sensation pushed to his shoulders as the elevator began to ascend without ceremony. A countdown to his thoughts played on a square above the button panel, marking another floor passed with every second. If he couldn’t be forcibly compelled, then whatever feelings he had been experiencing were genuine. If they were genuine, it meant that he conjured them himself. If he conjured the idle fancy himself, it meant that he was weak; he was failing, he was cracking, he was allowing something taboo to put the future of his royal house at risk! Andrealphus stared back at his reflection in the elevator door, and a scowl returned to him in kind.
“Proper royals do not bed commoners.” He spoke, addressing the mirror image that invoked his words with equal zeal. “These feelings are just cracks in a flawed mold. The sooner that you complete your work, the sooner they can be patched.” Andrealphus glanced towards the counter; halfway there. “You were fine before…there is no reason to seek out something so base. Control yourself, focus, and send him on his way.” A harsh and judgmental finger jabbed from his reflection. The Marquis joined fingers with his image, and then his palm, and leaned against his braced arm. Every floor brought his thoughts to the surface, manipulated and spurred by gravity the same as his body; as without, so to within. An act of accidental voyeurism flashed in his mind; a dark body strewn beneath Jesse’s pumping hips, claws dug into his rippling back muscles, and the groan of the incubi’s voice as sharp fangs sank into his neck for a love bite. Andrealphus’ fingers pressed and curled against the door until his tendons threatened to snap; a downward turn of both brow and beak darkened his tone. “That woman…”
Before his rage could properly manifest itself in the physical world, the elevator came to a stop and the door opened. Duty at hand, he stepped out with a brisk stride to clear his tail feathers from being caught. Ample time presented itself before his destined meeting, and so Andrealphus approached the centerpiece of the hallway; a golden fountain depicting numerous nude succubi and incubi. Flowing water, more likely to trigger a need to visit the restroom than calm the soul, coursed into his ears. Not quite a river, nor a babbling brook, or even the lapping waves of the ocean; but something manufactured and impure. Andrealphus mused in silence at the construction; perhaps a self-feeding sculpture would feed superior results? He pictured it in his mind, a sculpture of ice placed in a room of perfect temperature to cause steady melting, which would then harness the liquidized water and refreeze it in the same shape as before.
Amid his private thoughts, the click of an opening door and the creak of its hinges drew his attention. At the far end of the hall, the familiar voice of Asmodeus echoed towards him, and Andrealphus stayed put as he listened in; concealed on the opposite side of the fountain.
“I’m so sorry things didn’t work out with your imp, Stolas. A broken heart is a bitch and a half…” Silence followed, providing Andrealphus to listen in with greater attention: Stolas? What was he doing here? Unwilling to expose himself, the peacock dared not sneak a peek from around the nearest water-spouting phallus; why did they always have to be so damn large?! “I can ask Fizzarolli to check in with him; maybe there was just a miscommunication?”
“No…he made it quite clear that he wants nothing to do with me.” Sorrow, barely restrained with what dignity the Goetia had left, corrupted every trace of breath in his words. Andrealphus narrowed his eyes, as if to subject himself to inferior vision would enhance his hearing; to burn this conversation into his mind. “Your assistance was appreciated, nonetheless.” Another pang of silence halted time itself, then a shuffle of feet scuffed the air. A door closed, and footsteps grew in volume, which prompted the Marquis to conceal his grin with the broadside of his hand. If only for a moment, he reveled in the karmic justice; the very thing that his foolish brother-in-law had upturned his life for had rejected him!
The footsteps grew ever louder. His smirk split even wider, unabated by his hand. Recede, recede; you jester! A chortle shot into his glove; its essence spilling over into the open just as Stolas rounded the fountain. Andrealphus arched his wrist higher, more to dignify his snickering than to hide from the owl’s stunned quad-eyed stare. “Making new bedfellows already, Stolas? I must say, I approve; a Sin is much more suitable for a royal to court…but I do believe you’re in over your head.”
“What are you doing here, Andrealphus?” Stolas’ voice oozed with contempt, and a rigidness spread along the peacock’s cheek with rabid tenacity. A chuckle slipped from the Marquis’ beak, as a finger brushed along the rough, crag-like stone that began to infect his face.
“Trying to petrify me?” he tutted. “My, what a fierce temper you have! If you glare any harder, I’ll turn positively rigid.” Behind his back, Andrealphus channeled the biting winds of winter into his fingers and rubbed them together; then focused his will on Stolas’ core. “If you must know, I have a business arrangement with Asmodeus. Hard as it might be to believe, I did not indent to stumble upon you pouring out your sorrows; but thank you for granting me that experience, nonetheless!” Talking became cumbersome, as Goetia magic coursed over his magical resistances; stalled but progressing. At the same time, Stolas didn’t appear plucky anymore; his brow twitched beneath his towering hat, and a sickly blueish gold infected one of his eyes. With that eldritch chill implanted, the prince would find breathing increasingly difficult as water vapor sank into the lining of his lungs, and ice formed in the creases of his muscles.
Both royals stared at one another; one wrapped in silent rage and the other in smug confidence that tread the line of arrogance. Their respective sorceries ran amok, fed with a vast well of magic and matched pace for pace. Strained crimson eyes glared into cerulean counterparts, ice crackled and entombed feathers as rock did the same; a verifiable and deadly game of chicken.
“Commendable…but folly…” Andrealphus croaked, half of his face petrified; his eye lay completely immobile. Before the standoff could escalate further and render his channeling hand moot, a boom of snapping fingers triggered his magical trap. Misty tendrils clamped around Stolas’ lungs and squeezed a gasp out of the Goetia Prince. Gaze broken, concentration sundered, the owl stumbled forward with a hand grasped to his chest. Rock and ice cracked and crumbled in unison, relinquishing their deadly influence over both avian royals. “Any lesser demon would have been instantly vanquished; a true testament to your power…” The compliment came with a rough rush of air, as a single hand rubbed at that thin, feathery throat to soothe its discomfort. “…but I am no lesser demon, Stolas. Your arcane talents are wasted chasing imps; when they should instead be utilized in tutoring your daughter.”
“You…have not seen even a fraction of my power!” Stolas gasped. Plumed chest quivering and twitching with each breath, as if to shake the precipitation out of his lungs, the owl squinted; expression tensed in pain. “Do not speak of my daughter as if she were your own, Andrealphus! You and my bitch of an ex-wife will have no say in her future, so long as I draw breath.”
An amused twitch assaulted the peacock’s eye. “Eloquently put.”
“What is going on out here?!” A stampede of colossal, rooster-like feet placed the towering figure of Asmodeus between and above the squabbling royals. Blazing eyes bore from above, and the top of his plume burned in a mixture of chastisement and agitation. “Andre, you’re early.” Spotlight heat turned from him and seemed to shift towards Stolas, yet the Sin of Lust’s voice boomed just as vigorously. “I don’t know who started this, but this is MY house, and you both best believe I detected two surges of magic about to fuck up my decorator’s day. There will be NO fighting under my roof: understood?!”
No answer was given. Stolas' cape billowed as he stormed towards the elevator. Ancient, smothering heat dropped upon Andrealphus as if he were in the jungles of Gluttony, and he cleared his throat. “I wasn’t about to let him turn me into a garden statue.”
“Knowing your mouth, I’m sure it wasn’t unprovoked.” Andrealphus turned with the Sin of Lust’s guiding hand upon his shoulder; the licking flames warding off his natural, wintery defenses. The doors to Asmodeus’ domicile opened to reveal a dimly lit office; easily the size of a small banquet hall and bathed in dark blues hues. At the far end sat a broad desk, and behind that, a heart-shaped window gazed out onto the rainy landscape of his kingdom. Braziers of blue flame flickered next to a cherry wood desk, which was constructed with larger dimensions to accommodate the user’s unique size. Ceremonious awards of recognition and degrees of science hung upon the walls to his right, and to his left was a rather…charming photo of himself and a jester; Fizzarolli, the model for all of Asmodeus’ robotic servants that spanned every circle of Hell. The pose was…oddly intimate, but the moment that Andrealphus began to form suspicions, Asmodeus snapped his fingers and summoned a chair from a blue, fiery blaze. “Sit.”
Andrealphus did as he was bid, the high back design towering an added foot above his peak. Atop the chair, thick, feathery fingers gripped the metal and curled inwards; their touch spreading heat downwards. Similar to a hot rock at a spa, it sank into the peacock’s back and hugged his rib cage like a lover. A bowl plummeted into his view and sent a jolt of tingling panic through his limbs; kickstarting his heart and spreading shame in unison. Inside the bowl was an assortment of phallic shaped gummies.
“Have a gummy.”
Revulsion pulled his beak back, but his hand rose and grabbed one. Hesitation seized his facial muscles, and Andrealphus muscled them down to open his beak and toss the gummy in. Tropical flavor, similar to a sweetened and brightly colored beach cocktail, washed over his entire tongue. While his body absorbed the blue gummy, his mind and magical prowess remained vigilant for any tampering; one could never be too careful, even amongst mostly trusted colleagues. “How…vibrant.”
The scrape of chair legs clawed its way to the vista view, as Asmodeus sat down in his massive desk chair. “It’s not like you to be early Andre, what’s the occasion? I hope it means the project is ahead of schedule.”
“It is on track, but there were…costly adjustments.”
“Oh?”
“The Queen of Gluttony interrupted my first session.”
Asmodeus’ three heads glanced at one another in turn, and the table creaked as two extravagantly adorned, bulky elbows weighed upon the wood. “Bee; now why would she do that?” A narrowed gaze, rapt with disbelief, burned against the peacock’s forehead; fingers interlocking to the sound of a soft pop.
“ 'Twas a private matter that has since been settled; but she unnerved my model.”
“You mean Jesse.”
“Yes, Jesse.”
“Tough nut; I’ve seen him muscle out demons twice his size.” The Sin’s green, vacant gaze narrowed further. “Which means you must’ve done something to really piss off Bee. What did you do?”
“It’s irrelevant.”
“It’s irrelevant?”
“Since the consequences have been dealt with and the issue remedied, the particulars of causation are moot; I do not repeat mistakes, as you know.” As the final vestiges of sugar and who-knows-what traveled down to his stomach, a warmth spread up his throat and rested at the back of his tongue. “The important thing is that Jesse has his nerves back, and we begin again after this meeting concludes.”
Asmodeus was silent for a moment; his inhuman, feathered face furrowed in what appeared to be agitation. Was it for the potentially disrespectful withholding of information? Could he know more than what he was letting on? Was this simply a test of honesty that showed disappointing results? None of those questions were ones that Andrealphus could answer. Another creak moaned from the desk, this one deeper and stronger than the previous one. “What did you give her, Andre?”
One leg crossed atop the other, and a snug, minor warmth filled the space beneath his knee. Andrealphus turned his head, braced his elbow against the armrest of the chair, and planted his chin atop the back of his gloved hand. Even though he couldn’t see Asmodeus’ faces anymore, opting to stare at one of the blue, flaming braziers at the corner of the desk instead, an inescapable and sweat-inducing gaze cooked the side of his neck and turned cheek. “I gave her a memory.” Strange; he could recall what he lost, but not what exactly it was he gave away. His brow furrowed at the unnatural flame, the synapses in his brain stretching, grasping for any connection; but he couldn’t recall…he simply couldn’t. “I couldn’t allow things to escalate, so it was entirely necessary. Know that I don’t regret it, if you so happen to feel pity for me.”
“Tell me about Jesse.”
His mind lurched, and the Marquis momentarily lay silent at the sudden shift in topic. Reabsorption, interpretation, and the conjugation of a response played on loop again and again. “He’s your employee; you likely know him much better than I. Why is my opinion relevant?” Andrealphus turned his head towards the sudden baritone chuckle of the Sin of Lust.
“It’s relevant because you give it to everyone, whether they want it or not!” Asmodeus pursed his jagged lips and produced a trail of blue flame, that did not set anything ablaze, but shockingly circled around Andrealphus’ neck like the rings of Saturn! “Something is off about you, Andre; I can sense it. It hasn’t even been that long since I last saw you, so what happened?”
“Nothing; nothing happened.” The blue ring of flame flashed a bright pink and snapped closed around his neck! He clutched at the translucent bond, but his fingers only felt the familiar softness of his preened feathers. “Asmodeus; what is—”
“Relax, it’s not going to hurt you; I’m simply looking for something.”
Who was he to argue with a Sin? The power gap between him and Asmodeus might as well have been the length of time itself. A primordial being, privy to events that royal bloodlines could only speculate on the particulars of. This brutal truth soured Andrealphus’ heart, and so he watched the ring of flame slide down his body with an equally sour expression. Newfound heat brimmed in his face, as the Sin of Lust’s magic hoisted the underside of his rib cage. Lulling smoke reached up through his ribs as tendrils and embraced each and every one; as if Asmodeus had an invisible set of hands hugging his soul. From the depths of that exploration, a new sensation surged into the peacock’s face. It burned like water in one’s nose, tensed his muscles like a sneeze, and emptied his mind in startling, crackling relaxation. Panic rose in his chest; what was happening?! Asmodeus’ magic was undiscernible, but all he could do was try to clench his eyes shut! Andrealphus exhaled, and his breath trembled and shuddered enough to ruffle his feathers.
“You said that nothing has happened, but I sense traces of lust magic inside of you. So, either you’re not as cold as I always thought, or you’ve let your guard down.” Asmodeus’ eyes narrowed, and his wrist turned; as if to draw the magic upwards and set it free. “Would you like my help?”
Andrealphus’ tailbone mashed into the seam of his seat, his fingers curled into the armrests, and his joints popped at both shoulders; a blush on his face. “If it will stop whatever this…this feeling is, then yes!” The hammering of his heart thundered inside of his skull, and the Marquis couldn’t find a second to catch his breath. Was this true Lust; an undiluted, inescapable and unstoppable tide of heat and energy that threatened to melt his soul to ash?! Sweat began to bead upon his forehead, and as the feeling rose to a peak, it abruptly ceased to be altogether. Vacancy, startling and cold, took the place of that foreign entity. Andrealphus cleared his throat and smoothed down his feathers, “My thanks...”
“Keeping your thoughts to yourself, thanking people; Andre, honey, you’re worse than I thought!” A chiding giggle left the rooster’s crooked and glowing lips. “That perfect jaw was more than you could handle, huh?”
Abundant shame; glowing and fierce, baked his cheeks. “Your assistance is appreciated; your mockery isn’t.” A second resounding laugh fanned the flames of his deteriorating composure. Tautness overtook the peacock’s back, as his spine straightened, and his muscles tensed to assert control over his own body. “A tiny amount of lust magic managed to creep past my wards, that’s all. I do not have, nor will I ever have, what you might call…lustful fantasies over an incubus.”
“Careful, a little bit goes a long way; as the saying goes. From what I just saw, you’re either incredibly inexperienced or incredibly deprived. If a sliver of incubus charm can plant a bomb like that in you, just imagine what would happen if he actually tried.”
The backside of Andrealphus’ palm had never felt more firm, more secure, and more comforting than when it mashed into the line of his beak. Sharp and polished, it dragged a dangerous edge along the innermost and softest part of his hand. Images of Jesse ‘actually trying’, quote on quote, raced through his head. Shining muscles, slick with sweat between flexed wings; tight hamstrings, and a deviously flicking tail behind a tight, toned rear. Fangs on lips, the soft baritone of a pleased rumble, half-lidded eyes; a new heat summoned in the peacock’s chest. Weariness overcame his eyes in an instant, and Andrealphus pinched them with a sigh to match. “That would certainly cause further delays.”
A new sound, that of the clink of ceramic to steel, rang out; and Andrealphus looked up to see Asmodeus stirring the contents of a teacup. “So long as you keep a respectable distance and send him home right after the modeling sessions, it shouldn’t be a problem.” Unwillingly, a sigh emerged from the Marquis’ beak; clearly, he wasn’t going to receive any useful or applicable information unless he divulged the truth. Perhaps with the knowledge he’d gained from the loose lipped receptionist, there was something to be found amongst his private libraries? An amusing time filler between sculpting sessions, if nothing else. To think, he thought to weasel trade secrets from the Sin of Lust; shameful, in hindsight. It was not a mistake Andrealphus would repeat.
“I suppose, but that shall extend the length of the project.”
“Coming from the man who’s always on time, that doesn’t worry me.” Asmodeus sipped from his teacup; seeming to drain every last sip from the miniature bowl. “You’ll figure things out, just like you always do.”
Pride, though small, preened the peacock’s soul. Yet, it was soured by the acknowledgment that his accomplishments were being used against him, in this particular case. All of the talk about Jesse drew his mind towards the incubus; ponderings over what he was doing, if he was enjoying his new living accommodations, muffled Asmodeus’ voice. Fragments of conversation registered, but they were simple puzzle pieces to link with critical thinking and situational awareness. As he closed his eyes, the fantastical musings increased in clarity; what would those muscular valleys of abdomen muscle feel like to trace? Were those ivory locks atop his head as soft as they appeared, or were they coarse? If the incubus touched him, would he melt?
“Andre; hello, anyone in there?”
Snapped from his mental landscape, Andrealphus blinked in minor shock at the boom of Asmodeus’ voice. “I…apologize Asmodeus; I find myself oddly weary. You shall have the first sculpture by next light.” He pushed the chair back to stand and felt the Sin’s gaze upon his back as he turned.
“I look forward to seeing your personal interpretation of Jesse, but make sure you’re lucid enough to actually make it.”
Chastisement pushed into the realm of uncaring, the doors to the office swung open of their own accord, and Andrealphus began the lengthy journey home with naught but reservations for company.
Back at the manor, Jesse lay sprawled out upon his new bed; silken sheets cool to the touch in the most pleasant of ways. Sunlight bathed the back of his wings, the chatter of birds and lightly cascading water sang in his ears, and pure, fresh air brimmed in his nose. How had Andrealphus done this? It had to be some magical bullshit, but he’d be damned if it wasn’t astounding! Having a personal oasis in the middle of a frozen hell was, well, a gift; and it couldn’t have been easy to pull off.
What had he done to deserve it? All Jesse had done was slip all over the floor, get naked, and yell at the guy! On top of that, he was being paid out the ass for his time. Was he really that important to someone like Andrealphus? As questions poured through his mind, carrying doubt alongside them, his fingers curled into the smooth bed sheets. He needed to know if he was actually valuable or just some pity project.
Jesse sat up and spun on his ass, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Once the tips of his feet touched the ground, his calves tensed, his knees bent, and his wings gave a flap as he launched up into the air. Dipping down the spiral staircase and past the chandelier, he hovered near one of his gifted bookcases and began to read off the spines. A History of Royal Houses from Treachery to Greed was the first to catch his eye; a seemingly fat-assed tome that looked too heavy to pull free. Applications of Demonic Cannibalism in the Realm of Sinners tied his tongue and furrowed his brow; what a fucking mouthful of a title! Next to it sat a frayed green tome; color faded with age and tattered binding. The lack of a title tilted Jesse’s head, and the smell of an old library spilled out as he slid it from the shelf. Not too thick, but there wasn’t even a title on the cover; nor was there decorative art. As he opened the book, all that could be read was what appeared to finally be a title. Count Rosebury; A Military History.
Strange; not a name Jesse had ever heard. While working at Ozzie’s didn’t give the most in-depth education about the ins and outs of royals, he at least knew their family trees. Rosebury wasn’t a name he recognized; was he a human? If so, why would Andrealphus be interested in someone like that? Curiosity piqued; Jesse flipped to the next page. All of the text had begun to fade, the rigidness of the pages seeming to have come from absorbing too much ink. To better absorb the text, he began to read aloud.
“Count Rosebury, born beneath a blood moon, possessed the temperament and fury of summer’s dying gasps. He drove back the mongrel tribes and established an era of prosperity. These are the accounts of his heroism and tactical genius, so that they may inspire future generations.” The remainder of the page was missing, torn horizontally to reveal a preview of the next. “Huh, wonder why the rest is missing…”
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
The room spun as Jesse’s wings seized up; his rhythmic flapping thrown off completely! Without concentration to keep him afloat, the incubus plummeted from the sky in complete free fall. Jagged and smeared, his vision of the room spun in a vicious tumble. His heart raced, breath frozen, and just as he was about to smash into the rapidly approaching ground…he stopped.
Everything within Jesse’s view flipped in a singular and smooth scooping motion; and he found himself cradled in the arms of his host, Andrealphus! Whether it was the sunrays through the window or something magical, Jesse couldn’t tell; but the peacock seemed wreathed in a glow that brightened his eyes. “I’m pleased to see that those wings aren’t just for show, but perhaps you are out of practice?”
Being cradled like some…some maiden out of a fairytale brought a snap out of Jesse’s tail, his red skin doing its best to mask an embarrassed blush. “I didn’t know you were back.” The admission brought a smirk to the bird’s face, and for the first time since they met, their respective difference in size shone through. Jesse was easily more than a few feet off the ground to where his tail couldn’t touch, and where he expected a frigid embrace, he instead found warmth. “You know, because there’s normally a chill or something, but…”
“There wasn’t one? You can thank the special properties of your room for that. None of the manor’s chill can penetrate beyond the doorframe, nor will my own personal magic lower the temperature.” Andrealphus slipped the green tome from the lesser demon’s muscular arms, without giving it a glance. “While I loathe to interrupt a fellow scholar, we have work to do.”
“You’re not going to carry me the whole way, are you?” A layer of hardness swept across the peacock’s glowing eyes, and the light within them dimmed from a luminescent aura to a modest one. Jesse’s legs and core tightened as gravity gripped him again, and this time allowed him to land safely on his feet. Before he could even utter his thanks or brush himself off, a bed of peacock feathers brushed over his feet and bright silks of blue blocked his vision. Andrealphus made it to the door in the blink of an eye, and Jesse summarily stumbled after him. “Wait, it’s going to be cold out there, right? Shouldn’t I, you know, bundle up?” A soft, yet swift, finger tapped his forehead and left a short-lived patch of cold; like a tiny ice cube.
“Give me your hand.” Immediately after asking, the Marquis’ larger hand cupped Jesse’s atop his palm, while his other hand procured something from his robes. A simple ring, capped with a sapphire gemstone slid onto his ring finger. “With this ring, the climate of this room shall travel with you, and thus render you immune to the chill of my home. Ensure that you do not lose it.”
Jesse paused at the edge of his bedroom door and stared at the icy hallway that awaited him. Hesitation brimmed to life in his chest and caution tempered his mind; was this a trap? Worst case scenario, he’d look like an idiot for half a second and jump back in. To bear the Marquis’ laughter though was something he didn’t think he could handle; that booming, skin tingling laugh. To amp himself up, he flicked his tail and tensed his core, then stepped into the hallway to discover that Andrealphus hadn’t lied! Better yet, his feet felt far more grounded than before, as if the ice wasn't affecting him. He might be able to actually take off and fly, now!
Andrealphus was in motion yet again, his wide stride carrying him towards the foyer stairs. “I hope you find its effects to your liking; now, come, we have work to do.” As Jesse jogged forward to close the distance between himself and the royal, he sensed the peacock’s gaze lingering on his every move. Once he was within touching distance, Andrealphus’ beak opened again and spoke. “Since our progress was rudely interrupted, we shall have to revert to the beginning. I hope you are prepared to earn your keep.”
“Right; how did all of that…end, by the way? Is everything good?”
“The Sins have been appeased and our progress shouldn’t be interrupted again; so yes, everything is good.” The parroting of Jesse’s words flicked from Andrealphus’ tongue with no small amount of displeasure and mockery. “Asmodeus spoke quite highly of you during our meeting.” As he served the compliment, half of the grand staircase stretched out behind him.
“He did?” Jesse’s befuddlement mingled with caution, unsure if Andrealphus was telling the truth.
“Indeed; he said that you were a tough nut to crack and had taken on demon’s many times your own size.” The final step of the staircase punctuated the silence that followed Andrealphus’ comment. “I shall admit, I am still unsure of whether it was meant in the sexual sense or not.”
Jesse’s wings gave a light flap, his tail curled, and his ears burned, but his fingers curled to his palms all the same. “Funny; I guess that just means I should have no problem handling you in either case, then!”
Andrealphus braced his hand against the towering wooden doors or The Freezer and pushed. “You would be wise to save such comedic material for the celebration dinner.” He strode inside, and a smile crept onto the corner of his beak as the rapid tap of Jesse’s footsteps echoed in his ear.
“Dinner; what dinner?”
“Why, the dinner that shall be held upon the completion of our project, of course. Once this new product line is revealed, every high-ranking demon worth their salt will want to shake your hand. There will be interviews and photoshoots; your name will be the talk of the nine rings.” Andrealphus stepped forward and beckoned Jesse to follow before the doors could close. “You shall be wealthy and famous; not quite so much as myself, but still rather respectable.”
“If that’s true, then how come I’ve never heard of that happening to anyone else?” The short scoff that came from Andrealphus didn’t inspire confidence.
“Out of the few that have been chosen, none were able to properly ascend to their true potential. Little imperfections, flaws, and vices pulled them back into the pits of mediocrity and failure.” The light scraping of a sculpting tool brushed against a wooden table as Andrealphus scooped the chisel into his grasp. “One had too loose of a tongue. Another, despite her beauty, sacrificed a glowing future for the allure of a man who, ultimately, diminished her worth. I could go on, but I’d rather not allow their past failures corrupt your future.” A sharp thud echoed into wood as the peacock stabbed the chisel deep with a sharp flick of his wrist. “All failure must be remedied with a complete and utter restart of the entire process, lest we risk upending the concept of perfection within our work.”
Jesse crossed his arms over his chest and braced his back waist against the tool table. There was a fervor in each word, but he could barely figure out if it was completely genuine or simply a formulated speech. “What, you just throw away everything that makes a little mistake? Why not take the time to fix it and save time?” Both of his eyes darted downwards as the finery on Andrealphus’ back began to descend; those puffy layers dropping to reveal a slender and compact form. What in the nine hells was he doing?! The floor was instantly far more interesting than anything else in the room.
“If I created you, as a hypothetical, and decidedly bequeathed you with cognitive or physical ailments; what would your view of me be? If I put you here, breathed life into you, only for your entire existence to be miserable from beginning to end; would I be worthy of that power?” As Andrealphus spoke, his cloak drifted away, and his eyes quickly settled upon his workshop attire; which was equipped piece by piece.
“I don’t know.”
“If I cursed you purposefully; made you frail and horrid, would you love me?”
“I think it would be hard to.”
“You’d think correctly. Those with power carry the burden of powerful responsibility; make no mistake. As an artist, it is doubly so. I shall not curse my creations with inadequacy; their lives shall not be stained by laziness, incompetence, or spite. Each and every one of them shall know nothing but beauty, admiration…and love.”
The tone that reached Jesse’s ears lifted his chin; heartfelt to a tee with every spoken syllable. He’d never thought of art as deeply as Andrealphus seemed to, and to hear that particular point of view brought his mind back to the sketch. It had been wonderful, yet done in such a short span of time; was it also created with love? Was there a deeper meaning hidden in there? To his relief, the Marquis hadn’t decided to strip down for some perverted royal kink, but instead to simply change into some work clothes. “Is that why I haven’t seen a Marchioness around?”
Everything from the air around him to the sounds that should normally grace his ears came to a horrifying halt. As if time itself had been frozen, trapping all manners of natural life; all things that were right with the world, in place. Andrealphus didn’t move, his back still turned, and not even the normally howling winter winds from outside dared make a peep. When Andrealphus did finally turn, Jesse’s chest clenched, and his breath stopped upon meeting his host’s gaze. Rigid blue eyes, petrified with an uncaring glare beamed down into his very soul and froze it. That was a brand-new look, one that which Jesse instinctively abhorred, and his lips formed an immediate apology. “I’m sorry, that’s clearly a soft spot…” The incubus dipped into a bow and his gaze once again bore into the floor beneath him. “…apologies, my Lord.” In the back of his neck, a shiver formed that swarmed through the rest of his body and infected his stomach to the point of queasiness. Along his side, a looming presence slowly descended, its shadow growing longer across the floor as it reached to snatch his feet. Andrealphus’ voice; low and cold, yet intimate in its smooth and menacing mutter akin to a fist that squeezed his heart.
“Stand on the platform; we have squandered enough time.”
Chapter 10: Winter's Touch, Hell's Lust
Summary:
Andrealphus and Jesse finally manage to get back to work, but distractions throw them off track once again.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Two hours into the sculpting session, a new sketch had been drawn up, the slab of ice went from its native form to an incubi-like shape, and Andrealphus was riding his artistic streak. Relief was only the beginning of the deluge of emotions he experienced upon seeing Jesse’s nude form again. The solid foundations of Greek godhood shined beneath that crimson skin; elegant, yet masculine in nature. Tight muscles arched and twisted in his held pose; the first of many that would make up this new line of sculptures. Arms raised and rested behind the head, hips cocked forward to stretch out the toned stomach, and a gaze longingly held to the horizon of the far room; as natural as an unaware stud to tempt the desires of any who dared look upon him.
A steady chorus of clinks and hammer taps filled the air; unaltered and unwavering in their tempo and accuracy. It was a practice that made little sense to one as untrained as Jesse, but to Andrealphus; each tap of the hammer was calculated to perfection. To capture the visage of the perfect body required a perfect hand and eye alike, and he dared to think that the two of them were a match made in Hell! Silent synergy in their shared concentration allowed the process to move without delay, and minor details began to fill in the outline of Jesse’s icy twin. In order to accurately add said details, Andrealphus was required to sharpen his sight upon the demon’s nude and muscular form to a degree that was borderline fanatical.
Upon setting his sights on the incubi’s tapered waist, a break in tapping filled the room with debilitating silence. Powerful, glorious, dangerous; these were all descriptors that jumped to mind as Andrealphus stared at his model. Flaccid, yet long and hefty; identical in skin tone to the rest of him yet darkened near the cut tip that weighed with unspoken prowess. It was…quite a mighty rod, indeed. Above it, just ahead of the girthy base, was a clearly shaven patch. Professionally done, no doubt, but the detail tensed the Marquis’ beak and brow.
“You, okay?”
“I am simply contemplating the necessity of your shaven appearance.”
As Jesse could not move, lest he risk ruining the artistic concentration of his patron, his eyes and head remained far facing. “Old habit from an old relationship, I guess. She liked it smooth; plus, it adds inches.”
Andrealphus’ brow deepened at the implication that such a cumbersome phallus could ever require more length. “Let it grow.”
“Is that…artistically relevant?”
“Have you by chance gazed upon the statue of David, hewn from marble by the human artist Michelangelo?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you already know the answer. Now, be silent.”
Jesse slipped into silence, but a nibble of curiosity turned his eye on its edge to spy upon Andrealphus. Looking directly at the peacock was risky, as Jesse has previously learned, but perhaps with him distracted he could find something to appreciate. Narrowed eyes and a sharp brow; pure concentration on his face. The hefty tools of his trade seemed to weigh nothing in his slender, white hands; the clothes on his back doubling down on the competence in his strikes. Work wear looked just like office wear to Jesse; vibrant purples and brimming blacks, like something you’d wear behind a desk or at a conference. Tight black trousers hugged Andrealphus’ slender waist and lengthy legs but appeared to stop near the shin…or whatever it was birds had down there. Deep, shining pools of blue seemed to look at the ice sculpture and him at the same time, without the need to tilt his head; what a work ethic, what skill! The Marquis brushed back his slicked head of blue hair, and in that moment, Jesse felt a twinge between his legs. Shit, shit…shit.
If Andrealphus caught the twitch, he gave no indication. With Edmund out of commission, the matter of dinner fell entirely upon the master of the estate. If it was simply a singular issue, there’d be no issue at all; Andrealphus would have simply forgone eating altogether. However, Jesse’s presence entirely discarded that option; no right-minded host would dare leave a banquet table barren for their guests. A pitfall sank into the depths of his stomach; not with hunger, but with the dreadful realization of what he would need to do. He and Jesse would need to…dine out. Did the incubus even possess a proper suit? What did he even eat, and what about allergies? The most simplistic and straightforward way to answer those questions was to ask him directly, but he did just order Jesse to be silent.
A deep sigh left the Marquis, and his eyes closed; hammer and chisel still poised for the next swing. “What do you eat?”
Jesse remained still, but his eyes betrayed the pure sheen of a befuddled mind. “I’m sorry?”
“You do eat, don’t you? All of that muscle would surely expire, otherwise.”
“Of course, I—” The demon’s lips tightened, and the tip of his tail gave the tiniest, most amusing swat. “Do you want me to name off random dishes I like, or am I just supposed to say things like beef, pork, and chicken?”
“Start with just one dish.”
“Alright; stuffed mushrooms with a side of chicken livers and ranch dipping sauce.”
“I said to name a dish, not the contents of an alleyway depository.”
“That is a real dish!”
“Is that the sort of imitation food Asmodeus is peddling at his flagship establishment? If so, he and I shall need to exchange words…” Andrealphus sat his tools onto the table and waved a hand. “Unclench your stomach; the moment is over. I cannot abide by the absurdity of your palette and work at the same time.”
“Hey…I’m not clenching; and you asked.” Jesse rolled his shoulders and tilted his neck from side to side, baring fangs as he lightly grimaced from the sensation of working stiff muscles.
“Did you transport a suit with you?”
“…What?”
Another sigh, this one greater than its weaker kin, puffed up the peacock and summarily deflated him shortly after. Thick talons on his slender hips, Andrealphus looked to the ground; must he teach this demon how to dress as well?! Honestly, it was like raising a child. “A suit; how do you expect me to take you anywhere without one?”
“…Andrealphus; I work with no shirt and my tits out. I don’t own a suit.”
“Stars above, preserve me…” he groaned, and his talons began to dribble against his hips. Their repetitive tipping and tapping were soon joined by the tap of his large foot talon; was nothing simple? Why did everything have to be such a hassle? A nugget of agitation, nurtured into an irksome frustration by the incompetence of fate, ignited in the sides of his temples. Instinct twitched in his triceps; eager to throw his arms up and berate the sky, but logic chastised him for such childish fantasies. “After I procure you a proper outfit, we’re going to have a heady discussion about your cheek.”
When Andrealphus lifted his head, he was greeted by the sight of the incubus lounging on his side! Leg bent, knee up, wrist lazily draped atop said knee, with a rather feline-like demeanor about him; Jesse’s muscular body posturing him as a king. Where the Marquis expected to see subservience, shame, and perhaps even fear, he only saw a soft smile. “I think it’s sweet that you want to take me out to dinner, my Lord. Do you need me to present myself for…measurements?” Heat rushed to the peacock’s face as a slight tilt of the hips sent that club between the incubus’ legs swinging!
In the face of barbaric lust, roiling temptation, and perverse fantasies, Andrealphus’ mind resorted to an old tactic to suppress his desires. With proper posturing of his neck and a grit of his beak, he forced his mind to settle; an enveloping wave of cold swept over it and soothed his nerves. “As a matter of fact, yes.” From his vest pocket, he procured a roll of measuring tape and began to unwind it with a steady, predatory, and fierce guile. “Come here.”
Jesse swung both legs off the platform and confidently strode towards the much taller, powerful demon. Every nerve in his body twitched with the urge to bolt, to flee, to cower for safety. It wasn’t obtainable, nor was it a sensation he ever received in his career as a bouncer. Standing his ground was second nature to him, but in this realm of ice he wasn’t staring down some loud-mouthed bitch or a cocky playboy seeking to save face. If the stories were true…he could die. Yet, flirting with such a high level of danger ignited his blood, his impolite passion and a need to stare death in the face! So, he took a broad stance in front of the Marquis and let his pride hang low; muscles solid and tail relaxed.
“Extend your right arm to the side.”
Jesse stretched his right arm out and slowly rotated it, clenching and unclenching his fingers to showcase definition. His showboating ceased, as a chilly slip of metal bumped into his armpit and the measuring tape extended down to his waist. Not prepared for such a sudden chill, his body twitched, and Andrealphus smirked. Why wasn’t the ring working? As if able to read his mind, the royal spoke. “I said you’d be protected from the chill of the manor, but I didn’t say anything about my own.” A long, thin arm looped behind him, and Jesse shivered as his breath appeared in front of his face; the tape wrapped snug over his pecs and the bridges of his wings! He dared not lower his arm, even as Andrealphus leisurely measured its length with another snippet of cold. Shoulder to shoulder, then waist to ankle; the final measurements were drawn seconds later. However, just as Jesse began to think it was safe to move, to retreat into the warmth provided by the magical ring, cold talons; far colder than the metal of the measuring tape, hugged his ribs below the pecs! A sharp, deep hiss and a twitching brow didn’t properly express just how severe that cold was; as if the oxygen in his lungs was crystallizing.
“Before we continue, I will illuminate our situation for your benefit.” Eye to eye, the Marquis sank into a deep crouch to match Jesse’s natural height. “I am not blind to what you are doing. For whatever reason you wish to bed me; whether it be prestige, access to my riches, or simply a need to nurture your ego, it will not work. It has been attempted, it has never succeeded, so I will save you time and ultimately wasted effort.” Where further was expected, only silence was found, and Andrealphus’ eyes dimmed slightly. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, or the juxtaposition of hot and cold in his system, but Jesse swore he could detect…resignation? To his immense relief, the icy talons retreated, and warmth instantly surged back into his ever-grateful body! “We are going to dinner because you need to eat. I am procuring you a suit because there is a dress code. This is not a mating ritual, and we are not going on a date. Do not misconstrue logic for lust."
Andrealphus stood, turned his back to Jesse, and wiped both sets of talons against his workman’s vest; each in turn. As he moved to walk away, his foot stopped mid-stride at a shift in energy behind him. There was no sound, simply a feeling that compelled the Marquis to pause. Andrealphus turned just in time to catch Jesse rub the back of his neck and head. Even in such a basic motion, his bicep bulged, and his side stretched to showcase tight, grating muscle. Brow heavy and eyes tight, the demon’s naturally red lips morphed between a frown and something resembling regret. As Jesse caught Andrealphus’ eye, the incubus lowered both hands over his groin and managed to cover everything with a bit of two-handed cupping. A shift of the feet, a gentle wing flap, and a drop of the tail all signaled discomfort of a personal, and judgmental sort.
“Sorry, I must have misunderstood all those signs I was picking up. You know, offering me this modeling job, paying me more money than I’ve seen in my life, giving me a room…” A tightness of the cheek, as if resisting something sour, dipped into dimple and Jesse lightly clicked his tongue. “…telling me you want to make me famous; me, some random demon who didn’t know who you were and didn’t do anything to deserve all the attention. It made me think that maybe you were coming onto me, that you were shy, and this was some little…taboo kick for you; and I would have been alright with that, I think.” His eyes drifted from looking at the peacock to staring at a tapestry on the far wall. There was nothing unique to him about the pattern or the material, he simply needed to avert Andrealphus’ gaze. Clearly, he couldn’t read the royal as well as he assumed. “But I guess I was wrong; this is all simply…work to you, isn’t it?”
Heartstrings that Andrealphus didn’t know he possessed tightened at the expression of melancholy written upon Jesse’s face. To see what once held fire, rebellion, and the trimmings of a free spirit crushed beneath a deduction of truth; it was nearly too much. A lie would stitch this fresh wound; a perfect, miniscule fib to inspire the spirit. Yet...Andrealphus hesitated; dabbling in lies was a common tool of royalty and the common folk themselves, but at times the truth was far more freeing. It was better to be truthful, in this case. “It is not that simple.”
A scoff perked his ear, and he barely caught the sheen of a fang before catching a perfect view of Jesse’s back, wings, tail, and ass. Similar to his front, the back was perfect; masculine, powerful, without being overwhelmingly gaudy or unauthentic. “You know how many times I’ve heard that crock of shit excuse? We make things as simple as we want them to be.”
“As one of royal blood, I am not permitted to pursue certain avenues; for the honor of my father and his father before him. It is not so simple as to...casually shrug off millennia of duty at the whim of those who don’t have the faintest comprehension of what that duty entails.”
“Prince Stolas did.”
At the very mention of the Goetia, Andrealphus’ blood spiked with the faintest flares of anger. “A decision that has cost him, and others, a great deal. I am not my brother-in-law; he who would dare to take his vows, his responsibility, his family and dash them all to pieces over some--”
“Over some what?” Jesse’s glare was harsh and accusatory as a freshly sharpened blade; carving straight into Andrealphus’ frustration and cleaving at the heart of his anger. “Over an imp? Over a lower-class demon; like me?”
“If I wanted to, would you then realize the magnitude of my frustration?” Silence followed, save the zipping of Jesse’s pants. Their collective anger simmered amongst heated glares, but their tongues lay silent. Enough logic was inserted by that singular question to provide realization onto Jesse, but in his heated state all he could do was sulk. Here he stood, wanting to be recognized as something valuable in a manner that made the most sense to a being of his nature…but even he found it difficult to chastise Andrealphus for making that call. In his position, he might have arrived at the exact same conclusion. Hatred at his rejection deflected onto himself for feeling so strongly in the first place; having allowed Bella to put such a dumb fantasy into his head like that! “Jesse—”
“I’m going for a smoke.” Before he could be stopped, the winged demon took to the air and swiftly flew out of The Freezer’s entryway, leaving Andrealphus alone.
It didn’t take Jesse long to find a suitable perch. He was too angry to find the best one, anyway. A random ass windowsill on some high ledge in the depths of the manor was the best he could find on short notice. Luckily for him, the sill was roomy enough to properly sit on and even pivot to the side. He did just that and withdrew a box of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, only to angrily flick the lid open, bite down on one of the butts, then pull the cigarette free. One sleight of hand later, a lighter replaced the box, and a bright orange flame set the demon up for a dose of emotionally calming nicotine. Stronger stuff down in Hell; since demonic constitution was hardier than mortals by a longshot, so the smell was twice as potent and the smoke twice as thick. One drag was all it took for Jesse’s fangs to dig against the construction of the cigarette in a savage display of boiling emotion.
Fuck dinner; that’s all he had to say to that. With self-worth on the mind, he couldn’t help but scoff at the slight irony his refusal carried. Andre was just using him for his good looks, just like everyone else did. Those muscles of his were why he got the job at OZZIE’s, after all. Churning, sour bile gurgled in his chest, and to combat it, Jesse rested his forehead against two bent knees. For a moment, he bathed in the solitude of his closed eyes and the negativity of self-loathing to allow his emotions to bake. He was valuable enough to be showered in perks, and to even have his life saved, but not enough to…BE with. A slow inhale of his cigarette and an equally slow exhale brought another sort of clarity to mind; Andrealphus had everything to lose, while he had everything to gain.
Weariness, borne of sensed helplessness, rushed into his lungs and resulted in a heavy sigh. Memories of his failed relationship with Bella, and those that came before compiled in his mind to keep him pinned on the spot; left to sadly stare at the smoking cigarette in between his fingers. He was never going to be good enough for anyone; just a pretty face not worth fighting over, just a tool to be used by higher demons in exchange for a taste of higher luxuries. It brought a sobering question to mind; what right did he have to expect Andrealphus to give up everything for him? The answer: none. Jesse knew he was in the wrong, that he had simply caused another scene and made an ass of himself, but…it still hurt. It hurt to be wrong, and it hurt even more knowing that his desires were never going to be justifiable.
He couldn’t control how he felt, and memories of that regal face, those glowing blue eyes, and the deep voice that slipped from a shiny white beak only strengthened the tightness in his chest. Longing mingled with the pain of rejection; even though Andre had posed a hypothetical, it was clear he wasn’t about to entertain the idea any further, and Jesse didn’t doubt that decision for a second. The Marquis was too strong, too resolute and firm…too bad that aspect was what stole his thoughts away.
“You are upset.”
Hurtling forward with an instinctive leap that nearly left his skin on the window, Jesse turned his head to see the focus of his somber thoughts floating in the air. Arms folded behind his lengthy back, that cerulean glow from before was back in the patterns of his huge tail feathers and eyes. A gentle bobbing, as if he were suspended in water, kept those huge, taloned feet dangling; and Jesse could only be impressed with just how big Andrealphus was. It could not, however, smother the adrenaline-fueled shame in his cheeks from being jump scared a second time! “Stop…fucking doing that! Nearly choked on my cigarette.”
“Better that than self-pity.”
“Oh, so you’re here to lecture me now?” Hard ice that felt no different than concrete or stone braced his back, and another rush of hellish brimstone smoke soaked the interior of his lungs. “I just needed time to think, and I can’t do that with you around.” Jesse dropped his gaze, fresh memories of his earlier behavior causing him to shirk any sort of gaze sent his way. He nearly leapt out of his skin for a third time, as Andrealphus suddenly floated upwards from below and touched the unlit end of a beak-gripped cigarette against his own! Intimate paralysis kept him still as the Marquis lit up his own smoke, then softly blew out a glimmering cloud of deep blue! Tiny sparks appeared to float within, and sea-green hues of shimmering light curved like ribbons amid the serene sound of wind chimes. Upon looking a bit longer, Jesse realized those weren’t sparks, but stars that twinkled to produce the sound.
“Just as I cannot continue my work without you.” Andrealphus levitated upwards, just high enough to meet his model at eye level. The windowsill was far too small for him to sit on, so he elected to float. “So, I came in the hopes of having a nuanced discussion.”
“Is that what you call it?” Jesse scoffed. When he was met with a pause instead of a witty retort or an immediate answer, he took a moment to tap ash off the end of his cigarette and dispel it to the wind with a light brush of his tail.
“You asked me earlier why you had not seen a wife; and…that is simply because I am not wed. It stems from a lack of interest, if you can understand.”
“In getting hitched?”
“In females.”
To hear it said out loud was oddly satisfying and shocking all at once. Jesse had thought as much the moment he saw the towering, sparkling peacock in his royal fabrics and posh way of physical expression, but the confirmation hit his brain with impact and hope. “Oh.”
“What do you think becomes of a male of royal standing who cannot, will not, produce an heir?” In the depths of those glowing eyes, Jesse aimed to read the Marquis; as if the tiniest wrinkle could tip him off to the answer. “They are considered useless, duds, a waste of good blood. When this…part of myself was discovered, the honor was passed onto my darling sister, whom Stolas produced an heir to the Goetian throne with.”
Realization widened Jesse’s eyes with slow, intimidating power; no wonder Andrealphus had suddenly gotten so angry before! That brother-in-law comment had completely skimmed his mind, but now it all made sense. “Shit.”
“Shit, indeed.” Andrealphus inhaled and exhaled another starfield from his beak, eyes half-lidded and resigned. “So, after I was ordained by fate to shame my parentage, I turned to alternatives to regain that honor; the acclamation of which is what you see before you.” He turned mid-air and spread his arms wide, “My Kingdom, crafted with my own hands and protected with ancient, long-practiced magic that took years of study to grasp.” Both grasped hands tightened with enough force to produce a straining sound, like rubber gloves clenching against one another. Upon looking down, Jesse observed Andre’s tensed wrists, so tight that he could make out the faint outline of muscle through the feathers. “Yet, even after all of my accomplishments I could not regain what was lost.”
The next words were chosen carefully, as if the incubus danced upon thin layers of ice that could crack and sink him with a single misstep. “So, are they still mad?”
“I would not know Jesse; they are both long dead.” Before any amount of sincere condolence could be given, the ice pressed tight against his wings; Jesse’s eyes mirroring a blue swarm of magic around Andrealphus’ hand. Even upon the sill, with the warming ring, he shuddered at the chill. “Mother always reprimanded me when I was young for breaking my creations. She claimed that I was too strong for them. Father always applauded my accomplishments; he was so excited for me to have a child of my own, so that I may pass on the family gifts and experience the joy of fatherhood.” The glimmering cloud of magic vanished in a flash. “So, I know what it feels like to be inadequate; I have felt it all of my life.”
With that sobering realization fresh on the mind, Jesse took his cigarette from between his fangs and let it hang limp between two fingers. Understanding of royal burdens was a large pill to swallow, and regret began to fester in place of chastisement. “How’d they find out?”
“About my affliction?” Jesse shrank at the word ‘affliction’; a harsh and condemning verb for something so natural.
“About you being gay.”
“None of the presented suitors interested me. At first, it was simply concluded that I was picky, which was applauded to some degree. When I grew older and no mate had yet been chosen, my mother became more insistent and aggressive on me making a decision. In an act of youthful rebellion, I stole away with a childhood friend.” Andrealphus’ voice quieted, his next words tight and hurried. “Not only did my repressed desires physically injure him, but we were also discovered and summarily outed.”
“What happened to him?”
“I don’t know, but I never saw him again.”
“I’m sorry.” Jesse carefully swung his legs over the edge of the windowsill and placed his elbows on his knees. Hands clasped together, he turned his head towards Andrealphus, who tilted his head back as the incubus began to speak. “Being an incubus sounds great; naturally hot bod, high libido, a great boss…but you quickly find out that most demons are only ever into you for your body. Figuring out who to trust, who’s being genuine and who’s just playing you, is hard; and that makes finding…” His shoulders gave a heavy shrug and his knuckles popped with a tense grip. “…something more intimate really fucking rough. You’d think being a natural sex bomb would put you in control, but it’s the opposite.” Red fingers slid against one another, burrowing in and out of the open spaces between them; bending and popping as the words continued to flow. “I’ve made a few bad calls, fucked up a few investments; that’s all on me, so when you popped out of nowhere and offered to solve my money problems…it was too fucking easy to just be a commodity again.” A small sniffle held back a sudden pressure in Jesse’s eyes and he swallowed to maintain composure; throat ragged and tense. “You act like you care, but you don’t want to fuck me, and I’m not used to that.” A light gasp, snuck in by the weakness of his composure, was triggered as a soft, gentle hand lifted his chin. Not a trace of cold was felt.
Andrealphus looked into his eyes, and their usual calculating stoicism was absent. “I do care, and I do wish to…but you must understand, I cannot. No matter how deeply I crave it, dream of it, I cannot.” His fingers traced up the side of the incubus’ perfect jaw until they touched his white sideburns, his palm cradling a marked cheek. “It kills me to have you in my very hand, and yet be unable to truly grasp you. By my nature, by my power, it would undo you; and I could not bear to witness such a thing…”
Jesse reached up and curled his fingers around the peacock’s wrist, “What if we started with something small?” Those fingers moved as his wrist tilted, aiming them up against the Marquis’ palm to fill the gaps between his talons. “What if I just held your hand…” Head eased into the embrace of the royal’s touch, Jesse leaned forward and hugged their palms together. “…and kissed you?”
Andrealphus slowly swallowed, temptation brimming upon his beak as the sight of Jesse’s fangs made his heart thunder. “I…have not done such a thing in many long years; I would surely disappoint.” Jesse only leaned closer, and the pounding of Andrealphus’ chest feathers intensified; puffed and trembling as the scent of lowly brimstone smoke grew more potent. Deep within his chest, a sharp pin-prick sensation stabbed into his lungs and every breath became increasingly painful. “Wait...Jesse.” Unbidden by his conscious mind, a wellspring of magic bloomed within his core and surged up through his shoulder as a flowing river would. A familiar crackling presence formed in his hand, and Andrealphus’ eyes widened: panic. With unearthly speed, he tore his hand away; the beginnings of a freezing enchantment tingling over every finger. It was in that moment, when fear over what he had almost done by no will of his own struck him, that newfound pain burst within his palm! The Marquis quickly descended to the ground, sharp huffs of air blasting through his beak as he wrapped his wrist in a death-like grip to smother the spread. Sweat began to bead upon his brow, his towering and regal formed forced to bend to the pulsating presence within his hand; so much to the point that even his preened hair began to fray at the peak into drooping locks!
“Andre!” Jesse dropped from his perch and swooped down next to the Marquis, his stance tense and hands outstretched; as if to box in a fidgety and wild animal. There was nothing he could see on the hand save for the usual frosty sheen of his magic, but the peacock was clearly in pain; a vein in his forehead, a deep groan from his mouth, and a rapid twitch of the brow spoke volumes.
“It’s nothing! It’s...nothing...” Andrealphus’s knee cratered into the icy floor with a harsh crack, and his icy fingers pierced the floor. His breath iced over, and Jesse took a step back as the glow in the Marquis’ arm began to spread up his arm!
“ED! Ed, get in here; something’s happening to Andrealphus!” When a mere four seconds had passed and there were zero footsteps, Jesse whipped his head around; where could the imp be, the manor was goddamn huge! Panic, born from naivety and a fear of the unknown brought him to a hovering, useless huddle above Andre; for fear that if he moved an inch of let the peacock from his sight the worst would then occur. That glimmering blue continued to spread, higher and higher past the elbow; it was nearly to the shoulder. “Ed, for fucks sake where are you?!”
“Jesse...stop yelling...” Andrealphus groaned, just as the cracks along the ground spread with another startling crunch. Everything within his mind was too loose, too slippery; he couldn’t grasp a single ounce of control that kept his cryomancy leashed. More and more, as the seconds passed, the wellspring within his soul lapped with leaking magic. He turned his head and saw no sign of Edmund; not a footstep, not a voice, not even a presence. “Put those muscles to work...and strike me as hard as you can...”
“What?!”
“In the face...quickly, before something happens...” An unbidden shudder wracked through Andre’s entire body, and the glow completely enveloped his arm from shoulder to every tip of his fingers. “Just ensure that you knock me out!”
“I don’t want to hit you, are you fucking crazy?!”
“This is no time for chivalry; do it, now! Hit me!”
The argument between them was so loud, their voices thick to the brim with conflicting emotions, that neither of them could make out the rapid tapping of tiny hooves against the icy floor. Before either incubus or royal avian could react, Edmund appeared; corkscrewing horizontally between them in a rush of athletic motion. Arm bent, elbow cock, the diminutive imp cracked back a thunderous swing that crashed down against the top of Andrealphus’ head! The resounding impact of peacock face to icy manor floor exploded with enough force to dispel the energy of the room; socially and magically all at once. Jesse, frozen and dumbstruck, gawked down at the unmoving form of Andrealphus; the glow absent from his body.
“Forgive me, sire.” Edmund said with a quick dust of his knuckles along the loose, leisurely blouse he was wearing. Unlaced to expose a modest amount of red chest with lightly frilled cuffs, and a pair of dark trousers to accent the lighter tones the garment cut a thin and leisurely figure. Those sharp blue eyes snapped to look at Jesse with an equal measure of distaste and understanding; like an older brother who just caught his younger sibling in an idiotic act. “In the future, you would do well to follow my master’s wishes. While I admire your unwillingness to even attempt him physical harm, doing so in this case might have caused him harm greater than you could ever inflict.”
“Fuck, Ed; did you have to…to…molly wop him so fucking hard?!” Eyes wide, jaw slack, blood pressure heightened; Jesse could hardly believe there wasn’t any blood! Edmund had practically just brought a fucking sledgehammer down on his boss’ head like it was nothing! “How do you know you didn’t just crack his skull open or something?!”
“You forget that we are dealing with a greater demon; Master Andrealphus’ constitution is far more powerful than you might believe. I applied only the most necessary and liberal amount of force to incapacitate him.” As if awoken at the mention of his supernatural durability, Andrealphus’ eyes fluttered and a harsh cough and groan sputtered from his beak! “Ah, how well-timed; good morning, Sire, apologies for the bludgeoning but I heard the calls of distress and had to rapidly eject myself from an ill-timed shower.”
Sluggish movements pushed the Marquis up onto his knees once again; a hand upon his head and another raised in front of his eyes. “Your assistance is…most appreciated Edmund.” Wide eyes, as if truly awakening from a rigamortis-like slumber stretched until their vision cleared, then Andrealphus slowly flexed his hand into a fist. The magic had been quelled. “I know I gave you leave from your duties, but might you perform a small favor for me and…” A pained groan, flecked with clenched eyes, a furrowed brow, and a grit beak followed; as he reached into one of his vest pockets and retrieved a folded slip of paper. “…call the spinsters, relay these measurements, and wire them their desired payment? I need to take a painkiller before dinner.”
Edmund reached out and bowed as he took the parchment, “Of course sire, it shall be done posthaste.”
As the imp scuttled off into parts unknown within the manor, Andrealphus stood to his full height and crooked a finger in Jesse’s direction. “If you would be so kind as to accompany me to my private quarters…”
The depth to the Marquis’ tone was the only indicator Jesse needed to follow without question, but as they began to ascend the stairs of the Grand Foyer together, he made certain to keep his distance. “You…are you sure we want to be doing this after…”
“It is precisely because of what just occurred that we must do this.”
More secrets; always with the secrecy! What else to expect from royalty, honestly? Jesse couldn’t bury the natural curiosity that brimmed in his mind with how fast everything was moving. Why did Andre seem to suddenly lose control of his magic? Was it something he did? Was it the attempted kiss? “Hey, if this was my fault, I—”
“Be silent.”
Just like that, the incubus clamped his lid and stewed in his own paranoia and anxiety. Andre’s icy demeanor was back, seemingly in full swing, and while Jesse found it odd; the change in behavior brought a certain healthiness into the peacock’s ascending climb. At the top of the stairs, he hooked a sharp right and began to stride down a long hallway, through an archway, and then up a spiraling staircase with enough space for them to walk side by side. Jesse opted to climb behind Andrealphus, careful not to step on his tail feathers, which swept up each step like the world’s finest duster. It was looking like a long climb…
After what felt like twenty long minutes of awkward silence, the steps ended to reveal a narrow hallway. To Jesse’s surprise, there wasn’t a single fleck of ice in sight; replaced instead by polished white stone that stretched down an arched hallway. Multiple windows, like the spots on a caterpillar, lined the walls to provide a view of the raging blizzard that seemed to protect the manor at all times. Since he’d never been outside, Jesse couldn’t even claim it could’ve just been an illusion to keep demons away. In fact, not being in the know was becoming a state of mind he hated more and more; secrets upon secrets, masks upon masks. It was enough to stockpile helplessness and anxiety at the back of his mind in unhealthy amounts. At the end of the hall sat an ornate white door with rose gold trimmings, their metallic support reinforcing the door; and was likely enchanted to boot, knowing the Marquis.
Andrealphus pushed open the door and entered the room without ceremony, and as Jesse followed, he stopped a mere few feet inside to drink in his surroundings. Dark blue drapes shrouded the room from all outside light; thick and billowing with tassels at the bottom hem. A massive square bed sat against the far wall, a tall and sturdy canopy hovering above that supported three partially translucent curtains that glittered like fresh frozen dew on a winter morning. At the right wall, a wide dresser was flanked by two moderately sized bookshelves that were not filled with books, but instead a seemingly random assortment of objects. From where Jesse stood, he made out a small chest, a miniature telescope, a corked jar with what appeared to be a rock sitting inside, and a small ice swan. Beneath his feet stretched a rug that could double as a hammock, at least for someone of his size, and ran to the foot of the bed. At that foot was a dark trunk with multiple locks attached to its front, and to the left of the bed was an oval-esque object on a golden stand; concealed by an ordinary cloth.
While Andrealphus preoccupied himself by digging through his dresser drawers for his pain pills, Jesse sank both hands into his denim jacket pockets. “It’s…cozy; a little bit more vacant than I imagined, though.” The brisk scraping of wood on metal tickled Jesse’s ears, then the rattle of a pill bottle and the grinding of a child-proof cap. To see someone supposedly as ancient as Andrealphus pop pills was almost comical; apparently even near gods needed some chemical rebalancing every once in a while. What was more concerning was the utter lack of water to smooth the swallowing process, but when a single gulp and a resounding sigh echoed through the chamber, Jesse could only perk a brow, “Alright then…So, why did you want me up here?”
“To provide you with an end goal, and to set ground rules.”
Jesse’s eyes looked over to the bed, but his head remained still, and a bloom of heat grew in his face.
“What you are about to hear will not leave this room, understand?”
Jesse’s face grew hotter and the denim lining in his jacket began to itch at his shoulders. He gave them a roll, hands free, and then followed up with a nod.
“You are…clearly a trigger for me. I do not know the exact parameters to which caused my magic to surge wildly, so until I do, we must establish precautions.” Andrealphus stood and strode over to the incubus in two steps; his pace wide enough to hook the shorter demon’s feet if he so chose. “Since only an extreme action caused an extreme effect, anything below that shouldn’t cause any harm.”
“Which means?”
“No touching…until I can conclude the exact trigger and subdue it.”
A contemplative twitch of wings and a shuffle of feet helped kick Jesse’s brain into gear. No touching at all, huh? That wasn’t an impossible condition to work with; those were essentially stripper rules. “Flirting, stripping, and erotic dancing are all good?”
Andrealphus’ feathers puffed along the sides of his neck. “Theoretically, yes; for safety reasons, you understand.”
“Does that mean we’re…a thing?”
“We are not together, if that’s your implication.”
“But—”
“As I said, nothing leaves this room.” A curled fist rose for him to cough into, his feathers still slightly puffed. “No one can know of our mutual attraction. In public, we must maintain a vigilant restraint, but in private…”
“…in private, you give me the green light to flirt with you?”
“So long as it does not interfere with work, yes.”
One spade tipped tail flicked about, “Okay, no touching; but does that mean even something like…I can’t hold your hand?”
Andrealphus looked down and raised his arm to bring his hand into closer view. “Seems rather chaste, but I suppose the scientific method is nothing without a sprinkling of involved risk.” He glanced towards Jesse and lowered his arm, hand extended; wrist limp to allow his fingers to droop.
Jesse stepped forward and slightly elevated his height on the tip of his back foot, then slid his smaller hand under the peacock’s. A moderately cold breeze sank into his palm and spread along his fingers, but the lesser demon eased that hand closer as he dipped his head. To pay his respects, and to tease the hell out of Andrealphus, red lips brushed against his fingers for a soft smooch. In his upper peripheral, the feathers on that long arm puffed up, and Jesse pulled back with a satisfied smile that kept to one edge of his mouth.
Andrealphus, bright as the sun, retracted his hand. “Well,” he cleared his throat. “I suppose that is allowed.” Keenly aware of his own physical reaction on display, he began to smooth down his feathers. “Just…keep that behind closed doors as well; the royal houses would not take kindly to such a display.”
“Kissing hands is fine, but no kissing the face; got it.” Cold lingered on Jesse’s lips, sinking no deeper than their outward layer; but as they warmed into his skin a tingle set in. “I didn’t think you were afraid of the other royals; you seem to talk shit about your brother-in-law all the time.”
“If they were to discover that you were of importance to me, they would capitalize and attempt to interfere; or worse, attempt to remove you altogether. At best I would be slandered, at worst…I would need to fend off the most powerful sorcerers in all of Hell. I don’t need another headache, so your goal is to be on your best behavior at dinner tonight.”
The smile that held up Jesse’s face dropped in surprise. “Wait, we’re still going out? What about us trying to stay low, for security?” Every one of his loan sharks flashed through his mind, well, save for Bruno.
“It is a highly private and respected establishment known only to Hell’s upper crust; the elite of the elite. There are strict guidelines; hence the need for proper attire. None of your problems will find you there.”
While Andrealphus’ power did its best to ease the paranoia in Jesse’s mind, a small fragment of it remained; ever doubtful, ever cautious, ever skeptical that nothing at all could possibly happen. Having been in security for as long as he had, he knew that even the most confident layers of security would run into danger. No matter how big the wall, there’d always be someone ballsy enough to scale it. “If you say so. What ring is it in; Sloth, Treachery, Pride?”
“Technically: Pride.”
“Isn’t that where they keep all the damned mortals? Are we going to be eating with Sinners? I’ve never met one…”
Andrealphus gave a little chuckle. “No, we will not be dining with Sinners; Lucifer forbid. Even those amongst them who are powerful enough to be dubbed as Overlords are leagues below you and me. There is, however, a lovely little gambling establishment I’m quite fond of up there…”
“So, this place is in Pride, but there’s nothing but Sinners in Pride, and we’re not…eating with Sinners. I’m so confused.” Andrealphus leaned down so that he could meet eye to eye with Jesse, and an unnaturally pleased smile curled his beak at both corners.
“The restaurant…is on Pride’s Moon.”
Notes:
Before reading Chapter 11, go read Chapter 1&2 of "Shot Through the Heart", as the events of those two chapters tie into what happens next.
Chapter 11: Amongst the Stars We Play
Summary:
Andrealphus and Jesse travel to the Pride Ring's moon to dine at an upper class restaurant known as The Starlight Lounge. While one feels right at home, the other is a fish out of water. Can they keep their budding relationship under wraps, or will their feelings for one another be too powerful to conceal?
Notes:
\\\! If you haven't already, go and read Chapters 1 & 2 of another one of my stories, "Shot Through the Heart" for supplementary context as to what happens in this chapter. !\\\
Chapter Text
Jesse stared into the yawning maw of two dark oaken doors, the red carpet that stretched into a realm of golden lights and rumbling chatter trapped under his feet. “I don’t know if I can do this.” He’d been everything from a crowd pleaser to a front door bully, so being in the public eye wasn’t anything new, but the energy that poured from beyond those doors was on another level. The noise was low, but solid and constant; like a dull murmur of dignity and refinement. Even Ozzie’s, one of the most popular clubs in Hell, had never felt like this when interacting with guests face to face; even the royal ones…save Andrealphus.
“Nonsense,” that exact royal chided; his posture dipped low to straighten Jesse’s bowtie. “You look more than adequate to belong here.” Sharp black fabrics shielded those broad shoulders with a deadly sheen, accented with a white-collar shirt. Equally dark trousers and shined black shoes completed the outfit, and Andrealphus couldn’t help but allow his eyes to linger. Jesse’s hair was slicked back with a product that smelled faintly of cocoa butter; a whiff of which held Andrealphus’ gaze. “Simply follow my previous instructions, and you shall do fine. Do you remember them all?”
“Never break eye contact, don’t speak to anyone you didn’t introduce to me first, and don’t order the mussels.” There had been plenty of time to absorb a laundry list of tips, but those had been the only hard and fast rules.
“And?”
Oh, right, he had forgotten one. Jesse quietly sighed at the requirement to speak the rule aloud. “Language.”
“Lest I be forced to swab your mouth when we return home, yes.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad; a craftsman’s touch?”
“Hush.” A tiny smile twitched at the farthest edge of Andrealphus’ beak. “You know that I would need to warm my hands, first; and I’m not fond of the heat.”
“We could change that, you know. You could come visit me in that awesome ass room you made, and we could…warm you up to the idea.”
That last bit of flirtation made Andrealphus groan and roll his eyes, straighten to his full height, and drape a hand over his eyes. Yet, that smile remained. Despite knowing that cannot happen anytime soon, Jesse’s wit and confidence brought a smile all the same. “Is that the best material you have? You better not be holding out on me; I shall take it as an insult.”
Jesse laughed, his tone light and joyous. Butterflies in his gut aside, his body brimmed with a confidence that stoked his blood and sharpened his mind. He could do this; he could mingle! “Alright, I’m ready.” Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Andrealphus stepped through the open doorway and Jesse followed suit. A velvet hallway greeted them, its walls draped in heavy silk curtains that warmed every inch. Stone podiums, styled in the manners of the ancient Greeks, stood proudly in a line; everything from ornamental plates, to vases, to busts rested atop each one. Beneath them, that same red carpet from outside muffled their footsteps and guided them towards another set of doors, which were guarded by an imp at a podium. A thick, bushy moustache covered his entire mouth, and equally thick eyebrows weighed upon his brow; black and shiny as tar. No hair rested upon his head, which only made his twisted horns even more prominent; winding towards the ceiling and growing thinner by the inch.
“Good evening gentlemen; reservation for two?”
“Yes, under Marquis Andrealphus and Guest Associate.”
Parchment crinkled as the imp turned a page of a hidden ledger. “Would you prefer your usual table, sire; tis available, as luck would have it.”
“That sounds excellent.”
“I shall have a server ready for your arrival immediately. Please, enjoy the Starlight Lounge to your hearts’ content.” The imp gestured towards the doors with a flourish, and they parted to grant Jesse his first ever glimpse of this moon-side eatery. Three levels towered above that circled the entirety of the building, fenced in by shining, golden railings. At the center, miniaturized planets circled one another in a replica of the solar system; twinkling stars and dashing comets mingled in for character. Each planet rotated on their individual axis’, shimmered in space dust, and appeared as they would in the vacuum of space. A piano song filled the air and turned all present chatter into a dull murmur until naught remained but a soft melody.
“Whoa.” Jesse tilted his head to stare towards the ceiling. A dark sky stared right back at him through a glass dome that replaced the need for a traditional, obscuring ceiling. It was a far cry from what was offered down in Lust; the glitz and glam were both present, but there weren’t any stars. Through the glass, fields of glimmering planets blinked down at him, and only the sound of a clearing throat managed to snap his attention away.
“Try not to dawdle; you might be snatched, otherwise.” While Jesse had opted into the dark and personally tailored tux that Andrealphus had commissioned, the peacock had decided to wear something more…revealing. A translucent scarf draped over his bare shoulders; a high collar fanned out behind his head; far more regal than anything else Jesse had seen him in. A light blue robe, cut high at the thigh to expose ample leg, hugged his slender build from neck to waist. Around his throat, a satin neck collar attached to two wide strips that connected to the remainder of the robe and provided a clear view of his chest plumage. Atop his head, he wore his crown; constructed of pure ice that left a chill wherever the Marquis walked. Whether it was the glint of his attire or the chill of his presence, multiple heads glanced over from their tables to witness peacock and incubus walk side by side. Inquisitive eyes intensified in Jesse’s direction upon seeing him, and they made his spine shiver. Sharp, glowing; like he was a field mouse in an eagle’s nest. “Remember not to stare.”
“Sorry, they’re just…looming.”
“Consider it a compliment; they do not often see incubi in the Starlight Lounge, and far fewer walking with one of their own.”
“As long as they don’t think I’m your arm candy or anything.”
“They are royals; do not be surprised if that’s exactly what they think.” Ornate tail feathers brushed protectively behind the incubus to gesture him forward. “Pay them no heed; all they can do at the moment is gossip amongst one another. The worst they can do is interrupt our dinner.”
A set of stairs lead to the second floor; dressed in rich red, wide enough to accommodate two lanes of ascending, as well as descending, traffic, and parted up the center with two golden handrails. Rich carpet fibers, accented with an odor that Jesse felt cost more than his life, contained not a trace of foreign clutter. He turned his head, feet on autopilot, to watch the starry fabrics of Andrealphus’ attire trace over each step. As if guided by magic, each crease folded and flowed with a rapturous fluidity and grace. It was all Jesse could do to avert his gaze, but it didn’t stop him from speaking his mind. “Is that comfortable?”
Two light blue eyes blinked in his direction, then were followed by a short dip of a beak. “Yes; rather easy to move about in.”
“It looks good on you; show’s a lot of…” Unconsciously, crimson hands curved down through the air in a waving motion, as if to trace the form of a slender woman. “…feathers.” At the mention of finery, his eyes dropped to the Marquis’ talons. Fuck, they were big!
“Everything looks good on me; it’s one of my many outstanding qualities.” At the top of the stairs, a secondary floor curved high above the first with a clear and vast view of everyone below. Tables dotted the edge of the railing; each equipped with an embroidered tablecloth of dark blue and two high back chairs on either end. Most of them were already filled, and as the unlikely pair walked past, each head turned to watch and mutter to one another. Jesse’s wings twitched at all of the attention, and not in a pleasant way.
“ACHOO!”
Jesse’s head turned towards the source of the sudden sneeze, only to find that every demon behind him was possessed of a shiver; some with handkerchiefs to their noses. Beneath their tables twinkled a faint fog of cold. No longer did he feel a legion of eyes burning into his shoulders and back. Did Andre...?
“Our table is not far; only one more floor.”
“Is there a rule against flying?”
“Not for staff, but it would be rather uncouth of any guests to do the same.”
“Oh.”
As their feet touched the bottom step of the, supposedly, final set of stairs, Andrealphus continued. “Do you often partake in flight?”
“When I’m in a mood, yeah. It helps me forget about life’s bullshit for a while.” Jesse tucked his hands into his pocket, fingers pressed to his flexed thighs. “I, uhh…” he trailed off, eyes on his polished, high-dollar shoes and the dress slacks that covered his legs. Too rich for his blood; it brought a gentle dab of his tongue to his bottom lip. “…used to fly with my sister, a long time ago.”
Mention of a sister turned Andre’s head; his attention having previously been affixed to the climbing stairs. Eyelids lightly lowered as a pair of gloved fingers traced the railing to his left. “Why did you stop?” A silence so heavy that he could practically see it weigh down the incubus’ shoulders and neck followed. Multiple steps passed in utter silence, save the echoing musings of restaurant patrons from above and below. Jesse’s face was an utterly blank face; Andrealphus couldn’t get a read on it. “You are not required to answer, if the question upsets you.”
“It doesn’t, I just don’t…I don’t know how much of it really matters. What’s done is done; I’m not a part of her life anymore and she’s probably…” In that moment, the stoicism in those handsome features broke. A tightening of the lips and jaw, the light clenching of the eyes at their thinnest corners, and a twitch of the tail; but tied to what emotion, Andre couldn’t tell. “We don’t talk.”
Once again, the top of the stairs beckoned, and the third floor stretched out with identical structure to the second. There was one addition, however, and it was a line of large booths that hugged the wall opposite of the rail-hugging tables. Dark wood, cushioned seats, with a miniature candelabra to provide mood lighting. At one such empty booth, an imp stood in anticipation of their arrival. Compared to the previous floors, there were far fewer eyes. With a quick look around, Jesse only spotted two other booths that were filled and far away from Andre’s reserved one. As they approached, the imp dipped into a bow and stepped aside to let them sit.
“Joyous and most humble greetings, Marquis; for the stars have wept in your absence.” Clad in a sharp black vest, a gray pinstripe dress shirt, and a bow tie, the imp’s purple eyes sat behind a pair of half-rim glasses. Those same eyes turned to Jesse, as he and Andrealphus slid into the booth on opposite sides of the table. “With whom do I have the pleasure of addressing, this fine evening?” Not an ounce of hair sat upon his head, which was marked with two striped horns that curved down, they sharply jutted upwards; as if they were a makeshift tuning fork.
Jesse glanced across the table to ensure he could talk, and with a quick nod from Andrealphus, he cleared his throat. “Jesse; just, Jesse.”
“A rather abrupt name; I deduce that you value your time, Jesse, so I shall keep things as short as possible.” With a snap of the fingers, two menus appeared in the imp’s hand, which he then handed out in unison. “Tonight, we have specials on strawberry champagne, all of our soup dishes, and Chef Sinclair has prepared her famous, award-winning mutton curry for limited purchase. Piano plays for another three hours; may I start you off with any beverages?”
“Two glasses of strawberry champagne.” Andrealphus’ order came so quickly that it made Jesse nearly inhale down the wrong pipe!
“Very good sire, it shall arrive posthaste.” As the waiter walked off, Jesse turned his attention towards the menu.
“I’m assuming it’s good, if you’re just going to order it for me without asking.” That dash of petty indignation in his tone drew a borderline mocking of a tut from across the table.
“Surely my familiarity with this establishment garners a modicum of trust from you? Don’t worry, it’s a delicious beverage.” A tender brush of cold curled along Jesse’s jaw, and his eyes flicked up to see a near-intangible trail of frost in the air. Beneath the table, he could feel large legs shift, and upon feeling a set of talons gingerly rest over his foot, his tail twitched. “It’s a lovely shade of red, much like your skin.”
While that massive foot claw didn’t touch his foot, Jesse could feel it hover. Since the interaction was entirely under the tablecloth, it didn’t break their shared secrecy. The flirting, however, brought a flush of heat to his cheeks. It was just a simple compliment, but the way it came out got under his skin in the best of ways. Andrealphus always seemed to be sleuthing, masking, and stuffing hidden meaning in every word and action. Was this what it was like to be royalty? It seemed exhausting.
“I guess it couldn’t hurt; I do like fruity drinks.” The menu was vast; half-filled with dishes he’d never heard of. What was wrong with a simple burger? Upon closer inspection, there was an entire section that he couldn’t read at all: a different language. Maybe listening to Andre and trusting his decisions could be more of a boon than a bummer. “Aside from the mussels, anything I should keep an eye out for on here?”
“I’m not fond of spicy dishes, myself, but you might find them more appealing. If you’re partial to meat, they make a lovely snake stew. There’s also turtle, shark, crocodile...” Andrealphus’ finger traced up the edge of his closed menu. “...and bat; if any of those appeal to your palette.”
At the mention of bat, Jesse peered over the top of his menu; expression hidden. There was energy in the way that Andre spoke; playfully malicious, but perhaps it was simply imagined? First thoughts immediately leapt to Bella. He had never talked about her to either the Marquis or his butler; never even dropped her name in an idle sense. Was it mere coincidence? Did Andrealphus know about his ex? How could he, but more importantly, why was it important? Jesse swallowed the waters of his raging mind and sealed them behind a dam of composure, as if those troubled questions hadn’t crossed his mind at all. “A weird thing to have on a menu. Is bat even edible?”
“I’ve heard some take to it rather ravenously…long into the night, at times.” Glowing blue eyes remained as stoic as the peacock’s beak, which managed to imbue each statement with surprising vigor. “However, they also have eel, and it is quite delectable. If you enjoy sweeter meat, that is what I suggest.”
Jesse’s mind reached into the past to reform a memory of Edmund making him soup. What kind did he say it was? It was something odd, but that was the only detail that he could recall. “It’s not going to mess up my figure, will it?”
Andre’s menu turned sideways to hide his beak, but from the light, yet visible, bounce of his shoulders it was obvious he found the comment amusing! “I doubt a healthy portion of sweet meat is going to do anything. If such things weigh on your mind, I can have Edmund prepare a proper meal plan for you…after he has rested, of course.”
Approaching footsteps stopped any follow up response, and two bubbling glasses of pink champagne were sat upon the table. “Do you require more time?” the waiter asked expectantly, his gaze focused on Jesse.
“No, I’ll have the eel, the…” Jesse stopped and quickly traced his thumb through the pages of the menu; where was the eel dish? Where was the damn eel dish?!
“The Unagi.” Andrealphus interjected, then raised his champagne glass to waft at the fizzing bubbles. “I shall have the usual snake and scorpion soup with mice pepper appetizers.”
“Most excellent, gentlemen. Shall I bring a bottle over as well?”
“Please do.” As their waiter walked away, Andrealphus raised his glass in Jesse’s direction. “A toast, to our…mutual and fulfilling partnership. May it last…” As the incubus raised his own glass, it's clear surface chilled and packed with a flavorful bomb for the senses, he watched the words linger at the edge of that beak. For the first time since they had arrived on the moon, there was a vulnerability he sensed in those cold, magical eyes. What was he about to say? Should their relationship last forever, or would it only continue until the job was done? That reality lingered in Jesse’s mind, and an unusual longing slipped anxiety into his heart. His chest lit up with acid reflux, and a burn set in that fizzled and popped at the apex of his throat. It was then that he made an interjection all his own.
“…until we would have it otherwise.”
Jesse extended his glass and waited for Andre to do the same. Hesitation was written across the Marquis’ face, plain as day; yet not for the reason the incubus assumed. It wasn’t fear, but a small bud of sadness that sprouted deep in within him; its tendrils reaching upwards for sunlight. They rooted within his beak and restrained any semblance of a smile. Andre could lie to save face, to muddle with political opponents, and to keep his enemies guessing; but he found the practice to be impossible in this particular moment. His grip tightened around the stalk of his glass, “…until we would have it otherwise.”
A gentle clink of glasses produced a lingering chime...
... and then their world exploded.
Shattered glass sliced through the air, accompanied by the scream of an unknown patron and the rush of hot wind! Their heads whipped towards the edge of the balcony, only to witness a hail of glass tumble to the floor below. Another scream rang out, followed by panicked shouting, and then more screams. Curiosity in full control, Andrealphus and Jesse slid from their seats and rushed to the railing to see what was happening down below. Neither of them could have been prepared for what they witnessed.
Craterous meteors of broken glass showered the first floor, tables were scattered and upturned, and the restaurant occupants were fleeing from the scene. Few lay on the ground, glass imbedded in their fine clothing and skin. Gazing upwards, the skylight gazed back with a broken smile; fragments still cracking and splaying from the wound that had been inflicted. Yet, there was no sign of what had caused it. It was then, in that confusion, that one of the planets within the solar system display rotated.
A herculean monster clung to the side of Venus, gray and white fur covering every inch of its body. Two golden, glimmering wings stretched wide in a display of menace and beauty that hovered above a snarling maw. Multiple tusks jutted from the creature’s mouth, both from above and below, and its’ brow split with a pair of stone-like horns that jutted backwards. A fan-like tail tip swished with a hypnotic pace, and black claws pierced the planetary replica. Golden, molten eyes glared upwards at Andrealphus and Jesse, and as the two demons stared back, the beast unleashed an ear-splitting roar that shook the entire building!
“Jesse…get back.” Andre warned, an outstretched arm braced protectively against the incubi’s broad chest.
“The fuck is that thing?”
“I do not know, but it is interrupting our dinner.”
“Can we teleport out like we teleported in?”
“No. I’m detecting powerful magic; magic that I have not felt since…” It was angelic: no mistake. Within each creature that was possessed of magical capability, there existed a sensation. Not too unlike a flavor, scent, or physical sensation. Angelic magic was brimming to burst, fiery as the sun, but carried the soothing melody of clanging wind chimes and the scent of fresh, summer air. Whatever this thing in front of him was, it clearly wasn’t an angel, but it was angelic enough in its nature, so why—
“Andre!” Unyielding panic boomed in Jesse’s voice.
In his mental musings, his attention had been ensnared, and it was only through Jesse’s warning that he looked up in time to witness two golden dice flying towards him. Incandescent white light glared from their implanted dots, and he could sense a rapidly swelling magic within! Before he could react, he felt a hard weight crash into him. He flew one way, the dice flew another, and Jesse remained between the two; his tail poised for a mighty strike! With a solid smack, he reflected the projectiles…and two seconds later, a blinding explosion erupted in the air.
Whispers of an angelic chorus scratched their last verse into the starry expanse above, as Andre and Jesse tumbled along the ground. Atop one another, they stared into each other’s eyes, after Jesse pulled his face out of Andre’s chest plumage! The bending creak of metal and a savage snarl snapped at their attention, and as they turned, they discovered that the beast had risen to their level. Bipedal, it appeared as an absolute boulder of muscle; steps thundering against the floor as it advanced in their direction! Sharp, serrated feathers launched from Andre’s tail, edged in his personal brand of ice magic, only to bounce off the monster’s hide with a show of sparks and a punctuated ping. A massive, clawed hand shot down towards the prone bird; attention entirely on Andre. It was then that Jesse threw a right hook that crashed into the creature’s furry jaw, only for a disregarding backhand to send the incubus flying into a table!
The flash of an icy blade pushed the creature back, and Andrealphus was instantly on his feet; conjured spikes of ice flashed to bombard that seemingly impenetrable hide. Frost crept along the floor as winter’s bite poured forth, fueled by anger and a thirst for retribution. Golden wings draped protectively before the beast, which rendered the icicles moot in their violent applications. Suddenly, those same wings burst open and pushed the peacock back, his talons dug into the floor to rake along the carpet! Balls of light materialized above is attacker’s wings and shot out, matching his own projectiles shot for shot.
With a surging swipe of the hand, a pillar of ice shot from the ground and struck a rib, but the furry monster didn’t so much as flinch! Magical frost whipped and surged around Andre’s sword as he slid forward, feet propelled by an automatic trail of ice. Like a bullet, his attacks were instant and fierce; a typhoon of slashes and stabs rained down upon that towering figure. Each target was instinctual, honed from years of practice with the blade; neck, kidney, liver, heart, lungs, stomach, wrists; thrust and stab and slash and maim for the glory of his royal name! Not a single cut was made.
A dark, smothering force blocked all sight, and then an unmovable force slammed into his back with such malice that it felt as if his bones were being ground to powder! He felt the blade tumble from his hand, and the wind flee his lungs like it had been extinguished by God. Light banished the darkness. Pain erupted in his stomach, as boulder-like knuckles smashed into it and bounced him back against the same wall with a mighty blow. Andrealphus felt hot liquid burst from his mouth, foul and acidic, before the entire world spun and wind whipped at his back! As he careened through the air, mind frazzled, body in partial shock, he abruptly crashed into something and stopped tumbling altogether. One of the planets had caught his fall, albeit temporarily, and through his hazy vision, a massive shadow of gray and white plummeted towards him from above. Andre pushed back with his feet and rolled over his shoulder, just in time for the fake planet to heave and rock under newfound weight!
A roar, a slash, a trail of sparks. Andre raised his hands in turn, each shielded by a half-barrier of ice, like that of punch mitts in the boxing ring. Wild claws sheared away chunks of magical ice, and with each renewal more of Andre’s reserves dwindled. Through the fog of battle, furious eyes bore upon him; fueled by the fiery rage of hell itself and the divine wrath of heaven. Uncompromising, single-minded in their pursuit, each strike took the strength of his entire body to ward off! With every blow he deflected, it wrenched all willpower from both of his arms, and it was all he could do to force them to rise for the next.
He backpedaled, and while his opponent didn’t seem the slightest bit winded, Andre had forfeited an exorbitant amount of ground. As the curve of Saturn attempted to sink him, he leapt backwards onto Neptune, and the beast followed. Andre’s talons sank into the planet and acted as a conduit for his freezing abilities. In seconds, the fake ice giant became a genuine ice giant, which Andre violently kicked towards the leaping beast. Beautiful tailfeathers spread wide to catch the wind and glide gently towards the floor, where he looked up at the effects of his work; a shattered planet and a veiled opponent. It was clear that his attack had struck, and that the beast was reeling within the frost cloud left behind on impact. Hopefully that would—
The sound of shuffling cards ripped through the air, but from what direction was unknown. From the cloud, multiple torrents of light launched out in a curved arc! Andrealphus threw both palms upward, barely able to erect a wall of ice in time to block the bombardment. Each missile created cracks in the wall, and the peacock’s arms trembled to keep producing enough magic to stabilize the barrier. He just had to bide his time, weather the storm, and seek the right moment to strike!
Powerful wings dispelled the icy fog with a single slap, then flapped once more to propel the angelic monster directly towards Andre. With a grit beak, he funneled the brunt of his magical reserves into a new spell as he maintained the first. The overlapping of the channels caused veins to bulge under his feathers, the tension of mind and body fit to snap should a mistake occur. Once the beast flew close enough, Andre sprung his trap; hands alight with blue light. Sheets of ice erupted in a circle around the monster, then joined together in the sky to form a perfect bubble!
Its head craned and tilted, as if puzzled by its new prison, and an inquisitive hand gingerly touched the dome. Intelligence brimmed behind those molten eyes and devilish brow. It paced back and forth; its claws scraped against the ice in a clear test of craftsmanship. So long as Andre held magic within him, the dome would hold, but where once it was a vast ocean now bubbled only a pond.
His head rang, clothes tattered and legs weak. At some point in the struggle, his collar had been torn from his robe, his scarf had long been lost, and a tear or three marred his elaborate, silken finery. To regain composure, the peacock took a deep breath and brushed his head feathers back, only for the pain that shocked his ribs to forcibly bow him.
“Andre!” Rapidly approaching footsteps hammered in his ears. Through the pain, a confident smile twitched at the corners of his beak, and he forced his posture to straighten.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got him; bastard ruined my outfit.”
“Are you alright?” Jesse’s eyes pinged between the tears in the translucent clothing, then settled on its wearer’s face. Once vibrant eyes were dimmed, and the usual frigid aura that forever haunted him was absent. “You look—”
“Fantastic? Yes, I know, thank you.” A muffled crash, followed by a crack drew their attention from one another and back to the dome. An empire of cracks traced along the interior of the dome, brought about by its occupant’s thundering fist. The beast reared its arm back, bent at the elbow and shoulder, then punched forward. His wall weakening, Andrealphus turned on his heel. “Come, we must go while he’s immobilized.”
“Wait, we’re just gonna leave? What about everyone else?!”
“They are not our concern.”
“So, we’re just gonna leave them with this thing?!”
“Responsibility for its presence does not fall upon me, nor you.” An elegant brow dipped as a far harsher crack signaled the dome was close to shattering. “We can discuss this once you are safe.” A single step carried immediate and burning pain to his ribs, and Andrealphus couldn’t prevent a pained hiss from brimming at the inner lining of his beak; nor how his hand pressed upon the enraged zone immediately. Everything swirled, his vision pulsed, and a deep burn washed from the top of his head to the stalk of his brain.
Jesse looked back at the trapped monster, then back at Andre, indecision rapt upon his face. Bit lip, furrowed brow, eyes tight and fidgety; his conscience couldn’t afford blood on his hands. He hated it; hated fighting, hated escalation, that’s why he was just a bouncer. Stop things from getting to crazy, never let them reach that point…but one look around the devastated restaurant proved shit had already hit the fan. Yet, there Andrealphus stood, the most powerful demon he knew was reeling from an injury from this unknown, mysterious monster…and Jesse couldn’t do a damn thing. “Fuck…” he grunted, then slipped beneath Andre’s arm to support the Marquis. “Let's get out of here.”
The dome shattered.
The beast roared.
As if pinched in the fingers of God, Jesse’s back arched as he was plucked from the ground by an unseen force! The floor was yanked away from him, only to be replaced by a translucent, golden one. He was trapped in a bubble; a resilient bubble that gave no signs of wavering beneath his fists and feet. Down below, he could still see Andre, whose attention was solely fixated on his capture.
“Jesse!” Powerful legs tensed, muscles taut and prepared to spring, then launched him from the ground in pursuit. Less than five feet off the ground, an iron grip yanked downwards upon his leg, and slammed the Marquis onto his back. What was more pain, for it only fueled his anger! Massive, demonic tusks and flaming angelic eyes bore gifts of volcanic breath and nightmarish snarls to him; and it was all he could to do react in time and clasp hands with the brute. Obsidian claws pierced the top of his gloved hands, igniting a newfound river of agony that kicked his body into pure survival mode. Flooded with adrenaline and anger, veins bulged in his temples and arms, the floor cracked and crumbled under their combined power. It was a contest of primal strength, one in which Andre funneled every molecule of fury he could into his muscles. Both legs felt as if the muscles would snap clear from the bone, before they would crack and crumble. Pressure, otherworldly and menacing, weighed against his chest, and his furious gaze met the beast’s own as the final bits of magic reignited within his eyes. “I…am Andrealphus, the Mighty Marquis, Commander of Thirty Legions…” He gripped harder, forearms seizing with muscle that threatened to tear through the skin. “…and you will give me back my incubus!”
*SHINK!*
Andrealphus froze, his breath a painful wheeze, as every last ounce of strength fled his body. Against his left side, a new, wet agony numbed him. He slowly looked down and found the beast’s fan-shaped tail embedded within his side. Wreathed in an angelic glow, bathed in royal demonic blood, the augmented tail withdrew with a harsh slurp of skin and a downpour of rain. Shock set in, his senses dulled, his reaction times slowed…and that gave his attacker the opportunity to grab him by the throat. Hoisted into the air, Andrealphus gripped those gargantuan, furry wrists in a final show of defiance.
It was then that the beast spoke.
“Bad luck…birdie…”
Chapter 12: Sear the Soul
Summary:
Jesse is trapped. Andrealphus is on death's door. In their hour of need, a savior arises. Cloaked in a mantle of crimson feathers, will this mysterious benefactor be able to stop the rampage of an abominable beast, or will the rampaging monster simply gain another meal?
Chapter Text
Am I... dying?
Seeping blood brought with it a throbbing pain that gripped his entire torso. Dark claws, hands to usher him into oblivion, stretched over the edges of his vision. Air, trapped within his neck, pressurized both lungs to the point of anxious agony. They would burst, surely, or would he black out before he felt it? Popped lungs and a stomach wound; such a degrading death. Out of magic, hoisted within the misshapen and unnatural claws of some demonic and angel hybrid, all Andrealphus could do was funnel the last of his strength into one last show of defiance. Years of swordsmanship had failed to defeat this beast, but dedication and practice had provided him with a final gift: grit. Slender talons, dug against the wall of iron muscle that hid beneath all that faded fur. Desperation and anger fueled them; to pierce the skin, to draw blood, to offer up any sign that this creature could be defeated, that he could find a way to escape, to survive, to triumph. As if amused by his defiance, it began to pull Andrealphus close, but no laughter was heard. Not a snicker, not a chuckle, not a chortle or a grin; just tusks. Beastly, ravenous tusks parted to expose the interior of its maw; a wide, barbed tongue within an ocean of darkness. Was that all which awaited him: the void? Was there nothing? Was his life for nothing? Was his power, his royal lineage, his pride, his purpose all for naught?
Infernal heat scorched the air before his face, and Andre felt the beast’s grip release. Gravity took hold, but before it could grow too absolute, an unseen force caught and cradled him. Something warm, something fine, something...familiar. It was then, at the edge of consciousness and despair, that the light of relief and hope was kindled within him; alive, barely, but flickering with newfound determination.
“Easy brother, it isn’t your fate to fall here.”
Crimson feathers, a white painted beak, and a golden visor were the last things he saw before unconsciousness finally took him. “Va...ssago...”
The Prince of Divination watched with a solemn gaze as his fellow royal slipped into slumber. In his palm, a fire sprung to life that cast the parrot’s shielded gaze in a grim shadow and marked the deep gash at the peacock’s side. He pressed his hand to that cut, and the fire cauterized the ugly wound; but the flame was not finished, as it sank within the Marquis to act as life support and wellspring of magic. “Warm yourself within my flame, Andrealphus, and rest. I shall handle things, from here on.”
Rumbling footsteps thundered in his direction, growing louder and causing the Starlight Lounge to tremble, but Vassago didn’t even spare a passing glance. A golden aura surrounded the beast for a moment, then clamped down to match its form angle by angle, inch by inch; it had been frozen mid-leap. Gently, the prince summoned a bed of fire beneath Andrealphus; not to harm, but to heal. Four individual flames spawned beneath at all four corners to act as carriers. Without a word, they immediately began to whisk the Marquis away somewhere safe.
“Now then...” Ancient magic skirted and flowed between his gloved fingers; gold starlight mingled with ivory fabrics, as the red bands around each glove began to glow with occult symbols. Translucent, crimson rings circled his forearms as their power was called forth, the parrot’s hands rising. “...to banish the spirit that has possessed you!” Fingers clamped inward to clench his fists, duty and anger at the helm. The barrier surrounding the beast tightened, like a smothering, plastic coating designed to remove all oxygen. Vassago could sense the wrathful spirit that had warped its host; it writhed, seethed, fumed, and foamed with absolute autonomy. As the Seer of Spirits and Diviner of Fate; he recognized that this monster was a true anomaly. Whatever soul that had held original domain over this body had been bound deep within, yet it was not written in the wave of cosmic design that it be so!
A true bastardization of demon and angel tensed within its confinement; muscles flexed; eyes bulged in rage at the lack of free will and movement. Above, Vassago’s magical acclamations sensed something above; something powerful. He craned his head upwards and spotted a massive orb of light that rippled and spun like it was accumulating strength. In the nick of time, a sixth sense prompted his body to action, and he leapt backwards just as a scalding ray of heavenly light pummeled the ground before him! With his line of sight broken, concentration over the spell snapped, and in an instant, the beast leapt out from the conjured beam in ambush!
Flames wreathed Vassago’s feet, and he reared his body back, then swung his hips and let gravity grip his leg; to send a mighty kick crashing directly into his attacker’s cheek. A pause of tension, as if reality had an issue in deciding who was stronger, and then the creature was sent flying to the side in a roaring inferno! Mid-spin, Vassago reaffirmed his grip on the ground; core tight, leg muscles taut to bring the roundhouse kick to an abrupt stop. He scraped his smoking boot against the floor, then tapped his toe tips to shake off the ash his magic had produced.
Across the room, a fresh, smoking pile of wood and stone shifted. Debris exploded outwards in a hail of makeshift shrapnel as the beast burst forth; dust falling from its massive shoulders and horns as its thunderous footsteps shook the building. Light brimmed between its clawed hands, growing brighter and larger as those hands drew closer to one another. Two masses of light metamorphosed into a singular orb, which shifted into a rectangular stack of cards and curled outwards, as if they were being bent to be shuffled. Furious ripples tore through the air, their chorus a battle cry of malice as the conjured deck exploded! Playing cards constructed of pure, angelic energy shot into the air in a chaotic spread; fanning, enveloping, until they bathed the entire floor in their presence from on high. Without warning, the cards shot downwards from all angles, their trajectory aimed towards Vassago!
The red-feathered prince, head cocked back and held high, slipped both arms behind his back. Behind the golden visor, he calmly watched the legion of cards rocket in his direction; and as the first of them drew close enough to slice his feathers, he dodged with a tilt of his head. More came; some, he deflected with a casual backhand, while others were stopped dead between his fingers. With each maneuver, the distance between prince and beast was shortened, Vassago’s eyes locked onto the monster that had felled his fellow royal. Massive, feathery wings flapped as furious molten eyes overflowed with animosity and shot his was; as if having its attacks dodged was a cause of anger. Circles of light began to form around the ridges of those corrupted wings, and Vassago’s back foot launched him forward. Once again, infernal flames roared to life at his feet; and the prince dipped low to drive his heel deep into the gut of his opponent!
Muscle gave and sank, pushed against vulnerable organs that couldn’t withstand the might of The Chosen! While the monster reeled; it’s tusk-filled and toothy maw parted in a cry of surprise and pain, Vassago’s other foot spun on its heel and launched him in an arc to unleash a second kick from the rear. A kick, so mighty that it sent a fiery shockwave through its target’s head, crashed into that furry jaw. Thick neck muscles, like the trunks of the most sturdy and powerful trees on Earth, braced against the blow, but Vassago’s momentum combined with his silent fury. Pressure roared in his leg, and he swore that a swipe of fear crossed those golden, molten eyes as muscle snapped beneath royal strength! Now properly stunned, baked in the fires of the arcane, hundreds of pounds of muscle reeled and crumbled onto a back-foot; growls and groans constantly rumbled forth. Vassago, gifted with the avian qualities of flight, used those bestial properties to extend his airtime. A simple flex of the tail feathers was all it took, and he was able to kick his heel back hard enough to send himself into a flip; once again, wreathed in his magical flames! His heel crashed against a broad shoulder and dug into the collarbone; the blaze of his kick melting fur and skin alike to soften the muscle. That booted heel followed through and cut a deep channel of flame from the creature’s shoulder to its opposite hip, and Vassago disengaged with a back hop.
Burnt fur and cooked meat polluted the air, and the beast screamed. Not a roar, not a cry, but a scream filled with agony, filled with rage, with disbelief. Torso still ablaze, the hybrid shoved its hands into the floor; shoulders ballooned, arms bloated with veins and holy muscle, and the ground began to pulse. Debris hopped, rafters trembled, and glass creaked at the force that grew below. A second feral scream was unleashed as the struggling ground was finally upheaved, in an explosion of strength! Floorboards, moon rocks, glass and more fired through the air, which struck fleeing patrons and staff alike. Vassago leapt backwards as far as he could; the damage so extensive that it altered the entire terrain. Planks of jagged wood jutted from the ground, all the tables and chairs had been shattered or sundered, and the pillars that supported the upper levels snaked with dark and debilitating cracks.
Then, in a blur so quick that Vassago nearly missed it entirely, the beast was in front of him. Foaming at the mouth, golden ichor pouring from between its tusks, eyes feral and wide, it lunged forward to bite! Jaws of death snapped and clamped in rapid succession; each attempt a forward advance to drive the parrot back. Flecks of gold mingled with steaming saliva that flicked onto his visor, but those fearsome jaws always lay a step behind; fangs clacking and gnashing with each punctuated gouge of air. Brisk leaps backward drove Vassago over the bodies of fallen royals, and he was forced to watch their finery trampled underfoot. Due to the circular construction of The Starlight Lounge, the nearest wall was fast approaching; if he was cornered, he’d die.
As he skirted around a pillar, a spiteful, clawed paw swiped through the stone and reduced it to rubble. Having lost one of its many supports, on top of damage already sustained, the restaurant trembled. Vassago narrowed his eyes; this was taking too long. He either needed to finish the fight haphazardly, which would risk the innocent soul that lay trapped within the monster or find a way to take the battle elsewhere. Too many had already perished, and he wouldn’t stand for another.
Red thread glowed to life around his hands, loose and billowing, and as another dangerous snap of jaws launched his way, Vassago made his move. Instead of dodging further, splayed hands shot forth to gunk up that gaping maw with lines of crimson twine! As if possessed of a life all their own, the thread slapped outwards to grip and drag along bestial features; then rapidly spread all over until every inch of gray and white was covered. Like a bloody mummy, broad muscles strained and tensed against their suppressive wrappings, and the chase ended. Yet, the exorcism was incomplete.
The wiggling form lifted into the sky and connecting tendrils of wire flowed outwards to Vassago’s splayed hands. Once the beast was hoisted high enough, the prince folded his arms across one another, connected at the wrist. “Vengeful spirit from on-high, I command thee; vacate this vessel, so that you may be cleansed! By the Red Threads of Fate, you shall obey!” Fire ignited from his hands and surged up the lines of thread, and upon reaching the captive creature, conjured a roaring blaze that enveloped it entirely. Unholy howling, unnatural and melodic, screeched through the muffling effects of destiny’s twine. No matter how violently the beast thrashed, Vassago didn’t relent. “Bathe in the flames of Hell, and sheer the holy from the damned, or be thrown to the throes of Oblivion!” He paid no mind to the gawkers, who stood transfixed by the display at a safe distance away. There was no telling what raced through their minds, but their presence offered just enough distraction for Vassago’s attention to take note. No matter what happened next, there would be questions, and there was no one better at discovering truths; no matter how hidden.
Wiggling ceased altogether, and the wrapped creature’s form began to pulse as if in the throes of ragged or heavy breathing. The fire extinguished, the threads loosened and pulled their captive to ground, where they uncoiled. Charred, ugly feathers and patchy fur emerged from a chamber of black smoke; massive knees slammed into the ground with an impact so great it shook the moon’s surface. Devilish horns, traced with cracks, glowed in the fading glow of flame; their composition soon to crumble into ash. An ugly, deep ravine of blackened and bubbling tissue raked across a once-furry chest; any blood having been bubbled to a tar-like black crust. Two massive hands slammed down, and a smoldering shadow cast along the ground. Vassago poised himself for a rebuttal, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was silence.
And then…
Sobbing.
Shoulders heaved, like boulders amidst an earthquake, and thick globules of water dripped onto the floor. The beast was crying.
Once majestic and menacing wings were burnt to the bone; nothing but tattered rags to feebly conceal a scarred and battered body. A deep, fragmented voice clawed its way out of a cooked throat. “Please…help me…I can’t…” Intelligence, agonized and aware, peered up at Vassago. Gone were the molten hues that had glared him down mere moments ago; instead, replaced with a trembling clarity; yet the golden hues remained. It was clear to him that the beast was, at least temporarily, subdued and he now spoke with its prisoner. “Stop me…I’m…”
Vassago extended a hand, not to charm or hex, but to usher in a gentle series of shushes. The prince slowly took a knee before the pitiful creature, yet he could still sense the raging spirit within; simply restrained by its momentary weakened state. “Shh, it is alright…all will be well.” That outstretched hand rested against one of those heaving, sunken shoulders, as the sobbing only became breathier and sloppier; almost like that of a child…or a severely traumatized adult having a mental collapse. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
“I…” Confusion and pain warped each syllable, as a long groan leaned against the distinctly male voice. “I hurt…my friends…!” In recollection, a strained, sorrowful wail lodged itself in his throat, and his eyes clenched shut. “…but I needed it…I needed the water…the magic…to stop the pain…I didn’t…couldn’t…no, no, no, no…”
Vassago’s hand began to glow in a dim red hue, as his spiritual magic reached deep within the creature. Seeking the spirit, grasping tendrils coiled around its’ incorporeal form and began to retract from the body. The further they dislodged the angelic spirit, the more that physical body tensed and shuddered beneath the extraction. As the body was cleansed, its infection manifested atop Vassago’s open hand as a ball of hovering, golden light. Gentle trails of gold wiggled upwards, as if it were a young tadpole seeking a pond. He stood, eyes fully locked upon the spirit, and held it aloft. There was pain, there was confusion, but most of all, there was an altered destiny that should not be. In a word, the spirit was simply wrong. Torn from its divine purpose and planted with an unholy form towards unknown ends, it was as much a victim as its host. “Return to the heavens, and slumber with your kin, for that is where you are meant to be. Rest easy, for your transgressions are forgiven…” Gently, he closed his hands around the floating orb, and after channeling his magic into it, returned it to Heaven in a sparkling fog that slipped through his grasp.
Where a menacing beast once knelt, now curled a much smaller entity. Still feline but possessed of a dark black pelt with a white furred chest, numerous heart-motif markings, and bright red wings, its unconscious form belied that which had simply dreamt a horrible dream. With no clothing to speak of, Vassago brushed down the front of his crimson suit jacket, then began to unbutton it. Public nudity would not do, and the poor thing had been through enough…and so it was that the nameless figure was draped in the garb of the Seer of Spirits, the Prince of Divination, the Commander of Twenty-Seven Legions: Vassago.
While he gazed down at the slumbering figure, a multitude of questions flitting through his mind, the sound of flapping wings bore down upon him from above. A sharp-jawed face, possessed of red skin and white markings appeared directly before him, no less than an inch off kissing his beak! A glimmering brow piercing raised high, and a deep voice boomed out of a fanged mouth, “What’d you do with Andre?!”
At first, such disrespect and callousness brought a twinge of annoyance, but upon hearing a shortened version of Andrealphus’ name leave the demon’s mouth, his brow perked. An incubus, clearly, judged solely by his flapping wings, lengthy, spade-tipped tail, and generally attractive features; such were the gifts of Asmodeus, the Sin of Lust, to all his children. “He has been moved to a safe location; and you are?”
“Where?!” Rough, tensed hands grabbed the finery of his undershirt’s collar and yanked him close. Strawberry champagne fizzled on the demon’s breath, and wide eyes filled with worry and impatience almost pressed to his visor. When Vassago didn’t immediately answer, he received a rough secondary yank for his silence. “Tell me!”
“Easy.” The bird warned, with a gentle touch to the incubus’ forearm. Their power gap couldn’t have been greater, but like all things concealed, Vassago was able to divine his true intent through the golden screen of his visor. “You will find him in the kitchens, nestled far away from this chaos.” The fervent grip around his collar released completely, and a strong flap of wings knocked their shoulders together; but before he could offer so much as a reactionary response, the lesser demon was already well on his way to the back of The Starlight Lounge. A smile touched his beak at the sight; he would need to have words with Andrealphus once he awoke about a multitude of things, it seemed.
In the background, he witnessed staff members walk amongst the wreckage; none equipped to fix or clean anything. Dust and splintered wood clouded their fine attire, but if they cared, they paid no heed; picking up the dead was their most apparent concern. One knee to the ground, Vassago waved his hand over the unconscious creature which had been the vehicle for this destruction and placed that same hand upon him. Entwined in a deep slumber, the feline did not move, but his consciousness wasn’t required for the prince to find answers. His gloved hand slid from a shrouded shoulder and rested upon a messy head of fur; long enough to slide between his fingers, but soft as freshly woven silk. Strangely, there was a familiarity that surrounded this john doe, but the memory was as wistful and slippery as a forest sprite. Within him, Vassago could sense a heavy soul, yet one that knew the touch of love, of companionship, and of family. Yet, a knotted, thorned mass lay within that shackled it to misery; and as Vassago peered deeper with his arcane prowess, realization dawned upon him. This man…was a Sinner.
“Husk!”
A shout of fear and relief bought the parrot’s gaze, and as he lifted his head, witnessed a small group rushing towards him; none of which he recognized. A gray-skinned woman with a missing eye and a spear, a lanky four-armed spider in gaudy, skimpy attire, and a towering woman with rose-colored cheeks, bouncing golden braided hair, and ivory skin, pale as milk. While strangers, there was a peculiarity in their urgency; clearly, to his summation, they intended no harm. “So, that is his name: Husk.” As if it acknowledged the name, Husk’s soul brightened against Vassago’s astral communion, and the parrot smiled. “An ironic one, considering present circumstances.”
The long-legged spider’s stride rushed ahead of his female companions and slid along the rock and dust. All four, lengthy arms closed around the immobile form wrapped in Vassago’s jacket and pulled him close; as if the sole piece of debris amongst a sunken ship. For a moment, there was no movement, but then a great and trembling sigh of breath rushed out from white-furred lips. “Oh, thank fuck, you’re alive…” A deep embrace was given, and the spider paid Vassago no heed. Instead, recognition came from the spear-wielding woman.
“You did this?”
“I did indeed.” He responded, then rose to his feet. “Though, I cannot take sole credit.”
As the warrior woman opened her mouth to speak, her one good-eye tightened to accentuate what was likely to be a gruff response, Vassago found his hands gripped in the joined clasp of the second woman. Eyes shimmering in tears, fangs poking free as a sniffle manipulated her speech into a wavering, grateful tone. “You fixed him, thank you!” Her grip was strong, strong enough to make his brow twitch and his plumage rise, but it wasn’t until he found himself trapped in a bear hug did Vassago give a little squawk! Bones popped as the hug continued; she was immensely strong, even for a demon prince. Despite being much taller, Vassago found his feet lifted from the floor as the strange woman’s happy sobbing continued. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”
“Charlie, don’t break him; people are staring.” The gray-skinned woman glanced down towards the spider, then flicked her attention back his way. “He doesn’t seem to be hurt; what did you do?” Slowly, she looked around the desolated restaurant and kicked a small clutter of debris near her foot. “It clearly wasn’t easy…judging by how fucked up this place is.”
Oddly, that vice-like hug was becoming less painful over time, and while it seemed he couldn’t escape it, he answered through pressed lungs. “I removed the spirit that had possessed him. It was—nngh—heavenly in origin, and clearly did not choose to possess your friend—gah—willingly!” While less painful on a steady, passive level, the subsequent squeezes put the strength of his bones to the test! Vassago felt himself lower, and the moment that his feet touched ground once again, he touched a hand to his chest and drew in a deep breath. Crackling discomfort wracked through his lungs as they filled with unimpeded air. “But as I said, I did not accomplish it alone; Marquis Andrealphus made a valiant stand before I intervened.”
Both women looked towards one another in confusion; clearly the name was foreign to them. “Where is he?”
“Recuperating; the battle was…highly taxing.” Vassago idly adjusted his collar, then waved both arms forward in a bowing flourish. “But where are my manners? I am Vassago; Diviner of Destiny, Seer or Spirits, Finder of the Lost, and one of many Princes of Hell. A pleasure to meet the both of you, although…I’m sure we can all agree that it was amongst more appealing circumstances.”
“Vassago…” A loud gasp came from the pale-skinned, rosy-cheeked demon, after having mulled the name over for a moment. “My dad told me about you, you’re one of the Ars Goetia!” She wiped excess tears from her eye and turned to her companion. “Vaggie, he’s one of the good ones; one of the—”
“—fallen angels who were cast out of Heaven alongside Lucifer, I know babe.” Through a large veil of gray and white hair, an inquisitive and glaring eye attempted to pierce his shielded gaze. “How’d we get so lucky to have such a powerful fallen angel show up randomly and help us like this?” Her tone was riddled with accusatory implications, and distrust mingled with malice to cast quite the intimidating and spiteful aura; one wrong or poorly implemented intention would receive quite the backslash.
“Pure coincidence. Truth be told, I was enjoying a pleasant, private dinner when a commotion stirred me from my quarters. Upon investigating, I found your…” Vassago raised a hand to idly gesture with upturned fingers. “…altered and suffering companion engaged in fierce combat with one of my own. Once the conflict escalated, I intervened, and now here I stand before you.”
“Vaggie, don’t be mean, he saved Husk.”
“Before you are too quick to thank me, there is more you must know.” Vassago’s tone dropped to punctuate the severity of his words. “While I have separated the vengeful spirit from his body, and reversed his transformation as a result, there is still a bind upon his soul.”
Charlie shuffled in placed, head tilted in curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“It appears that during his time here, or perhaps even before his arrival in Hell, your friend made a deal. With whom, I do not know, but I felt it during the exorcism. In addition, it would appear that he was conscious of everything he was doing while transformed but was powerless to stop it; a helpless observer within his own body. During our…engagement, there was a brief moment where he regained control, and it was during this moment that I was allowed to properly excise him…and which he expressed immense sorrow at having hurt his friends.” Vassago clasped his hands behind his back, gaze drifting down to the cradled feline. “While the specifics elude me, his mental state will more than likely be fragile when he awakes. Spirits, I can soothe; the mind, however, is an entirely separate beast.”
Such were the ways of battle; some wounds were invisible on a surface level. While the sinner’s body had been mended and his spirit cleansed, his mind paid the price; a fate that, unfortunately, not even he could change. That grim reality turned Vassago away from the group. “Now, if it is of no inconvenience, I must check on my comrade.”
“Wait!” It was the voice of the woman who had previously nearly hugged him in two.
The parrot’s head turned over his shoulder, “Yes?”
“We might know what caused all of this. Would you be willing to stop by my hotel sometime and…take a look at what we have? You sound like you really know what you’re talking about, and we could use an expert.” As a brief, mutter-filled conversation between both women ensued, he peered closer to the golden haired one. There was something about her that Vassago couldn’t quite put his finger on, but the nagging sensation indicated it was important. Perhaps it was because he could not see her future or her past; truly an anomaly. To block his powers of divination would require magic of the highest caliber; power that could only possibly belong to the…highest…
His knee hit the floor, as the harrowing realization of whom he stood before dawned upon him. The motion snapped both women from their reverie, as the prince bowed his head, placed a hand to his chest, and extended an arm out to the side with his palm facing upwards. A sign of respect, as he practically prostrated at her feet. “Forgive me…Princess Morningstar, I did not recognize you!” Panic flew across his mind; how could such a detail have slipped by him?! Vassago was in the presence of Lucifer’s daughter! “I…have not seen you since you were but a babe, cradled in your father’s arms.” A single, nervous swallow and a scrunched brow kept him from freezing. “Any and all knowledge and resources at my disposal are yours; you need only say the word.”
“Oh boy, you’re kneeling. Vaggie, he’s kneeling. Umm…” He dared not raise his head, even as the Princess’ uncomfortable tone carried to his ears. Lucifer was a merciful leader and ruler, in all respects, but if he discovered that his daughter had been slighted by one of his own brothers in arms…not even that privileged title would save Vassago. “Please, just call me Charlie, and…you don’t need to do that. Don’t kneel on my account.”
Vaggie approached the kneeling spider and whispered something in his ear, and it appeared to be encouraging or insightful enough to draw him from that long-maintained embrace. Together, they lifted their unconscious companion and began to walk him out the front door; seemingly unconcerned with the onlookers. Charlie, however, stayed where she was. “So, when you have a moment, come to the Hazbin Hotel. It’s the big, bright building at the very edge of Pride; you can’t miss it!”
“Of course, your Highness. I shall arrive their posthaste, after some brief matters are settled.” With that, he watched Princess Morningstar turn her back to him and swiftly step after her entourage. Once she had left the room entirely, air rushed into Vassago’s lungs as they clawed for breath! He’d been holding it in for so long that each fiber of those dual organs crackled and burned with exertion; too tight, mashed, but healing. The heel of his boot gently squeaked against the ground as he spun around and made for the kitchens; hopefully, he had bought enough time.
By the time that Jesse had managed to find the kitchen, he found it completely vacant. Untouched by the chaos outside, at least in a collateral sense, it's only signs of distress were a few scattered pots, pants, and plates that littered the floor. Meals were left unfinished; some burnt, but the lack of smoke indicated that the stoves had been turned off. Everything above the ground was polished chrome, almost like some uncanny and futuristic hovel; not to be lived in, but simply to be inhabited. His polished, black dress shoes skid across the tiled floor, as he spotted Andre at the opposite end of the kitchen. The peacock seemingly slept atop a fiery platform. It was the same one that Jesse had seen that parrot conjure up after Andre had been injured. Without regard for the potential heat of the flames, the incubus sprinted around prep tables and towering racks to approach. To his surprise, he didn’t feel the anticipated bearing of intense heat, but the embrace of clean, summer rays and blue skies. Those pure scents rushed into his lungs, and the anxiety and fear within him shrunk beneath the power of nature’s beauty, but his attention fixated on Andrealphus.
The Marquis appeared to be unconscious, the wound that he had sustained completely absent. Torn clothing and state of consciousness aside, there appeared to be nothing wrong with him. Jesse placed an ear to that feathery chest in search of a heartbeat, eyes tight and body tense…until he felt and heard a steady thumping. “Oh, thank fuck…” Seeing the most powerful being he knew sleep brought a combination of unease and awe to Jesse’s soul. There was a dignified grace in the way his eyes were closed, the way that his beak remained shut, and the tenderness of his eyelids. It was such a simple state of being, yet oddly…intimate. The characteristic cold he had often felt in the peacock’s presence was gone, and it wasn’t until he recognized its absence in his cheek that reality dawned on Jesse. Reaching out, he slid a hand to that sharp face to cup a cheek…and nothing happened. No overload of magic, no icy bite; just…just feathers! Soft, luscious, beautiful feathers that traced his red skin as he withdrew his hand. What had happened?
“I take it you are a friend.”
The calm, lifting voice ignited passive survival instincts, and Jesse spun on his heel to face its source. Arms fanned out in a protective manner to shield Andre’s body, but as the world shifted from a brief blur and into a clear picture, he relaxed slightly. It was only that parrot, his tinted eyes brought to bear against the formerly private moment. Suspicion pricked every inch of Jesse’s brain; another royal, which Andre had specifically cautioned him against interacting with unless introduced. “What did you do to him?”
“Why…” the solid tapping of boots bounced from the chrome walls, until they boomed in Jesse’s ears. Fight or flight kicked in, as those sound waves layered upon one another to create an overwhelming aura of power that threatened to put him on his knees. “…I saved him. The more important question is, why do you care? Andrealphus isn’t known for making friends.”
“Then why did you?” It was a sharp rebuttal, one that leapt from Jesse’s lips before his mind could even register the thought. His eyes narrowed into the steely, unflinching gaze of that regal and powerful demon as it approached; each step a warning to his very core not to test his luck.
“We are brothers in purpose; birds of a feather, one could say. Consider me an ally, if it soothes your paranoia.”
“Like any of you do anything without expecting a kickback.” Jesse jabbed a finger at the parrot, and blinked as he witnessed his own limb tremble and shake. He couldn’t feel the sensation; it was as if his body was reacting on a conscious level all its own! Those gleaming white boots took another step closer, and Jesse’s tail whipped against the air. “Stay the fuck over there!”
“Easy…little incubus.” Words trailed from the bird’s beak as warm blankets fresh out of the dryer, and he raised both of his gloved hands. “What you assume as truth is not the whole truth. I expect nothing from Andre; only that he lives. It isn’t his fate to perish here.”
“Cut the magic crap, I get enough of it in my day job! I don’t trust you…and not just because Andre told me not to. I’ve seen more than enough royals to know what you’re all about; greedy, backstabbing, malicious shitheads who step on the little guy because you were gifted with special shit that we weren’t lucky enough to have!”
“If you believe this to be the truth, why do you shelter one of said royals?” The question tensed Jesse’s body, and his brain froze as those words drilled through his anger. He heard the parrot step forward, the instant his gaze dropped, and he instinctively raised his fists in a ruffle of fine fabrics. “Is it because he’s your meal ticket?”
“The fuck you say?!”
“I can see your past Jesse, it is my ‘special shit’ as you put it. My eyes are gifted to see the past, the future, as well as all that occurs in the present. He offered you a job, invited you into his home, showered you in finery and rich accommodations. He invited you here, protected you with what minimal magical reserves he had left after you triggered an episode. Andrealphus fed you, clothed you, protected you, provided for you…all the things that you stopped doing for yourself long ago!”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Fangs emerged, ready to snap, but poised defensively.
“In return, all you can offer him is your body, because it is the only thing you can think to give. ”
Each accusation was a jarring stab to the heart and mind; inescapable and undeniable. How could the parrot see through him so clearly?! How could he be so right, so potent in his barbed words that Jesse felt like tears could spring from his eyes at another admonishment? That golden-coated gaze was too much, it’s presence unbearable, so his head dipped in denial…and was instantly snapped upwards as fingers dug against his jawline!
“You loathe me, even without knowing my name, for I have done in his moment of need what you think you must also do.” That steely gaze softened; a light dip of the brow and a ruffling of head feathers, as his tone followed suit. “I say these words not out of spite, for it is my hope that they may reveal to you a hidden truth. Andre’s life…has always been rife with violence. He does not require a protector. We often forget violence is simply a means of survival…” Jesse shuddered as the grip on his face relaxed. “…and that love is a means of living.”
Stunned by those words, the incubus couldn’t conjure the words to form a response and could only watch as the parrot brushed past him to plant a hand upon Andre’s chest. A pleasant glow, similar to that of a campfire, sparked to life and disappeared…then Andrealphus began to cough! He was awake!
“Oh…Lucifer’s Locks, my head…” Groggy speech and sluggish movements characterized him as just having awoken from a much-needed rest; all royal mannerisms absent. Heavy eyes blinked in rapid succession, “Jesse…Vassago…Vassago?”
“Yes, my brother, tis I. I hope that the magical reserves I imparted you have been well received?”
“That explains the warmth…” Andrealphus planted a hand over his face and unleashed a low groan as he shifted upon the floating bed of flame, clearly disoriented. “…what are you doing here, Vassago?”
“A thank you would not go amiss, Andrealphus.”
To Jesse’s surprise and partial amusement, he watched as a slender middle finger raised in the wake of that response. “Gaze into this and tell me whether I give you one.” Damn!
Vassago didn’t appear all too bothered, and simply opted to clear his throat and adjust his fancy visor. “You always were sharp tongued when the desire struck. Regardless, I came to inform you of two things.”
“Let me guess,” Andrealphus interjected, fingers pinched at the space between his eyes like some hungover drunk after a late night or partying. It was a look that Jesse had seen many a time. “You defeated the beast…” A pause, as if he waited for a confirmation, but when none came, he continued. “…and finally realized you’d look much better with contacts instead of those bulky shades.”
“Yes and no. It would seem this incident goes far beyond simple coincidence, Andre; Princess Morningstar arrived and spoke with me.”
Andrealphus’ hand shot away from his hand and froze mid-air. Surprise was rapt upon his eyes; a level that Jesse had never seen before. “Lucifer’s daughter…was here?”
“Yes, and she’s quite the hugger. Before you squawk, do not worry, I mentioned you and your valiant efforts to subdue the creature.”
“I haven’t seen her—”
“—since she was a babe in her father’s arms, yes, I said very much the same. She is powerful Andre, unfathomably…terrifyingly so.” A smile grew on Vassago’s beak, and his posture elegantly leaned forward in a minor bow. “I sensed a kind and joyous heart, even though her destiny is hidden from me. As such, she has enlisted my aid in uncovering the perpetrator behind this incident.”
A shadow cast across Andrealphus’ face; his bright blue eyes dimmed in an aura of distaste. His beak curled, “Oh, you mother—”
“—You need to focus on properly recovering, brother. You know the terms of magic rejuvenation; especially considering that we align with opposing elements.”
“You bitch, you did this on purpose.”
“Would you rather I let you bleed out and suffocate? I do believe the creature was set to devour you, bones and all.” A flourish of red feathers cast a light gust of wind in Jesse and Andre’s direction, which caused them both to slightly wince. Vassago, with his back turned to them, glanced over his shoulder. “Perhaps a vacation from your cryomantic capabilities will teach you not to try and freeze your fellow royals. In the meantime,” Light and measured steps tapped against the kitchen floor as Vassago looked forward, his arm raised with a lightly limp wrist. “…do think upon what I said, Jesse. It was a pleasure meeting you.” A sassy snap of the fingers coated the parrot in a pillar of fire…and then he was gone.
Andrealphus sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, causing a pop and another groan to slip free unabated. “Tropical basta—” Strong, suited arms wrapped around his torso, a broad chest pressed to his own, and a firm squeeze pulled at the back of his ribs. He looked down and saw that Jesse had entrapped him in a deep hug, tail limp and dangling towards the floor. The tight embrace was warm…and it was a warmth that Andrealphus hadn’t experienced in a long time. When was it last; a hundred, two—no, three hundred years since he was last held in such a way? There was no repelling chill, no biting demeanor, no classist intimidation, to stop it from happening. “Jesse?”
“…I really thought you were gonna die.” Strong fingers curled into the back of what luscious, silk finery remained of Andre’s robe. Biceps and forearms gently dug against uncovered feathers, and a gentle tremor wracked broad shoulders. “I was stuck in that fucking bubble…and all I could think about was how useless I was…” A sharp hitch of breath lead to a warbling exhale that drove Jesse’s face deeper into soft chest plumage.
Soft, white locks slid between Andrealphus’ fingers as he placed his hand on the back of Jesse’s head. To be able to touch another without the flow of magic, without the need to hold back a tide of devastating power, brought momentary exhilaration amongst a solemn sea. “You aren’t to blame. My own power should have been more than sufficient, but that creature’s strength was…unexpected.” Comfort was a foreign practice to Andrealphus, but even with his minimal experience, his hand seemed to have an effect. Jesse slowly released the hug, and his hands rose to the sides of Andre’s face, where they lingered. Was he memorizing their shape, their sensation in his palms? It was unclear, but after a long moment of hesitation, rugged red hands pulled away and dropped into his pockets.
“… fuck. I can’t even…” Anger was writ upon those handsome, demonic features, tempered with the hottest self-loathing Andre had ever seen. He reached out and took Jesse’s hand, who looked up at him with refreshed regret. Those watery eyes widened as the peacock leaned in…
…and pressed his beak to Jesse’s lips.
Bits and pieces of an expensive rotary phone exploded onto the ground, and a roar of rage filled the vast office space. Deep within the Greed Ring, Crimson seethed at the contents of his television screen; crooked tail snapped against the air with deadly intent to cut and saw through the first thing it encountered. He withdrew a knife from his belt, its sharpened edge scraped against its sheath in a menacing growl, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT DIDN’T WORK?!” With wild abandon, he launched the knife at the television with an aggressive jolt of the elbow and grit his teeth as the screen cracked and sizzled with electricity. “WHO THE FUCK WAS THAT?! I WANT ANSWERS, NOW!”
Five subordinates, all sharks clad in family colors, stood rigid as sweat poured down their gills. From large to small, each and every one was far too afraid to speak out of turn.
Their respectful and fear-filled silence only incited Crimson’s fury further. “I want this motherfucker’s name on my desk before the end of the hour, and I want my best contractor in this fucking room or I’m gonna start CHOPPING OFF FUCKING HEADS!” At his outburst, the sharks scattered, tripping over each other, as well as their own two feet, and ran for the door. Their diminutive boss, who stood atop his desk, stomped so hard that a resounding crack rippled through the room. “And one of you mooks get me another working phone!” As the door slammed, and Crimson was left alone, he sank into his leather chair and mashed his fingers to his temples. A spiteful growl grew in his throat, nurtured by frustration and utter, psychotic disbelief. Even idleness aggravated him, and mere seconds after he sat, the imp slammed the heel of his foot against one of his desk drawers. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck…fucking, figlio di puttana!” Each curse brought a kick that chipped away at the stability of the wood, and it wasn’t until a violent snap sounded out that the assault ceased. In the aftermath of his outburst, Crimson yanked the busted drawer free and let it crash to the floor, then walked around the front of his desk to stare into the fireplace. Green flames crackled alongside his heavy panting, “This ain’t over…you frozen fucking chicken.”
Chapter 13: Traitor, Lover, Savior?
Summary:
Andrealphus leaves his door open for Jesse.
Jesse psyches himself up.
Notes:
THIS IS WHERE THINGS GET SPICY AND EXPLICIT! Yes, tis finally time. If you aren't comfortable with a bit of tongue action, this is your heads up! This is the 18+ Chapter.
Chapter Text
Together, the peacock and incubus teleported back to the rime-coated mansion that Andrealphus called home. After, of course, a trek through the carnage that was The Starlight Lounge. If not for their newfound opportunity at greater intimacy, they might have stopped to pay their respects. Jesse never did get that unagi eel.
He stood in silence, hand in hand with Andre as they materialized into the Grand Foyer, until the last snowflake of the spell drifted to the ground.
“Well, I am definitely in need of a change of clothes, a shower, and a proper meal.” A shared touch, warmed by the heat within the incubus and the installed magic of Vassago, parted; and Andrealphus raised his hand to trace his fingers along Jesse’s sharp, perfect cheek. “I shall leave my door open…” the peacock continued, his slender digits tender and unwavering. Without awaiting an answer, he reluctantly slid his fingers away from that handsome face and began to walk towards the grand staircase.
Jesse’s heart pounded with each pronounced clack of heavy talons on ice, as he watched tattered fabrics and a partially chipped crown accent Andre’s body in grace; even in the aftermath of a fierce battle, his regality couldn’t be vanquished. Higher and higher, he ascended those preliminary stairs, and soon vanished into the heights of the manor. Red fingers slid back through white hair; the gel that had once held a dignified look together wore thin with repeated touches. His own fingers moved from the back of his neck to the side of his face to trace the same path Andrealphus had, and what couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than arousal slipped over the top of his mind. Hot breath, a gleaming fang against his bottom lip, and a sharp twitch of a tail helped to absorb the sensual afterglow. “Fuck.”
Dry heat whirled to life within his chest and bit at his veins like a sandstorm. It raged at the bottom of his throat, and the heat that the dervish produced swarmed south to his arms and fingers. From there, it constantly slithered until nothing, but the crackling clarion call of lust seized him. Oh, he had it bad. Without the barrier of entry…his fantasies were no longer; only realities lay out before him. Jesse found the magically warmed air of the manor pleasurable to the surface of his tongue, and so he extended his lengthy, demonic tongue to let it bask in the open. With it, a throbbing heatwave rushed out with every breath; a pulsating tendril that he slid between two fingers. As the thickest part of his tongue, the base, mashed and curled against his skin, a hybrid of a groan and a moan trembled throughout the incubus. The things he wanted to do that Andre’s body with that tongue…to taste him… Conjured images furrowed his brow and rolled up that long tongue to slip back into his mouth. Newfound appreciation for his natural flavor increased its potency.
Excitement stole his breath, powered his heart, and spurred his feet to action. He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, with the gait of an athlete until he reached the top and turned towards his room. As he opened the door with one hand, the other rapidly set into unbuttoning his suit; three layers of clothing to strip off meant you had to start early, right? Dust and flecks of blood covered his jacket, pants, and dress shoes; all to the point that Jesse tossed them onto the floor as they came off. Edmund would likely throw a fit, but that was the last thing on his mind. Left in nothing but his undergarments, he ascended the spiral stairs to his bedroom and the shower within. By the time he opened the glass door, Jesse noticed that each of his fingers trembled, and the realization made him stop in his tracks.
“Can’t disappoint…clean, but not too clean; want some musk, but not to smell like a chemical plant.” Water flowed freely, its forced form a constant downpour of hot water that began to steam up the room in mere seconds. Jesse pulled down, then stepped free of his undergarments; only to toss them to the side and step into the shower. Back first, the soothing sensation of massaging purity poured over his shoulders and the top of his head. Hands immediately rose to shake up his white locks and help remove any light residue from the hair gel. The more water that was applied, the slicker his hair became, and so Jesse bent down and squirted three pumps of shampoo into his palm. Rich and foamy, the lather smelled strongly of blackberries and lavender. Its scent slid down the rest of his body, as the cleansing foam was trimmed and cropped by the immovable stream of water.
That kiss back at the lounge enveloped his mind. It had only lasted a few seconds, but Andre’s texture and flavor still lingered on Jesse’s lips. Brand new sensations tended to have greater impact, and no amount of lip licking or backhanded wiping could remove the taste. As he bent down to grab the bar of soap and an exfoliating scrubber, he spread his wings and rotated to allow their other side to get wet. Steamy water pounded down against Jesse’s broad chest; streams of water tracing and flowing down his muscular torso to converge at his groin. He raised his arm to tense a pec and flex his back, but those were simply aftereffects of needing to reach back there. All the extra girth made it a pain, especially with just a hand-pad instead of a loofa, but familiar problems were easy, comfortable problems; and Jesse skillfully lathered around the trunks of his wings. Once he reached his tailbone, the ass and back legs were next, then the back of his arms, neck, and finally armpits.
With one side cleaned, he rotated again and took a step back to submerge himself beneath the showerhead. Relief washed over his scalp, and a moan slipped free to the crashing drum of water against his body. Thoughts of Andre took over his mind in the small moments; clenched eyes, doing so to prevent shampoo from stinging his eyes, only brought vivid imagery of the Marquis. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to shower together? Perhaps that was too quick of a leap…
Jesse flexed his pecs as the exfoliating pad went to work, then felt his cock twitch. “You got me into this.” He growled and pressed firmly against his muscular chest. Soon, from his pecs to his toes, thick lather helped to hide his physique and accent it elsewhere. Having to also wash his genitals only made them more active, and that girthy red dick started to twitch and swell under the warmth of the bathroom. “You…fat motherfucker; you better be on your A-Game tonight.” What exactly was Andre expecting? What was the right tone to take? Everything had been moving so fast that he couldn’t get a proper read on him to know what to do. Their relationship had gone from strictly business to ‘it won’t happen’, then into ‘it can’t happen, but I want it to’, and now that things could happen, they had reached the ‘this is my bed, get in it’ stage!
A careless and idle hand, lathered to an extra soft degree, rubbed over that needy cock of his. Only when a serious and powerful surge of blood served to indicate he was really getting heated, did Jesse yank his hand away and run it under the water. “You got this…you got this…just…” The incubus gave an invigorating slap to his chest that got his blood pumping even harder, and he willed every last red cell of it into his brain to hype himself up. “Yeah…yeah…you’re fucking Diamondback Jesse. You’ve slept with vampires, chucked an imp thirty feet, and you’re good enough to be a model! Just…” A slow, steady, and deep inhale ballooned out his chest, sank his abs in, and tilted his head back. Pursed lips released the air in a regulated, calming stream of sound, until contentment replaced the empty space. “…think with your head, not your dick.” Being an incubus made that hard.
Jesse grabbed his tail and lathered it up from base to spade tip, almost like wringing out a towel, then slapped both hands to his face and put the scrubber to work. Rough strokes dug away all the passive dirt and active grime that had built up, and only left a hot, vulnerable sensation on his skin after a rinse. “Andre is a bird. He’s a tall, elegant…bird.” All movement stopped. His head hung beneath the water; eyes closed. “What do birds have?” A defeated groan roared from his chest and escaped as an exhaustive puff of loose air from his mouth; he didn’t know! He had no idea! Did Andre even have a dick?!
Energy surged from his core and revved his heart. Its excess cycled back into his brain, where his thoughts flew out in rapid fire. “I can roll with it. It’s fine. It’s fine. Totally…totally fine. I’ve had…enough women to know what to do.” As possibilities came to light, Jesse put down the exfoliator and pressed his hands and forehead to the nearest wall. “What if he does have a dick? What if he wants to top?” An involuntary gasp leapt from his throat, and his hands left the wall to grip both of his horns. “What if it’s bigger than mine?!” Lesser demon with a lesser dick wasn’t a phrase he’d want to endure! The image only made the incubus make a mad grab for the nearest washcloth and wrap it around the soap. Lather, lather, lather; if his ass was at risk of being toyed with, he had to prep. While that was being done, the pep talk came back in a growl. “Focus; even if you can’t walk in the morning, you can still fly, damnit!” Lists of sexual positions raced through his mind, both for topping and bottoming, how to make sure his wings didn’t get in the way, what to use his tail for. Once that last bit of cleaning finished up, lathered and rinsed, Jesse abruptly shut off the water.
Without the constant drone of the shower, only a light dribble pattered to the floor to fill the vacancy. Heat was replaced with room temperature chill, and its presence tingled along his skin amongst the many droplets. Jesse placed his forehead against the wall and closed his eyes; what if he was taking things too fast? Sudden doubt crept in the shadow of logic; the left side of his brain finally able to chime in alongside a withering erection. They had just gotten back, just escaped that monster, and Andre nearly died…was it really the time for sex? Trying to recall the Vassago’s words, all Jesse could visualize was the confidence, the prowess, the swagger; “Perhaps a vacation from your magic would do you good.” Close enough, but it was clear that something had stopped Andre’s magic from doing…magic shit. He’d need to ask, because otherwise the natural curiosity and the agony of not knowing, not being able to potentially help in some way, chewed away at his gut. Now, all of those plans to walk in and lay pipe like he was some kind of stud bailed in the face of basic consideration and thought.
Jesse pushed his forehead away from the wall, and his wings gave a flap to shake water from their leathery texture. Nothing to it, but to do it, he supposed; answers weren’t just going to fall into his lap. If it was just the heat of the moment, or years of sexual repression allowed to finally be freed, he wondered what that meant; not in a sense of which cause was correct, but rather if it changed what he and Andre were. Would this change their working relationship? What would happen when he could use magic again? This could be their only chance to…
He stepped out onto a bath rug and snagged a nearby towel. Dark blue, embroidered at the edges and marked with a large cursive J, it was much softer than he expected. When draped over his shoulders, it covered his body perfectly in comforting warmth; such a small detail was enough to make him smile. Andre must have used all of those measurements to make it. A smile crept onto his face, and Vassago’s words echoed in his head. “Love is a means of living…not survival…” Jesse rubbed his thumb along the soft towel in contemplation. Back in Lust, Edmund had bailed him out with Bruno. In Pride, Andrealphus fought a monster by himself; all Jesse had been good for was getting tossed around. It wasn’t just that his ego was bruised by both events, but they had also incurred a debt of sorts. If someone saves your ass, you save their ass back: fair trade. Yet, he’d been useless…or maybe not, according to Vassago.
Completely dried, he wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom.
“Master Jesse.”
Tight muscles locked up and sprang, like a lion leaping onto its prey, and a black-nailed hand groped for the hem of the towel as it loosened! Surprise, adrenaline, and then shame; it was just Edmund! “Fuck me, Ed…how long have you been standing there?” The butler’s bright blue eyes locked him in place, and an unseen weight descended over Jesse’s shoulders. “…what?”
Both hands were hidden behind the imp’s back, but his face was an open book. A gouging glare drilled against Jesse’s face, augmented by a tight brow and a deep frown; such changes made that typically dignified and semi-handsome persona slip into something weathered and ominous. Even his scar appeared deeper: ugly, even. Edmund’s prolonged silence only made things worse, an unspoken emotion roiling behind his eyes.
“Is…” Jesse paused to linger on his next words, in the expectation that they might be interrupted and spur a dialogue. “…everything alright?”
Silence continued. Jesse shifted on the spot.
“Well…I’ve got a thing with Andre, so I’m just gonna…” He stepped forward at an angle to try and walked around the imp, but found his way barred. Edmund stepped into his path, hands still hidden behind his back, and his stare no less fearsome. “Uh…Ed, I need to get through here.”
The cracking and popping of knuckles caught Jesse’s ear. “Eighty-four.”
Confusion tore from his brain to his voice box; and unsure of which type of response was truly appropriate, a half-hearted chuckle emerged. “Eighty-four…what? Are you alright, you’re acting weird.”
“I have killed eighty-four demons for Master Andrealphus, since he was but a boy.” Jesse blinked, and Edmund’s face only seemed to draw closer to smother his personal space. “From the moment he donned his crown, to this very day: eighty-four.” He watched the imp’s tail snake around to distance itself from folded hands, as if it were an entity of its own that peeked out to cast scorn. “It was eighty-three until I saved your life back in Lust. How long do you think it took me to increase that number, Master Jesse?”
“That—I don’t know Ed, maybe like—”
“Ten years.” The imp’s tail trembled for a moment, then darted back around to the opposite side. “Ten years of silence. Ten years of thinking that perhaps the message had been made clear. Then, within less than a month, his life has never been more at risk.” Jesse balked, unable to think of anything to say to that, but he quickly discovered that he didn’t have to. “First, Mistress Octavia is beset upon at a party in another ring and has to be rescued by her uncle. Then, the Sin of Gluttony breached ancient, magical wards that have protected his home like they were made by some fledging apprentice. I find you in Lust, to where you were set upon by a loan shark and summarily rescued. Then, my master shelters you, provides accommodations which took no small feat to achieve, upon which you manage to somehow trigger a magical outburst that significantly drains his power. After which, you have dinner at The Starlight Lounge; known only to the elite crust of Hell, and he is beset upon by an abomination which nearly kills him…only for Prince Vassago to appear and lock his powers while he recovers. This all occurred, in sequence, the moment after he met you.”
“Ed—”
That viper-like tail struck with a harsh whip that slapped Jesse’s hand away from the towel. It dropped to the floor, and in the momentary panic it created, Edmund reached out and seized Jesse’s manhood…and yanked. Once close enough, the imp’s arm shot up and his grip clenched against the proud and perfect jawline of the incubus; veins bulged in his hands as rigid tendons strained under his red skin. Pain radiated into his brain with such intensity that both arms were rendered useless; frozen in a half-active state of pain paralysis.
“I know about Miss Ambrosia and her hatred for royalty. I know that you two have an intimate history, one that which spanned many years, so do not imply that I am imbecilic.” Jesse gasped and hissed in pain, eyes wide as the butler’s voice grew from a composed rumble to a barely contained seethe. “Who better to thaw my master’s frozen heart than a fiery demon of lust?”
“Ed…” Fingers curled, temples flared, and his chest heaved as Jesse fought against the pain to speak. “…I swear, I’m not…!”
“You planned this from the very beginning.”
“No!”
“You had to make sure I was incapacitated and unable to protect him while you lured him into a trap, so you worked with that shark demon to pose as an attacker. That’s why when I killed him, you were so revolted, but he did his job well enough to take me out of the picture!”
“No! Ed—gah—I swear to Lucifer, I—khk—didn’t!”
“Don’t lie to me! I see it now, and it almost cost my master his life; for that, I shall forever bear immense shame. It is only through his good graces that you still live to hear this, for removing you without proper evidence would bring Master Andrealphus great dismay.” Edmund snarled, then squeezed and pulled Jesse’s large dick until he could feel the fibers stretch in his groin! “Know that I am watching you, spawn of Asmodeus, more closely than even Lucifer himself. One slip up, and I shall make you number eighty-five!” With a surprisingly powerful shove, Jesse was thrown back onto his ass. He immediately clutched at his mouth to make sure nothing was torn, chipped, or broken; and by the time he looked up, the butler had vanished.
Jesse’s chest heaved as tense breaths pushed outward, each equivalent to a cinderblock of weight. No matter how many times he inhaled and exhaled, the weight didn’t lighten, and that sensation of helplessness congealed into despair. He hadn’t done anything; he was innocent! The urge to ascend the stairs to Andre’s room grew stronger, and it gave his legs the strength to move. Up there, high in that private tower, safety surely awaited him? Edmund wouldn’t do anything while Andre was close by, right? “Shit…shit, shit, shit, shit.” With zero concern for his attire, Jesse grabbed a tight gray shirt, threw on a pair of boxers, and jammed one leg into some lounge pants; then practically flew out the door…and left his warming ring behind.
Clear, harmonious notes crooned from Andrealphus’ long neck as he gazed into a mirror. Comb in hand, laden with jewels and cast in pure, shining metal, he combed back his hair at every angle. A thin, transparent robe rested on his shoulders to drape him in the embrace of a night sky; glimmering stars embedded in the fabric. Aside from it, he wore little else. Luckily, or perhaps entirely thanks to Vassago, the wounds he had sustained from battle were absent. While fire wasn’t his forte’, at least it appeared to be good for something. Andrealphus set down the comb and turned his head, then beamed; yes, that would do.
Large bottles of wine sat in an ice-filled bucket on a nearby table. Surrounding it; a feast. Roasted hell hog, grilled shark fins, staked snake, and even the unagi eel they had missed out on earlier in the evening. All of it had been summoned from his personal stock, prepared in the kitchen through the means of magical manipulation and brought through a portal. He had even managed to quickly order two bottles of strawberry champagne, which he retrieved through zero contact with anyone. Hopefully, it would be to Jesse’s liking. The peacock placed his hands upon the dresser and cleared his throat.
“Hello…Jesse.” With the greeting came a pair of half-lidded eyes and a lowered tone; an attempt at a sultry greeting which left, admittedly, much to be desired. “No, no.” Another throat clear followed, and Andre tilted his head slightly back and straightened his posture. “Good evening, my dar—no, immediate no.” A deep sigh crashed his face into joined hands, propped by the elbows and locked at the space between fingers. “Come on…this cannot be this difficult.” He had to say something. “I see you have decided to accept my invitation; so, tell me, shall we…” Unable to find any further words, Andre groaned and slid his face deeper into the sheltering darkness of his hands. “I’m hopeless; utterly, unfathomably hopeless.”
Fabric brushed and trailed through the air and against his chair as Andre stood to his feet and strode towards the bed. Perhaps silence would be more appropriate, and his actions could roar in place of his tongue. As the Marquis lay face down on his royal sheets, a familiar chill seeped through his coat of feathers and embraced his skin. Without his magic to negate most of the effects, he only had his natural resistances to shield him, and they were more than capable of fending off any harrowing levels of cold. Andrealphus pressed his beak against the mattress and shifted his face against the bedsheets, as thoughts of Jesse sprang into his mind.
This was it. It was happening. The pitiful dream he had once held long ago was about to actually come true, if only for a short while. He could touch without fear of holding back, without the hesitation and measured strength instilled in him as a child. It was almost frightening; the thought. Yet, his fingertips tingled in exultation. Chiseled muscle, sharp fangs, strong jaw, diamond-patterned skin, and white locks of hair shot as images through his mind; only to bring heat to the Marquis’ face and urge him to embrace the chill of his bedsheets even more. What would he touch first?
Glowing eyes flicked upon the birth of a new inquiry; what would Jesse touch first? What did he find most alluring about Andre’s body? What would he let the incubus touch…and to what degree? Such thoughts burned through his face with ease; there was no defense against questions like that! Boundless energy, anxious and giddy, rallied in his lower body and stood the Marquis up from his bed. He began to pace around his room, talons lightly clacking with every step, “What if we just talked? There’s certainly a lot to talk about. Surely, he has a mountain of questions. Maybe nothing will happen; maybe…” Memories of his accidental voyeurism emerged to remind him of what possibly awaited. Surging back muscles, tight, clenched hips pumping at a slow and dominating pace, and deep male moans that triggered a pleasant wave of arousal in Andre’s brain. Who was he kidding; he wanted that.
The echo of rapid footsteps perked Andre’s attention, and his head swiveled towards the door. Those were not the measured and paced sounds he anticipated; was the incubi’s lust truly so ravenous that he would rush up the stairs?! Heaving panting precluded his door being thrown open, upon which a lightly clothed Jesse spun on his heel and shut the entrance behind him. Intense, sculpted back muscles strained against the tight gray material of his shirt, leathery red wings poised behind him in equal strain. “Andre, I—” Jesse turned…and froze as he lay eyes upon Andrealphus. The panting continued, a light sheen of sweat covered his brow, and his snow-white locks were tossed and messy, but the sheer beauty and amazement that brimmed within the demon’s eyes captured Andrealphus’ full attention. A heaving chest only accented those firm pecs of his further. In an almost hypnotic manner, they rose and fell to the steady beat of his labored breathing.
“Yes, Jesse?” The words came naturally, without thought or pause. Andrealphus slowly paced towards the door, his see-through robe and bare body in full, unabashed view of the handsome incubus.
Un-synched blinks, as if he were experiencing a glitch, retrieved that deep voice of his. “I think I…” A gulp, as transfixed eyes wavered in awe; trapped between the eternal watch and the conversation at hand. “…I…fuck…” The distance between both demons quickly shrank, and as one tilted his head down to keep eye contact, the other tilted his head back to gaze upwards. Andre took a knee in front of the smaller male and reached out, only to brush that sweaty brow back against the incubi’s hairline and glide his fingers through a bountiful field of white hair. Silk: pure, heavenly, God-like, even.
Pure elation.
“I have prepared food and drinks, as a way of apology for a ruined dinner.” Eyes dropped to those panting, red lips. Never had such hunger seized his beak the way it did now, in simply looking and contemplating upon a prolonged texture and subsequent flavor. “There is meat, wine…champagne…” Despite the natural, tangy scent of sweat, something sweeter lingered beneath; berries and flowers, by the faintest deduction. Drawn to those backwards-pointing horns, Andrealphus traced his fingertips along their black and white patterned surface until he reached their pointed ends, then loosely wrapped his grasp around each and slid back to Jesse’s hair. This trail of touch ended with both hands wrapped against the back of a solid red neck, thumbs traced upwards to lose themselves in those white locks. A smile spread to his beak, unchecked by his rational mind, and an unstoppable laugh leapt forth.
It was not the same boisterous laugh that Jesse had heard days before; which had been bloated to the brim with amusement and the callous joy of a royal. Instead, it was short and sharp, and carried a mixture of awe and sadness. Jesse felt Andre’s hands gently vibrate against his neck, “Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry, it’s just… I can feel you.” The laugh repeated, and Andre’s grip slipped towards broad shoulders and a pronounced collarbone. Smooth red skin, reinforced from below with powerful muscle, slipped over his palms to electrify his mind with dopamine. It only encouraged him to continue and continue he did; palms lightly tracing over Jesse’s biceps and forearms until their fingertips touched.
The incubus made the next move and joined their palms together, his red-skinned fingers slipping between those dangerous talons to embrace the top of the Marquis’ hands. An intense, gravitational pull drew him closer to those awestruck, happy eyes with a flick of his tail. “How long has it been?”
“I can’t remember.”
Jesse’s throat tightened at the reply, and all of his previous worries about Edmund were violently shoved into the recesses of his mind. How could he ruin this moment? There’s no way he could even consider it; not with his own problems. Another wave of tightness dried the last of the moisture in his throat as he realized this was a temporary thing, and his embrace tightened around Andre’s hands. He leaned in gently pressed his hot lips to that sharp, white beak, and felt the peacock melt into him. A slight tilt of the head gave Jesse all the room he needed to offer up his tongue with a light touch; tip to tip, and an avian tongue immediately reciprocated.
Tension deflated from his shoulders as intimacy drove out his worries, and Jesse found that he could breathe again.
Low moans shifted from mouth to mouth, their passage a tickle against lips and beak as both demons moved towards the bed. Andrealphus, entrapped in his own bliss, backed onto his bed and gently pulled Jesse along with him. His tall, feathered frame sat at the edge, while the incubus stood between his lengthy thighs; head tilted backwards to keep the kiss alive. Neither could keep their hands off one another. Needy, inquisitive touches of tenderness embraced their cheeks, if only to encourage their mouths to stay linked. In need of air, it was Andrealphus who was the first to break the union, only for a heated huff of breath to blast against his face.
“You’re so fucking beautiful…” The admission sent heat roaring into the peacock’s face, but his bashfulness was unnecessary, as it was quickly enveloped in the passion of a second kiss. He felt the mattress lightly shift, and he cracked open an eye to see that Jesse had planted his knee on the bed. Andrealphus’ hands wandered down to the base of that devilish tail, twirling it around his fingers; each second of contact a bed of blissful pinpricks against his skin. He gave no resistance as he felt the muscular incubus clamor close and ease him into gravity’s pull; his back soon laid against cold sheets. A greedy grip pressed against two firm pecs, then tightened as those taut muscles slid against his palms.
Without a word, Jesse sat up and gripped the bottom hem of his tight shirt. His broad shoulders pulled back as a wall of crimson abdomen muscle slid into the open; its veil lifted for Andrealphus to gaze upon freely. Both hands grasped Jesse’s waist, thumbs trailed along those ridged muscles, and the pristine feathers that adorned the Marquis’ body fluffed up. With a simple dip, his body was draped in heat as a firm, forked tongue pressed to the side of his neck. Sharp fangs teased amidst a fog of hot breath that blasted between his feathers, and Andrealphus moaned as that tongue descended south. Down along his collarbone, over his chest, Jesse kept sliding lower. Wet muscle pressed to Andre’s stomach, and he shuddered at the sensation; mind on the precipice of pleasure until he felt those handsome cheekbones brush against his thighs!
“Jesse—OH!”
Light, glorious, enveloping, waves of light surged from his groin to his brain. For a moment, Andre felt as if he were floating, all breath dashed from his lungs; but who needed to breathe when amongst the clouds of Heaven? A second surge caused his back to arch, and Andre pressed the back of his head to the bed, hands gripping to grab the sheets, just as Jesse hoisted his legs. Steady, lapping pulses of pleasure filled his body, and with each new dose, the desire for more grew. Control was all but absent, which allowed less than dignified moans to drip from his beak, eyes closed and chest pounding! Andre’s eyes clenched tight and his fingers curled into Jesse’s white hair.
“Slow down, I’m—whoa!” In a swift display of strength, the incubus stood at the edge of the bed, his grip firm on the peacock’s thighs as he hoisted Andre’s lower body off the mattress! Hips elevated and presented with a far lewder view of that skilled tongue working him over, control slipped even further as the sensations were amplified! “Ohhh shit…shit…” A hand reflexively clamped over his beak to muffle an orgasmic cry, just before his entire body rippled in hot pulses of bliss! Right in the chest, the sensation struck like lightning and crackled with equal potency, leaving the Marquis’ hips a trembling mess as his conscious mind momentarily slipped out of reality. Moments later, the intense release faded, and Andrealphus watched as Jesse pulled his mouth away. Steaming hot devil breath warmed the saliva and a lengthy, forked tongue draped low; as if to brag about how deep it had just been inside of the Marquis. Andrealphus ran his fingers through his head-feathers as he basked in the afterglow of his orgasm.
“You, okay?” Jesse asked, his hands rubbing up and down against those massive, feathered thighs.
“I’ve never felt that before...”
“No one’s ever eaten you out?” An incredulous tone filled the incubus’ voice.
“Is that what you call it?” Andre gulped and ran a hand across his head for a second time; a soothing caress to try and fix his appearance and calm him at the same time. “I must say, it wasn’t...entirely unpleasant...”
“That’s just the opener.” The same tongue that had just been inside of him dragged along the peacock’s thighs in a display of worship, Jesse’s biceps bulging as he cradled that long, glamorous leg against his cheek. Somewhere between the oblique and the pecs, a serene, vibrating rumble soothed Andrealphus’ upmost thigh. Akin to a purr, or a crooning animal, it pleasured his ears and his muscles simultaneously, “Anything you want, I can pull off.”
“…anything?”
“Anything.”
Andrealphus leaned forward and cupped one of those handsome cheekbones in his palm, then brought his beak against Jesse’s lips for another kiss. The incubus’ tongue was coated in a brand-new flavor, one that wasn’t entirely unpleasant; lingering on the brink between sweet and carnal. A deep, masculine, yet gentle moan caused his heart to skip a beat; the feeling was more than mutual, and even if there was lust magic at play, Andre couldn’t find space in his heart enough to truly care. All it yearned for was the demon between his legs.
Reluctantly, the kiss eventually ceased as their mouths slipped from one another, but their eyes maintained an unbreakable connection. A slow exhale, a tighter grip, hot breath against hot breath as Jesse’s devilish tail flicked in excitement and contentment. It came to a slow curl, as the look in Andre’s glowing eyes shifted into something less like excitement and more like introspection. “Tell me this isn’t wrong…”
Jesse’s lust abated and allowed a dreg of pity to take its place. He scanned the royal’s face for any signs of playfulness or mockery but found none. Large fingers pressed slightly harder against his skin, and despite their size, he sensed a weakness in their touch.
“Tell me I’m not a fool…for feeling this way; like I’ve been told all of my life. Tell me that I’m not dishonoring my family with my weakness.” Their foreheads touched, and Andre’s eyes closed, his breathing barely stable.
It was Jesse’s turn to cup a cheek, but instead of one, he cradled both and offered up a gentle shush. His thumbs traced against the feathers along Andre’s beautiful face and made sure not to accidentally brush his eyes. “You’re not weak, and you’ve done nothing wrong.” Warmth touched the tips of his thumbs and quickly spilled over their joints, and a quiet sob boomed in his ears. To witness someone like Andre, one of Hell’s most powerful demons, break down in his hands nearly made Jesse’s heart stop. A vacancy, hollow and encompassing, threatened to overwhelm it; not depression or nihilism, but…sadness. How much suffering was bottled up in this demon? How much silent torment had he endured, to create the illusion of a heartless monster, that Jess originally believed him to be?
Tortured starlight tumbled from the Marquis’ eyes; every last drop more beautiful than Heaven itself.
Jesse slid atop the bed and guided Andre onto his side, so that they laid next to each other openly. He didn’t stop those long feathery arms as they embraced his torso, or the tear-streaked face that buried itself into his collarbone. Crimson fingers gently, soothingly, rubbed down a valley of pristine feathers; embracing muscle and bone alike with equal reverence and care. A kiss planted itself atop the Marquis’ head, “I’m not going anywhere…” Amongst the mystical, translucent drapes, infernal red and winter white laid together, as if the grace of Heaven met with the pure corruption of Hell in a moment of unity. The tears weren’t unlike the pale diamond patterns that marked the incubus’ skin, in that they were both jewels; one rigid and resilient, the other flowing and warm.
Through the shuddering of muscles and occasional, gentle gasps for composure, relief seemed to come to Andrealphus’ body. Muscles relaxed, shoulders sank, and his fingers ceased their clinging grip upon Jesse’s skin. “I’m sorry…” he sniffled. “…my crying is…ruining the moment.”
“It’s not; you clearly need this.”
“I just…” Another sniffle, and Andrealphus wiped one of his eyes with the back of his fingers. “…don’t want this moment to slip away.”
“We don’t need to do anything tonight. I’d love to just lay here with you, eat some of that fine ass food you got us, and…listen to you talk.”
“No sex?”
“Only if you want to.”
Andrealphus looked up at Jesse, for the first time in minutes, and his eyes were filled with a new layer of purity that the incubus had never seen before. It was like clear ice water caught in the rays of the sun, glittering with hundreds of reflective water particles that could be mistaken for stars. “When my powers return, we won’t be able to do this. I won’t be able to feel you anymore.”
“Even so, I’ll still be here.” Fingers slid amongst fingers, and palms gently embraced. “I could get used to the cold, but I might need to ask Asmodeus for an upgrade.” Jesse smiled and kissed the back of Andre’s hand. “Then again, I am holding hands with a rather powerful sorcerer; perhaps, once your magic comes back, you could...acclimate me?”
Eyes widened; the Marquis taken aback. “You would go to such lengths just to be with me?”
Jesse’s smile only grew more sincere, and with utter serenity, he closed his eyes and touched foreheads with the peacock for a second time. “I would.”
In their shared silence, both demons closed their eyes, and for the first time in years Andrealphus felt a sense of peace slip over his soul; as if every weight he had ever carried was hoisted from him all at once, and every mask he wore was stashed away. To bask in that feeling forever, oh, how wondrous it would be. It was all he wanted; his newfound desire, because in that moment of quiet, in that sanctuary of companionship...Andrealphus didn’t feel like a monster.
Chapter 14: Vulnerable
Summary:
Andre has a breakdown. Jesse pulls him up. Out of one fire and into another.
Notes:
Another explicit chapter. 18+ NSFW.
Chapter Text
Smooth, cool silk, and a comforting veil of warmth greeted the Marquis as he awoke. Pleasant gloom covered every inch of his bedroom; granted by the drawn blinds and their sturdy composition. What time was it? For once, his mental schedule was blank, and no anxiety flared at the realization. Graceful fabric slid against his feathers as he shifted in bed, bringing with it the rigid embrace of something unexpected and new. He glanced down at the muscular arms that were wrapped about his torso, and the previous night’s events assaulted his mind in a tidal wave of nostalgia. Andrealphus turned his head and spotted the fit, bottom half of an entirely nude demon; its tail limp in the throes of sleep.
An unbidden smile crawled onto his beak. He could feel the incubus’ face pressed against his back. Warm, solid, but more-so present and real. It hadn’t been a dream.
With the care of a sneaking mouse, the massive peacock slid his hand atop Jesse’s to lift it free of his torso. There was no need to wake him; more importantly, Andre didn’t want to. Long had they stayed awake into the night; sharing their thoughts and cuddling amongst the bed sheets. He recalled several bouts of kissing, a keen interest in his tail feathers, and laughter; joyous, pure, heart-filling laughter. It was that particular detail that made Andre’s heart pound even then, and as such, he wished to slip away to the bathroom without being a bother. With that thick, red arm successfully hoisted, a simple roll towards the edge of the bed carried him out of reach; crude, but effective.
As Andre’s feet touched the floor, his knees wobbled, and the mattress lightly shifted as he grabbed its edge! Swarms of something fluttered about within his gut, and the display of clumsiness almost made him laugh. With Jesse’s continued sleep a priority, he refrained. Seconds passed before the Marquis regained his strength and could stretch to his full height. An arm grasped an elbow as both arms raised tall, and a satisfying stretch brought a blissful sigh and flutter of the eyes. Turned on his heel, Andre walked into his private bathroom and lightly clapped his hands. Dim, sea blue lighting rippled throughout the room in calming waves that coated everything from the tub to the mirror.
In said mirror, a towering peacock looked back at him. White face, relaxed gaze, ruffled feathers; he had never looked better. Andre was practically glowing, and as he ran his fingers along the side of his neck, he paused to examine a few messier spots in his feathers. Tender, reddened flesh brought on from the night before bloomed in the mirror: hickies. Andre dragged a hand back through his head plumage, then turned his neck to examine himself for any more potential hickies. One…two…three; how many times had he let Jesse latch onto him? The question was rife in his mind, and the peacock dragged his fingers through his chest feathers to check there as well. Not only were there numerous hickies, but also shallow bite marks! Almost like he’d been dined upon by a creature of the night, but there was no blood, no wound, just little, harmless indents against his flesh.
How undignified, yet…charming. So many marks indicated that he was, at the very least, tasty; and the thought of qualifying as mouthwatering swelled his breast with pride. It was as if body were a coat of medals, presented by one who truly mattered and given in spades. They weren’t medallions that he’d showcase to anyone at court…or Asmodeus…or Edmund, but they could at the very least be a secret joy.
For no particular reason, the doorway beckoned his attention. Through it, he could see Jesse’s slumbering form amidst the covers; nude and beautiful. Surely, the incubus was deep in rapturous slumber. Andre smiled and hoped that those dreams were as pleasant as they could be.
It was then that his rotary phone erupted with a peacock’s call.
Covers popped upwards as Jesse awoke with a start, every inch of that broad, mountainous torso on display. Confusion marred his face, and his head whipped around to find the source of the startling racket. Andrealphus strode from the bathroom, his gait filled with all the pompousness of a true lord. “Relax darling, it’s simply the telephone; though who could be calling at this hour is a mystery…”
Andrealphus picked up the receiver, and blue smoke began to billow forth. His eyes widened, and in a minor panic, he turned to Jesse and jabbed at his bed robe. With a roll that almost conjured a chuckle from the Marquis, Jesse thumped onto the floor and tossed the robe. In one smooth motion, it slid over one arm and onto his shoulder, then swung around to the other arm to do the same. Just in time too, as the smoke began to take shape…specifically the shape of Asmodeus’ head!
“Andre, you missed the deadline! You gave me your guarantee that by the next light I’d have my statue. Where is it?”
Oh, shit.
“My deepest apologies, Asmodeus. There were—”
“Shut that pretty beak of yours before I tie it shut. You know how this works; I need to send the finalized product through the board, then Mammon has to have his own board examine it, and then we have to mass produce the molds, and—” The Sin’s face, glowing with rage, simmered into cool hues of blue and pink as his three sets of eyes lit up. “Jesse, my man, is that you?”
Heat flooded Andrealphus’ face; oh no, no, no, no, no… Unable to turn, as doing so would completely blow the covertness of the matter, he simply stared blankly at Asmodeus. It was only when he heard the incubus’ voice from behind did his face tighten in shame.
“Hey…Boss…”
A boisterous laugh tumbled from the jack-o-lantern that was the Sin of Lust’s jagged mouth. “Hell yeah! You were just in here getting some, weren’t you?! My man, look at you, sleeping with royalty!” Further laughter poured out; each bounce of joy accompanied by a flash of vibrant, cool color. “Oh, oh, I can’t even be mad now!”
Ridicule powerful enough to put him in the ground coursed through Andrealphus’ entire body. Muscles tensed, his beak grit, and his feathers ruffled at the laughter that poured from the cloud of smoke. Perhaps he should be grateful that it seemed to cool Asmodeus’ temper, yet at what cost?
The cloud steadily and loudly inhaled, as if to belt out an announcement, but all that it resulted in was a satisfied sigh. “Mmhm, damn, I can smell the lust from here. You two got absolutely freaky in here last night, didn’t you?”
“You cannot speak a word of this.” The declaration was so quick to leap from his beak, yet it surprised even him. What was worse; he could feel Jesse’s surprised gaze burn into his shoulder from behind.
“Oh, don’t worry Andre, this can be our…collective little secret. I know you have a reputation to protect.” The Sin’s gaze shifted from Andre to Jesse, and its movement was felt in the transition; like a burning spotlight. “Puts things into perspective doesn’t it, after having condemned your brother-in-law for this exact same behavior; here you are… indulging."
The weight of those words bore down upon Andrealphus, and it took all of his mental might to keep his shoulders high. “I…”
“Oh, honey, don’t misunderstand me; I’m overjoyed that you finally got someone in your bed. No one’s perfect, so I can overlook your first ever bout of tardiness. Just don’t do it again, have the sculpture ready by the end of today, and we can sweep this entire incident under the rug.” One final time, the cloud gave a happy chuckle and shot Jesse a wink. “My man!”
As the apparition drifted into nothingness, the tap of Jesse’s footsteps tensed the back of Andre’s neck. The Marquis could already sense the questions, and within the expectation came a surge of dread that quickened his heart. It was to his eternal surprise that he felt the embrace of strong arms around his waist, and a comforting source of heat against his back that pumped to an invisible cadence.
“You, okay?”
Andrealphus looked down and back, as he wished to put an appearance to the pleasant sensation he was feeling. Gone was the fear, replaced entirely by something far stronger: companionship.
“I entirely forgot about the project…He had every right to inspect my progress.”
“Yeah, that was probably my fault…”
“Oh, hush; the blame is entirely mine. I shall not have you bearing my burdens when you need not to.”
A gentle touch of warm lips pressed to the small of Andre’s back, followed by a soft smack from the resulting smooch. Such a sensation caused the peacock’s muscles to relax and send all of the stress to his head, where he washed it away with a heavy sigh and a closing of the eyes. Despite the desire to remain locked in those powerful arms, his desk chair called to him with the inescapable urge to plop down into it and sink towards resignation. It was only the deep baritone of Jesse’s voice that kept him out of reach.
“Are you ashamed of being seen with me?”
Such a simple question, but one said with the confidence of fact. Like a nail, it plunged into Andre’s heart and pierced deep into his soul; multiple emotions all rose in tandem. Fear, paranoia, sadness, surprise, anger, self-doubt.
“No…but you know what—”
“What if I changed?” Silence, befuddled silence, covered Andre’s face as he turned it towards Jesse. “If there was some way for me to…to…be better, to get to your level, would that make it so we could…”
A steady stream of shushes peaked at his beak, and talons set to caress thick fingers. “I like you just the way you are, Jesse. There is no reason to change.”
“But…you’ve been hiding for so long; I don’t want to be another thing that you have to shove into the closet.”
Sadness pinned his beak into a solemn smile, and his voice followed suit after a sharp inhale. “If there is anyone who needs to change, it’s me…but I lack the strength to do so. What’s one more piece of myself to hide from the world?”
“You lack the…Andre.” Jesse’s hold released and he circled to the front of the Marquis, then lifted from the ground with a flap of his wings. Steadily, he hovered at eye level with Andrealphus, both hands against the sides of his beautiful, feathered face. “You deserve to show the world your whole self.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” At the turn of Andre’s face, Jesse corrected its course to look back his way. “I know you can.”
“No, I can’t!”
“Why not?”
It was odd, profoundly so, to Jesse that such a tall and powerful creature would have difficulty looking him in the eye. All of his life, the royals had looked down upon him, but for once, face to face with one on the same level, it felt as if he was simply talking to another ordinary demon. The only difference was a crack of pain behind a mask of significance.
Andre’s face scrunched, as if his own emotions befouled his tongue with a repugnant and sour note. Yet, it came from himself, and thus was of his own making. To that end, he couldn’t resent it as he would if it came from another; there was understanding there, and a responsibility that caused a bout of introspection. Glittering starlight formed at the corner of his eyes.
“Because I hate the world…”
Jesse’s grip relaxed, only to provide a gentler and accommodating chalice for the bird’s tears.
“Born with love I cannot express…with powers to take away feeling…with artistry that forces upon me purpose. Since I was born, great things were demanded of me, and all I have earned for it is scorn. Trapped in a realm of riches and wonder that are to be ripped away at the first sign of imperfection; what am I but a slave to my good fortune?” A sniffle, a quiver of the beak. “Do you think that I did not feel the lash of the public’s words, all these years? That I did not embody the very monster they saw me as? This mask, Jesse…it has been on me so long that I no longer remember my own face.” Tears began to flow freely, yet the Marquis did not blubber or sob, although his voice did crack with emotion. “And if I take it off…I’ll lose everything!”
He hated to think it, but in that moment, the tears that cascaded down that ivory beak were the most beautiful sight Jesse had ever witnessed. Each was a vibrant star, filled with life and power, but cold as the cosmos and just as tantalizing. It felt wrong to have such precious water flow over his skin and drip to the floor, yet he couldn’t let the peacock’s face go; he wouldn’t.
“Andre...”
“I can’t be this...this loving man you want me to be; that you need me to be Jesse. They will consume me.”
“Not in here. Not with me.”
“This room does not exist...without my hatred, my fear, my contempt. I would not have met you; we would not be together in this moment if I hadn’t trod the path that I did! I am nothing if I cannot be a monster.”
“You’re not a monster.”
Those blue eyes now carried a reddening corruption, the tears having taken their toll. They continued to flow, and the Marquis’ composure continued to waver beneath a quivering beak.
“If you could see even a fraction of what I have done to keep my title...you would fall to your knees in despair.”
It was then that Jesse witnessed Andre tremble for the first time, his composure punctured. Was this all a result of the loss of his magic? Did it really have such a profound effect over the Marquis’ emotions? There was no way to know apart from asking, and this was no time to quell his own curiosities.
“Hey, Andre, listen to me…” The incubus’ grip reaffirmed itself against those soft feathers. “Take a deep breath, look at me; everything is going to be fine.” Strength fumed in his gut and powered his heart. He needed to be strong enough for both of them. “All the stuff you’ve done in the past, you can’t change. All that matters to me is what you choose to do today, and tomorrow, and the day after. If your powers are what get you through everything, if you can’t survive without them, then I’ll still be here when you get them back…”
The Marquis plummeted to his knees, and Jesse sank with him. Warm, loving arms pulled the peacock’s head against his muscular chest and held him firm.
“Let me help you.”
“I’m sorry, I haven’t experienced emotions like these in…so long.” Andre wrapped his arms around the source of heat and gripped tight. His fingers dug deep against the marble-like muscle. Soft kisses assailed the top of that royal plume of soft, magnificent feathers, and their rain of love made him sink deeper into that intimate embrace. “You must think so low of me…”
Nothing but affirmation swarmed inside of Jesse’s chest. He wanted to tell Andre that it was okay to ask for help, that he would be there to provide it whenever it was needed, yet the hypocrisy wasn’t lost on him. How many offered hands had he turned down in the past? Friends he’d shunned, donations he’d turned down from family, every second he thought about asking for help with his debt, with his life just didn’t feel right.
“I don’t. It’s funny how alike we are, actually.” Anxiety rose with the breath that inflated his chest, then left with a sigh of courage. “One of the reasons I took this job was because I’m in some deep financial shit. I’ve had so many people offer me help, but I didn’t want to feel like a failure for letting them bail me out. It was my mistake, my problem to solve, so I understand it; not wanting to ask for help.”
Their shared embrace tightened, and the clarion call of a beautiful, beating heart began to soothe Andre’s pain. He could tell from the cadence that the words were genuine, that this was fact, therapy, and trust all wrapped into a singular admission.
“So, I understand if your pride won’t let you ask for it, but I’m going to stick around for whenever you need it. I—”
Moved by the incubus’ words, Andrealphus raised his head pressed his beak to Jesse’s lips. Soft, warm, calming caresses formed into a singular kiss. Tears subsided, evaporated by the heat of their intimacy, which only grew stronger as Andre framed both sides of that strong, crimson neck with both hands. It wasn’t for several moments that the peacock felt that he had properly shown his gratitude, did he speak.
“Stay with me…please.”
No further words were needed, and Jesse returned the kiss.
Bodies entwined atop royal fabrics, slow and fluid thrusts flowed from Jesse and into Andrealphus. Heated breaths, soft pants, and low moans mingled together as incubus and Goetia joined in body and spirit. Light sheens of sweat coated their bodies, all of which were irresistible to the loyal and preening press of a forked tongue. Talons curled, a feathered neck tilted, and Andrealphus gripped at the fulfilling sensation inside of him.
“Ah…Jesse…” he moaned, every breath a cloud of condensation that sparkled with the light of crystal ice. Needy, worshipful hands braced themselves against the lesser demon’s ass cheeks and squeezed; each thrust given increased power with the guidance of wrists. Loving fulfillment enveloped his body with each gyration of that glorious, muscular, perfect body; so much that Andrealphus quickly found himself drowned beneath its waves. Enamored, lost, entrapped, he melted beneath the skilled administrations of his Lust-aligned lover. Addiction bubbled in his heart, all to fuel the adoration that poured from his beak in vulnerable moans of pleasure.
“Fuck…yes…more…please…”
A low moan, like that out mountains, rumbled from that thick throat. Jesse grasped slender, feathery hips and brought a fang to bear upon his lower lip. Concentration rife upon his pierced brow, handsome eyes closed as he fought to stem the tide of his natural urges. Rigid muscle hovered above that valley of ruffled snow, all to bring dragon’s breath to bear against the Marquis’ throat. Gleaming fangs reared, only to tease and drag harmlessly along the source of such a joyous song. It was absolute music to the incubus’ ears, and his tail curled possessively and protectively around a lengthy, feathered leg.
Likewise, to Andrealphus, his own body hummed with bliss. Just as he gave pleasure, he received it back in equal measure; that frigid body possessed the hottest of insides, and a grip that could wring out his soul. His eyes rose to meet Andre’s, who he found to be in a half-lidded state, fully expectant and braced for another delivery of mind-melting pleasure. Such an expression, enraptured and beautiful, tore through a healthy chunk of his resistances, and Jesse’s hips pumped extra deep to mash firmly against the Marquis’ lap.
Heavenly softness brushed against his chiseled, bare body with every movement, which planted a seed of tickling exposure within his mind. Upon tripping it, an irresistible shock, enough to send shivers down anyone’s spine, triggered at his tip.
Unending passion, fueled by the inferno of lust and love, kept infernal hips pumping. Whether their pseudo-consummation could risk an heir was irrelevant to both of them; all that mattered in the moment was each other. Andrealphus’ head leaned up to seek Jesse’s tongue, and the incubus happily met it in the middle; forked tongue wrapped against one of avian nature. Perfection, nestled in the palm of Andre’s hand, kept their union lasting for several seconds before he had to break it.
“More, devour me…!”
At the plea, a bestial growl chirped against his neck, and a gasp leapt free as he felt those sharp fangs gently pinch his skin. A single, powerful thrust broke the chain, and a low warning rumble beat to the production of his lungs. Straight to his core, Andre felt Jesse thrust, hold, then rear his hips back to thrust again. Slow, steady, paced pumps that somehow set their own beat of urgency bore deep within the peacock to melt him from the inside out.
Newfound and elevated, the pleasure brought arched his back as powerful wings stretched and flapped. To feel so loved, so adored, so safe , was too much for Andrealphus to handle. How could anyone subject such emotion to cold indifference? It would be criminal.
Jesse’s hands slid from slender hips and cupped both sides of Andre’s face, then brought them together once more for another kiss. Heaven; absolute, unshakable paradise.
“Andre…I’m…” Jesse moaned against that beak, his breath a rush of melted vapor.
“Do it…inside…”
Just as hesitation began to fill the muscular demon’s moans, the tip of that sharp beak clipped the edge of his neck and gently pinched the skin. A soft tug was all it took.
Jesse’s heat poured out inside of Andrealphus, propelled by virility and lust in equal measure. Teeth grit, his brow twitched as a blissful snarl enveloped the incubus’ handsome face; a look that made the Marquis’ heart soar and his soul yield. Molten love pumped deep inside until it filled his very core; its heat rapidly spread throughout his entire body and planted a cinderblock of satisfaction inside his mind. Even though he hadn’t climaxed himself, Andrealphus embraced that broad back with reverence. It took several throbs before Jesse finished, each one pressing against those tight inner walls and causing talons to twitch and shudder.
Tender fingertips traced down his chest plumage; electric gusts of cool and gentle air that provided a burst of energy to his sweaty body. “More?” Jesse panted, droplets of sweat falling from his face. Strands of pure white hair dangled down from his head, until a single hand slicked them back. In that light, framed in the sheen of sex, that crimson skin glowed like the incandescence of the sun. Every muscle contoured by shadow; each bead of sweat was a glittering star; it was like bedding a deity.
“More…” Andrealphus shifted his beak from one side of the neck to the other, but instead of a nip, he gave a gentle lick. “…but if you need to shower…”
“Do you want me to shower?” At the question, desire surged through Andre’s body, and his hands planted themselves against Jesse’s shoulders.
“No.”
With his superior height, it was easy for him to push Jesse onto his back. Like a crystal tower supported by a hefty, monstrous support beam, Andrealphus sat atop that shaven lap. A cascade of concealing turquoise feathers covered the demon’s balls, but he could still feel them press to his ass. The tip of Jesse’s dick bumped at his core, and with each tilt and gyration of feathery hips, enticing and addictive sparks of bliss zapped his brain. Two hands slid up through wet head plumage and slicked it back, as a lustful tongue slid out to wet a thirsty beak.
Jesse gripped the sheets beside his head as the weight of the bird pressed his hips to the mattress. Cool sheets brushed against his hips, which only added to the plethora of sensations that ran through him.
“Hah…aaaah…” the incubus huffed; tail curled into a tight corkscrew. His eyes fluttered as the tables turned, his sensitivity utilized against him. Jesse closed his eyes and turned his head to press his face against the sheets, in an effort to try and wrest control from the urges that burned throughout his groin. Those same eyes shot open at a sudden shot of pleasure, which in turn shot a demo of his seed inside of Andre, “…ohhh, fuck…”
Added heat and lubrication from his recently shot load bubbled around his cock, every thrust a gentle squelch that triggered a primal perversion deep within him. Andrealphus dipped low and planted a long, sensual, and heated kiss against Jesse’s lips; the touch of that devilish tongue more than enough to start pushing him towards the precipice of orgasm. Deep, needy grinds replaced eager bounces, and the royal found his tongue work to be sloppy in the throes of passion. The rising tide grew ever stronger, and Andre moaned against Jesse’s fangs as that thick incubus cock stirred up his insides.
“I’m close...I can feel it...” Andre huffed, his low voice but a weak moan. Fingers slid through the back of white locks, and a shuddering gasp slipped free as he felt thick arms wrap around his waist. Unyielding hips smashed against his ass, and Andrealphus squawked in surprise! Jesse’s slammed upwards relentlessly; each hump rocketed the peacock’s pleasure to its tipping point. Laid out over the smaller demon’s body, the royal grit his beak and moaned throughout the onslaught until his thighs clamped against muscular obliques to signal the start of his orgasm.
Explosive light enveloped his brain, and a shockwave of pleasure so powerful that it rendered him speechless ripped through Andrealphus. Trembling, he milked his lover’s fat cock with overwhelming spasms of bliss, face mashed into the bedsheets above Jesse’s head. When he was finally able to speak again, a strangled gasp burst from his beak, and the ensuing sound resulted in a few strong, kneading thrusts to prolong his climax. “Fuu--” Another firm, shallow thrust from Jesse made his feathers fluff up, and the final throes petered out to leave a tired haze in their place.
“I think…I can’t feel my legs…” Jesse groaned; his hands loosely draped against Andre’s hips. “…and we gotta finish the statue for Ozzie…” When he didn’t receive a response, he tilted his head upwards, only to find the Marquis in mid-plummet! A second later, his head hit the pillow. That feathery sorcerer had fallen asleep in the afterglow; out cold. Jesse didn’t want to wake him up, but he kind of needed to, but there was also one big problem…Andre was a big-ass bird! “Shit.”
It wasn’t all bad though, because just as he pondered over how to get out from underneath, the sight of the sleeping peacock’s face caught his eye. He looked peaceful, blissful even; almost like it was the first bit of real sleep Andrealphus had experienced. Warmth tugged at Jesse’s heart, and his hand reached out to rest against that handsome beak. Curious fingers brushed against the plume upon his head and found it soft as air. To contrast it, a sharp porcelain beak sat beneath, which the incubus took his time to frame and trace with his fingers.
There was still plenty of time to finish the sculpture; what harm was there in a bit of afterglow snuggling?
Crimson sat in his office chair and gnawed the end of a cigar. Fuckin’ birds, fuckin’ royal ass, magical birds with direct ties to Lucifer himself! An open folio sat splayed out atop his desk; pictures, documents, old photocopies all about Vassago. He paid half a fortune on that angelic bullet, only for a third party to butt in and ruin everything! One bird; oh, he could cook that, but two? No, out of the question.
The plan had been perfect; infect a former overlord with a pissed off angel soul and watch him rip the Marquis to shreds. He had been so close, so fucking close, and now there were gonna be questions, investigations…all from the top. They had kept it confined to the Pride Ring, but with Lucifer’s daughter involved, the big man himself was likely to take interest too. Shit was getting hot, too hot; there had to be another way, an alternative.
He couldn’t let down the family; couldn’t fuck up, couldn’t be weak. This had to end with them on top.
It was then that his phone rang.
At first, he let it. Stewed deep in his own bitterness and resentment over being outplayed, Crimson eyed the rattling phone with agitation. By the fourth set of rings, when it became clear whoever was calling wasn’t gonna give up, he snatched it from the receiver and held it to his ear. “What?”
“Heya ‘Boss’, I hear you’ve been having a bit of a buzzard problem.” Mockery filled the nomenclature with a deep, southern tone. A faint rattling tail could be heard in the background.
“You got some balls calling me, after how things went back at the warehouse with those two circus clowns.”
“Only because I got something that’ll mend our working relationship nice and quick; if you’re interested in hearing me out, of course.”
“Spit it out.” He wasn’t in the mood for games.
“I’ve got some information how you can knock down that icy pheasant once and for all; plus, I got a plan on just how to do it.”
“And why should I believe you? You already wasted my time, and my money, once before.”
“Because I’m willing to do it for free, just to watch that arrogant blueblood squirm.”
Crimson paused, inhaled, then blew smoke from his nose. The chair turned and creaked, phone still to his ear; now that, that was interesting. “No one works for free.”
“Only when it’s an apology. I scratch your back; you keep your sights off mine; deal?”
“…fine, but not over the phone.”
“No problem.”
The line cut, and the same voice spoke again, but this time it was directly behind him.
“I like my meetings face to face anyway.”
Chapter 15: Dance Amongst the Sky
Summary:
The first ice sculpture is finally completed, and Andrealphus has never felt better. With business in the rear view mirror, and Vassago's flame hard at work in rejuvenating his magic, he finds himself rushed to spend as much time with Jesse as he can.
Chapter Text
Astral snowflakes drifted down from above, as Andrealphus peered beyond a block of ice to view Jesse atop his pedestal. Levity filled every tap of his hammer to capture the geometrical perfection that was Jesse's nude form. Save the magical and climate-conductive ring on his finger, not a single shred of clothing existed to obscure that natural body. Rigid muscle, flawless skin, a majestic and hefty symbol of virility between sculpted legs; Asmodeus’ clientele would foam at the mouth over such a figure. A newfound hum, fueled by a measure of earned confidence, accompanied his chisel work.
The sound perked Jesse’s attention from atop the pedestal, and while his head remained still, his eyes shifted towards the marquis. He said nothing, for the silent presence of his gaze was enough to catch Andre’s own, and a smile slipped onto the peacock’s beak. A beacon of warmth against that cold visage; far from the foreboding hailstorm it used to be with just a little bit of light. To Jesse, the sight and sound of Andre’s contentment bid a small ruffle of his wings and a skip of his heart. The urge to speak grew, but for the sanctity of the art, he remained silent.
Andrealphus stopped, his head tilted in an inquisitive manner at Jesse’s icy counterpart, and gently touched at the chiseled jawline. Inch for inch, it was perfect. “You can step down now.” Before him stood a majestic recreation of Jesse; strong body, slender waist, and regal tail. The natural diamond pattern on his skin had taken the most effort, as he needed to express depth without tarnishing those broad and firm muscles. Jesse’s footsteps echoed through The Freezer, and as he approached, Andre’s gaze left the mimic to rest upon the original with expectancy.
Jesse, now clad in a dark blue, fuzzy robe, moved his head from low to high to scan the entire statue. “Huh…” he muttered, thick arms crossed over his pecs. “…is it weird that I want to touch myself?”
“So long as you are speaking of the statue.” A little laugh, a smile; how odd that they could both harbor such warmth. Such minor happiness was an addiction soon to blossom, yet he felt zero hesitation to allow it into his life.
“Dear Satan…” he muttered again, knees bent into a crouch. His tail bounced up, in an attempt to hover safely above the floor, and a hand grasped his chin. “…is that what my dick looks like?”
“Without embellishment: yes.”
An impressed whistle called through tightened lips, “First time seeing it from this view. You even got the…” Hesitation caught his tongue, and Jesse raised both eyebrows as he poised his hands in a chopping motion, then brought them gently against the air before the sculpture. Clearly, the topic was of the V-shaped muscular structure that accented the groin to draw attention to the genitalia. Further details drew his eye, which resulted in a series of curious bends, bobs, and crouches to examine each corner of his likeness. Such excited energy deepened Andre’s smile.
“You have performed magnificently. With this particular model now complete, I can pass on the results to Asmodeus and await his response.” Dexterous talons bent and curled into elaborate crooks, to summon a series of magical glyphs that flanked the statue from above and below. Jesse took a hurried step back as the symbols circled about, unsure as to what their purpose was. After several seconds, the glyphs converged at the center of that icy chest and faded; yet, not completely. Seeming to sense the confusion, Andrealphus looked Jesse’s way. “They are special coordinates that will allow Asmodeus to perceive our work as if it sat in his very office. Only those in tune with my arcane signature are able to decipher them.”
“So, it’s a hologram?”
“A rather crude comparison, but an apt one. Edmund shall take care of delivering the necessary information to Asmodeus, so you do not need to ponder over the specifics.”
“Ed…right, that makes sense.” Tautness curled in his throat and was promptly swallowed; the events of last night and the early morning had been such a rush of intimacy. He had suppressed the threat, the intense look in the butler’s angry blue eyes, but at his mention it returned. Should he say something to Andrealphus? Ed practically threatened to kill him, after all. “Hey, Andre, there’s something about Ed that—”
A hand rose, soft but abrupt. “You can tell me all about it later.” The smile began to fade from Andre’s beak, and with it, heavy caution descended upon Jesse’s heart. “I already feel Prince Vassago’s flame slowly nurturing the depleted magic inside of me. Given its potency, my power should return in only a matter of days, and with it, this lightness I feel upon my soul will vanish. Before long, I shall return to my old self.”
Seemingly at the end of his words, the marquis stepped forward and cupped Jesse’s cheek, a gentle thumb against his pointed white marking.
“Then, I shall lose the greatest pleasure of my existence: this.”
“We can make it work. I’ll get used to it.”
“Jesse, you should not have to fear my touch or suffer its effects simply to be with me. That isn’t…” Andre’s eyes closed, and his grip tightened slightly, if only to trace a smooth path below the incubus’ eyelashes. “My conscience could never settle under such an arrangement.”
Soft lips tilted to kiss at those talons, their owner’s eyes low for a moment, only to soon raise with newfound resolve. Jesse leaned up and planted a kiss upon the marquis’ beak. It wasn’t of passion, as kisses often were, but of understanding, of acknowledgement; Andrealphus clearly wanted to spend the time they had to the fullest before it was up. Grim as it sounded, the entire situation seemed like a one time deal. Could his magic even be drained that much again? It’s absence seemed to almost kill him before; so would draining it again put Andre’s life at risk? The thought made Jesse’s gut tighten.
“I want to try.”
“You do?” Quiet disbelief contained itself in a hushed tone; winter’s breeze warmed in the presence of Jesse’s heat.
“Yes.” He gently took Andre’s hand. “Sure things might be a little complicated, but what isn’t in this crazy fucking place? I’m willing to give it a go, that is, if you want to do the same.”
“I’d love nothing more.” Their fingers slid between each other, embraced at the palm, and Andrealphus whisked Jessed upwards into a graceful, single turned spin. “Come; we must celebrate! There’s a rather high balcony upstairs in my quarters that looks over the tundra; perhaps you and I could fly together?”
A smile slid onto Jesse’s face, “You serious? Hell, sounds like a gas; let’s do it!”
Andrealphus added a laugh to Jesse’s smile, and together they exited the halls of The Freezer. Daylight shone through the crystalline windows, cast in the dark royal blues of his family banners. Suits of armor, once imposing and grim guardians, appeared as glimmering and devout knights poised to simply frame the path of two lovers. At the end of the hobby, blurred and diminutive in the distant Grand Foyer, stood Edmund. As they both passed through the arch that framed the entrance of the hall, the imp butler gave a bow towards Andrealphus.
“I take it that business has concluded, Master Andrealphus?”
“Not so much concluded as…currently completed. Asmodeus and his council might have alterations they wish to have made. However, for now, Jesse and I are off to celebrate.”
“I see.” Edmund glanced directly at Jesse, who returned the look with a steady stare. Either to avoid suspicion from his master, or simply cowed by the incubus’ gaze, that blue marble of an eye rolled back towards Andrealphus. “Might I inquire as to the nature of said celebration; only so that I may inform you of any developments in the revisionary discussion, my lord?”
“We are going for a flight. As to where, I do not know; I am simply winging it.” As if proud of his word play, a glowing cerulean eye narrowed in Jesse’s direction, beneath the bend of a smile.
“Sire, forgive the insinuation, but do you believe that wise? You were attacked a mere day ago. I think it would be best if you and Master Jesse ‘laid low’, as they say.”
“Don’t think it matters whether we stay inside or go outside, Ed.”
“Jesse is quite right, Edmund. No one would ever be so foolish as to attack a Goetia again in such a short span of time. I know that the denizens of Hell can be rather thick, but I must award them some credit.”
While Jesse couldn’t see the imp’s fingers, he swore he heard them clench against his gloved palms. That face was unreadable; stone-ridden to obscure what might be interpreted as frustration. “If they were to know of your current state, they would be emboldened to disappoint.”
“Hiding away would only lend credence to that theory. If I stay indoors, refuse to show my face, they may assume me…hobbled; but, if they see me out in public, with a strapping incubus bodyguard no less…” Andrealphus ran his finger against one of Jesse’s horns, affection in his eyes. “Never doubt the power of illusion, Edmund. It has halted many a conflict.”
“He is a bouncer, sire, not a bodyguard. His fighting prowess is likely to be far below minimal.”
“Hey.” Jesse blinked; did Ed just insult him?
“That is a fair point, Edmund…” Andrealphus hummed and touched his chin, but with it came a purposeful pause. His eyes moved down, then shot over to Jesse, and a grin slipped to the corner of his beak. “…so, perhaps, once we return I shall teach him the blade. He shall need to know how to hold a sword, polish it, care for it…sheath it properly.”
Like the sun had just come out, Jesse’s face burned from within beneath an intangible spotlight of cosmic radiance. In terms of innuendo, it was pretty light, but to hear it come from Andre…
“…an astute point, my lord; for as the news reports indicated, Prince Vassago was the one who repelled and disabled the beast. If Master Jesse only had a blade, maybe he would have been of more use when you needed him.”
Mirth dropped from Andrealphus’ face in a smooth, ominous motion that showed he was still capable of casting a chill over the room, even without his powers. Those once flirtatious and cheery tones dipped into a mercury bath of barbed frost. “What did you say?”
While Jesse shivered in the mere presence of Andre’s gaze, Edmund appeared entirely unmoved; his posture, tone, and facial expression unchanged. “The attack made Hell wide news. Footage was recovered from the restaurant cameras of you combating the beast, the destruction of the encounter, as well as the wound that you suffered before Prince Vassago came to your aid. Fortunately, the attention seems to be focused on him, as Princess Morningstar herself has enlisted his aid with investigating the cause of the attack.”
As Edmund talked, color rose in Andre’s face. Little finger twitches trembled up to his hand, which arched down towards his thigh and curled into a fist.
“It pains me to say it, but the expenditure of your magic reserves has only increased, as of late. You were drawn into an open locale, where your attackers took full advantage, yet the question of how they knew is what perplexes me the most. I believe the two are connected.”
Jesse’s mouth opened to speak, but the sudden bend of Andre’s tall body jutted into his vision and stopped him. Face to face with his butler, the marquis’ tone dipped to a near-silent volume. “You shall not speak another word. If you wish to lie, lie to yourself quietly, and do not besmirch his name in my presence.” For the first time since the conversation had began, a flicker was detected in Edmund’s dark blue eyes. “I know you fear for my well-being Edmund, as you always have, as a faithful servant of this royal house, and it is through your esteemed service that I bequeath to you this warning. This…mental fabrication you have woven shall be undone, and everything pertaining to it shall be wiped from your memory, or I will expunge you from these halls.”
That flicker shifted from a gleam to hardened rock, as if galvanized by his master’s statement. “Master Andrealphus, my honor nor soul could abide the consequences if my theory is true. I must safeguard you; tis my duty as a steward of this house. Ever since your father’s rule, it has been so, and I cannot forsake it simply because your heart has been bewitched by—”
An ear-splitting slap echoed through the Grand Foyer.
Jesse jumped back at the fierce and shocking boom, eyes wide as they locked in on the scene. Andrealphus stood tall, his arm outstretched and palm presented; the impact of the strike fresh upon his backhand.
Edmund, his stoic mask shattered upon being struck, clutched his cheek with a single hand. “Sire…” the word wisped from his lips in shock.
“Deliver my work to Asmodeus before I return.” With a sharp flick of his wrist, as if to shrive clean the dishonor upon it, the peacock’s aura brought nostalgic pangs of his old self. “We are done here. Come, Jesse.”
Astonishment, guilt, empathy, and more rushed through him at the sight. Ed didn’t deserve that, but he couldn’t find the means to do much; the blow had already been struck. As Andre began to walk away, Jesse’s face alternated between the peacock and the imp, the distance between master and servant evermore distant by the second. A look of regret rippled over his face in Edmund’s direction, then dipped away as he jogged after the marquis. Already, the leering glare of judgement added kerosene to the fires of his guilt, as they ascended the stairs.
For several moments, they traveled in silence, and once he was sure that they were out of the butler’s sight, Jesse reached up and slid his hand into Andre’s. “Hey, are you okay?”
A sharp huff expanded the peacock’s beak, then slipped out with heavy force. “He was out of line. Edmund has never spoken to me in such a manner before; the audacity, the disrespect…” Brows tightened and eyes narrowed, but that large hand found solace in its smaller partner. Down the palm and along the wrist, a single finger trailed to catch Jesse’s pulse, while his remaining fingers curled upwards to clasp into a welcoming embrace of the same shape. Like a misshapen key and hole, their touch mingled.
“Did you have to hit him? He’s still got that crack in his horn, and—”
“Edmund will be fine.” Even as he spoke the words, his body couldn’t mask the tremble and twitch of his hand; a part that his mind couldn’t will into submission. Like a horse shaking off biting flies, a sensation stung at his tendons and muscles; sore from the swift strike.
“Do you…” Jesse almost couldn’t finish the question, but he needed to know. “…hit Ed often?”
Silence fell over the duo for a moment, the only sound the echo of their footsteps as they ascended the tower to Andre’s private quarters. When an answer finally did come, it did so under a languid veil of anticipation that concealed all intent from view.
“No, that was…that was the first time.”
If an accusation was worthy of such a response, what would happen if Andre knew of his encounter with Ed in the shower? Multiple possibilities ran through Jesse’s mind, all of them bad, and so he resolved to keep his mouth shut. Even if he’d been threatened, it clearly came from a place of love for Andrealphus. Would he have done the same, if the roles had been reversed? He could only wonder what Ed felt like right now, and a gloom began to eek into his mind.
By the time they reached the door, Andre’s face had softened somewhat. “…I just couldn’t bear to hear him speak of you like that; right in front of you, no less.” It was all that Jesse could do to keep pace, as he followed Andre’s brisk stride towards a closed curtained window. “But let us put such things from our minds; for now, we fly.”
Cold air whipped into the room, yet the sun shined in the distance. The winding blizzard that had encompassed the manor had ceased completely, and in its place, revealed a winter wonderland of clear skies, a beautiful horizon, and snow that glittered like gemstones in Hell’s light. Profound awe filled the incubus’ broad chest, and he stepped forward to gaze upon the outside world.
“It’s…wow.”
Miles and miles of snow stretched as far as his eye could see, yet in its mountainous grip peeked scant traces of buried stone structures and trees. Seemingly perched at the edge of civilization, Andrealphus’ land was untouched, and in the vacant beauty that begged to be unearthed, there was a semblance of wonderment and peace. At its heart, beneath the storm that had once constantly raged, light was allowed to shine. Jesse unconsciously rubbed the climate-adjusting ring on his finger, just in time for his vision to soon be filled with Andrealphus once more. An outstretched hand offered itself, as the marquis leaned back against the snowy railing of the balcony.
Jesse took it, without hesitation.
The railing parted like a gate, and both Goetia and incubus plummeted down the side of the tower.
Caught in freefall, wind billowed up Andre’s finery and ruffled his feathers, while the same current blasted Jesse’s hair back and caught his tail. Still clad in the modeling robe, the cord wrapped around his waist could only do so much, but with no one in sight for what seemed like miles…neither of them cared. Bright blue light enwreathed Andre’s tailfeathers, and right as they achieved the right amount of momentum, he spun, his tail opened, and he soared into the sky. Sunlight caught the diamond patterns of his wings, and they glimmered with their namesake; like a jewel of the heavens.
The sight took Jesse’s breath away, and it wasn’t until an instinct for preservation and closeness snapped him back to reality. His wings unfolded, and he caught the wind to ride it upwards into the air. Luckily, the momentum was enough to place him right beside Andrealphus, where they spread wide to drift amongst the skies. Wind on his skin, fresh air in his lungs, the warm glow of the sun upon his leathery wings; all sensations he had sorely missed. High above the ground, a sense of invincibility brushed along his soul; for what below could trouble him now?
Occasionally, they would dive for a short amount of time to catch a new updraft and gain elevation, but its effects wouldn’t last. For what felt like only minutes, they soared in each other’s company, only for the reality of their traveled distance to sink in as Jesse turned to look back at the manor. Practically absent from the horizon altogether, nothing but a tiny cube of blue eeked out a living between hills of white.
“Come, there is a place I’d like to show you.” Andre said, as he flew closed to Jesse; close enough to hear above the sound of wind.
“Where? I don’t see much out here!”
The peacock pointed ahead and motioned with his head. “Look.”
Jesse turned…and was face to face with an oncoming cliffside!
Panic surged into his mind, his heart jumped, and his lungs seized. “HOLY FU--!”
Before he could finish, he felt Andre’s arm wrap over his back and grip him at the waist. All that Jesse saw next was a smear of reality as wind bombarded the back of his neck to try and crack his neck. His wings mashed down, and for a moment, the air didn’t feel like air anymore, but a waterfall that threatened to drown and crush him. Andre’s feathers glowed brighter, and just as Jesse was about to scream, the sensation stopped.
Everything was calm. His feet touched ground. He looked up and saw a frozen lake nestled in the shadow of the snowy mountain. A deep and expansive cave created a jutted overhang that shielded the natural body of water and provided makeshift shelter for all else. It wasn’t until he felt gentle hands smooth out his messy hair, did Jesse exhale.
“Did we just fly straight up?”
“We did.”
“How did--?”
“Magic, darling.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh.”
A kiss so immediate and unprompted caught Jesse off guard. That sharp, yet careful beak meshed into the embrace of his lips, and those hands atop his head ran along his horns as the taste of Andre’s tongue said hello. Low rumbling accompanied the flick and curl of his tail, until a pleased huff and moan were rewarded. Then, just like that, Andre pulled back and gestured towards the lake.
“Have you ever skated upon ice before?”
“No…is it hard?”
“At first.” Once again, their hands joined; this time initiated by the Marquis, who began to pace backwards as he spoke. “Yet, once your body becomes accustomed to it, there is a fluid freedom that overtakes the mind. Soon, you won’t even know you’ve accomplished something astounding.”
The back of Andrealphus’ feet touched the ice, and he slid backwards immediately. Jesse stumbled forward with a gasp, yet was lifted by the strength of royal arms and pulled into the comfort of a warm, feathery chest. A joyous giggle left that beak, and the expression made the incubus blush, yet his heart soared and tapped to the tune of that affection nonetheless. Lines began to form wherever the marquis skated, and ended as he skid to a halt with a shaving of ice.
“You gotta warn me before you do shit like that!”
“Do not worry, I’ve got you.” Wrapped in an affectionate embrace, their bodies weren’t allowed to separate; and with the size difference, Jesse’s feet dangled in the air.
Gentle trepidation infected his voice, as he turned his head to bury his face in peacock chest plumage. “You sure?”
“Absolutely: now.”
Something solid enveloped Jesse’s dangling feet, and a newfound weight tugged downwards on his legs. While he didn’t want to forfeit the comfort of Andre’s chest, curiosity incessantly pulled at his mind until he abided. Ice skates made out of literal ice encompassed his feet, firm and snug to create a perfect fit. At the forward lean of the Goetia’s back, Jesse’s tail whipped about nervously.
“Just engage your core; feel your grip on the ice, find your balance.”
As his skates touched the ground, broad muscles tensed and a nervous groan droned from Jesse’s throat. Momentary confidence took hold, as he didn’t immediately slip. “Oh…oh shit…I think I got it. I—”
His right foot shot backwards, which threw his body forward while his other leg stayed locked in place. Andrealphus laughed and caught the incubus before he could fall, then raised him back up. “Come, let me guide you. Just hold my hands.”
At first, each second was a stumble, a tremble of abdomen and leg muscle to steady his balance. In the following minutes, guided by the comforting and safe grip of Andrealphus’ hands, he began to steady. Back straight, arms out; his legs began to follow the peacock’s experienced motions as he watched them move.
“Let me know when you’re comfortable letting go.”
Jesse tightened his grip, and Andre smiled.
Lap after lap around the ice, with nothing but a shared gaze and the sound of their fee, a calm settled between them. Sequestered far from all that could harm them, all that could beg for their aid, bend their ear, or bother their peace; it was perfect. Andrealphus shifted his position to Jesse’s side, yet still held the incubus’ hand with one of his own. Immediately, some of that wobbling returned, but quickly straightened out.
“I think…I got it..!” Confidence surged through him, and the incubus bent his knees to try and perform a little hop. Andre’s trained eye tracked the smaller demon as he descended, and just as the blade of his skates touched ground, the marquis’ gaze sharpened. The landing was off; so without stall, he positioned his foot and skated in a curve in front of Jesse. True to his expertise, the bouncer’s foot tilted too far out of the landing and he began to fall forward.
Were it not for a tall and feathery bird, he would’ve landed on hard ice instead of a body.
Andre let out a low grunt as the weight landed atop him, and his rear hit the ice. Then, they slid across the lake for several seconds and came to a complete stop. Jesse popped up, eyes frantic over what had happened.
“Shit, are you oka--?”
The question was silenced with a kiss; one that was guided with a gentle hand behind the head. All of his panic and fear evaporated, and Jesse leaned into it, his hand rested atop a plumage of chest feathers. He felt steady and adventurous hands trail down his hips and thighs with zero sense of urgency. Eventually, they settled near his tail, which twisted between those skilled and artistic fingers.
Over the course of his life, Jesse had kissed his fair share of demons. Tongues of all different textures, grades, skill levels had been against his own; albeit over a long stretch of experience. Never, until he met Andre, had he ever experienced a kiss like his. It was open, but not yawning. The beak curved perfectly around the side of his jaw as if to shield if from outside attention; as if to say ‘eyes off, this is mine’. The open space allowed for him to pull in close, and conjured the urge to rest his hands against Andre’s cheeks for a more intimate moment. Something unlike all other demons, though, was the puff of cool and refreshing air that seemed to reside in Andre’s lungs. It wasn’t any particular flavor, save the scent of cold air on a sunny day, mixed with a perfect summer’s breeze. If Jesse had it his way, he’d replace all his air with Andre’s. Just as he found himself lost in that kiss, did a sensitive tingle in the base of his tail activate.
Andre, after having wrapped it around his fingers, had given that appendage a gentle pull; and at Jesse’s reaction, he chuckled. “I only thought it was imps who had sensitive tails.”
“You pull a lot of imp tail?” The dual meaning of the phrase brought a toothy smile to his face, just enough to let his oral hygiene gleam in the sun’s rays.
“No, but I’ve heard ample rumors about it.”
“Well…I wouldn’t mind you giving mine a tug whenever you’d like.”
“Careful, you might not be able to stop me now.” Andre chuckled. His fingers disengaged and allowed his palms to admire those sculpted hips; both thumbs touched at the waist. “I hope you enjoyed the flight.”
“Hell yeah, I did; but I just…more enjoyed being with you.” Jesse’s head turned towards the horizon for a moment, his body atop Andre’s, and his lower back pushed down like a stretching feline. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Would you be willing to meet someone with me? She’s a friend, an old friend, and I…” Jesse paused, the nerves too intense in his chest. A knot began to form in his throat, but he swallowed it down and resumed. “…figured that if we are a thing, an official thing, you should meet her.”
“Feedback from Asmodeus and Mammon always did take an obscene amount of time, so I don’t see why not. Tell me more about this friend of yours.”
“Well…” Jesse slid deeper into Andre’s lap, which earned him a preening nibble against the side of his neck; a feeling that made his arms shiver and his heart quicken. “…she owns a nightclub in Gluttony, is a great singer, and serves the best drinks in town. I figured, as a two for o~one…” That beak pricked against his red skin and gave a teasing, gentle tug. Fuck, that felt good; good enough to add a tremor to his voice. “…that we could spend another night out together and meet her at the same time.”
“I believe the expression is, ‘killing two birds with one stone’. A rather offensive phrase, if spoken in certain circles.” Despite the rich and natural scent that Jesse’s perfect skin eagerly provided, his mind wouldn’t help but roil in minor dread. He knew exactly who this friend was; the vampire, there could be no other. A spindle of lies threatened to be unwoven; for Jesse was unaware of Edmund’s visit with her, nor was he aware of the conjured butterfly he had used to pry upon their meeting and more. Thus, he kept his face close to that neck so that it may shield the momentary worry that appeared upon it.
“Right, right: sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize. I am not offended, we should go out on another date, and this is a perfect opportunity. Let us return to the manor and slip into something more…public appropriate. I’ll need to dress for the humidity, of course…and speak with Edmund before we depart.”
A kiss planted itself atop his head, and the cool, gentle touch it left made Andre unveil his face from that red neck. “Are you going to apologize? I like Ed, he’s a cool dude who’s a huge fixture in your life; a motherfucking pillar, even.” Jesse sighed and splayed his hands through Andre’s chest feathers. “This doesn’t mean anything if you have to throw away what’s important to you. I don’t…want to subtract the positive shit from your life; the stuff you’ve already got. Even if he’s got a problem with me, all the sudden…we can work it out.”
Andrealphus grew silent, and his spine slowly lowered back to lay atop the ice fully to gaze upon the sky. “I’m not sure if I can ever repair what I’ve broken. He has never laid a hand upon me, never chastised me unjustly, or mocked my interests. All he’s ever done was support me, protect me…” Hands clenched at his sides, completely separated from Jesse’s body, and his face tightened with emotion. “…You are right, I should apologize to him, and pray that he forgives me.”
Jesse gently took Andre’s hand and cupped it between his own, then gave those fingers a tender kiss meant for royalty. “I know he will.” he said, tone soft and lowered.
In the depths of the manor, beyond a door that had long been sealed by familial tragedy, Edmund stared into the crackling fire that glowed within a stone hearth. Above the mantle sat a towering photograph, one that often brought him comfort in moments of severe distress. Arms clasped behind his back, he gazed upon the fine oil painting with a stare that encompassed every fiber, every intricate line of lifelike likeness and engraved it into his brain.
His cheek throbbed with the harsh reprimand of his master’s hand, even though such pain should have dulled long ago. The underside of his eye twitched at the discomfort; harsh and stinging, it pulsed with an unholy rhythm of betrayal and broken trust. Never before, in all his years of service, had this dishonor been delivered upon him. To think, the teary-eyed little hatchling that had once clung to his coat tails in times of woe, had slipped low enough to strike his father figure.
Heartbreak, rage, dismay; all swirled at his heart like a maelstrom. Had he not done enough? Was this what years of toil, of guidance, of wet work rewarded? It could not be so; Master Andrealphus could never be so uncouth. Yet, the backhand stung all the same, despite his faith.
Nothing but sorcery could have changed his master’s mannerisms so rapidly; he was all but convinced of it now. He could recall the anger in Andrealphus’ voice at the encounter with Madam Ambrosia, with the unsavory thug he had saved Jesse from, but also the clear care in the patching of his horn via the royal physician. Despite all of those moments, the years of counsel and training included, it had all been blemished overnight…by a single night of debauchery.
“Have I erred?” he asked the painting above. “Did I make a poor choice in encouraging the master’s desires?” Silence followed, and the lifeless eye of the painting stared ahead towards the far wall. “If only I held my tongue…if only I had been more patient.” One hand creaked into a fist, while the other tightened about his wrist like a jaw trap. “I cannot let all of this be undone by some…some…” His rage rose, but a tempered mind bid it silent, and yet a tightened jaw and clenched muscles were what it took to subdue the volatile emotion.
The fire continued to crackle beneath the painting.
“…but what if in this, I am also wrong? What if it’s simply that Andrealphus has…outgrown me?” At that thought, the anger returned, spurred by a fear that whisked through his emotional defenses with ghostly ease. Edmund grabbed a nearby fire poker and jabbed into the flames; eyes lit by the sparks that dazzled the surrounding darkness. In the light, a gentle throb began in his temples. “No, if he has no use of me, then…” A brutal and swift thrust stabbed one of the logs and held fast within the sturdy wood, only to creak as the imp twisted the metal poker with all the strength in his forearm.
Logic rose to quell his fears; who would formulate his favorite meals and tidy his library to perfection? Who would feed the hellcats, assist in his sculpture business, and keep the family secrets? No one could do it, other than he; perhaps aside from Andrealphus himself. Yet, that answer was nullified by the mere fact that Edmund’s employment existed; if the marquis could have done everything, he wouldn’t need him in the first place. With that train of thought at the end of its tracks, the imp released a slow, heavy sigh that eased his eyes to close.
Could he even leave? The question forced the imp to lean against the hearth with a weary aura, the canopy of his hand over his brow. Memories, unbound in the confines of his mind, summoned sounds and scents that afflicted his soul with heavy nostalgia. Fencing lessons, a young marquis’ curiosity, his tears, his sorrow were just the beginning. How many times had he tucked his lonely pledge into silken sheets and told him everything was going to be alright? How many times did he pick him up, only to have no one to turn to when he himself was shaken in faith and resolve? Edmund recalled the pride that overwhelmed him, when Andrealphus completed his first ice sculpture without error. That cheery face, wide blue eyes, perked beak…it brought nothing but a tightened throat and a pang of the heart.
No; he couldn’t leave.
So focused was he in his own confliction, that the sound of approaching footsteps nary reached his ears till the study door opened.
“I see you have reopened father’s study.”
Paralyzed by the sudden appearance of his master’s voice, Edmund didn’t respond. Wrapped in the glow of the fire, fear wormed within him; chaotic, and debilitating.
“That’s alright; you don’t need to look at me.”
The door closed with a creak and a click, which left only the fire to crackle between them.
“Father always loved to lock himself away in here, didn’t he? When he needed to think, when he needed the quiet. I always wondered, you know, how often I disrupted his meditations as a child; always barging in with a holler and a new, pretty sculpture to wave in his face or a bruise to share.”
A singular footstep heralded the coming of another, and their call soon overcame the fireplace’s musings.
“Surely, you recall, how he’d sit in that very chair and smoke from his pipe for hours on end in silence; just…staring at the wall.” Andrealphus gave a moment of pause, and them a short chuckle; barely a chortle or a scoff. “I suppose it was fitting that here, in his place of sanctuary, the only place where he truly let his guard down…that peace was shattered.”
Another footstep, another pause, another glance upon his shoulder to the raising of his neck hairs.
“It must have been truly harrowing for him, to feel so safe and then, in an instant, have that comfort ripped away.” A click of the tongue, then the creak of leather; Andre must have leaned against the grand leather chair of his father. “I never thanked you; not once. Ever since you picked up the burden of caring for me, never did I stop and truly pay my respects for your efforts. Now, I have done unto you as the assassin did unto my father; I violated your peace.”
Edmund finally turned, and froze once again, but not in fear this time…but in shock. His master was crying.
Steel of face, coated in free-flowing tears; like an ancient idol within a floral garden pond. His voice did not waver, but the water dripped to the floor and glittered in the shadows cast by the fireplace; its darkness made their sorrowful light shine all the brighter.
“I have wronged the only person who ever truly cared about me, and for that, more than anything, I deserve my place in Hell.”
“…Master Andrealphus…”
“I am unfit to wield the title. I should not have struck you; it is a deed that shall haunt me for eternity. If you wish to scorn me, yell at me, even strike back in rebuttal…I deserve far worse.”
“No, no that is not…”
Andrealphus raised a hand. “What I said before about expunging you from the house, I did not mean it; but…if you wish to leave, after the way I have treated you…I shall not stop you.”
With every ounce of his being, Edmund stared at his master to weed out the lie. It had to be a jest, a ruse, but the longer he stared, the sincerity and dread within those glimmering pools of sadness only grew stronger. He meant it; every last word, and the revelation rooted the imp to the floor.
Andrealphus’ sniffle was the only thing that snapped him from his astonished state. “Jesse and I are going to the Gluttony Ring on another outing. He wishes to introduce me to an old compatriot of his. I simply wanted to apologize before we left…because it might be the only chance I have to do so.” The marquis walked forward, wiped the tears from his eyes, and gave the lowest bow that he could muster. It was not a show of dignity, courtesy, or courtship, but of immense regret and shame. Never had he looked so low, so hobbled, so physically distraught that not even the discomfort of such a low and long-held prostration could snap him free from the self-inflicted pose. “Edmund…I am sorry. Thank you, from the bottom of my blackened, sinful, detestable heart for all that you have done.”
His apology spoken, Andrealphus jutted to his full height and, seemingly unable to keep his composure, swiftly exited the room. With his absence, only his heartfelt apology and teardrops remained. Both instilled Edmund with a profound sense of weight and weariness that carried him forward; and before he knew it, his back sank into Count Rose’s favorite chair. Not since he was a child…had Andre cried in front of him. Now, as he leaned forward and rested his face within both hands, did tears of a similar kind begin to well between his fingers.
“You should never have to apologize to anyone…especially to me…Master.”
Chapter 16: Mistaken Identity, Unwanted Advance
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
In the middle of Gluttony, Andrealphus sat on the edge of a golden fountain; his mind at work dissecting its peculiarities. Gold was the everyman’s original choice in the modern age; highly malleable, the seventh densest amongst its kind, and gleamed with the majesty of God. Spiritually, it promoted positive energy, cultivated sensations of peace, and to some; even love.
The peacock watched the rabble wander about the cobblestone laid shopping district with scant attention or care. He felt the way they ogled at him and the attire that Jesse had picked out; long black pants, a bulky blue jacket that didn’t pass his waist, and an underlying black shirt that couldn’t cover all of his belly feathers. To top it off; a pair of blueberry aviators to cover up his glowing eyes. It was hardly royal attire.
A sigh crept up his throat and escaped in a tight exhale of air; Jesse had left to procure something for what felt like twenty or so minutes ago. Demons were beginning to stare, or perhaps they were simply enraptured by the gleam of his tailfeathers, which Andre had to specifically drape into his lap to avoid the water. Sunlight, as oppressive as it was, only enhanced his resplendence.
“Birdy.”
Andre nearly jumped at the sudden sound, yet the youth within it steadied his reaction; there was nothing to fear from something so young. Eyes concealed by the shades; he didn’t even need to move his head to spot the tiny imp child that stood nearby; a finger pointed forward. It couldn’t have been more than a few years old; little nubs for horns, eyes bigger than its mouth, and a large head that practically defied gravity. Pressed denim overalls kept it clothed, but not much else; what a privilege, to be unbothered by the accursed humidity.
It was only when the child approached, did Andre raise his head and glance about for a guardian; yet, he found none.
“Oooo...” Its steps were awkward, but vacant of all fear of any sort. Wide, as if it had to conjure all of its power to swing a leg, the imp advanced with slow and purposeful energy. Utterly foolish, like a bowlegged lawman, and the attention imbedded Andre with a discomfort he had never quite felt before.
“Shoo.” Slender talons bowed as his wrist dipped, then motioned away in a brushing gesture. When the child only took another step and looked upwards at him with gaping, curious, and innocent eyes, he simply did it again. “Begone; surely your mother is rattled over your disappearance.” Gentle babbling was his only response, and the child bumped into the edge of the fountain with a giggle; hands outstretched in a grabbing motion as it fell onto its rear.
“Dada.”
Andre blinked: what?
“Da...da!” Excitement was met with a little bounce that barely lifted it off the ground. This was new.
How could this child possibly think Andrealphus was his father; they possessed not a single similarity between them. Besides, he had no fatherly experience, no actual interaction with demons of such a young, vulnerable age. Yet, at his apparent perplexed expression, the little imp simply clapped its hands and giggled.
“No, I am not your father.”
Tiny hands pressed to the ground, as the weak noddle of a tail whipped in the air. The child wobbled, but kept themselves righted, and waddled forward...to embrace Andre’s leg with a fully body hug.
“Dada...” A warm smile and a nuzzle of the imp’s face against him froze Andre to the spot. Slowly, he disassociated, and a whirlwind of thoughts shot through his mind. Less coherent musings and more-so lightning quick gut reactions, they blotted out the word around him. What did this child see in him? Why did the tiny heartbeat that tapped against his feathers radiate such joy? It was near infectious, but all the Goetia could summon was a nervous pit within his gut. Pedestrians stared, more numerous than before; what should he do?
Was this...was this what his father felt?
Sadness grew from that planted pit; tendrils of somber and sobering emotion that snaked up through his ribcage and wrapped about his heart. Beneath the sun, next to a glimmering golden statue and surrounded by vibrant architecture, Andre had never felt more cold. As his mind shifted back to reality, a female voice caught his attention; it’s tone rife with worry and relief.
“Ainsley!”
Heels rapidly clacked across cobblestone, and Andre looked over just in time to see a tall, slender imp. Her black and bouncy hair bounced with each step, and massive curved horns jutted from those luscious locks. If he possessed the qualities his royal station, and parents, had demanded of him; perhaps he’d consider her a rather bodacious demon, indeed. Yet, her attention was fixated on the small child, who released the peacock’s leg and turned.
“Ma-ma!” Grabby little hands once again reached out into the open air, and a giggle leapt into the air as the imp was lifted from the ground by its mother. She held the child close and buried its face in her neck, as she likewise embraced it with tearful eyes and a relieved expression.
“I assume this is your child, then.”
“Thank you, s--” As her face rose to properly fixate itself upon Andrealphus, the expression upon it shifted from joy to the stoic fortitude of a protective matron. Green eyes solidified, just as the edges tensed and wrinkled. Her chest rose, then fell just as quickly, and was accompanied by a backstep with a tightened hold on her child. Without another word, she turned and ran off just as quickly as she had in; only the child sought to offer a farewell with a wide-eyed little stare and one last grasping motion.
It appeared that, even with his street attire, he was recognizable.
He could not place why, but as Andre felt the child’s presence vacate the area, a sense of longing sprung up. An elbow placed itself upon a knee, and his chin rested within his palm. To think, that they had no idea how alike them he was: powerless. If they knew, what would they do? How differently would they react to his presence? History told a story of negatives as long as a sea was wide; with the absence of power, they would turn upon him.
Power was all that kept him safe, yet it was one of the key reasons he was so alone.
How had his father done it? Surely, their burden was shared; save the nature of the magic. Andre could recall, in stark detail, how his father once brought his paintings to life. They had leapt from the canvas, smeared with the fine paints of royalty, and imbued with a manner of life that eluded him to this day. They were a family of creators, artists, yet how was he so inherently miserable while his father was not? That question wormed into his mind, amidst the gentle and constant stream of the fountain behind him, until he found his gaze fixed to the floor.
The longer that Andre pondered the nature of his failure, a peculiarity formed; one that manifested in concrete darkness. What was the last thing his father had drawn? That should be an easy question to answer, but as he thought and thought and thought...he came to the realization that he couldn’t remember.
“Hey Andre, I’m back.”
All of his thoughts cleared away, and he looked up to see Jesse standing in front of him, two ice cream cones in his hands. The incubus wore an unbuttoned tropical shirt; ochre background with olive green leaves. The top two buttons were undone, which allowed his sculpted chest to expose itself for all to see. Tattered jeans covered his lower half, and were capped off with a pair of stylish, brown shoes. Light concern grew upon his face.
“You...doing okay?”
“Yes, pay me no mind; I was simply lost in thought.”
One of the cones was offered; the ice cream white as snow and dotted with blue star sprinkles.
“Vanilla; I didn’t know what you liked, so I figured I’d play it safe.”
“Vanilla?”
“Yeah, vanilla ice cream.”
Andre hesitantly reached out and grasped the waffle cone. Jesse sat next to him, and gave his own white tower of ice cream a slow lick.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never had ice cream before.”
“...Mother always said it would ruin my figure.”
Jesse slid closer, until they were hip to hip, and held up the sweet treat. “You can eat it a few different ways. Utter psychopaths bite the top off, but if you want the real ice cream experience, you lick it down; like this, watch.” A forked tongue slid out from his slightly opened mouth and nimbly dragged up the midsection. Such a simple motion, but something about it made Andre shift in place. His hip and leg rubbed against Jesse’s.
“Sorry, could you repeat the motion? This time, if you could go a bit slower so I can analyze properly.”
Dexterous muscle, coated in the incubus’ unique flavor, caught the rays of the sun and glimmered like an excavated jewel. Andre watched with rapt attention as it pressed to the ivory ice cream and slowly dragged upwards in a slow, powerful lick. At the apex of the motion, he watched as the tongue curled back and scooped that cream into Jesse’s waiting mouth.
“Was that better?”
Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, his throat dry as a scorched desert, and his eyes rigid as rugged stone. New heat, that not from the glaring sun, hummed in his face, chest, and groin. Sensitivity blossomed atop his tongue, and it was all the peacock could do to not lap at his beak.
“Yes, very…uhh…” His eyes drifted south, down Jesse’s magnificent collarbone and stopped at his bare chest. Excitement vacated the air from his lungs, and its absence caught Andre so off guard that a shaky inhale showcased the state of his composure. “…that was much better, thank you.”
To mimic the motion, he lifted his ice cream, and recoiled as cold smooshed against his beak. Andre blinked in surprise, then winced as he dapped at the mess upon his face. Jesse gave a repressed chortle.
“You almost got it. Here, let me get that.” Jesse reached up and brushed a thumb against that sharp, white beak. Print to cream, he committed to a smooth scooping motion that wiped the ice cream clean off. The sheer intimacy and trust in that simple, seemingly harmless gesture was enough to make Andre’s heart quiver. Rigorous aftershocks rippled through his entire being, as Jesse planted his thumb to his tongue and licked the ice cream off.
Damn those Asmodean wiles.
“Perhaps ice cream isn’t meant for those with beaks.”
“Or, maybe, we just need to find you a spoon.” Jesse stretched his legs, with a mighty stretch, and swayed forward onto his feet. “Luckily, I know exactly where to find one.” The incubus extended his hand, and a gentle bow overtook his back as his ass pushed back. It was a common gesture that Andrealphus was no stranger to; an invitation to dance, to stand, to be escorted. He gave Jesse his hand, without hesitation.
Within that lack of hesitation, a fear festered. He knew where they were headed, and needed to obtain an air of obliviousness as to not tip his lover off. All he had to do was keep a lie, but the consequences if he failed encompassed his entire being with newfound dread. Could something so small, so miniscule, sunder what they had just recently built together? Not so much the reason, but the act in itself, would herald the beginning of mistrust; and where a single crack from, it would only grow with time.
Jesse led him towards a cleared away path, as pristine and glowing as the rest of Gluttony’s architecture, “It’s down this way.”
Racket assaulted their eardrums, as somewhere, the sound of good against hollow, thick plastic exploded in a musical outburst. Andrealphus frowned at the noise and covered one side of his head, unwilling to release Jesse’s hand. The incubus, however, only appeared intrigued by the noise; almost like he recognized it.
“Yo, Diamondback Jesse!”
His head shot to the side, and a smile quickly split his face. Andrealphus was awarded zero warning, before his smaller, yet far more muscular partner practically yanked him along in a burst of speed. That urgency caught the peacock’s attention; who dared to be so important to illicit this level of reaction? He soon got his answer, in the form of a raggedy-looking, older imp in weathered clothing. One horn was completely snapped in half, wrapped uselessly by an orange piece of fabric, and his garb resembled that of the imp outlaws amongst the Wrath Ring. An upturned bucket sat in front of his crossed legs, as did a cowboy hat whose brim had been chewed upon by…something.
“Roscoe! Oh, shit; man, how long has it been?!” Pearly fangs flashed as pure astonishment escaped from their bite. Jesse was so excited, that he quickly whorked down the reminder of his ice cream; cone and all. Andrealphus stared at the display, and quietly deposited his own cone into a nearby garbage can. He could always buy another one later.
“Brother man!” the sun-cooked imp laughed right back, then held up a hand. Jesse immediately slapped his own against it, and they embraced in a tense exchange of grip strength. “Too long; too fucking long! How you been?” The elderly demon’s attention snapped upwards, one of his eyes completely glazed over with the telltale sign of blindness. That already haggard and deep voice sank even deeper, and found the means to lubricate itself into somewhat of an impressed and sultry tone. “My, oh my, you must be King of Hell now; walking around with such a beautiful lady!”
An explosive snicker raged against the edges of Jesse’s tight lips; his mouth clamped shut at the comment. All he could offer was a glance up in Andrealphus’ direction. It, in all honesty, wasn’t the first time he was mistaken for the opposite sex. Yet, despite that fact, the past incident was long ago, and thus his rage was left untampered by time.
Abruptly, the old imp swiftly shot to his feet and braced his elbow against a nearby brick building. “Been a while since I saw you with such a knockout; changed your taste in color palates, didja?” Unbidden, old bones creaked as that humbled, tired body leaned forward into the best bow it could muster. When that one good eye raised back up, a particular gleam of fanciful promiscuity flashed upon it. “Name’s Roscoe, beautiful, but you can call me Ro-Ro, if it’ll preen your pretty feathers.”
That snicker finally leaked out, but only for a second, and Jesse quickly shoved it back down to speak out of one cheek. “Roscoe, this is—”
“The finest, tallest glass of ice water I ever did see! Where’d you find one so tall? You bout’a put me in double Hell for the sin of being one jealous mother fucker! Gat-damn, Jesse!” His accent slickened, and his hand slicked back through a full head sweat-slicked, straw blonde hair.
Finally, Andre could hold his tongue no more. “I am not female.”
The baritone of his voice curled outwards like the smooth, winding tail of a serpent and lashed at the air. Roscoe stopped moving, blinked, and looked up at Andrealphus. Multiple seconds of silence passed, then finally, the demon clapped his hands together and unleashed a cackling laugh! A mixture of cracked, rusty bells and dry wind rattled his throat.
“I’m sorry ma’m, don’t mind me! Jesse, you finally got the deep voiced gal of your dreams!” Roscoe cackled, bent over in his joyous hysteria.
An indignant rush of heat flooded Andre’s face, and a vein pulsed against his temple.
“You always were the bull of the rodeo. Young, hung, and full of—”
“Roscoe, come on man.”
“It’s true! This one here is one lucky bird, shacking up with you. I remember you used to bring them back to the hangout and just…” Both of those bony, red hands raised up to cup the air at the sides, and then the imp rapidly shook his head back and forth to motorboat the air. “Oh, they fucking loved that!” Roscoe sighed, and slowly began to ease his way back to the ground; guided by the wall. “Those were some damn good times…”
Andrealphus’ face twitched; not only was this raunchy old imp insufferable, but his knowledge of Jesse’s past was regrettably intriguing. It appeared their relationship was deeper than most, but not important enough to maintain over the long term. As he pondered, a ragged cough rattled from that tiny chest; a sound that shifted Jesse’s face instantaneously.
“…you still got that shit, Roscoe?”
A resigned chuckle bounced alongside the cough, “Yup, sure fucking do…” More coughing; bouncing shoulders, a hand to the chest, the outward purse of the entire mouth to open the airway. It was akin to the cough of one in the late stages of a cold, where all the phlegm had to be expelled through violent bouts of air and muscle performance; often to the immediate detriment of the host. “…after the tenth doctor, I figured; fuck it. All this shit about it eating away the calcium in my horns.” Two fingers tapped against the wrapped, cracked, and severed horn. “I still got plenty of horn left, so I ain’t kicking off anytime soon.”
“I thought Betty had a pipeline of meds for you to work through.”
The near-permanent smile that had lain upon the imp’s face sank into a near-neutral expression; and its prolific nature tilted Andre’s head a little. “Yeah, well…she wasn’t made for the streets, Jesse; not like you and me.”
Muscular, red-hued arms clamped across a set of partially exposed pecs and slowly clenched. Andre recognized the vein in the incubus’ arm, and more importantly, the back of his hand. The tone that followed enhanced its presence, steady and deep.
“What happened?”
Roscoe gave an expressive, and surprisingly spirited, shrug. Thin shoulders swallowed up his neck, head dipped down like a turtle, and his lips tightened as brows rose and eyes widened. For a moment, Andre assumed that the old demon had caught a sudden case of mania.
“What always happens; she walked in front of the wrong demon. Rich cat, literally, up in Pride for some...cocktail party she was catering.” The smile twitched, and his brow furrowed despite it; a tremble in his tone. “Tore her up like a scratching post.”
“Fuck…”
“Don’t know his name, no one told me at the morgue; all I know is he was rich enough to rub elbows with the birds. You know, the Goetia.”
Andrealphus seized every ounce of energy he possessed, in his mind, body, and soul, to not look in Jesse’s direction. Thank Satan for the shades.
“But…weren’t you and Betty still living together?”
“…”
Roscoe reached out and grabbed his cowboy hat, then slowly placed it upon his head; like a headstone upon a freshly dug grave.
“…It’s just me and the bucket, now. ‘Sides, I got over myself about it a long fucking time ago. What can you do? You know how the Goetia are; if they can’t fuck you, sell you, or exploit you, you’re just walking garbage.” Red fingers rubbed together, then splayed apart in a burst of motion; like a flower in bloom. “Nothing but meat for them to eat.”
The steady stare of Jesse’s gaze burrowed through Andrealphus’ temple. Did he simply imagine it, or was it actually turned in his direction? He had no idea; too afraid to look, too afraid to even open his beak. It was a cross examination of the oddest sort, and highly uncomfortable to listen to, but a rare one to experience firsthand. This imp wasn’t afraid, like the others; just…resigned to reality.
“It was nice catching up, Jess.”
“Yeah…it was.”
“I’ll be around, or not; either way, next time you’re in this neck of the woods, look for me.”
“…Yeah man, sure thing. I can do that.”
In a moment of sudden and stark clarity, the imp raised a hand, “Before you head off, did your buddy ever find you?”
Jesse’s head canted gently to the side, and his eyes drained of certainty. “Huh?”
“A while ago, someone was down here looking for ya. I didn’t catch his name, but he tipped me a fat bundle of cash and asked if anyone knew where you were. Fella seemed nice enough, so I told him about our old stomping grounds.”
Cobblestone dragged smoothly against the underside of Jeese’s shoes as he shuffled. “It wasn’t one of the…” An eye quickly flickered in Andrealphus’ direction, then back at Roscoe. “…you know, sharks?”
“Nah; little guy, an imp. He was definitely from outside Gluttony though.”
“How’s that?”
“First of all, he looked totally lost. Second, he was dressed in a full-on suit. I played a little dumb at first, just to gauge him, and he passed; so, I told him about the club.”
As Jesse’s eyes flicked left and right on loop, their iris’ unsteady amidst the process of critical thought, Andrealphus crouched down and slid his hand along that thick, muscular elbow.
“Well, Ro-Ro.” He began, voice sweet as honey and thick as moss on a stone. “It’s been an absolute blast getting to meet you, but Jesse and I were actually just on our way to meet someone, and it would be poor manners to hold them up.” A tender, seductive kiss planted itself to the incubi’s hand, as Andre slid his hand around the wrist. “It’s our second date together, and I hate to chat and dash, but Jesse promised me a good time tonight…” That same hand slid over that broad chest and slipped beneath the open shirt, then began to slowly rub. “…didn’t you, baby?”
“Oh, shit, sorry ma’m! I got so caught up in flapping my lips I didn’t realize!”
Andre gave a clearly audible and pensive hum and tightened his beak, then gave it a click and turned his dazzling blue eyes towards the raggedly dressed imp. “Oh, you’re so sweet.” His hand left Jesse’s chest and gently gripped the imp’s cheek in between two fingers, then gave it a little jostle. “If I wasn’t already spoken for, I might just give you a kiss.”
Roscoe lit up, and youthful energy embraced his tired, old features. “That makes me plump as peaches, ma’m.”
Andre narrowed his eyes and smiled, then stood up and consciously draped her other hand down the top of Jesse’s back; fingertips splayed carefully along his wings. “Come along darling.” Luckily, it was an easy enough endeavor to guide Jesse away from further questions. Lost dignity aside, which would eventually recover, a major bullet had just been dodged with tact and grace. If Andre didn’t know better, he’d swear a sense of pride had returned in all of its smug glory.
Jesse was silent as he and Andrealphus walked one of the cobblestone paths that lead deep into the jungle thicket. Meeting Roscoe again, after so long, had turned into an unexpected and demotivating experience. Not to mention the number of doubts and questions the conversation had spawned in his mind. They were old thoughts; ones that resonated with the stark callousness of a societal survivor. Only through sheer coincidence, and utter luck, had he managed to climb out of the pile. It hadn’t been skill or character, but simply…what he looked like. That was the trigger for his great fortune, while those he once walked amongst wallowed in their scorched and destitute lives.
Yet now, he knew better.
The grass wasn’t greener on the other side; just shinier and brighter. At the end of the day, grass was grass, but who would ever choose to live on a dead lawn?
“What was that about, back there?”
“I simply wanted to move things along; there are only so many hours in the day, you know.”
“A little rude to just…cut and run.”
“Pardon me for wanting you all to myself. If that is a crime, then lock me up, because I am guilty.” A haughty little chuckle bounced out of that slender chest and made Andre’s white feathers fluff up; a wrist bent below his beak. “Besides, I didn’t see a frown. The little imp obviously enjoyed my presence…perhaps a bit too much.”
Jesse blinked, and all the leftover smoke from the reality bombs parted. “Sorry, I didn’t expect to see him.”
“There’s no need to apologize. Clearly, he was a dear companion of yours. I must say, I never knew that you once ran with such a…rambunctious crowd.” Mental flashes of strangers; faceless, voiceless, nameless, assaulted Andre with visions of depraved and wanton sexual acts. Jesse was at the center of them all, and a blaze of insecurity roared alongside jealousy. “Is this other friend of yours as much of a character?”
“Bella? She’s…” For a moment, his hands shoved themselves into his front pockets to root around for time. The pause lingered, and Andrealphus waited for an answer. Ironically, the displayed patience spurred his brain to conjure a response; before the silence grew unbearable. “…complicated.”
“Bella.” Andre spoke the word with a lick of flair, a trill of royal tone marked with a dash of imagination. “So, we go to see a woman. Am I to assume that she is the owner of the same club that Roscoe spoke of?”
“Co-owner, more accurately, but yeah.”
“What should I expect?” Ahead, the path curved, and the babble of running water broke through the foliage. Streams of pure, crystalline water flourished within a stream that stretched beneath a nearby bridge. He had to commend Queen Beelzebub on the maintenance of her realm; she must be ever-so busy with such a high standard of upkeep.
“She…uhh…” Nervously, Jesse tugged and adjusted his collar. He was hoping to just have Andrealphus meet her and figure it out from there; you know, play mediator if anything were to go wrong. What he hadn’t expected was to be quizzed. “…she’s not really fond of the Goetia.”
“I’m sensing a pattern.”
“She’s not going to bite your head off with me there, okay? Bella is a little hot blooded sometimes, sure, but we go way back. I can’t imagine her stepping on my toes over this.”
Andrealphus pivoted wide as the path turned and lead straight towards the bridge. However, he had to readjust and take a step back, as Jesse branched off the cobblestone walkway altogether and into the grass. “Is that something friends do?”
“Make exceptions? Yeah, all the time, how do you not—” Jesse slammed his own mouth shut faster than he could think. He turned his head, but his feet kept moving, “Sorry, that was…”
“It’s fine.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure? It just came out.”
“For what it’s worth, the fact that you thought of me as worthy of having friends throughout my life felt good, if only for a moment.”
As they rounded the corner, Jesse placed a hand against an iron door and faced Andrealphus with his full body. The sadness of that statement needed to be addressed, because the echo of it tore through the incubus’ heart like a harvester through wheat.
“You are worthy of having friends, Andre; and I’m gonna make Bella see that.”
A sad little smile upturned the peacock’s white beak. “There are some things that you simply cannot change, sadly. Not by lack of virtue and doggedness, but in reality. Some people simply refuse to be swayed, no matter the evidence placed before them. A sin unlike any other, in the right context.”
“Well, reality can kiss my ass. If the universe wants to try and swat you down, I’ll throw hands with the motherfucker.”
That smile brightened, if only a little.
“Anyway, let's get this party started. You’re gonna love this place; guarantee it!” Jesse’s knuckle rapped swiftly upon the door in a musical sequence, and metal scraped against metal as a hatch slid open.
“Password?” a gruff voice called out.
“Beezle-Biscuits: Honey Deluxe.”
The hatch slammed shut, a lock clicked, and then a second lock clicked. Heavy metal yawned open, and Jesse stepped through with Andrealphus in tow. As they both stood upon the precipice beyond the entrance, a towering coated figure, face concealed by a wide brimmed hat, went rigid and wide eyed as it finished shutting the door. Its face was directed directly at the equally towering presence of the marquis, and a tremble, gentle as a summer breeze, radiated up that coat.
“Relax Ricky, he’s with me.”
Back pressed into the corner next to the door, that hat didn’t move, but a voice emerged from beneath it. “You…you sure, Jesse?”
“Yeah, absolutely sure. Bella in?”
Two dim, glowing eyes stretched wide in the shade as they stared at Andrealphus, who stared back with an intense glare. It was a familiar tension, one that his muscles slipped into with ease, and its effects stunned the doorman into silence.
Jesse snapped his fingers a few times, “Yo, Ricky; Ricky, I asked if Bella was in.”
An audible gulp echoed down the stairwell. “Miss Ambrosia is…in…does-does-does…did you call to, you know…let her know you were bringing a…a guest?”
Andrealphus rolled his eyes at the chattering wreck of a demon that stood before him, and rested a hand upon his cocked hip. “I do believe an exception has been made.”
Fabric rustled in a flash of motion, and the tall trench coat retracted towards the floor. Once tall, now lain small, it looked no larger than a mini-chip can. That hat also shrank in size, and nothing more than a diminutive, pathetic bug shivered in fear. It whimpered in a squeaky, nasally tone that convinced Andre it was likely to piss itself at any moment.
“…Damn, Ricky.”
Andre slipped his hand under Jesse’s bicep and up over his elbow, then began to descend the stairs. Far ahead, a golden light glowed with guiding grace, and a faint thumping of music vibrated through stone the closer they got to it.
“I take it he wasn’t used to accommodating royalty.” Andre quipped.
“We get a few higher-class demons from time to time, but…never a Marquis.”
“I also take it that, based on that knowledge, that a Goetian Prince has never stepped foot here?”
“Not that I know of. It’s hard to keep a secret nightclub a secret when someone like that shows up.”
“That explains why you insisted on this…street attire.”
“Your dress would’ve gotten dirty.”
“It’s a robe.”
“If I can hide underneath it, it’s a dress.”
“…’touché.”
At the final step, the light washed over them and revealed a dazzling nightclub. To Jesse, it was common ground; seen a hundred times to remove a coat of its luster. Despite his familiarity, there was a section of his heart that breathed deep of the atmosphere. Noise, alcohol, flashing lights, thumping music; it was the rhythm of freedom, the soul of the underground, and the lifeblood of relaxation. Immediately, he pointed a finger at the bar, where a skeletal figure with a flaming head stood mixing drinks.
“We got the best fucking drink in all of Hell down here. C’mon; I’m buying!” With an arm draped behind Andrealphus’ waist, he whisked the royal through a crowd of brightly dressed partygoers.
It was time for the date to begin.
Edmund quietly ran a coarse brush through Mishka’s fur coat. With each stroke, the massive hellcat rumbled in what was the equivalent of a content and monstrous purr. Under the Royal Physician’s orders, the maintenance of Master Andrealphus’ pets and steeds had been left to the wind, and thus there was much to make up for. A hollow, expansive quiet carved out the Beast Pens, save Mishka’s rumblings, but even they were miniscule in scale by comparison.
“Don’t worry Mishka, I’m back for good.”
A single grunt, that of a bestial language, responded in kind.
“I know that the master hasn’t attended to you as of late, but he has been hard at work.”
Another grunt, this one along the lines of a disappointed and skeptical growl.
“I know, I know old girl; my absence was inexcusable as well. I did leave you ample food, however.”
A third grunt, and this time, her head bounced upwards as she chuffed at the open air.
“Don’t speak of your sister that way. I am sure that Sasha’s presence is lovely to be within.”
The colossal beast let out a planet-swallowing yawn to bare every last inch of her fangs and gums. Truly, an impressive and frightful beast, but Edmund had known them as kittens barely strong enough to squeak. Bonds between trainers and beasts stretched through their entire lives, should they be properly forged. With confidence, he could leave his head in her gaping maw and feel completely safe.
As he shifted focus from her back to her haunches, one of Mishka’s legs gave a twitch, then began to kick against the ground in happiness.
“Yes, it’s all over the master’s newest lover. You remember him, right, the one you nearly ate? Master Andrealphus has become rather infatuated with him…”
Mishka raised her head and gently bumped it against Edmund’s face for a comforting nuzzle. Never let it be said that she was devoid of intelligence. The fur reeked of brimstone and the thick fog of the tundra; the natural habitat of the hellcat species, which had been brought into the manor for their convenience. It wasn’t the spitting image of their motherland, but the scents, meats, and temperature were enough to form an appealing illusion.
For reasons unknown, fluffy ears perked and Mishka’s head shot up. The cadence of a perturbed growl rumbled in her chest, and Edmund watched as feline eyes narrowed into a tight, demonic slit. Hackles rose into a bed of practical spikes, and massive haunches rose. Edmund didn’t dare impede her progress, and instead simply watched as the hellcat padded from the room. Immediately after, he stood and followed.
All was quiet within the manor, save the gentle howl of the winter storm that whirled outside and the echo of his own steps. Since the Beast Pens were on the ground floor, they were a stone’s throw away from the Grand Foyer, and thus it took no time at all to slip from one room and into another. Ice coated the floor, glossy and thick, but his practiced gait was immune to its controlling properties. Mishka, likewise, padded with ease, and stopped near the center of the hall; her head tilted skyward.
Edmund raised his gaze and witnessed the gentle sway of the chandelier’s crystals. The structure itself, however, remained still; and only a faint twinkle echoed into his ear. Years of intuition and instinct all pointed to the same theory; he and Mishka were not alone.
Nose to the ice, the massive hellcat inhaled deep to pick up whatever scent she could. Claws the size of bowie knives scraped shavings from the ground, and that low growl grew in volume. Whatever she smelled…it was close.
On cue, a smear of a figure plummeted straight down from the chandelier and slammed against the ground. Clad in a thick parka that lay draped beneath an equally thick poncho, a sun-weathered hat atop its head, and snow-white hair behind a set of large, striped horns; the figure stood tall. A spiked tail cracked the air like a whip, and a sharp moustache arched its back as the gleam of a golden fang sneered into the cold and open air.
Edmund stared, hands clasped behind his back as his animal companion dipped low and unleashed a ferocious hiss at the intruder; who simply tipped his wide brimmed hat back and glared at them with ringed, gold eyes. Menace, pure and unwavering, radiated from them; enough to make the butler’s grip tighten about his wrist.
“The master is out.” Tongue clacked to the back of his teeth, that ending tee popped with a particular ferocity, tempered by restraint.
“Oh, I’m well aware, partner.” Each word dripped with venom; lackadaisy and deadlier than an entire den of vipers. That tail tip rattled; the imp’s hands concealed beneath the shade of his protective shawl. “Beats me as to why, though; fancy castle like this?” A sharp spot of a cackle, deceased before its second bounce. “I’d never leave.”
“Would you like me to accommodate you?” Edmund knew a killer when he saw one. It was in the eyes, the stance; the way that his chest hardly moved with each breath. He was poised, coiled, fit to spring at the wayward twitch of an eye. So much as a blink, and Edmund would likely find a bullet in his skull.
Gold shimmered, as if alive, in the jaws of the serpent’s smile. “That’s one mighty fine gesture, but…” An unseen object clicked, and Mishka’s claws scraped across the ice with an ear-rending screech. Fur, rock, and savage fury leapt through the air at the intruder, in a blur of color. Yet, the figure didn’t move, nor did his smile shift or wilt.
A second blur exploded through the air; silver and blue streaks of crackling light that collided with Mishka and threw her to the ground. Arcs of electricity enveloped a metallic net, one that pinned the hellcat to the ground with heavy spikes that sank into the ice. It took every ounce of Edmund’s practice self-control not to react to her sudden subjugation.
Only then, in his heightened state of anger, did he spot the gleam of a scope atop the far most balcony. Another figure leapt over the railing and plummeted down as well; rifle in hand and face concealed by a bowler hat. As he stood, Edmund identified him as a shark demon; tall and silent, with an aura that felt all too familiar.
“…can you make room for two?” From beneath the poncho, the imp whipped out a cigar and chomped down; then procured a lighter with a flourish and lit it, in a single motion far too quick to catch. With a deep inhale, pleasure rolled across his face; that of a content and cocksure individual. “Nothing like an imported smoke to take the edge off, right?”
“Is that an admission of fear?”
“Hmm…” Finally, his head moved, only to glance over his shoulder at his advancing companion. “…what do you think Al, should I be scared?”
A steely gaze of deepest red glowed beneath a pair of scaly eyelids. They matched Edmund’s own gaze in intensity, and he recognized it instantly. This demon was a guardian, just like him. Several seconds of silence followed, broken only by the imp’s chuckle.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Pungent, smog-like smoke billowed from his mouth; from serpent to dragon, his tone just as corrupted and vile. “Ain’t that just tragic…”
Tissue within his chin began to ache, and his old scar throbbed with an intensity that he hadn’t felt in years. Not even the cold had stirred it, yet then, in the presence of those two demons, did it flare. Edmund’s brow furrowed, and with old aches came old magics; energies that flowed discreetly down his arm and into his palm.
“What do you want?”
From one corner of his mouth to the other, that cigar slid. “You.”
Al slammed his fists together, and the clang of metal bounced from the icy walls of the manor. Brass knuckles adorned each fist, their sheen highlighted by the arcing of electricity.
"So be it.”
Edmund threw his right arm out wide, and a pillar of white light formed over his hand. In milliseconds, the amorphous light took the shape of a wide-bladed halberd; head as wide and thick as a guillotine. Royal drapery unfolded in a shower of starlight, embroidered in the crest of his master’s house. The imp gripped the shaft of that martial weapon tight, then spun it around and slammed it to ground; where the floor cracked with a mighty cry.
Ringed, golden eyes gleamed, and its sibling of a tooth grazed the cigar, as it flew from his lips. A grin, one that dripped with satisfaction, split his face like a carved pumpkin.
“On the honor of my lord and master, Marquis Andrealphus of the Ars Goetia, you shall not leave this manor alive!”
Notes:
Felt nice to finish this chapter. As always, I love hearing all of your thoughts. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my work; I cannot express it enough.
Chapter 17: Bloody Business
Chapter Text
Thumping music vibrated throughout the infrastructure of the underground nightclub. From the floor, each note shot into Andrealphus’ feet and snaked up his legs; not too dissimilar from the vibrant and multicolored lights that flashed amongst the dancing demons. Music was still a portion of his domain, although one that wasn’t given as much attention was his other duties, and to feel its voice within him filled the peacock with a small measure of growing joy.
A neon sign upon the nearby bar spelled out the words ‘Blood Fruit’, but whether it was the name of the establishment or simply an entity within it was unclear. Demons of all shapes and sizes, dressed in similar attire to himself, paid him little mind. Jesse, meanwhile, was glued to the marquis’ side; naught but glowing yellow eyes and a playful, flicking tail.
“Don’t worry about Sal; he’s not as scary as he looks.” Without any further explanation, Andrealphus found himself wedged between two cushioned barstools; neither of which possessed any occupants. Behind the bar stood a well-dressed figure with a flaming deer skull in place of a fleshy visage. Suspenders, pinstripe shirt, and rolled sleeves that exposed skeletal arms. “Hey, Sal; can I get two Golden Glows for me and my buddy?”
Vacant, dark pits gazed through the flames; unbothered by their seemingly permanent immolation. Unlike the green shade of deadly hellfire, or the standard red and orange hue of earthly flame, the skull’s were possessed of a deep blue: sapphire. Cervine antlers grew from its brow. As if the entity took a moment to register Jesse’s voice, a glow that matched the glow of polished emeralds grew within those sockets.
“Ah, Jesse!” Sal exclaimed, with a rattle of his jaw. Elbows leaned against the table, and the skeleton’s hands leapt from his wrists! Animated with a life of their own, they scuttled across the table to craft the requested drinks. “Didn’t expect to see you back in this neck of the woods so soon! Gotta say; I could get used to it!” the skeletal elk chuckled, as his head bounced loosely atop his spinal column. Abruptly, those fairy-light eyes hovered through the air and stopped right in front of Andrealphus. “Who’s your buddy?”
Jesse cleared his throat, “Sal, this is—”
“Andrealphus.” the Goetia interjected, and lifted his shades to expose his chilly eyes.
Floating orbs whisked back to their sockets, and a jaw clattered onto the bar top. Sal’s self-moving hands skittered over and picked it up, then stuck it back in place with two quick adjustments. “Andrealphus; like, Marquis Andrealphus? Jesse, you have to warn me before you bring royalty to my bar!” Sal took a step back and gave a bow so low, that he nearly smacked against the bar. “My liege, allow me to formally welcome you to the Blood Fruit; Gluttony’s third moist prestigious underground establishment.”
Two tall glasses, filled to the brim with a thick golden substance, slid before him and Jesse. Cherries floated within a swirling maelstrom of red, purple, and blue that created a layered tapestry amongst the gold.
“On the house, of course, for his excellency.”
Andrealphus grasped the glass between his fingers and raised it to his beak, to allow for a proper waft. Potent sweetness crackled in his nostrils, on the way to his brain, and with a smile on his face he turned towards Jesse. He handed the incubus the second glass, then lowered his own to tap against it. “Cheers, as they say.”
The gesture bought a charming, fang-filled smile; a verifiable bed of sharpened pearls. “Cheers.”
Together, they drank, and Andrealphus’ eyes opened with delight as flavor drowned his tongue. Alcohol was no stranger to his stomach, yet this particular breed was the first of its kind to grace his mind. Rich, entrancing; it’s fruity flavor washed over his tastebuds, poured down his throat, and left a constant tingle that forced a smile to his face. Beyond the lowest level of the esophagus, the Golden Glow poured into his chest like gilded rain; a molten fire that coated his frigid, ice-augmented heart in the sheen of gods.
“Is it to his lordship’s liking?”
“It is exquisite. I’d like to procure a hefty supply for myself, if possible.” Andrealphus said with a swift lick of his beak. This…Golden Glow, as it was called, easily landed in the top three of his favorite beverages.
“Many nobles have sought the same. Some find the cost to be too high, but they are always welcome here to drink at their leisure. If, however, you wish to give it an earnest try, Madam Ambrosia is who you’d talk to.” A sharp pop heralded the reattachment of hands to wrists, and Andrealphus watched as Sal wiggled his fingers; likely to ensure their functionality.
“We’ll get to Bella eventually.” Jesse said, and draped an arm around Andre’s waist. The incubus had already drank his entire glass, while the peacock’s was still half full. Gentle hands, draped in the lights of the nightclub, brushed against his fingers. “I’d like to treat you to a dance, first.”
Many times had he danced amongst the lords and ladies of royalty, but never amongst the common folk. With Jesse’s hand against his own, Andre’s heart skipped, and the drink that had just entrapped his tongue was sat to the wayside and forgotten. Eyes drifted towards the crowded dancefloor; a check board of elegant color that assaulted the mind with flashes of merriment. “I suppose that is the purpose of this place. Admittedly, the thought has my stomach aflutter…”
“Nervous to dance with me?”
“Not so much with you, as…with these strangers.”
“They’re all dancing too, you know.”
“Yes, and in a manner that I am not trained in. What if I appear foolish?”
Jesse’s eyes softened, and lips just as gentle pressed to the top of Andre’s fingers. “Then you’re the most beautiful fool I’ve ever had the pleasure to dance with.”
Aflutter, his heart sang and his throat tightened, brought forth by the raging fire that ignited his cheeks. Damn that incubus tongue, those wiles; whether they came from Jesse’s nature or were learned throughout his life, they were certainly effective. Perhaps…in some regards, too effective. A sigh slipped from Andre’s beak, and he smiled. “You’d be an absolute menace at court.”
“Does that mean you’ll dance with me?”
“Of course I will.”
Just like that, Jesse took Andrealphus by the hand, and the two demons headed towards the dance floor together. Few spots were open, but the energy was infectious as jewelry bounced and gleamed in the club lights. A repetitive beat boomed through the air, one that gave commanded each demon into near-perfect rhythm to its tune. As his feet graced the first of those colorful cube tiles, anxiety bubbled to the surface, and Andrealphus found his gaze rapid and ever-changing. Warm, calming hands rested against his hips, and Jesse’s voice poured into his ears.
“Just let the music move you. Don’t be afraid to use your body.”
In a blink, Andre found himself surrounded by demons, Jesse at his front. The incubus wore a wide smile, his hips mid bounce below that taut torso. Toned, tight muscle stretched as he danced, arms in constant motion, and legs stepping side to side. Every now and then, he’d take a big step forward and get close to Andre, only to either pivot around him, or flap his wings to raise himself off the ground. Those airborne flourishes brought a chuckle into the peacock’s throat.
“See? You’re already doing it!”
Perplexed, Andrealphus looked down; and to his astonishment, his body moved of its own accord. Each of Jesse’s movements pulled his hips toward the incubus, to send those gleaming tailfeathers in a wide, sweeping motion across the dance floor. Elbows were bent, and forearms poised themselves as an irresistible urge for movement infected his legs. In the moment, his mind didn’t focus on the mechanics or technique, but simply…the act. Andrealphus allowed his body to follow its inclinations; most of which they borrowed from watching Jesse’s own dance moves.
So engrossed, was he, that only in the foggiest smears of his vision did onlookers appear.
“Oh shit, is that Diamondback Jesse?”
“It is!”
With just two exclamations of his presence, the crowd of eyes grew in their direction, and soon the entire club was fixated upon he and Andrealphus. A grin flashed across Jesse’s face, and he leapt off the floor with a flap of his wings, grasped Andre’s hands, then dropped to the ground and pivoted. Hand in hand, the marquis could only follow his lead, and to his surprise, the world spun. The next thing he knew, Jesse’s lips were pressed to his beak in a sensual kiss that made his spine shudder and his mind melt. Andre only caught a scant glimpse of the ceiling before his eyes closed to drink in the warmth of the incubus’ lips and tongue; decidedly oblivious to the shocked gasps, hoots, and hollers all around them.
Cheering spectators clapped and began to chant, “Diamond-Back! Diamond-Back! Diamond-Back!” Through the uproar came random voices and requests.
“Jesse, can you do the routine?!”
“Yeah, do the routine; it’s been forever since I’ve seen it!”
“Come on, Diamondback; just like old times!”
Jesse parted from the kiss, only to pull Andrealphus up and wrap an arm around that skinny waist. He turned to address the crowd with a raised hand, and despite it, the crowd hovered closed with bated breath and wide eyes. Gently, Jesse’s hand tapped Andre at the small of his back and bid him to lower, which he did curiously. “What do you say Andre; wanna see what they’re all so excited about?”
“I must admit, I have been curious about the nomenclature for some time now.”
A wide grin pushed those handsome cheekbones even higher, and Andre felt the brush of a tipped, fleshy tail against his feathers. Jesse looked back to the crowd, whom continued to sit in relative silence amongst the beat of the music. “Somebody get me a chair!”
Everyone split the air with their resulting cheer, and various demons scattered towards a large stage; the same that a band would perform atop. It sat vacant, save for a pole that jutted all the way to the ceiling and was attached to the stage. One of Jesse’s fans rushed up the stairs, chair in hand, and sat it down facing the crowd. Through an absolute sea of bodies, Jesse guided Andrealphus along until they reached the stage.
To his surprise, Jesse didn’t relinquish his hold. “Wait, you need me up onstage as well?”
“Yeah, you’re gonna be the one in the chair; my act has always been done with two people.”
“Bit of a leap, don’t you agree?” Andrealphus protested, only to feel his nerves lower to a simmer as he caught the sharp tip of Jesse’s fangs.
“Don’t worry, you won’t be dancing or anything. Trust me, you’re going to love this.”
With a gulp of trepidation, Andre planted his ass into the chair. What exactly did Jesse have in store for him?
Ice scraped against the sole’s of Edmund’s dress shoes, as he slid backwards; weapon poised in a sideways guard. Sharp tacks of frosty shards flew from the floor, gouged out by the spiked footwear of his opponent. Before the slide could even cease, the shark demon was already upon him; elbow cocked back for a wide hook. Edmund swung his halberd to the side and jammed the hilt against the ice. The sudden loss of momentum caught his body and redirected the flow of energy in a curving path, and as he spun around his attacker; he swung in a wide arc.
To his dismay, the shark ducked beneath the blow and countered with an immediate flurry of blows; each strike enough to send tremors through the medieval weaponry. Up, left, under, left, right, straight; the precision of a boxer and the quickness of a bloodthirsty predator.
Edmund swung the flat edge of the axe head into one of those wide hooks, and a satisfying clang rung out; followed by a grimace from the shark. Too fast to see, he flicked the opposite end of his weapon upwards and clocked the side of that sea-green head. An opening was made, as his attacker stumbled, but as he went to strike, the sound of gunfire snapped his head to the side.
Sparks flew as he deflected the rounds with the axe face, and for his trouble, took a swift tail swipe to his gut.
Once again, the imp slid backwards.
Andrealphus sat, wide eyed and awestruck, as Jesse popped open his shirt. Beautiful, perfect muscle stretched free in the light, and the crowd cheered. Completely topless, those diamond-shaped markings that covered his body were on full display, and without a word, he took to the pole! A single hand gripped polished metal, and with a flap of his wings, the incubus spun upwards; which drew another cheer from the crowd. He corkscrewed back down, but halfway there, he flipped upside down and gripped the bar with his thighs! Nothing was left to the imagination, as that tight grip mashed against his naturally gifted virility. More than a few wolf whistles pierced the air, and demons jumped on the floor in excitement.
In one fluid motion, he spun upright around the pole until his wings faced the crowd. One hand above and the other below, Jesse pressed his sculpted back to the pole and began to slowly grind down; his tail flicked and snapped along the way, to really accent his ass.
By the time he disengaged from the pole and stood behind Andre, the peacock was completely gob smacked: heated and flushed all along his face. A muscular arm draped over his shoulder, and a strong palm slid down his chest, fingers careful not to ruffle a single feather. Jesse spun around and plopped right into Andre’s lap, both arms raised wide to gently grip and caress the marquis’ neck and face; legs spread wide open and tail curled about one of those towering, talon-footed stilts that Andre called legs.
For the crowd, their gift was the sight of abdomen muscle and pecs pushed against luscious, red-hued skin. The diamonds that were his namesake seemed to flaunt atop his rigid physicality; a gift to all who gazed upon the sensual act. Jesse’s single-handed grip on the back of Andre’s neck eased his lover towards his face, eyes half-lidded in anticipation for a kiss. All too excited to deny the request, the marquis’ beak lowered; which drew excited hollers from the sea of strangers.
Right before a kiss could connect, Jesse spun around in Andrealphus’ lap and stood tall, a second hand to join the first as his hips began to slowly gyrate. Ass to the crowd, he gave that royal bird an up close, front row view of his taut stomach.
“Having fun, Andre?” Those playful, loving words dropped from his lips to bounce off the bird’s awestruck face. They quickly shifted into a grin as it seemed Andrealphus could contain himself no longer, and braced his hands against those muscular thighs.
Being so close reminded him of the sheer, frightening power that the incubus possessed over his senses. Mind: blank. Eyes: locked. Body: hot. It wasn’t just the muscles, but the sheen of his skin, the gleam of his fangs, the lurid glow of his eyes, and the winter complexion of his hair. Jesse was an entire package; one that kept the royal rooted in his chair, and in the multi-colored lights of the club, his natural diamond patterns reflected light with a near heavenly quality.
Andrealphus swallowed the lump that had grown in his throat; not one of fear, but of lust. “You…are…radiant.”
“Check this out; they always love this bit.” Jesse turned his attention away for a moment to look at the crowd from over his shoulder, and flashed them a grin. Andre quietly gasped as he heard those muscles tighten and stretch, as the incubus stood and gave a mighty, two armed flex. Both wings gave a sharp, swift snap of a flap, and the crowd screamed; chanting his name.
“Diamondback! Diamondback! Diamondback!”
In that moment of deserved showboating, Andrealphus’ gaze traveled south from Jesse’s sculpted chin, down his pectorals, along each bump of abdomen muscle…and settled on his groin. Why he had never noticed it before, he didn’t know, but there was a scent. Cherries, oakwood, light musk; all combined to entice his sense of smell. He leaned closer, and found his eyes locked onto that bulge that snaked down the demon’s pant leg.
Both hands were already on those thighs, already so close to… The mere thought stole Andre’s breath and sent his brain into full spin; no, not here, in front of all these strangers! Yet, part of him didn’t care; that sweet, heavenly, intoxicating aroma enough to wash his mind clean of all else. Talons rose, eyes flicked up; he was still focused on the crowd. Maybe, just maybe…a little…
“That’s my set! Thanks for coming out, everyone!”
Andre’s hands slammed down into his own lap: fuck!
More cheering, waving, bouncing erupted from the pit, and Jesse’s body brimmed with an upbeat energy. He slid down from the chair, pulled Andre’s face into his muscular chest, and planted a kiss on his plumage. “Whew, I’m starving! Wanna go get some bar food? Sal makes some mean-ass nachos!”
A ten minute nap between those makeshift pillows, just to fall asleep to the pulse of that beating heart, would be nice. “I must admit, I am a bit peckish…”
As the crowd began to disperse back to the dance floor, some waited near the steps; likely in anticipation of an autograph or a picture. Andre couldn’t deny that jealousy stirred in his heart at the sight, but moreso, there was a happiness that he was loved.
“…but I think you’ve got some eager fans waiting for you.”
Stinging pain radiated up Edmund’s leg in fierce, hot throbs. Equally hot blood trickled down his ankle; it’s birthing point a ragged, raw scrape of a hole. Sweat smothered the back of his neck, each lung crackled with heat and soreness, and his arms ached. Legs like iron, he attempted to seize back control of his breathing, while also staying locked in place; eyes fixated on his two foes.
The much larger of the two, the shark demon, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Keeping him at a distance was bothersome, as his ally’s ranged support constantly kept his defense loose and fragmented. One got in close, while the other stayed away and created openings; and Edmund couldn’t take out the outlaw unless he could get past the hand-to-hand nuisance. In short, it was a solid setup.
“Gotta admit…” the outlaw drawled, with a spin of his revolver. “…you’ve got plenty of energy for an old timer. Shame the boss wants you alive.” An almost annoyed huff left his flared nostrils. “Means that Al here’s gotta play with his food, tenderize ya real good, and I can’t just pop ya in the dome and call it a day. Live bounties just cause more issues for everyone, don’t they?”
As he talked, the shark demon pressed his hand against his nostrils and…deeply inhaled? Such a gesture perked Edmund’s curiosity; what was the point of such an odd thing? Was it bait? His body was exposed, wide open, but a free meal was often a trap. The sound of a gun sliding into a leather holster, with no small amount of speed, grabbed his attention; the outlaw had put away his guns. A hand reached behind his waist…and unfurled a long, thick whip.
“Guess I gotta go the non-lethal route to speed things up a tad.” His wrist tilted, fingers wiggled like a spider adjusting its many legs, and then the whip shot up to slash the air. A resounding *CRACK!* tore through the estate; the sound of which curled the imp’s lips into a grin. “Oh yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. You juiced up and ready, Al?”
What; Edmund’s head shot back to the shark, whose pupils were decidedly wider. The rings they once possessed, along with the iris that showcased a semblance of rational thought and control, had vanished. In their place; deep pits of blood red. “Ready, Striker.”
Instantly, he felt a leathery tendril coil around the staff of his halberd! Edmund flexed and pulled back, desperate to keep his only means of defense, and tense his core for a low stance. As he struggled, a flash of sea green darted forward…and the gleam of polished, studded metal knuckles obscured his vision.
Metallic meteors struck his eyes; their embrace a scrape against the bone of his brow and whiplash in his neck. Flesh opened, and blood poured from a fresh, stinging cut that oozed over both eyelids. A blow to the gut; a grind of ribs, teeth on teeth, the bone that should not be touched by raw skin, yanked the wind straight from the imp’s mouth. Jab, jab, jab, haymaker, haymaker, uppercut; a blinding flourish of starlight and agony that rained upon Edmund like a meteor shower! Blood flew from his flesh, as paint from a brush stroke, and rained upon the icy floor. Yet, through it all, his grip did not yield.
Then, a hand collapsed around his throat, and his weapon clattered to the ground as he was lifted into the air.
Hard, uncaring ice shattered against his scapula; something broke, something tore, his tailbone smashed to the ground beneath his weight.
Unflinching eyes seethed down at him, their aura a menacing fog of crimson. He gripped the wrist that pinned him down, only to feel his esophagus tighten and his breath strain with effort to escape. All to no avail, pressure built in his lungs and face.
Above, a rush of mighty wind and a loud, feline roar freed Edmund’s breath, and he gulped it down with a loud, echoing gasp. Sasha stood poised above Al, growling and yowling, mouth held open as it tried to clamp down on the demon’s skull! If not for the metal-knuckled hands that kept her jaws pried open, she might have succeeded in ending the fight then and there.
Edmund coughed as he rose to his feet, his mind quicker than his body; the penultimate goal forced his feet to move unbidden. Gliding across the foyer, he shot straight towards Striker, who was in the middle of drawing his gun back out from its holster. That moment of vulnerability was exactly what Edmund needed. Without a weapon of his own, he moved much faster, and was upon the outlaw in seconds.
He balled his hand into a fist to strike.
Sasha’s snarl rumbled behind him.
Edmund’s fist flew forward, aimed directly at Striker’s face.
A gunshot cracked the air.
“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” a horde of ecstatic voices chanted, their fists a parade of thunder upon the bar top.
Jesse and Andrealphus sat together between two bulky hellhounds, all of them with a tall, wide mug of Golden Glow tilted towards their lips. It had taken some time to convince Andrealphus to participate, but with Jesse in his ear and a little bit of enthusiasm, there he sat. The rules were simple; don’t be the last one to finish their drink. Through the golden haze that was an abhorrently powerful, fruity concoction, Andre’s vision began to swirl. His stomach was fine, having been accustomed to the rich and earthy wines of upper class living, but his head was full of loose, relaxing heat. Gulp after gulp didn’t sway the resolve of his tastebuds, and thus he kept pace with even the brutes on either side; head tilted back to ensure he didn’t waste a drop.
As if prophetic, something told him that Jesse would finish before him; sure as Hell itself, the incubus slammed his drink onto the table a split second before he did. Onlookers erupted into cheers, and excitable hands patted the both of them in a congratulatory manner. Even the hellhounds received some praise, despite coming in last, yet were nothing but smiles in defeat; must be the alcohol!
Andrealphus turned to Jesse and leaned against those sturdy, broad shoulders. “We should…” Internal gasses forced his speech to stop, just to be negated inside of his beak. “…refrain from anymore!” Happiness coursed through his limp, relaxed energy reserves; a limp arm coiled around Jesse’s opposite shoulder. “We still need to get…home, after this.” A swift and boisterous slap of the table, and a point towards the bartender Sal, followed. “My good man; a tall glass of water, if you would be so kind.”
“Right away, your excellency.”
“Your excellency…” Andre parroted, smile wrought upon his beak, as his tilted head nestled against Jesse. “…I could get used to the sound of that.” Another finger, just as boisterous as the last, pressed and turned against the incubus’ chiseled chin. “Jesse, from now on, I want you to call me ‘Your Excellency’ when we’re intimate.”
A dervish of a snort bounced in amusement, “What, do you want to keep your tiara on next time too?” he laughed, arm wrapped tight around that slender midsection.
“Yes! An entire harness of jewels too; perhaps Asmodeus would be willing to part with one from his personal collection?” More laughter, this time from Andre. Deep, haughty, and absolutely blitzed from fruit alcohol. Each motion was limp and free, almost sudden and forceful; like a limp noodle being slapped against various surfaces. “Or maybe…” That same finger rose to tap the tip of Jesse’s fang. “…you’d like to wear the crown, next time?”
“Oh, your excellency~” Jesse rumbled playfully, nothing but pearly white teeth and pleasurable growls. Before things could escalate, that tall glass of requested water slid in front of them.
“Ah yes, the water; don’t want to be out of sorts when we meet your friend, do we?”
Through Andre’s words, a question rang in Jesse’s brain; where exactly was Bella? She wasn’t one to hide in her office while there was a party going on. Normally, she was out on the floor, interacting with the guests, but he hadn’t spotted her tonight. Curiosity festered, and Jesse glanced to a nearby clock on the wall; they’d been partying for at least two hours. Was she in a meeting? Was she swamped with financial paperwork? It was simply…odd.
“Hey, uhhh…Sal, is Bella in tonight? I haven’t seen her.”
“Miss Ambrosia? Yeah, she’s just a bit busy tonight; fresh delivery of juice boxes came in today, and they required personal inspection.” Sal’s bony head bounced to the side, in direction towards a far off hallway that lead backstage. “I don’t think she’s taking visitors right now.”
The loud clink of a glass upon the bar paved the way for Andre’s interjection. “What sort of grown woman still drinks juice?”
Jesse cleared his throat and leaned over, “Bella is, well…a vampire, Andre.”
“Oh. Oh my. A vampire.” A playful, disingenuous air flung from his beak with each swivel of his head. “You know, my father had many, many interactions with vampires during his reign. He always told me…”
‘Andrealphus, never trust what drains your life, so that it may live.’
“…what tripe.”
Jesse perked a brow, “You don’t really talk about your father all that much.”
“I don’t?” Andre chuckled, then scoffed; the tip of his talon against the counter. “The topic must have slipped my mind. Count Rose was his name; painter, commander, and poolside drunkard. That last title was only incurred whenever mother was cross with him; father was a…sensitive sort.”
Count Rose; Jesse’s mind flashed back to one of the book’s in his room at Andre’s. That’s who it was about? Why would a random book about Andre’s father be in Jesse’s room? Maybe it had just been forgotten? The only ever mention Jesse had heard of the count was during their first heart-to-heart smoke upon his foyer railing.
“Did you…like your father?”
“Like him?” Those sharp talons dribbled across the table, in search of somewhere to wander; someplace to arrive. Yet, they found nothing, save the stalking of Andre’s gaze. “He taught me how to sculpt; well, he and mother both, actually. Father’s penchant for painting provided a more freeform and artistic view. Mother’s instruction was more…mechanical, practical, rigid; all the qualities of an effective teacher, if you ask me.”
“That doesn’t really answer my question.”
“I’m getting around to it. Sometimes proper answers require build up. So, when I was first learning my craft, father stuck to me like glue. Everywhere I went, everything I did, every thought I ever conjured was bared for his tutelage. Aside from art, he’s the one who taught me swordsmanship, honor, control; all with a smile on his face. Vibrant sort: father; a flamingo, mind you.”
As Andre recanted the memory, a smile returned to his beak and stayed there; its’ presence only grew with each word. It was as if the recollection made him happy, but there was an absence in the smile; something…lost. Jesse noted this expression with rapt attention, and didn’t interrupt.
“For a time, he was absent, due to his military obligations. Mother took up my lessons in his stead, and she could not have been a farther cry. She hardly smiled, if ever, and rewarded fumbles and failure with swift reprimand. As a child, it confused me; but as I am now, I see that…” Andre hung on the word, eyes alight with recognition as he stared at his dancing finger. "...she had faith in me. For better or worse, I was her only son.”
The light within the marquis’ eyes darkened, and his head turned, ripe alcohol thick on his breath. He gazed about the club at every demon, every light, and even perked his ear for individual instruments amidst the playing music. Their happy faces diminished his smile, all to the point that it vanished into neutrality, and a blistering cold washed over his heart. It was a brief sensation, but it darkened his mind nonetheless.
“I often wonder what my existence would be like if she were still here. What would I have gained…and what would I have lost?” Andre turned back to the table and sighed, then momentarily took off his shades to pinch and rub at his eyes with curled knuckles. “Sometimes, the very idea simply terrifies me.” He then stared across the bar, as if into the void of space; his eyes the farthest away from Jesse that they had ever been before. “Does that make me terrible; my satisfaction over their permanent absence?”
Jesse’s hand slid across the bar and over Andre’s own, just to provide comfort. He didn’t even squeeze, as his warmth alone was enough to express the delicateness of the matter. “That’s a tough question with a murky answer. All I can say, is that even if you were an objectively shitty person…you’re still good in my book. I don’t know enough to condemn your feelings; I didn’t live in your shoes, so I can’t speak for you. What I can say though, is that no matter your decision, it doesn’t change what I think of you.”
As comets to the gravitational pull of a planet, Andre’s eyes were pulled back to Jesse; a shimmer of stardust in their reflective glow. A sniffle followed, and the peacock’s head dipped for but a moment, “Thank you…truly.”
Jesse gently wrapped his fingers around Andre’s palm and leaned forward, just to reintroduce the peacock to his presence, his body heat, and all the comforts that he could emotionally and physically provide. In that hall of strangers, there was only one that Andre needed.
“I thought I felt my ears burning!”
Both of their heads shot up, and there stood a dark-furred bat; arms spread, golden hoops dangled from her pointed ears, and a deep red sand black dressed that vacuum sealed itself to her slender form.
“Bella!”
“In the flesh, Baby Bat; thought I heard the girls in the back muttering about your ass. What’s the word, how’s it hanging; whatcha doing back here so soon without giving me a heads up?” At first, her eyes were locked on Jesse, but slowly rose to rest on Andrealphus. Henceforth, they didn’t stray. “With a guest, no less…”
Sweat and blood flew from Edmund’s face, as sparks erupted to cast shadows against it. Blow after blow; his halberd rose to block them all. Metal on metal, the screeching song of discordant melodies untouched by those without an ear for violence, twisted into a heated whirlwind. It was only through anger, righteous and mournful, did his strength hold out in the face of such an assault.
Sasha lay lifeless, in a pool of her own blood; slain by Striker’s bullet. Now, the same demon lashed out with his whip; it’s fingers a reprimanding scrape of agony against Edmund’s back. How easily they tore through his dual-layered finery to rip at his skin, to sap his stamina, to test his resolve in the face of unending, aggravating, hobbling pain. With Al’s fists flying at him nonstop, Edmund’s attention was fixated forward, and without anyone to cover him; exposed his back.
It was all the butler could do to persevere.
Just. Keep. Blocking.
Years of knowledge mashed down against instinct, as he thought of a path to victory. Outnumbered, fleeing to a more advantageous section of the manor would be difficult, despite his familiarity with it. Not only that, but their ranged advantage posed a significant roadblock as well; if he ran, he could be shot, tripped, or ensnared with ease. Al’s strikes had grown faster, more violent, yet retained perfect control over where they landed. Escape wasn’t an option.
Mishka thrashed in her net; still trapped to the floor, with no sign of potential escape in sight. Edmund, fueled by his anger wrought by growing hopelessness, suddenly pushed forward into that barrage of fists. One smashed against the flat edge of his weapon, which caused his attacker to falter for a millisecond, and in that time, he struck. Steel flew upwards, clocked the shark demon beneath the jaw, and then spun around; gleaming menacingly in the light of the manor, its light desperate for blood.
Dread swallowed his heart, as Al ducked beneath the swing.
Ground gave way, gravity forced him to rise, as Edmund felt powerful arms entrap his waist. In a flash, thick digits pierced the back of his knees in a death grip that triggered a clench. The enraged roar of his foe shook victoriously from the ancient hall’s walls and tapestries, as Edmund felt wind rush up his back…
…and summarily felt his back shatter as he was slammed down onto the floor.
His weapon; kicked from his hand. What was the first of many strikes crashed down, and Edmund raised his arms to block. Stone to bone, his body cried out internally as the demon’s fist practically dented his forearm. A second blow struck like thunder, then another; both just as violent as the first. In seconds, Edmund’s arms were beaten down and battered aside; nerves short-circuited by the repeated shocks.
Liquid caressed the inside of his head, just outside the skull, as Al’s fist smashed into his face.
Crippling pain seared over into a deadening scar that removed his sense of time, place, and condition. Each punch was a flash of lightning and the sharp crack of thunder, condensed into the studded metal that wrapped about the shark’s fists. It was a storm; one powerful enough to unearth primal terror, and all Edmund could do was ball up and weather it. Bruised to a bloody pulp he gasped for air against broken ribs; the inflation of his lungs enough to turn fragments into crumbs…only for one more punch to smite him down.
The butler’s head smashed off the floor with such violent speed that his recently treated horn splintered, then split into two. Its upper half ricocheted off the ice and spun along the ground, as it skated far across the foyer.
At last, the fists ceased to fall.
“Think you got him, Al.” Smooth iron pressed against Edmund’s bloodied face, right at the jaw, and forcibly tilted the imp’s head. “Beat the honor right out of him.” Striker sighed, as he swung open the chamber of his six shooter with a sharp click. “You owe me four bullets.” The statement was directed at Al, who reached down and grabbed Edmund by his tie, then yanked him upwards into a partial sitting position.
Shaky, raspy, shuddering breaths wracked through Edmund’s body; his brow cut, one eye swelled shut, and more than a few missing teeth. Blood sputtered from his mouth; lungs discouraged to function beneath the cease and desist order formed in his mind.
“While the bird’s away, the snakes will play.” Striker chuckled, hand already in his pocket, and pulled out a little flip phone. It snapped open, akin to how his revolver had done mere seconds ago, and he spoke into it. “We’re done here.”
The manor doors flew open, and the rumble of heavy footsteps flooded the foyer. Tightness enveloped Edmund’s throat, as Alessio coiled the butler’s tie around his fist and hoisted him into the air. Before the glimmering ice of his beloved home faded before his very eyes, Edmund’s final thought before he blacked out was one of despair; of how he had failed. Four words resonated in his mind.
Forgive me, Master Andrealphus…
“I take it the Blood Fruit has been to your liking, Andrealphus?” Bella asked, sat upon a velvet-cushioned chair, wine glass cradled between her two middle fingers. The bat leaned in, and softly inhaled to waft the scent of the deep red beverage within. A content sigh slipped from her luscious lips, “I’m not sure if Jesse has told you, but we aren’t used to the more…elite royals.”
Andre sniffed his own wine glass: white, fruity, and light. “Tis a charming establishment. While it pales in comparison to The Starlight Lounge, it’s amenities are of high quality. Perhaps if it weren’t underground…”
“Your tolerance for alcohol is, dare I say, impressive; marquis. Even the biggest demons stumble after more than a few glasses of my Golden Glow.”
“Your Golden Glow? You were it’s original creator?”
“Well, Jesse helped.”
Bat and peacock turned their gazes to the incubus, who was caught halfway in a sip of his skunk beer. Their gaze momentarily paralyzed him, but then, he chuckled and waved a hand. “She’s playing it up; all I did was come by the money. Bella was the brains behind the flavor.”
“And it put this little club on the map.”
Andrealphus risked a gentle sip of his wine, and found its taste pleasurable, if simplistic. “Yet, you have chosen to have it remain a closely guarded, exclusive, and secretive establishment.”
Bella smiled, “What can I say; must be the bat in me. Down here it’s dark, warm, private…where no one is watching you.” Glass rim pressed to her ruby lips, as she drank, her blood red eyes peered just above it at Andrealphus. A simple expression for those outside of its gaze, but to him, there was something hidden; another emotion concealed behind polite conversation. He knew it all to well, having danced amongst its practitioners for years.
“Except when you’re onstage, of course.”
That fanged smile curled into a multi-ringed wave at each end, and hidden animosity blinked back into neutrality. “Yes, dad always loved himself a show. Lots of music…dancing…pyrotechnics; figured I’d take after him.”
“Is he a musician?”
“He was not.”
Her use of past tense struck a chord, and the peacock’s posture softened; wrist limp to idly swirl his wine and glance at Jesse for silent guidance. Nothing immediate was helpful, as if the information wasn’t anything new to the incubus; and why should it be, if he and Bella had been comrades for years?
“My apologies; I assume your use of past tense implies that he is no longer among us.”
“You would be right.”
“May I ask his profession?”
“Why do you care?”
“Why else would I be here, if not for the exchange of familiarities?”
Bella’s lips pursed for a moment, as if to suck on a sour lemon of life, then glanced towards the floor with a click of her teeth. “He was…a shaman.”
“A shaman; hmm, I have not heard of the shamans for quite some time.”
“That’s because they’re all gone.” The statement was curt, perhaps too curt, as Bella shifted a leg atop her knee and began to bounce her sandal-covered foot; ankle and above wrapped in thin leather vines. “Long before either of us would’ve been able to eat solid foods, anyway. What they knew was written down and locked away, by the demons who ransacked their home and stole everything.”
Jesse abruptly cleared his throat. “So, Bella, Andre and I are just waiting on word to come around, but there’s going to be a big…party, panel, thing when my statue is shown off, and I’d like you to come.”
“Oh, that’s right, you mentioned something about that before; do I need to bring a gift?”
“It’s not required; Lucifer knows there will already be enough applause and photos. Our work will be the talk of Hell, and Jesse shall be elevated. All of his troubles shall disappear.” Andrealphus interjected.
“Really, all of his troubles?” A distrustful and unconvinced gaze buried itself in her glass, Bella’s foot paused amidst seemingly deep thought. As she pulled her lips away, a red stain left itself upon her lips, which she shrived clean with a single pass of her tongue. “Is your life like that, Andrealphus; rich and powerful, without a care in the world?”
“It is not the absence of issues, my dear, but rather the means by which to eliminate them as they arise. Wealth, power, influence, knowledge…and since Jesse and I are collaborators, he will always have an ally in the Goetian courts.” Surprise made itself known in the form of an amorphous stare; one that made the peacock smile through his wine, as he took another sip to free up the conversation.
“Hmm.”
Andrealphus paused mid-drink, eyes snapped above the rim to stare at the bat. Did his presence do nothing to convince her? Amongst the agitated curiosity that bubbled in the protective lake of his mind, there was indignation. Was this mockery?
“Do you have a different perspective, on the matter, Miss Ambrosia?” It was a title that Andrealphus made extra care to pack with concealed venom; wreathed in a pleasant, dulcet tone.
“Just because you hand someone a tool, doesn’t mean they know how to use it.”
“That is what lessons are for.”
“And who’s going to teach him: you?”
“Why…yes.”
Jesse shifted in his seat; it was as if the two biggest figures in his life had completely forgotten of his existence. Yet, he was all the spoke of; and he held his tongue to see how this interaction would play out. If things grew too tense…he knew it would come from a place of shared worry.
“Funny thing about power…” Bella began, and sat her wine glass down entirely to join her fingers atop her lap. “…it’s a cage.”
If there had been any remaining trace of a genuine smile on Andre’s face, it vanished in that moment.
“The way I see it, Jesse’s just hopping out of one cage and right into another. After all, he would owe you for making his career, wouldn’t he? That’s what good folks do; repay favors…sometimes for way too fucking long.” Stark red eyes traced over to Jesse and addressed him directly. “You remember what happened the last time you asked someone stronger than you for help?”
“This is different, Bella.”
“You’re still working off that favor.”
“Not for much longer.”
“Because you got another one just to pay off the first one!”
For the first time that evening, the bat placed both feet on the floor. Her stance was rigid, stern; eyes alight with strength. It reminded Andre of his mother’s gaze, from when he was a child; and he adopted a similar posture to even the social playing field.
“When’s it stop, Jesse: huh? Are you just gonna keep digging new holes for yourself, jump into them, and say that one day you’ll climb out?”
“No, because this isn’t—”
“Do you even remember why we bought this place to begin with? You and me were supposed to be a team. We were going to make it big our way, on our own; without anyone else holding our leash. Then, you went off and—”
“You know why I had to do that.”
“Yes, but you did it without telling me until after you did it!”
Jesse winced, and his wings slumped behind him, with an uncomfortable ruffle.
“You knew I didn’t want to take that route, but you thought you knew better, and so you stabbed me in the back and left me to run this place by myself.”
Now, it was Andrealphus’ turn to silently monitor the conversation; the rush of new information a wave of crisp, clear spring water from a river. Royal roots delighted at the invigoration, but he kept the feeling hidden; it was not to the time to be flippant. Rule five of court; know when to hold your tongue and listen.
“Bell, you knew I was coming back. I got a job at Ozzie’s, moved up to Lust; why do you think I took this job? We already talked about this; you were the one who gave me the idea! You can’t be mad at me for wanting to pay you back.”
“It was never about the money, Jesse. I couldn’t give a shit about the money, but I cared about you!” Bella stood from her chair, hands on her hips, brow furrowed and wrinkled, as it appeared her eyes sought to restrain her emotions from slipping out of control. “You wanted to be a big fucking man, and handle everything on your own, no matter how many people you pushed away to do it. You…” An unrestrained laugh popped from her lips, for all but a moment. “…you didn’t call or visit for years: years.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? You’re sorry, now that you’re about to make it big and wander off into the sunset with your new royal sugar daddy, you’re sorry?” Bella shook her head, a sour expression wrought upon her face. “You leave me holding the bag, ghost me for years, get in bed with a royal, and now come back to rub your success in my face, with sorry?”
“Miss Ambrosia, it is not my intent to steal your friend from you. In fact, it is quite the opposite.” Andrealphus kept his head high, but at her level as a sign of mutual respect…despite his opinion of her currently being below it. “Jesse is a wonderful demon, and I wish to show his unique gifts to the entirety of Hell, so that they too may be enriched. I cannot speak for his actions, for we all must atone for our own deeds, and I understand how this looks; but, I assure you, he isn’t going anywhere.”
His words appeared to give her pause, if not soothe her frustration, and Andrealphus watched as her gaze returned to fixate upon the ground in silence.
“Speaking frankly, where Jesse benefits, his companions do as well. It is not my intent to cage him, as you say; for an imprisoned bird sings poorly.”
Bella slid back down into her chair, a weary arm propped on its armrest to cradle her forehead. “I’m so sorry, I’m usually not so…testy.” For a moment, she appeared older, more weathered, but surely it was a mere trick of the light. Suddenly, her hand lowered, and she grasped her glass with no small measure of quickness. Three slow, audible gulps followed, and the final traces of what lay within that glass vanished; leaving naught but a faded reminder of what once was. “I’ll be at the ceremony, just…send me the information when you have it.”
Andre stood, and discreetly beckoned Jesse to do the same; if only to show support in a close, physical manner similar to hovering. “We will be delighted to see you.”
He monitored the incubus’ expression, as they made their way towards the door in relative silence. Naught but concern, confusion, guilt, and sadness dotted those sculpted cheekbones and rigidly carved jawline. As the door closed, and they stared into the quiet, musty hallway that lead back to the dancefloor, Andre turned.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Thick, muscular arms folded across a broad chest, and a heart-shaped tail whipped and snapped with steady, slow tweaks of emotion. “Bella hasn’t yelled at me like that before.” They allowed the statement to ferment; Jesse’s sour note accompanied by Andre’s silent consideration for his emotional state. “Something was off.”
“Sometimes, my dear…” Long and gentle fingers cradled that sharp chin, not to turn it, but to simply hold it. From on high, the marquis sank to a knee to meet his bedfellow eye to eye. “…all it amounts to is simply a bad day. Clearly, my presence stoked something within her.”
“…you think so?”
“I am the only new condition. In a controlled space, with other variables, you told me she wouldn’t bite my head off in your presence. You were right, but in a monkey’s paw manner of speaking.”
Jesse sighed; a deep inhale through his nostrils, eyes closed, and a steady exhale that made his wings shake with a light flap. “I did tell you she’s not fond of royals, right?”
“You did, yet still, you wished to involve me in her life. That tells me she’s important to you, despite her feelings leaning towards the opposite.” Andre stood, and tilted his lover’s head upwards. "Come; let’s not dwell on it. Instead, we should imbibe some more Golden Glow before heading home.”
“Not a bad idea; a drink sounds really nice right about now…”
“And, if I’m not overstepping my boundaries, we could take a much…shorter route home, tonight? Perhaps…your place?”
Jesse’s head twitched, like a cow bothered by a nasty, nipping fly, and finally allowed a blush to settle atop his skin. “You don’t want to head back to the manor?”
“It’s a long trip, and I would rather give Edmund more space. Besides that, I have always been curious as to what your home looks like…particularly the bed chamber.”
Serpentine flesh peeked from his lips; his tongue, and it stretched over his lips in a nervous little lick that made Andrealphus smile. Jesse was adorable when he was flustered. “I’d be a bit of an idiot to say no, wouldn’t I?”
Andre’s smile widened, and he leaned down to plant a little kiss upon the incubus’ cheek. “Come, the night is still young~”
It was then that they walked, hand in hand, to fill the remaining hours with dancing, laughter, and sweet-sweet Golden Glow; their troubles long forgotten, and their affection ever bright.
Chapter 18: Breaking Even
Notes:
18+ Chapter for sexual content.
Trigger Warning: Breathplay is involved.
Chapter Text
To an unfamiliar room, sweet reality beckoned Andrealphus’ eyes to remain open. Shaded carpet, the give of a soft and cool pillow; all secondary to the jutting horns and head of white hair that reeled him forward. It took a mere second or two for his mind to acclimate, and the marquis hugged his infernal lover close; his senses electrified by the incubi’s presence. Silken hair that smelled of vanilla and sunlight, muscles that felt as smooth marble along his fingertips, and body heat which warmed his soul filled his heart with happiness and peace.
He didn’t want to leave that den of contentment.
Gentle raindrops tapped against the window; their symphony that of a lullaby. Stay, slumber, bask in the presence of a lover until the end of pain; until the end of everything. Andre nestled the smooth curvature of his beak into the side of Jesse’s neck and dared not close his eyes, for fear that they may never open again. Slowly, his senses sharpened, and with them came the malicious machinations of the mind.
The night had been wonderful, but now it was day, and the world turned ever onward.
For fear of waking Jesse, he gently slid his leg over the edge of the bed. Reluctantly, terribly so, Andrealphus pulled away from the slumbering form of physicality personified until his feet touched the ground and he stood. Long had his clothing been discarded; to his memory, the moment they had drunkenly managed to unlock the front door to Jesse’s apartment. Pleasant tingles accompanied the memory, and leftover flavor sparked atop his tongue from the previous evening’s escapades.
Quiet as a mouse, he slipped out the bedroom door and into the living room. Zero light, save for what naturally managed to filter through the curtains and overcast skies, encompassed all. To his appreciated luck, nothing managed to sneak under, or in front of, his feet on the way to the kitchen. The tiny red light that signaled a powered up coffee machine beckoned him forward, like a beacon; and so it was that the Mighty Marquis, Andrealphus of the Ars Goetia, stood naked in front of a slowly filling coffee pot.
Trapped in his thoughts, and with naught else to gaze upon, he looked to his hand. Upon its’ edges, a dim, ghostly cerulean light glowed. No matter the angle at which he tilted his wrist, nor how many ways he could think to splay and curl his fingers, it did nothing to dispel it. Creeping dread seized the breath in his lungs.
He could feel it.
His magic was returning.
The edge of the table curved perfectly into his palms, as he gripped the table. Smooth, cool, minimalistic and useful; he relished all of those qualities, as his grip slowly increased. Muscles tightened in his forearms, the dips and curvatures of his feathered skin altered under their influence, and strength flowed into his hands. Not magic; simply strength; Strength born of reaction, gifted by blight, and fueled by negative emotion. Andrealphus squeezed the table and let his head hang, defiance thick in his mind. Woeful was it to confront an all-powerful universe, one which offered no repose from the afflictions it lay upon its occupants.
He did not know which was crueler; to be denied the daily wonderments that were taken for granted by those who freely possessed them, or to be given a taste of normalcy and have it summarily yanked away. What cruel, unfeeling God would construct a thing such as he? Was he meant to simply suffer, to be an example, an experiment, or merely a pawn or a grander plan he was too insignificant to know?
Heat welled behind his eyes, and he quickly shut them to immerse himself within a new darkness; the self-imposed darkness of ignorance. Did his mental wailing even matter?
Roasted coffee, thick and alluring, caught the attention of his nostrils. He opened his eyes…and flicked on the lights.
Perhaps it didn’t matter if he mattered to the universe, because there was another entity, right in the other room, who he mattered to deeply.
Dangerous steam brushed along his fingers, as he poured himself a mug of fresh, unaltered coffee. No sugar, no creamer; the marquis took the liquid straight and bitter. To him, such a shock was the best way to pluck off any lingering drowsiness. As the strong, clogging flavor and scent struck his tastebuds and nostrils, Andrealphus submitted to its influence; and every subsequent sip dulled the abuse.
Spurred by restlessness, he wandered into the living room. Jesse’s home was more refined than he expected, in a ‘work-with-what-you’ve-got’ manner of speaking. Tapestries of various content coated the walls, alongside posters and framed photographs; none showed family, simply art. Some were sensually tasteful, others a reference to a beloved television series or film, but none amongst them instilled a sense of…discomfort; regardless of the content. What drew Andrealphus’ eye were the bookshelves nearby, and his newfound curiosity overrode the staying of his hand.
Tales of Stranger Nights
Royal Houses of Hell: From the Scaled to the Feathered
Mindscape of Human Politics
We Have All the Great Composers: Musical Genius in Hell
While their titles were of some interest; nature, as well as whether Jesse had actually read them or not, it was an unmarked book that sparked greater interest. Weathered, dark brown, and possessed of a bulky spine; Andre’s slender fingers took to its procurement with ease. There was no title, no author, and the first page was blank.
He flipped to the second page.
‘We moved to Greed today. All of the green makes me queasy. Dad said to get used to it; this is where we live now. Mom isn’t saying much. I think she doesn’t like it here either, but Dad is just too loud to hear her. At least I get my own room now.’
Messy penmanship wasn’t a reliable indicator of an author’s age, but the usage of ‘Dad’ and ‘Mom’ were telling. Andre surmised, in that moment, that this was the journal of a child, or perhaps an early teen.
Page three:
‘I got the attic room. I think Dad only gave it to me because he and Mom sleep right below it. He says it’s for the view. Yeah Dad, great view; just a bunch of bucket gunk, seaweed slurpage, and smog. Can’t even open the window; there’s no way to. Maggie wanted to visit, but her parents wouldn’t let her out of Pride. Stupid jobs.’
Andrealphus allowed his gaze to linger on the third page, somewhere between the words smog and Maggie. Questions brimmed in his mind, but like all scholars, he knew the path to answers was to keep reading; and so, he did just that.
Page four:
‘My stupid brother fell off the swings today. Some stupid fish-head knocked him off. Why’s it my job to watch him? I had to go pick him up, but then the stupid fish-head tried to yell at me. I hit him good; got a tooth! Serves him right for picking on my little brother. He’s too small and useless to do anything wrong. Dad doesn’t like talking about his size; say’s he’s fine, but he never says it nicely.’
Half of page five was scribbled over with crude pen marks. What was hidden beneath were definitely words, but none were legible. Was this down out of anger, fear, or simply a harmless correction? Andrealphus read on.
‘Mom got mad at me for hitting that fish-head. It’s mom told her, or something, and now I’m getting yelled at for being a good sibling. She says not to hit anymore kids, and that I’ll never get used to things acting like that. Who says I want to get used to things? I hate it here.’
Page six was blank, as were several pages after. For seemingly little reason, at least none that he could surmise, the entries stopped. Then, after about ten pages, the writing resumed; the penmanship vastly tidied up.
‘Dad is a real fucking asshole. Makes me save up for my own car, but gives Jesse a freebie. He took everything else, so I guess why not that too? It’s not my fault I was born with tits instead of a dick. Mom was looking at me like I was crazy, like I was ruining my brother’s birthday, like he’s the only one who’s feelings fucking matter and I should just suck it up! All I’ve ever done is save his ass again and again. Dickheads.’
Andrealphus swiftly closed the journal and slid it back onto the shelf. The moment he had read Jesse’s name, instinct compelled him to stop reading, but he had to finish the entry. Now, regret wormed in his chest; and he drowned it with coffee. He shouldn’t have read it, it wasn’t his to read. Yet, how was he supposed to have immediately know of its’ origins? Why did Jesse even have it in the first place?
As lost in his thoughts as he was, Andre practically jumped from the couch as the bedroom door opened and Jesse shuffled out. Ruffled snowy-hair, chiseled body, and heavy cock created quite the sight, and a stretching yawn overtook the incubus’ face; jaw pulled wide and sharp teeth bared in the dark. “Oh, hey; you’re up…”
“I’ve made coffee too.”
“Yeah, thought I smelled something.” Jesse gave a little wince and ran strong fingers through his hair. “How’s your head?” he groaned, as his abdomen stretched tall and his wings gave a little flap.
“Quite well, thank you.” Andrealphus watched as Jesse groggily padded over to his spot on the couch, and abruptly bent over; which planted his face squarely in that pristine white chest plumage. Unsure of what to do, the marquis slowly reached for that limp tail. “Are you alright?”
“Still waking up a little, but yeah; I just love your feathers. They’re so pretty…” A brief nuzzle followed; one that brought heat to Andre’s cheeks. “…and soft.”
Andrealphus placed his empty coffee mug down, then wrapped his arms around Jesse and leaned back onto the couch. With the incubus now atop him, the marquis took to petting the back of his head; each motion stretched to the demon’s tail, slid towards the tip, and then reset. “As a reward for such a wonderful evening, you can enjoy them as long as you wish.” He cooed softly; Jesse’s barely awoken warmth having already infected his heart with comfort.
As Jesse practically purred against him, mental mutterings over that journal began to grow. He didn’t wish to distress the incubus, but he also didn’t wish to hide anything from him. The time for secrets was long past, and not only did he feel that Jesse deserved to know, he wanted him to know.
“While you were asleep, I perused a tad; I hope you don’t mind…”
“Perused?” Another yawn, just as disruptive and powerful as the first, wracked the bouncer. “Oh, well; hope you find something interesting, at least. Compared to your place, mine is…a dirt hole.”
“I think it’s rather cozy.”
“You’re just saying that to butter me up.”
“If I wanted to accomplish such a thing, I would just…” He brought action in place of words, and shifted the edge of his beak against Jesse’s scalp and horns for a bit of preening. At the same time, he palmed the tip of that devilish tail and rubbed his thumb talon along it; like soaping up a sponge. Both of those actions made Jesse’s back arch, and a lion-like rumble to vibrate against Andre’s chest.
“…fuck, call me a bread roll, then.”
“Yes, well, amongst your books I came across an unmarked journal. I read a bit, and it appears to have belonged to your sister.”
“…oh; forgot about that thing.”
“I apologize, if I have crossed a boundary of privacy. You have not been forthcoming with details about your family, so I assumed you wouldn’t wish for me to pry.”
Pristine red skin brushed along heavenly feathers, and Jesse’s lips slid against Andre’s beak. A gentle, slow, and sensual kiss followed; one that possessed infinite time to enjoy itself. Andrealphus found it all too easy to close his eyes; beak parted wider as the seconds passed to give Jesse’s tongue all the opportunity it needed. For his vulnerability, he received a little brush, but the sensual embrace parted soon after.
“I’m not mad. Thank you for telling me, though. You didn’t have to, so the fact that you did means a lot…” One hand slid atop Andre’s own and began to guide it to a particular place; a toned ass cheek, to be specific. It was then that the demon’s eyes slightly closed and a purr overtook his tone. “…and I guess it’s normal for couples to want to learn more about each other, right?”
Not one to turn down an offered prize, he gently gripped that toned cheek. Like marble; fleshy, hot marble that reacted to his touch, Jesse’s sculpted ass injected Andre with an honest allure that brought a little smile onto his beak. As a sculptor, the material felt exquisite. “I suppose that’s true.”
Jesse snuggled closer, so that he could plant his head in the crook of those neck feathers. In their cradle, a pale hue caught the sheen of his eyes, “What’s that?”
Andrealphus reluctantly raise a hand, and allowed the glow around it to properly register in Jesse’s mind. “A sign…one that heralds the inevitable return of my powers.” Weight coated his heart, and that same weight transferred into his fingers; to bow beneath the responsibility they bestowed.
Red digits brushed upwards along said fingers and raised them tall, Jesse’s palm against his own. There had been no hesitation, no fear, and as the natural chill of the peacock’s palm radiated into foreign skin; no recoil. Rows and mounds of muscle shifted, and Andrealphus watched in surprised silence as he was straddled by the incubus; wrist taken to plant both of those chilly hands against firm and bare pecs. A twitch flashed across Jesse’s brow, and his tail gave a little whip, but he soon gave a calm and deep exhale; his head tilted slightly back as both eyes closed.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting used to it. It’s really not that bad; like jumping into a pool for the first time.”
He could feel it; the natural energies of the cosmos gently flowing into Jesse’s body. Neptune’s power, fractured into a miniscule offering of its true majesty, trailed like a pure stream through muscle and infernal heat. Nothing was extinguished or evaporated, in the exchange of opposite elements. Instead, they licked and curved atop and through each other; tongues of dark flame brightened by the tendrils of cosmic water.
“Feels…pretty good, actually…” Concentration molded cheekbones and jaw, but quickly relaxed in the undertow of Goetian magic. Behind a flutter of crimson lids, a marble of magnificent blue peered, and Jesse arched his back to present more of his chest as offering. That subtle grind of hips compelled those glowing hands south, and they soon gripped Jesse’s waist and held him down.
Andrealphus sat up, one hand already having abandoned it’s post to wrap about the curve of Jesse’s thick neck, and embraced his incubus. Beak parted, tongue out, he lavishly tempted that forked tongue to join it; and in a singular smooth motion, they met in the middle. Driven by the desire for that magnificent body, the marquis closed his eyes and surrendered to the warm flavor of another male. Jesse returned his enthusiasm in kind, and moaned deeply into that dance of tongues. One; thick and powerful. Another; slender and dual-tipped for dexterous pleasure. Entwined, chest gyrated against one another; plush ivory feathers versus rigid, barbaric skin. It didn’t take long for Jesse’s touch to join in and find a home amongst the slender muscles of Andre’s back; fingertips pressed through that feathery coat to embrace the skin beneath.
Fangs bared and bumped against an ivory beak, only for the kiss to break and a gentle bite to pinch against the side of Andre’s neck. Not enough to break the skin, but just enough to apply force to an intangible force inside of him; one that could be heightened or lessened at Jesse’s whim. A true furnace of hellish breath scalded his feathers, and a tremble rippled down powerful and lengthy legs.
“Ffffffuck… ” Andrealphus moaned, throat bared in offering. A serpentine tongue mashed to the gentle dents in the skin, and left behind a tingle that spread to the marquis’ fingers. “…your teeth…”
The bone of a wrist bumped against Andre’s thigh, and he didn’t dare to stop it. Warm fingers were his reward, fingers that gently pushed inside of him, as a thumb planted itself just above and outside. Another moan slipped free, and excitement swelled inside of his heart as Jesse’s tongue slid along his feathers with a new destination in mind. Fangs bared again, and slowly munched down on the collarbone with steady, firm force.
Andrealphus’ talons curled and he planted a hand on the base of Jesse’s tail to control his hips; or at the very least, guide them. As a third bite readied itself, the marquis’ hands rose and his neck craned to plant his tongue directly back into that enticing maw. Pleasure rolled through every molecule; hot and electric, as his mind went blank and physical need took control. Tongue flick with the flavor of another, as well as a lingering heat that tickled the deepest reaches of his mind, Andrealphus reached down and grasped Jesse’s rod.
“You sure?” came the lust demon’s heated huff, only one eye open through the invisible enhancement of their kiss.
It was a sudden and explosive need; one cooked up by deeper emotional connection. This wasn’t a simple fuck to take the edge off or to keep a spark alive in some fading marriage; but a true heart’s desire.
“Yes…more than anything…” Andrealphus’s heart leapt as he felt Jesse properly position himself and hold his hips in place. With a tug, a purifying moan flowed free from that beak, as flesh and feather collided in a fulfilling hug. “…oh fuck!~ ”
Happiness, undiluted and heavenly, coursed through Andre. He cradled the back of Jesse’s head and allowed his pleasure to show; a half-parted beak caught between a smile and an awestruck moan. A gentle retreat of hips strung the marquis along, like a fish on a wire, then returned to fill him with joy once again. Docility roared inside, like that of a perfect summer sun’s aura, and planted elation in his soul. One hand found itself wrapped in the embrace of Jesse’s own, and the incubus’ face drew closer; handsome features shadowed in the light of the rainy morning.
Power pushed inside of him, and in return, an outflow of cold radiated down Jesse’s arm. Before long, repeated thrusts turned an already receptive demeanor into one of tenderized euphoria; each having filled the peacock to the brim in body and mind. Andrealphus leaned in for another kiss, another blessing of serenity to fuel his happiness bidden to his tongue, and Jesse granted him an honest, if short, smooch. The couch rocked and shifted beneath them, but neither demon cared; for their attention was too firmly fixated upon each other’s pleasure.
It felt as if Jesse was connected at his heart, that thick rod pushing into his core upon every gyration. Vulnerability welled, and as it did, the natural magic of their bodies began to filter into one another. No longer was it a joining, but instead an exchange of powers that brightened the incubi’s eyes and reddened the Goetia’s cheeks. Unable to bear back the tide of sexual bliss, Andrealphus’ head tilted back to grace the arm of the couch as a moan rumbled in his throat.
Yet, his hands remained close, and they traced up and along muscular arms to grip at an equally powerful back. Eldritch power glowed in the dim morn, as moan after moan was drawn from the ancient soul’s heart, and its deliverer was gifted power in gratitude. Newfound vigor expanded in Jesse’s muscles, and mist trailed from his mouth as he controlled his breathing. Iridescent blues outlined the diamond patterns of his skin to herald an absorption of strength, even if it may have been naught but temporary. Stoic, sexual, controlling; Jesse radiated them all, like that of a half-blood deity.
“Jesse…please, finish me…I’m almost…I can’t take..!” The plea was met by a sudden hilt of that monstrous cock, and Andrealphus trembled as a single hand wrapped about his neck. Patient and measured strength squeezed down on the sides of his windpipe, and a newfound pressure delightfully shocked the nerves of his mind. It was a new sensation, a new delight; one that carried a hint of danger, smothered below the certainty of safety and trust. He looked down, and watched the incubus stuff him full over…and over…and over again; an orgasm rising in his core.
Release hit with startling suddenness. An over pressurized pipe, an overheated thermometer; the only warning was a sharp and heated rush. Andre clenched as hard as he could around Jesse, out of instinctual response, and his back arched as pleasure; inescapable and intolerable, overtook him. Partially, it was to keep that dick as deep as possible, to ensure it couldn’t withdraw as he gasped out a request; one that was finally allowed to be uttered in the heat of the moment.
“Cum inside me…please..!~”
As if on cue, his own orgasm was enhanced by thick veins that pulsated and rubbed along his inner walls, and then drowned beneath a tide of thick, potent seed. Immediately, it poured inside to simultaneously heat and cool his core, to the glorious symphony of a guttural growl that came from Jesse. Andre opened his eyes and saw the demon hunched above him, serpentine tongue dangled towards his chest, as he glowed with the marquis’ magical aura. Despite the bestial sounds and nature, the windows to the soul were naught but gentle and satisfied, even as they closed to the orgasmic shudder that wracked down his spine.
Graceful tension released from around his neck, and Andrealphus experienced what he could only describe as an aftershock; arms taut as they tried to pull the incubus into a loving embrace. It was as if every muscle had been released from the ever-tugging grip of reality; weight filled his hollow limbs to the point of unfeeling, and not even his own breath belonged to him. Light slowly faded from Jesse’s features, as he laid with Andrealphus, and it wasn’t until after for several minutes of panting that one of them finally spoke.
It was Andre, breath in the clouds and heart in Jesse’s hands.
“I love you.”
A kiss from Jesse, tender and sweet; “I love you too.”
“Shower?”
“Shower; can you walk?”
“I’ll try in a few minutes, but for now…” Gentle preening caught those luscious locks of ivory hair atop Jesse’s head. “…I’d like to lay here for a bit with you.”
“Should I pull out?”
“Don’t you dare.” Andre quietly chuckled.
“Want a smoke?”
“That would require you to get up.”
Jesse laughed and ran his hand up Andre’s chest feathers, only to rest on his shoulder. “I’d only be gone for a few seconds.”
“That’s far too long.” Arms tightened around that winged back, and while they remained cautious enough not to damage them, there was a possessiveness to their strength.
“Would it help if I wore a leash?” It was pure prodding; an honest and innocent tease of a suggestion, but one that appeared to perk Andrealphus’ attention. “I’ve got a membership with some of the best sex shops in Lust; if you, you know, want to ever go shopping for something.”
“Don’t tempt me.” came the happy rumble, just as a chilly finger traced its way from the incubi’s tail to the canyon of trained back muscle between both shoulders. “But, it would be discourteous and ignorant of me not to take the word of a professional seriously. Shopping might not be a bad idea, in all honesty…”
“So, how about this; we take a shower, go shopping, grab some lunch, then head back to the manor? When we do, I can show you the ins and outs of sex-ploration, and you can teach me some of that swordplay you were talking about before.”
Andrealphus blinked, eyes squinted in thought, and his head tilted with a laugh in his throat. “…did you just say sex-ploration?”
Jesse rolled his eyes and smiled, his frame shifted to throw itself over the marquis and smother him in all of that muscle!
“Gah: oh-no!~” Andre laughed, as he got a face full of abs and pectorals. Sneaking smooches managed to land against those glorious, delicious muscles before the demon fully rolled off the couch and stood…which gave Andrealphus an opportunity to playfully tug at that heart-tipped tail.
From head to foot, Jesse shivered with a giddy little smirk, “Careful, that’s sensitive.” Andre watched as he walked away and into the bathroom. Immediately, a rush of anxiety traveled into his legs and got him off the couch.
On a leash, indeed.
Andre couldn’t remember the last time he had felt the weight of shopping bags. Decades of privilege had erased the memory of cheap plastic; how it stretched under the weight within, how even a simple, forceful finger could bend it into transparency. It’s weakness was a quality that raised his brow, for how widespread and useful it was as a material. Environmental damage aside, there was little disregard for how ultimately ugly and noisy a plastic bag could be.
Those were his thoughts, as he stood next to Jesse before the gates of the manor. All of the shopping had been a welcome distraction; anything to push the thought of returning home, and the inevitable dread that fueled his heart, out of his mind. It was such a mocking emotion: fear. He was a Goetia, a royal, a marquis; and yet he mentally quaked at the thought of Edmund’s face, once he walked through those doors.
It would either be there, or It would not.
Outside of those towering, gorgeous, and glass-like walls, the protective blizzard remained absent. In it’s place, gentle snowflakes fluttered through the air and melted upon any surface they touched. Sunlight shone through a crisp aurora borealis that snaked across the sky; wreathed in hues of cranberries and comet tails. Andrealphus felt warmth bump against his vacant hand.
“You okay?”
“Right now?”
Jesse nodded.
“It’s like I’m staring into a pit, and the minute I blink, everything will change if I think the wrong thoughts.”
“Do you want me to go in first?”
Immediately; happiness borne of consideration and empathy, but then wounded ego and pride. “Thank you, but I am more than grown. This is a simple task.”
That same warmth increased, as Jesse’s fingers comfortingly squeezed around Andre’s. “I don’t know about you, but if I stand around too long thinking about stuff like this, I lose my nerve and chicken out. Sometimes, it’s better to just throw yourself in.”
Pitifully, an unwanted pressure in both lungs forced Andre to inhale; but his mind wasn’t in sync with his body, and so he shook in the cold. Energy flourished in his legs, and in two swift motions, the marquis stepped forward and pushed against the massive door. Nothing against his ancient strength, it scraped and heaved wide with the snapping and shattering of icicles. How long had it been since he had stepped through this entryway; so doused in his magical might that something so mundane became a rarity.
Andrealphus pushed through and stared into the vacant Grand Foyer. Immaculate as ever; coated in ice from top to bottom, with its massive staircases and opulent chandelier, and quiet as an empty field. Talons clacked along the ground, and their echo traveled into the hollow depths of the stairs; wherever closed doors couldn’t stop them.
“Edmund?” he called out.
There was no reply.
Carried by engrained memories, he began to walk towards the kitchens, where Edmund made his home at the back. As he passed through the threshold, into a realm of polished chrome and meticulously kept dishware, Andre called out again.
“Edmund?”
Still, there was no reply.
Through the back door and beyond the girth of an engraved oven, the door to his butler’s room appeared where it always had. Sequestered at the end of the hall, it’s old iron handle and reinforcements a relic of nostalgic industry, the wooden door sat drained. Gloom hung over it, but that did not halt Andrealphus’ hand; no, if anything, it incited it.
“Edmund, we are home.”
A barren room stood before him.
He dropped the bag and whipped around, stride hurried and wide as he made his way back to the grand foyer. The frequency of his footsteps must have alerted Jesse to his arrival, because he caught the incubus gazing in his direction before he even appeared, despite coming out of a different door. Andrealphus gave the lesser demon a passing glance, his voice elevated.
“Edmund?”
His possessions are gone. Surely, you cannot be this deluded.
From a stride to a run, snow-white feathers and turquoise diamonds gleamed in the sun that poured through the manor’s windows. If Edmund wasn’t in his room, and he wasn’t in the foyer, then perhaps he was where Andrealphus had left him. At the far end of the second floor sat the door to his father’s study. It’s history that once haunted the royals’ nightmares did nothing to impede him, as he pushed into that hallowed chamber with reckless abandon.
“Edmund?”
All was quiet. The fireplace was dark.
He spun away and made a beeline back to the stairs; perhaps Edmund was simply tending to Sasha and Mishka? Practically in flight, what magic his body had repossessed sped Andrealphus along into a graceful glide above the ground. Not a single step was taken, as he flew over the bannister and landed at the doors to The Feeding Pens. Fear bubbled and burned in his chest, to the point that he slammed both palms against said doors, and they flew open.
The Feeding Pens were empty, not of just Edmund, but of his beloved hellcats as well.
He has even taken Mishka and Sasha with him…
Dread, curdled and black, thickened his throat. Talons curled and dug into his palms, each breath heavy and devoid of all relief. Loss raged across both hemispheres of the marquis’ mind, and the gentle glow that encapsulated the edge of his form intensified. Anything to quell the pain that caused his ribs to throb and his heart to shrivel as though pierced.
See; he is gone. Edmund has made his choice…and so have you.
“No, he could still be in The Armory!”
Andrealphus spun around, and recoiled in place as he turned directly into Jesse’s sudden presence. The incubus’ hands hovered outwards, his muscular arms bent slightly at the elbows, as if to soothe a frightened animal. Sincerity brimmed in his eyes, and his voice was nothing but soft and fatherly.
“Andre, take a second…” That pierced brow rose, his head canted, and both hands gave the air a shallow pat. “…and breathe.”
“I need to check the entire manor; he could still be here!”
“You need to sit down.”
“No, I need to find Edmund! I need to know that he’s still here!” Heat rushed behind the peacock’s eyes, and to his immense shame, felt water cascade freely down his face. Trapped between his dignity as a grown demon and the helplessness that he felt, Andrealphus smeared away the tears.
“Hey, hey, just…take a second, okay?”
“I don’t need a second; and I am not a child, I do not need you to coddle me like one!” A harsh stride past Jesse put the marquis back on his desired path; the path to answers. In no time at all, he stared into The Armory, and once again…
…was met with vacant silence. “Edmund, where are you?! Please, answer me!”
Aura intensified, and a deadness attempted to shield his heart from the pain. Crackling, snapping, coating, and solidifying; the natural magics he had been gifted with since birth sought to protect their host in the only way they knew how. Andre stared at the ceiling, arms limp at his sides, and allowed the fear within him to morph into something more practical and explosive: rage. Power swelled behind his eyes, flooded his limbs, and invigorated his soul with tempestuous fury. Wind and snow swirled about him, his tail feathers fanned open to act as conduits, and the room began to rumble. Curtains whipped in the conjured storm, artistic tools shifted and slide upon wooden tables, schematics billowed and crumpled as they flew corkboards and blackboards alike.
Amongst it all; the very statue of Jesse’s likeness that they had meticulously labored to craft.
“Andre!” The voice felt far away, a mere mutter within the raging winds. In the eye of the storm, despair funneled through the marquis. He had apologized, he had begged for forgiveness, he had bared his heart…and received nothing but misery in the form of abandonment. Suddenly, a warm embrace hugged about his waist. It was Jesse, hair billowing in the tumultuous outburst of power.
With that single act of empathy, his heart warmed.
The glow faded, the winds calmed, the rumbling ceased, and the marquis dropped to his knees. Hands to the ground, eyes fixated upon his pitiful reflection within the ice, Andrealphus began to cry once again. Jesse’s warmth didn’t leave him, even as his shoulders heaved and his tall body began to shrink and curl in prostration.
Gentle hands reached down, cradled his face, just as a calming kiss landed upon his cheek. Jesse’s voice poured into his ear, and even it possessed an infectious warmth that pulled upon the strings of his heart.
“It’s alright, Andre. It’ll all be alright.”
The peacock didn’t resist, as he felt the heartbeat of another press to his head. Craving for comfort poured through him; to embrace another, to seek shelter in those words, but reality kept his hands rooted to the floor. Regret fermented, and curdled his throat so that his voice croaked and shuddered.
“I shouldn’t have struck him…” Sadness downturned into anger once more; anger at himself, spite for himself, pity for himself. “What have I done?”
No further words came from Jesse, as he settled into silence. There was peace and strength in his presence, his poise, and the silent promise of companionship. He didn’t need to say anything; his continued embrace said all. For several minutes, he allowed the marquis to cry; a demon who would normally never dare to do so. The Andrealphus he had met long ago would never, but at least he would still have his faithful butler by his side.
Edmund’s presence carved out a hole in Andre’s heart; a dark and bottomless abyss that couldn’t be cured by anything else. Slender talons embraced Jesse’s thick biceps, and the peacock finally sank into true sadness; all anger absent.
Now, there was only utter contempt, for none other than himself.
Several hours later, Jesse found himself in the manor’s kitchen; bathed in the aroma of bubbling water and oven heat. Andrealphus had retired to the bedroom, unable to pull himself up emotionally, and had yet to come down from his perch. It wasn’t like Jesse could blame him, given that Edmund was practically like a second father, so he figured some good food could help brighten his mood.
At least Ed hadn’t taken the groceries with him too. There was plenty for Jesse to work with, and an old family recipe came to mind, which he hoped Andre would like. It wasn’t anything fancy, and he didn’t know how to make scorpion soup, but it would have to do. A nugget of sadness shifted in Jesse’s gut, spurred by memories of his first days within the manor. Ed had been the one to take his call, the one to give him a tour, the one that saved his ass and told him about Andre’s nuances. In hindsight, the butler had done a lot, and on some level…Jesse missed him too.
It all felt too abrupt and ugly; the accusations, the threat, the slap. Gratitude and relief over getting the imp off his back remained, no matter how shitty the emotions made him feel at being left off the hook. His innocence was granted, but in the process, Andre lost someone sincerely close to him. Guilt emerged, but Jesse shoved it down with a shake of his head and stirred the boiling pot.
Then, there was a knock at the door.
Shit; no butler to pick that up. Jesse dusted his hands off against his tattered jeans and walked into the lobby, only to hear another knock at the door. Would it be weird if he answered, if they expected someone entirely different? After all, Andre had the same doorman forever…but then, Jesse remembered that the marquis didn’t get many visitors, apparently. Confidence restored, he gripped the handle and pulled open the front door.
A skinny owl stood in front of him, crown-adorned beanie atop her head, and a long sleeve sweater covering her body. Despite seeming so young, she was somehow slightly taller than him, and so Jesse raised his lids to get a better look at her eyes. Droopy, lackadaisy but focused, the girl awkwardly raised a hand.
“Hey, is…” she glanced past Jesse’s shoulder, as if in search of someone. “…is my uncle home?”
Chapter 19: Do It For Her
Summary:
Octavia arrives for a surprise visit. Cracks begin to show. Bonds are tested.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“What did you say Uncle Andre was doing?”
Octavia and Jesse sat in the Drawing Room; it was the only place he could think to occupy. Elegant picture frames, family crested drapes, and a fireplace made his street-wear stick out all the more. To be fair, the Princess didn’t look too gussied up either; just a light sweater shawl and a long graphic tee above some leggings. Jesse didn’t know what kind; he wasn’t exactly staring at her legs.
“Napping.” he responded, and adjusted his body language to try and be more open. Arm draped over the back of the couch, his other rested atop a thigh to grip a knee. Legs closed and ankles crossed; cool as a cucumber.
“Aren’t you cold?” The question, seemingly from nowhere, simply made him shrug and extend a hand.
“Nope; Andrealphus gave me a ring to stay warm.” Said ring rested comfortably on his finger, put back on after Octavia had appeared without any sort of notice.
At the revelation, her expression soured. “He gave you a magic ring; just like that?”
“It’s work related.”
“And what work do you do for my uncle?”
Jesse calmly cleared his throat into a clenched fist, with a single puff. “I’ll let him tell you, if he’s alright with it.”
Octavia groaned and buried her face in both hands. “Why can’t this family just be normal? First my dad, now him…”
Discomfort filled the air; she clearly didn’t want him here, Jesse could feel it. An invisible pressure that constantly attempted to bully his conscious mind into giving her space, all kept at bay by the simple and boisterous act of standing his ground. He didn’t have any beef with her, they’d only just met, but he wasn’t just about to roll over for her because of a blood relation to his boyfriend.
“So, Octavia—”
“Don’t say my name; it’s weird.”
Rebuttal snapped in his mind, but temperance kept it at bay, and only a neutral little dip of the head followed. “Alright. That’s fair, you don’t feel comfortable around me; I get that. You’re probably not use to seeing people in Andre’s pad.”
“You’re right, I’m not; especially not a sex demon.” Both of her feet propped up at the edge of the chair cushion, arms wrapped around her legs for a comforting hug.
Pieces began to click in his mind; ah, she likely thought he was a prostitute or something. To try and ease her seemingly frayed nerves, Jesse gave a toothy chuckle that only lasted a second or two. “I’m an incubus, actually; and I’m not here for that.”
Red eyes flashed up and down his body, as if they tried to seek out the bullshit in his claim. An unnerving sense of judgement traced over that muscular body, and despite the confidence in his physique, Jesse found himself small beneath those eyes. Was it simply because he wanted to impress Andre’s family in some way?
“Yeah, well, whatever you are, just stay over there; I don’t want to catch any…pheromones.”
“Magically-inclined demons have an easier time resisting it, so you should be fine, kid.” He shifted a little to un-pinch a wing from the couch, then raised a brow. “You can do magic, right?”
“Do magic?” The hug tightened, her chin rested atop her knees. “I can cast a few spells out of a grimoire…”
“Know any from memory?”
“One; memorizing them is hard.”
“Can I see one?”
Glowing eyes narrowed dubiously, and the tenor of a vibrating owl call clipped his ears. “I’m pretty sure Uncle Andre has shown you enough.”
Jesse shrugged in agreement, “Well, yeah, but he wears his magic on his sleeve; one look and it’s obvious what he does. I’m more curious about what you do.”
She stared at him, eyes trapped between inquisitiveness and paranoia. “Why?”
“Just being friendly, kid.”
“I’m not a kid; I’m eighteen this year.”
“Huh, well then, happy early birthday; want any life advice?”
“Not from you.”
“Because I’m a guy?”
“Because you’re not a part of this family.” She paused, and Jesse watched as her attention shifted towards the floor. “You don’t know the first thing about what I’ve had to deal with, or what I’m going to have to once I get my own book. Everyone is looking at me…” Another shuffle, as the glow of her gaze dimmed. “…all except the ones I want.”
For a moment, just a simple, serene moment; he saw it, the same look that Andre had sometimes. Uncertainty, loneliness, resignation, and the silent cry for help. Did she even know that her magic could have such heavy effects on her personality and well-being? Was that something her father had bothered to teach her, or Andre, even?
“What I do know, is that your uncle’s got your back. He genuinely wants you to succeed.” Footsteps echoed from the adjoining room, and Jesse’s head perked to their presence. “That’s him; hang tight kid, I’ll let him know where we are.” With naught but a smile, he left her behind to roll over his words of encouragement.
Halfway down the glacial stairs, Andrealphus stood, fully dressed in a fancy gown. Pompous white fur bunched up around the back of the collar, as a window opened up for the chest to allow plentiful plumage to spill out. The icy tiara; one that Jesse hadn’t seen him wear in what felt like a year, rested upon his head. Regardless of the attire, the incubus ascended the stairs to meet him with a smile.
“Yo, Andre, you’ve got a v—” Biting winds wracked along his skin to force every strand of hair to attention. A shiver rippled along every nerve like a seizure, and a brutish, unwelcome sneeze surged behind his nose. Jesse threw a bicep over his face to mask the explosive sneeze, and in his surprise, caught the marquis’ stare.
Frigid.
Rending.
Andrealphus didn’t speak, but his descent halted entirely, as he waited for the sentence to finish.
“You…you uhh—um—have a visi—visitor.”
For several long seconds, the peacock remained silent, yet his eyes spoke volumes. Two daggers of pure cold to pierce all enthusiasm from the room, all-consuming in their willpower to subjugate the conversation to the tiniest syllable. He took all the time he wanted, hands folded in front of him; and when he did finally deign to speak, each word radiated with what only could be identified as depression.
“I thought I heard conversation: who?”
“Uncle Andre!”
The warm and joyous voice that shouted across the foyer briefly shielded Jesse from the cold; the happiness contained within enough to turn his head. That surprise was only added onto, as he felt the furry fabrics of Andrealphus’ attire glide against his arm…as the royal passed right by him.
“Octavia; what an unexpected surprise. Does Stolas know you are here?”
“No, but I don’t need his permission; I’m old enough.”
A pick at the air, a stab disguised as amusement, emerged as a millisecond-long chuckle. It felt…mocking; devoid of all inherent positivity.
“You still have several months until that is truly correct, my dear niece. However, I applaud your voracity for rebellion and independence. Tell me, what brings you to my door?”
“I wanted to talk to you, and ask a favor; and the blizzard wasn’t around, so I could just walk in for the first time in…ever.”
“Do not worry, it shall be erected again soon.” Talon taps filled the gaps in their conversation; both as a warning not to tread on his tongue and keep all eyes fixated on all that mattered: Andrealphus. “Come, we shall discuss these matters over a spot of tea.” By the time he reached Octavia, his head turned back to the staircase. “Jesse, be a dear and put a kettle on.”
While Andre looked him dead in the eye, an emptiness accompanied the formality. It was as if he wasn’t looking at the incubus at all. An absent attention, one designated to something in the far distance, was all he gave before it all shifted back to Octavia.
“Yeah…sure thing.”
Andrealphus’ magic had seemingly returned in full. He was back to his old self.
Amidst a kingdom of tomes, star maps, constellation charts, and massive planetary globes, Andrealphus and Octavia sat across from each other. A work desk, riddled with hefty volumes of mathematical formulas and theories had been pushed aside to make room for the tea set. A piping hot kettle, engraved and embroidered with fine ceramic finesse, sat on a plate between two similar tea cups. Andrealphus gripped one said tea cup between two talons, but not an ounce of steam existed near his visage; unlike Octavia’s.
“You’ve been staying out of trouble, I take it?” he asked, beak poised for a sip of ginseng.
“Yes uncle, I’ve stayed out of the other rings. No parties for me.”
“Good; we shall have to introduce you to a proper Goetian ball, the moment you become of age. Perhaps, as a form of celebratory gift, in your rise to power.”
“Do I have to wear a dress?” The groan was light, subdued and respectful as could be, but still a sign of indignation.
“Yes; fortunately, you are allowed a great deal of flexibility in its design. Each Goetia is allowed to choose how they present themselves amongst their fellows…within reason, mind you.”
“So, if I wanted something in all black, covered in purple gems and a pointy hat, I could do that?”
Andrealphus raised a brow. “How fantastically medieval.”
“What about a dress covered in stars; not fake ones either, like, actual stars?” The excitement in her voice was palpable, and the genuine nature behind every suggestion rang true. “I saw one of dad’s capes do something like that, so I know it’s doable!”
“A vital part of court-life is presentation, Octavia; and sometimes less is more. However, as your rather flamboyantly dressed uncle, I shall take sincere note of your grandiose desires. Would you like such a thing, as a birthday gift?”
At first, her face rose with a smile, but then sank back into a pensive state. The entire shift was so swift that it sparked some measure of concern within Andre’s numb chest. “Is something troubling you?”
“It’s just…” her gaze became noncommittal. “…I’m running into a problem.”
“No problem is too great Octavia, what is it?”
“I don’t—I think I don’t—like…feel…” Fingers closed and reopened repeatedly, her tongue pinched between the tips of her beak in search of the right words. “…attracted to anyone.”
“…”
“Like, sex, a-and stuff; I don’t find it…the idea of it, fun. I don’t think I’d ever want to—with anyone—you know…do it.”
Andrealphus stared down at his tea, long sapped of all heat from the might of his blood lineage. Those words, that admittance, threw a grinder of cogs into the stoic, crystalline rock that was his confidence. Round and round they spun, ground up into scabby, crag-like chunks of something he had thought long gone. Andre felt fear.
“And I know…I know that people will probably look at me, you know, expecting me to have a—”
It was a nightmare; the pause in each of her words, the hesitation in her voice, and the honesty in which she pushed out each sentence. Cursed, cursed; she had been cursed with a much greater strain of his affliction.
No…no, not Octavia; not the hopeful light of their line! If that moment came to pass, he knew; oh he knew the vile ways they’d attempt to bend her will to produce a child. Through the canyons of his heart, that fear festered and grew; black tendrils of quickening to whip his mind into a frenzy. Andrealphus tightened his grip on the teacup’s handle; his world was crumbling through the lens of a previously unknown horror.
“—a kid, and I wanted to ask how you got away with it.”
His head snapped to attention.
“Away with what?”
“With…” Octavia’s eyes bore into him expectantly, as the younger generation often did towards the older. “…never having to have one.”
How, how, how; how to shield her from fate’s cruel hand? What could he say, what could he do to spare her the agony of knowing the truth? He couldn’t do it; couldn’t bear to expose her to such vicious realities, to rip back the veil of how she was conceived! There had to be hope; there simply had to be.
“Your mother took over my responsibilities.”
“But that won’t work for me, because I don’t have a sibling.” As he faltered to provide an alternative, his niece’s eyes grew wider. “They wouldn’t…make me have a kid, would they?”
“No, of course not. I would never allow it.” A dirty lie, an incandescent truth; yet both instilled great shame within Andrealphus. Those were two promises that he knew he couldn’t keep, yet he couldn’t bring himself to darken her future with such foul revelations. “Neither would your father.”
“But—”
“No buts; now, tell me, when did you discover this lack of interest?”
Octavia shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve tried just about everything, but nothing works.”
Andrealphus completely released his teacup and laced his talons, elbows propped atop the table. “Would you be open to something more magical in nature?” In the miasma of despair, a singular thought had shone through to provide a glimmer of clarity; a chance; a hope.
“Are you going to teach me a new spell or something?”
“Not exactly, my dear. However, afterwards, I shall be more than happy to educate you in my ways. After all, you are of my blood, and there is more to your birthright that you have yet to explore.”
“…Dad has been really relaxed on the lessons lately.”
“Perfect; wait right here and I shall go fetch him.” As Andrealphus stood, her voice caught his turn at its’ midpoint.
“Are you talking about the guy who answered the door? What’s his deal anyway?” Octavia’s tone sank in mires of condemnation and suspicion.
“His name is Jesse, and he is a close work associate of mine.”
“Hm, Dad had a ‘work associate’ too, you know.”
Her words hooked into his psyche and pulled, as the urge to dig himself into a deeper half-truth rose to the surface. Comparisons to Stolas made his blood harden to a fine, serrated edge; enough to imbued his tongue with spiteful barbs that yearned to lash out with a nasty rebuttal. However…Octavia didn’t deserve such reprimand for simply being curious; and in a way, she was right. Andre had far more in common with Stolas than he’d ever admit.
“Do not worry, Octavia; you are still my top priority. Now, I shall only be a moment. Help yourself to the knowledge in this room, in the meanwhile.”
With that, he patiently strode out the door, only to quicken his pace the moment he couldn’t feel Octavia’s gaze upon his back any longer. Up the stairs to Jesse’s room, each step traversed with greater vigor than the last, the marquis climbed with absolute purpose. It took him no time at all to reach the door to that climate-shifted domicile, and even less time to turn the knob and enter without announcement.
He felt nothing, as he watched Jesse jump at his arrival; shirtless upon his inlaid sectional couch.
“I need your help.”
“Oh…kay, with what?”
“Incubus magic is linked with innate desires, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“What effect does it have on someone with no such desire?”
“…what?”
Andrealphus strode closer to the couch, arms at his sides. “What effect does it have on someone with no sexual desire?”
“Whoa, okay, back up for a second; why are you asking me this?”
“Because I need to--!” A rare flare up, a frozen ember of agitated and fearful rage flashed to the surface until he caught it. Dead in his beak, the peacock mentally pushed it down with the aid of closed eyes. “Because, I need to know, and I need to know now.”
“…Andre, is everything alright?”
“Goddamnit, just tell me!” He rushed forward without thought, both hands dug into bare, rare-cooked skin tones to establish immediate understanding. Blue and white energy surged around those thick talons, and Jesse gave a startled hiss as freezing cold magic burned against him.
As quickly as it happened, Andrealphus pulled back, eyes wide. His hands gently shook, under examination, and a ragged, off-foot gasp trembled up his throat.
“I—I’m sorry—that wasn’t—I didn’t mean to...”
“It’s fine.” Jesse winced, a groan of pain muffled by the strength of his bite. Hands rose to rub at both shoulders, in an attempt to melt away the frigid, stabbing sensation that had sank into him like vengeful frostbite. “No, we can’t make something out of nothing. If someone doesn’t want to fuck, we can’t make them want to; that’s the first rule of seduction, consent is king.”
“Fuck…” Andre paced, his stoic demeanor softened in the heated panic of his mind and heart combined. “…fuck!” A nearby water bottle became a victim of his need to lash out; a swift backhand sent it hurtling towards a far wall, where it froze mid air and shattered upon impact.
Through his fit, strong arms embraced his midsection, and he could feel Jesse’s sharp cheekbones press against him from behind. “Shh…shh-shh-shh; hey, Andre, everything’s alright. Just take a deep breath…” The incubus inhaled, then slowly exhaled, in an attempt to get him to do the same. “…and tell me what’s wrong.”
Andrealphus, in fact, did not breath.
“I have cursed my niece. She carries that which is most abhorrent within the realm of royalty; the lack of will to procreate! Do you know what will befall her, once the others find out; the ones who demand an heir be sired to continue the bloodline?”
While his eyes never shifted, they merely hardened with rapt, adrenaline-filled mania. A firestorm trapped behind an unbreakable glacier wall; and the flames only grew more potent within their imprisonment. Jesse gave a flap of his wings and hovered from the ground, just to meet the towering height of his partner at eye level.
“There will be no consent then, do you understand? If this comes to pass, Octavia will be forced to undergo the same trauma as Stolas.” At the image, or the mere fabrications of it, a vein pulsed at the side of his head. “I will not allow it; cannot allow it.”
“Andre…I’m sorry, but there’s just no way to do what you want.”
Strong hands gripped Jesse’s face, and he and Andrealphus became joined at the forehead. Rabid, pale eyes swallowed his entire world.
“What about Asmodeus? What would the Sin of Lust require to make an exception; to make it doable?”
“I don’t—”
“He must know of a way! It is his magic, it is his domain; he is the master of its laws and principles!”
“Andre, please, just listen to me; I’m trying to tell you, he won’t—”
“I cannot lose her, Jesse!”
Stunned, the incubus expected tears, yet found none.
“All I see, when I look at her now, is me. Restrained, numbed, despised; I do not wish for her to suffer as I have suffered, do you understand? No one should ever have to be subjugated to such pain, simply to please the ones you love, to exist in the only world you know.” His grip tightened and trembled under its own power, yet, Jesse himself remained undamaged entirely by the pressure. “She has done nothing; and I’ll be thrice damned if I simply allow these regal barbarians to unravel her soul, thread by thread, until she is but a pale imitation of Stolas and I!”
Hands moved away, and their owner turned towards the door.
“I need my book; appointments be damned, I shall teleport my way into his office.”
“Wait! Wait, wait, wait, wait, Andre: think! For one second, please, think about this!” Jesse begged, hand eagerly wrapped around the marquis’ wrist to stay his stride. “You are tired, and afraid, and angry; I get it, but if you walk in there and piss off Asmodeus, he could shut down your statue deal! You don’t want that, do you? You’ve worked so hard for it.”
Unhindered by the lesser demon’s strength, Andrealphus took another step.
“Wait! How are you going to be able to support your niece if you’re dead broke?! You’d be severing a lifeline, in the heat of the moment. I know that you’re smarter than this; just breath, please!”
“Stolas already has riches greater than mine; he shall be more than able to secure her financial future.” His arm flexed and tried to pull away, but a flap of Jesse’s wings provided an equal countermeasure to his strength.
“Think about what you’re doing! If you try and force her to change, how will that make you any better than your parents?”
Andrealphus came to a halt, widened eyes slimmed to narrow slits as he glared in Jesse’s direction. “What did you just say?”
“If you change her to be what you think is best, especially if you do it through magic, you’re just going to repeat what happened to you as a kid.”
“I do this to spare her pain!”
“So did they!” Encouraged by the peacock’s pause, he continued on; passion elevated. “Instead of making you have a kid, they had your sister do it. They let your powers harden every part of you, until nothing could bother or break you. You’re smart, dangerous, and cold blooded enough to blow past almost anything in your way; but you’ve been miserable this entire time! What’s the point of having a great life if you’re not doing great on the inside?”
Jesse could see the gears turn, feel the thought process as it snapped about from point to point in Andre’s mind. More; he needed more of a push, a final point to make that would secure his truth.
“If you want to protect Octavia, you need to let her be herself, and accept whatever that means; because I’ve seen what you’re like when you let out the real you, Andre…” He took the marquis’ hand, looked him deep in the eye, and allowed the words to freely pour; enriched with sincerity. “…and it’s beautiful. You were so happy, so free; you don’t want to take that away from her, do you?”
For a moment, it appeared as if his words broke through. Andrealphus lowered his head, attention on his hand within both of Jesse’s, and slowly inhaled. Where the incubus expected a therapeutic exhale, he instead only received a response.
“How dare you…”
“…what?”
“How dare you flutter about and strip away my agency, my power. I am a leader of legions. I control the very stars themselves. I am of the Ars Goetia, and you dare to tear the wind from beneath my wings? Who are you to tell me how to raise my niece; she of royal blood, whose skills shall maintain the cosmos and the well being of trillions? She, whom I have a personal responsibility to prepare for the trials ahead; and you dare to tell me that I am powerless in this moment to do anything other than accept it?”
“Now hold on, that’s not what—”
“You are a commoner!”
It was a roar that shook Jesse’s soul. His wings, shaken by the shockwave, slipped out of sync and caused him to plummet from the air. Luckily, he landed on his feet; weakened knees barely able to keep him straight.
“It is only through my hardship, that you even stand here with the opportunity for assumption! It is through my talents, that you have been freed from your burdens and handed a key to lifelong succor. This—” Andre gestured upwards towards the manor around them, hands splayed and voice elevated. “—was all made by my own two hands; through mountainous effort. I keep you, and everyone else, alive through my toil. You reap the benefits of the crops that I sow, and all you can give in return is a plea to hobble myself?”
Despite the tropical climate, a chill permeated the air; as if an early and unnatural fall wind had descended upon paradise. He dared not move, trapped in the predatory glare of the bird that towered above him; not even as said avian dipped at the waist to meet him face to face.
“I ask you for one thing: one, and you deny me. After everything I have offered, everything I have lost, in order to keep you; this one, simple request, is thrown back in my face with no more than staunch, mocking pity.”
“Because you’re making a mistake.”
“A mistake?” The stare that followed threatened to rip his mind asunder, but Jesse held firm in the face of it; unwilling to shy away from Andre’s fear and anger. “What more do you want from me? How much more must I sacrifice to appease your presence? I have risked my wealth, my reputation, my life, my powers…all for you. I lost Edmund, my only friend, to keep you. Is Octavia next? Would you have me sacrifice her upon your altar so that you might make me happy…” A growl was his only warning, before Andrealphus whipped an arm outward and fired a concentrated blast of energy into the background! “…and normal?!” Something shattered, ice crackled, and a fine mist trailed down from his palm.
Jesse stepped back, arms raised to avoid becoming collateral damage, and balked behind thick arms. Even with his own physique and strength, Andre’s eldritch might was horrifying to behold; and for a moment, he was truly, utterly afraid of him.
“Power is bought with sacrifice! Safety is bought with sacrifice! Happiness is bought with sacrifice! Nothing in this world can come without suffering; not even that which you claim is freely given. I see it now, more clearly than ever before, that everything has a price.” Andrealphus strode past Jesse and made his way to the door. “If the price that I must pay for Octavia’s well-being is her scorn… then so be it!”
He slammed the door.
The cold abated.
Jesse was left alone, and only when aftershocks of fear finally caused his knees to collapse, did his heart beat once again.
Atop a gigantic, circular bed, Asmodeus exhaled a thick and pungent cloud of smoke. Fizzarolli sat curled up, upon that massive, muscular, and feathery chest; mechanical arms outstretched to take the blunt. While it was a rather small roll, simply so that the little imp could actually take a hit, the potency was enough to give his much larger partner a good crackle.
“You like that shit, Fizzy?” Asmodeus hummed, his lower half covered by the bedsheets.
“Fuck—kah—yeah, Ozzie.” he coughed, smile wrapped about his clown-like appearance. “You know it.” The blunt was passed back, and the imp took the lapse in smoking to bury his face directly into the Sin of Lust’s bountiful, lion-like mane. “Makes me feel like I’m floating…”
“Heh, I’ll be your cloud to rest on; don’t worry.” It took a lot to get Asmodeus truly high, being a Sin and all. The only time he could remember it knocking him on his ass was one particular Sinsmas, when Bee brought some real high quality shit. As a testament to its potency, he couldn’t even remember what he got that year. An idle, giant hand cradled Fizzarolli’s bare ass, a singular finger crooked to arch around his tail for some equally idle play.
“Heh-heh: King Cloud.” The jester giggled in throaty, dulcet and tame tones. “Gonna let me smoke that big pole, big daddy?” Another chuckle, this time from both demons, echoed through the bedchamber. Rain pattered gently against the window, their privacy secured by a thick velvet curtain.
Muffled buzzing turned their heads, and subtle vibrations rippled across the bed. Too occupied with their smoke session to truly care, Asmodeus tossed a pillow atop its general direction; must be a wand.
“Only if you give me a sweet little sugar cookie to munch on.” Crooked, jagged lips leaned in and planted a loving, tender kiss right behind a shattered horn. Fizzarolli arched his back like a cat and giggled again, neck offered up in full to those hungry lips.
Again, the buzzing returned, this time louder than before. Even beneath the pillow, its vibrations managed to cause a stir beneath Asmodeus’ elbow. Just as he turned his head to look down at it in annoyance, cool and mechanical hands cupped his cheeks and turned it back. Soft, familiar lips embraced his own, and a baritone groan happily slipped between them.
Asmodeus offered up his tongue, and Fizzarolli eagerly took to it as a lover. So enraptured in each other’s presence, in each other’s heat, that they ignored the buzzing once more.
…only for it to start up again.
This time, Asmodeus sighed and went fishing for it; trying to keep the kiss going in the meantime. True, his whole attention wasn’t on it, but that damn buzzing was starting to ruin the mood! Finally, after what felt like an unnecessarily lengthy struggle, his hand clasped around a rectangular object. It was his phone. As he pulled his arm up and glanced at the screen, his lips stopped at what he saw; three missed calls from Jesse, one after the other.
“Shit, Fizzy, one sec.”
His thumb hovered over the screen, but before he could press down, the air tightened. Moisture vanished, and the distinct scent of a meat locker struck his nose. Instinctively, he pulled Fizzarolli closer against his mountainous chest, as the fires of lust began to glow upon his mane and face.
“Ozzie, what is it?”
He stared at the door, and gently placed his tiny boyfriend onto the bed, then slid off. With no nearby clothes, he grabbed the bedsheet and wrapped it around his waist. “Wait here for a second.” Chest out, magical flames aglow upon him, Asmodeus approached the entrance of his private bedchambers with the confidence of a king. Whatever was behind that door, wasn’t about to be for much longer. With one push, it swung wide, and a howling gale of cold bombarded his body.
Andrealphus stood in the doorway, head craned back to properly look the Sin in the eye; all of which glared down at the Goetia.
“Andre…how did you get in here?” There was far less curiosity in those smooth syllables than anger, measured as it was. He didn’t wish to spook Fizzarolli, who was surely watching from the bed.
“I come with a severe matter of grave importance, Asmodeus.” Nothing but steel coated the look he gave, arms completely hidden beneath his robes. An edge, sharp and uncaring, carried the expression into the darkest depths of calculating coldness. “We must talk.”
“I’m in the middle of something important.”
“This cannot wait.” Unyielding, even when swallowed by the shadow of greater powers, Andrealphus stood.
Without giving a glance backwards, Asmodeus stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. “I don’t know how you managed to sneak past security and get into my home, Andrealphus, but you better watch your tone while you’re in it.”
“It is a royal matter; in its’ face, your wrath is inconsequential.”
“Oh, really?” Asmodeus asked, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “Would explain your balls. Go on, spit it out, what’s going on?”
“Stolas’ daughter, my niece, Princess Octavia, has revealed to me that she has no desire to procure an heir for the Ars Goetia. She says that nothing peaks her interest, in a sexual manner, and I should not need to inform you of the future consequences of such things.”
“So, she’s asexual.”
“If that is the term, then yes, it would seem so.”
“Congratulations; would you like a pride flag? I’ve got boxes of them laying around, if you ask nicely.”
“I do not need a flag. I need you to fix this.”
All three pairs of Asmodeus’ brows couldn’t have arched higher if they could. “Excuse me; fix this?”
“You are the master of lust, the progenitor of desire, the lord of carnal delights; your magic has compelled even the most chaste nuns into sacrilegious bouts of debauchery. I understand that incubus and succubus magic is restricted only to enhance that which already exists in some form, but I need you to go beyond and plant a seed so that it may be enriched at all.”
Asmodeus frowned, his typical ghoulish, jack-o-lantern grin entirely absent. In its place sat a grim, tight lipped scowl. Pale green eyes darkened into fires of emerald fields, and the very atmosphere in which they stood appeared to dim. “You want me to alter her sexuality.”
“Yes, and I will pay any price.”
Disappointment deepened across the Sin’s features and carried on to infect the severity of his tone. “You’ve done a lot of fucked up shit, Andre, but that…that is on a whole other level.”
“Spare me the moral lecture; can you do it or not?”
It was then that Asmodeus took the time to look at Andrealphus properly, and cracks began to appear. Baggy and dark eyelids marred an otherwise pristine face, the odd ruffled feather or two upon his exposed chest; quite unlike him to wander out in such a state. His beak was tight, strained like it was about to pop. It like every muscle in that thin body clenched in waiting, prepared to snap like a trap at the slightest provocation.
“…Are you okay, man?”
“I am fine, Asmodeus, but I would be even better if you would stop deflecting and answer the damn question!”
“Don’t you raise your voice at me; you know it doesn’t work.”
Quicker than he could see, something flashed from beneath the marquis’ robes. A second later, Asmodeus saw what it was; a blade of thick ice, aimed directly between his pecs. It was unmoving, merely poised to threaten, but barely-restrained mania vibrated at its sharpest point.
“…You’re going to want to think really, really hard about what you intend to do with that.”
“I am going to skewer you, if you don’t stop treating me like an imbecile! You are a potent, nay, the most potent wielder of enchantment magic in all of existence. Your influence has toppled kingdoms, ended dynasties, and yet you expect me to believe you cannot do something as simple as make my niece feel attraction?”
“If the best is telling you that something isn’t possible, it’s good advice to take them at their word, Andre.”
“Impossible, or simply undesirable? You could do it, I know you could, but you won’t because of your fucking morals!” The blade vibrated with slowly increasing intensity, each word more fervent than before. “You are a Sin, created by Lucifer himself at the awakening of humanity, and I am but a fallen angel of the Ars Goetia. I control planets, stars; am gifted with the manipulation of gravitational forces, and yet you are still above me. I could flood the entire Earth, with but a mere adjustment of its moon, and wipe out the entire human race…and yet…you tower before me and lie to my face, about the limits of your power?”
Asmodeus stood firm, his expression locked in an unamused state, even as what could only pass as a truly demonic, mockery of a laugh popped from that ivory beak.
“I am but a servant of our One True King, but you; you are Hell, Asmodeus! You are the poison that tempted my sister’s marriage into disarray. You are the disease that infected me with the desires that enslaved me to a life of royal shame. You are the beating heart that breaks vows made before GOD, and yet you will not help me, because you claim to be unable?!”
Beneath the marquis’ feet, ice crackled and spread along the ground like a cancer; quick to infect the surrounding walls and everything that lay within that level of Asmodeus’ Needle. Cold, potent enough to render all exposed flesh blackened with dead cells, radiated from the crystalline environment in leisurely clouds of fog. In the presence of winter, the flames of lust only seared with greater heat, and left their owner entirely unaffected.
“Even if I could, fucking with free will isn’t something Lucifer is fond of; I’m not either. The answer is no, Andrealphus.”
“You…” the peacock seethed, eyes and tailfeathers aglow. “…cannot do this to me. After all I have given, after all that I have been through, you will not deny me this!” Fit to burst, he could only balk as the Sin of Lust leaned forward and allowed the tip of the blade to touch his chest. As if but a toothpick, the weapon did nothing to that purple-hued hide.
“Go home, Andre, and get some sleep; you need it.”
Asmodeus turned.
Andre’s elbow cocked back.
The blade gleamed in the refracted light.
A foot stomped forward.
The door behind Asmodeus began to open, and light poured from inside. Fizzarolli, now dressed in a sleep robe, stood in the doorway. “Ozzie?”
Mid-thrust, Andrealphus couldn’t abate his strike.
Asmodeus, attention stretched between Andre and Fizzarolli, could only react on impulse. His torso locked and twisted with vicious speed, gargantuan hand already curled into a protective fist. It shattered Andrealphus’ blade like thin glass, from tip to handle, and smashed with the strength of a roaring comet directly into his chest!
Blood, bitter and thick, rocketed up his throat and exploded from his gaping beak. Talons dug into the icy floor, sparks trailed in their wake, as the marquis’ body recoiled from the blow. Even with his enhanced anatomy, it wasn’t enough to resist the force behind Asmodeus’ strike, and Andrealphus flipped backwards before he could come to a complete stop. His chest slammed against the ground, and loose bone rattled inside; like broken pretzels.
A sharp, painful gasp for air rent all words asunder. He croaked like an asthmatic frog; every breath pure agony. All around him, the ice began to melt, and droplets of water soon turned into a light shower of rain that cascaded upon everything. Puddles formed, and the fury of Asmodeus’ footsteps splashed them into spray as he approached the prone peacock.
The last thing that Andrealphus heard before he passed out, was Asmodeus’ tense, bitter tone.
“God damnit Andre…”
Notes:
I'm so evil.
Chapter 20: Tick of the Clock
Summary:
In the fallout of Andrealphus' actions, Jesse struggles to deal with the multitude of faces that come to visit his incapacitated lover. Tempers flare, ground is stood, comfort is given, and dangerous figures loom close by with unknown motives.
Chapter Text
Jesse sat in a shitty chair, in a posh hospital, next to a princess. Hands clasped to support the weight of his forehead, the incubus stared at the floor with unblinking resolve. His knee, however, did bounce to its own chaotic tempo. Bleach, amongst other chemicals meant for sterilization, floated about the room and into his nose. A question burned in his mind, and it looped until his neurons were ash; down to the final morsel of thought.
Why had he done it?
The steady beep of a heart monitor broke through the silence. His fingers sought the cool relief of recently washed hair between them. Not even the vibrant sheen of Sloth’s best hospital ward could mitigate his anxiety; his worry.
Andre had left, gone to see Asmodeus. In less than an hour, he received a call. His boyfriend had attacked his boss; well, tried to, but the distinction hardly mattered. It was over; all of it. His future career as a model, his job as a doorman, his ass when the mob found out he wasn’t under royal protection anymore and couldn’t pay his debts. That was it.
Jesse was royally fucked.
…then why couldn’t he stop thinking about Octavia?
The entire way over, she hadn’t spoken a word. When she saw the same sight that Jesse had, the one that occupied the hospital bed he was too afraid to even glance at anymore, she didn’t blink. It was either grit, or it was trauma; no two ways about it. Maybe it was some uncle instinct. Maybe he just needed someone else’s pain to distract him from his own; never have to heal if you’re too busy helping everyone else, right?
Even then, her pose was calm and collected. Hands folded in her lap, back straight, breathing quiet, but he didn’t know her innermost thoughts. Part of being a bouncer was knowing how to keep your cool, and from what he was, she could’ve been a pro. Jesse wanted to reach out, to say something, to offer any sort of comfort he could think of…but nothing did.
When the door opened, his head turned immediately. He expected the doctor, but instead, he saw the towering heads of Asmodeus looking down upon him.
Jesse exhaled, slow and reluctant, yet heavy and biting at the same time. It was a sigh of defeat. “I don’t know what happened.”
Multiple beeps from the heart monitor passed, before Asmodeus replied. His gaze had shifted towards Octavia; perhaps to reconsider his next words? “He didn’t give me much of a choice.”
“I know.”
“He was in my home.”
“I know.”
“He could’ve—”
“I know.” Several seconds of silence passed, as employer and employee maintained eye contact. One set was stoic and firm; the other was beaten and regretful. “Andre has…been through a lot of shit in the past day or two. Hell, the past week or more, if I’m being honest about it.”
“That doesn’t excuse what he did.”
“It’s not an excuse, it’s a reason.” Such bite surprised even Jesse himself, and his head dipped again to calm itself between knuckles and a bouncing knee. “The magic changes him; messes with his temperament. He got it back at a really rough time.”
“Got it back?” The surprise in Asmodeus’ voice caused Jesse’s leg to stop dead. “What do you mean, got it back?”
He felt a second set of eyes upon him, and knew they belonged to Octavia.
“He drained all of it fighting off some big fucking monster angel, all to save my neck, and had to wait to get it back. Without it, he was…happy.”
“He didn’t seem happy when he snuck into my home and nearly injured my—”
“He is in pain.” Jesse shifted his hands and buried his face into both palms, just to rub away whatever shittiness he could. “Andre is always in pain, and I’m responsible for driving off the one thing in his life that made it tolerable.” A thumb nail found its way between fangs, and nervous nips chewed away. “It was all just shit…piled on more shit, on top of even more shit.”
“Again, no excuse.”
Frustration melted in with the sadness, only to boil upwards in a snap of liquid heat and clench the incubus’ jaw. “Do we have a fucking problem?”
He could hear Asmodeus blink. “Excuse me?”
“Did you come in here because you care, because you’re concerned, or just to lay into him once he wakes up for some scrap of satisfaction?”
“…cool it, Jesse.”
“Or what; you gonna punch me too?”
“He attacked my boyfriend.”
“And you shattered mine’s ribs over it!” Jesse shot to his feet, the chair slammed into the wall behind him with a harsh clatter, and he glared directly up into Asmodeus’ eyes. “Andre is in a fucking hospital bed, your little jester is back home in bed with a fucking box of chocolates and a 'get well’ blanket! You got your fucking licks in, where are mine then, Ozzie?!”
“You need to sit down.”
“No!”
“Jesse—”
“I should beat your fucking ass! Couldn’t you tell he just wanted help; that he was scared out of his mind? You couldn’t have just done what he wanted?!”
“You know why I couldn’t.”
“You--!” Jesse’s hands seized, fingers curled halfway into fists, then completed the motion to dig into his palms. His arms shook, triceps and biceps bulged as he clanged them in anger; gaze back down towards the floor. The frustration was inescapable, and it smothered every inch of his soul. “He was scared, Asmodeus; scared and desperate, and he went to the one person that could’ve helped him; the only one who could help him, just to be told no!”
“I did what I had to.”
“And I’m supposed to forgive you for it? Just like that?” Jesse pointed a finger at the bed, yet still averted his gaze from it. “If his reason isn’t excusable; a reason that has plagued him since he was young, a reason that he cannot fully control despite everything he’s done, what makes you think that yours is any better? It’s all done in the name of love, and you don’t get to fucking pick and choose!”
In the shadow of Lust itself, its servant, borne from its very blood, trembled in rage. Nostrils flared, fangs bared, and wings flapped.
“You were supposed to be his friend! Friends don’t do this! Friends don’t use them for all they’re good for, and then toss them away when there’s nothing left to hide the bad!” No thoughts fluttered in his mind, only the anger and the drive to express it all in a single, volcanic eruption; consequences be damned. “Andre is a person; not just some…some thing that you can bend to your will. You talk so much about autonomy, being able to make your own choices, when he’s the most trapped person I’ve ever known!”
Anger slipped into tears, but they did not fall down his cheeks. Instead, they held within the edges of his eyes; full cups to overflow at any moment.
Asmodeus reached out a hand, but Jesse slapped it away with a shameful sniffle.
“You fucking hypocrite. I--!”
Suddenly…there was warmth.
Slender arms hugged him from behind; tightly wrapped around his chest, as a foreign body press to his back. He froze, knowing there was only one other person in the room it could’ve been. Sure enough, Octavia’s voice muttered against him.
“It’s okay, Jesse.”
It was all he needed to hear, for the tears to drop down his face.
“It makes me feel a lot better, knowing how much you love my uncle. You don’t need to be angry anymore; everything is going to be alright.” The embrace tightened, and its innate softness shattered his defensive body language. Save for the gentle cries that slipped from his weakened lips, he fell silent. Octavia, however, continued to speak. “Thank you, Asmodeus, for bringing my uncle to the hospital; despite his actions. I apologize for him, and I know he’ll do the same when he wakes up.”
“…you gonna be okay, Princess?”
Jesse felt rays of sunlight bask his neck in a gentle glow, despite their not being an unveiled window in sight.
“We will be fine, but we’d like to be left alone for now.”
“As you wish.”
Quietly, the Sin of Lust left. In his absence, immense shame washed over Jesse, and he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Fuck…kid, you shouldn’t…shouldn’t have to be dealing with this from a grown ass demon.”
“It’s alright, I’m used to it.”
Several hours passed, and Andre still hadn’t woken up. Doctors and nurses checked in during that time, all of them without any updates to give. Whatever pain killers they had him on kept the marquis in dead silence. Not a groan, a twitch, or any sound at all escaped him. All there was, was the beeping of the heart monitor.
Jesse got used to it; eight cups of dark coffee morphed his brain just enough to make it tolerable. Octavia hadn’t taken any coffee, but instead chose to sit back with her earbuds in. Time dragged, and the claws of dread slowly tightened under Jesse’s skin.
He needed air.
He needed sunlight.
He didn’t want to leave.
He needed to stay awake for Andre.
A rap at the door drew his eye. Halfway in and halfway out stood a vibrantly dressed parrot. Jesse’s eyes narrowed, as he tried to recall his name. Octavia beat him to it.
“Prince Vassago, what are you doing here?” she asked, as she took out her earbud.
At her question, the Goetia bent at the waist and sank into a bow. “Princess Octavia; it has been too long. I have come to see Andrealphus.”
“He’s asleep.” Jesse’s words were hollow, devoid of enthusiasm or energy. Previous mania had swelled, only to deflate at the mere appearance of another upper class demon. The Starlight Lounge incident flashed across the back of his mind; Vassago had been of great help, saved their asses, but didn’t seem like he was totally in Andre’s corner.
“Yes, it would appear so.” Brazenly, he strode towards the bed railing. There was no way to tell what went on inside the future teller’s head, but a sorrowful sigh did eventually escape his beak. “Oh, Andre…what foolishness did you commit this time? You are hardly invincible…”
A forward lean, an outstretched arm.
Jesse bolted from his chair and snatched up the parrot’s wrist, before any contact could be made. “Don’t touch him.”
“There is no need to be protective. You know that I mean him no harm.”
“No, I don’t.”
Vassago’s brow arched, but his arm didn’t resist the bouncer’s practiced grip. Instead, it simply hovered over Andre’s motionless body, like a hand of god sent to bless a slumbering disciple. “Were my previous deeds not enough to earn your trust, Jesse?”
The grip tightened. Neither demon moved.
“Look; don’t touch. Someone whose whole gimmick is seeing shit should be pretty good at that.” Dead intensity ground out space within Jesse’s gaze, as it locked with Vassago’s golden visor. Stonelike, their very presence enough to ward even the most stubborn of tongues, it was a look he had only given to the most stubborn and unruly of guests at Ozzie’s. It proclaimed, ‘I am the fucking wall. You will not pass through me.’
“I suppose that is fair, given recent events.” Vassago slowly pulled back, as a signal to show his compliance. In response, Jesse released his grip. “It is always unfortunate when one’s faith is shaken by the people they admire and love.”
Naught but the same, cold stare, sharpened with disdain, met those words; blunt stone to ward off their penetrative meaning and show dominance.
“Asmodeus was the one who informed me of his condition. From the sounds of it, Andrealphus overstepped his bounds, in a moment of arrogance.” A smile slipped onto Vassago’s beak, and with it came a short chuckle. “Not too far from his usual behavior, all things considered. Still, to confront a Sin; rather unwise.”
“Do you know why he did, Vassago?” Octavia’s voice interjected, far behind from her seat. “No one will tell me.”
“Yes, Asmodeus did tell me. However, while your curiosity is admired and valid, it is not my place to divulge such things.”
“Why?”
“It simply…” Vassago turned and placed all of his attention solely on the young princess. “…wouldn’t help.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that your uncle’s business is, ultimately, his to reveal. I’ve never been one for spreading rumors, as my future-sight renders guesswork rather pointless.”
“Wh—”
Octavia flinched as a folded up ten dollar bill flicked its way into her lap. Jesse’s hand, two fingers splayed out and tilted at the wrist, displayed a prominent culprit.
“Go get yourself something at the vending machine, kid. The prince and I here need to have a private talk.”
Her own fingers were slow to accept the money, and even slower to unfold it. Knees pressed together, posture bent forward, she looked up at Jesse. Mute understanding shined in her eyes, “Alright; machine’s down a few floors though, so it’ll take me a bit.”
“Take your time. I’ll be here when you get back.”
Soft footsteps tapped out of room, and it wasn’t until he heard the door click shut that Jesse spoke again.
“…did you see that this was gonna happen?”
The prince folded his arms behind his back. To comfort himself, to show passivity, or perhaps to discreetly cook up a defense; who could say? Certainly not Jesse, who could only stare upwards with tightened fists and a sore heart. When Vassago didn’t answer for several more seconds, the incubus continued to speak.
“Was this all part of some…some fucking plan of yours? Take his powers away, let him have a taste of what we all take for granted, then come here to…what, gloat?”
“No, it was not part of any plan; and no, I am not here to gloat. Despite your assumptions about my character, I am not the gloating type. What I am, at heart, is an altruist.” Red eyes, sheltered behind a veil of golden glass, shifted towards the bed. “Andre’s condition has been on my radar for quite some time. I have not seen any of the other Goetia suffer from their powers as he has, and so long ago, I resolved to discover a treatment.”
Jesse folded his arms, kept his muscles tight, and curled his fingers into fists.
“In truth, I pitied him; a walking reminder of how fortunate the rest of us are. I questioned the design behind it and what lesson we were meant to observe from his suffering. At this point, my working theory is that Andre is simply a victim of loving fear.”
“You talking about his parents?”
“Yes, and how their desire for their son to receive all the benefits of his birthright doomed him to a subsequent life of misery.”
“Is that why you didn’t tell her?” Jesse spoke of Octavia. In truth, he had been surprised that Vassago hadn’t spilled the beans; seemed like it would’ve been a good time for someone looking to gain her favor. After all, she was just about to ease into power, in the near future.
“You and I are acutely aware of the damage such knowledge would have done to her. What Andrealphus attempted to do was out of love; of this I have no doubt, but his methodology was heinous. If she ever knew…it would cause irreversible damage to their relationship and the way she perceives not only the world of royalty, but herself.”
A twitch of Jesse’s pierced brow snaked down into his cheekbone, which then subsequently twitched as well. Fingers flexed, feet shifted, and his tail curled. “If you can see the future, then why didn’t you stop him?”
“Because he needed to learn how wrong his desire was. The best lessons are often the ones gained through firsthand experience; pain and failure are magnificent deterrents, as well as teachers. Given how stubborn Andrealphus is, nothing less than a potent reality check would sway his mind. As such, I couldn’t dare interfere, lest he still hold the same fear in his heart.”
“…you fucking prick.”
Jesse’s fist snapped out, in a flash.
Without looking, Vassago raised a hand and caught the blow within his palm. For someone so thin and regal, potent strength resided within. No matter how much muscle or leverage Jesse poured into his arm, that fist didn’t budge.
“You and Asmodeus are exactly the fucking same; pretending you give a shit about him, when all you do is use him to prop up your own egos. Thinking you’re better than him, feeling like your bullshit is excusable by claiming he’s always at fault; that there’s no other way to help him than to tear him down!”
Vassago glanced over, and Jesse bared his teeth.
“If you pity him so damn much, maybe you should’ve joined him for dinner. Maybe you should’ve called him on the phone, or asked to hang out, or offer some kind of fucking companionship to actually help him, instead of treating him like some sort of goddamned science experiment.” Muscle stretched and veins bulged as the incubus shifted: immovable. “You’ve all got power, real power to help Andre have a better life; but none of you actually care about him unless there’s some benefit in it for you.”
“Hm, I forgot I was talking to the ultimate altruist. My apologies, Jesse. Hobbling your own chances at success, in the hope that others will repay your sacrifice with meaning, is far superior to my own methods.” At the look of shock that registered, Vassago’s eyes gleamed. “Borrowing money from the mob in Greed to start a night club in Gluttony with your first love; only to slip into relative obscurity after failing to perform, rather stunning. Running into the protection of a Sin to shake the debt sharks, while you pick away at financial hardship and refuse all help from those who could lift you out of it, as a show of how capable you are; so brave. Then, there is of course, the matter of your dear sister…”
“You shut your fucking beak! You don’t talk about her…”
“Poor little Cassandra; overshadowed by her baby brother. Never good enough for your mutual father, who you thought you could convince to change his ways; if only you sank deep enough into his good graces. In the end, all you did was hog the spotlight, and pushed your sister deeper offstage until she resented you.”
“I said shut up!”
Vassago surged forward until his face was a mere inch from Jesse’s own. Overwhelming shades of vibrant red and yellow threatened to swallow him whole, but he bore the brunt of it with all his mental willpower. Fueled by anger, he glared daggers right back at the Goetia. It only heightened by the calm that enveloped the parrot’s expression.
“You speak of helping others, and I can sense that you mean it with all your heart; truly, I do. However, in your attempts to shield everyone from your own pain, you push them away. You seek the strength to safeguard them from all harm, yet in doing so, you ultimately would become above them; the same crime you accuse Asmodeus and I of committing.”
Jesse yanked his fist away; the strength to hold it in place having finally faded. Vassago reached into his vest and withdrew an envelope; one which was inscribed with Andrealphus’ name across the front. The parrot gently placed the card down atop the peacock’s unmoving form, then turned his body to walk towards the door.
“If I had a fraction of your power…I could have gotten through to him.” It was a strained admittance, one that the incubus couldn’t raise his head for.
“Tread carefully; that is the same thinking which landed Andrealphus in that bed. The best that you can do is what you’ve been doing; do not undercut your accomplishments in a single moment of felt helplessness.” Vassago looked back, and placed a hand over his heart. “With you, he has all the strength he could ever need to overcome any obstacle. You don’t need to be strong for Andre, because you make him stronger.”
Jesse swallowed, the breath that followed nothing but a strained gasp for air. Vassago’s warm and encouraging smile rooted him in place; how odd that it came from the same beak that had just dealt a ruthless reality check. He’d been read like a book, and no matter how fiercely he attempted to deny it, there was no escape.
“Get some rest, Jesse; you definitely need it.”
Another hour passed.
Andrealphus still hadn’t awoken.
Sleep had wormed its inescapable tendrils into Jesse, in an attempt to get him to pass out. An insidious urge that tugged at his eyelids and muted his brain took hold. Under its influence, the incubus could hardly see, let alone form coherent thought worth uttering.
“Hey.” A gentle nudge of his foot caused the bouncer’s head to groggily raise. “Do you want a coffee or something?” Octavia’s voice was like a massage to his mind, and he could barely keep his eyes open at its soothing lullaby.
“I don’t…think it would do anything.” he muttered.
“You can sleep, you know. I’ll watch over Uncle Andre.”
“No. I…I need to be here when he wakes up. I need him to know I’m still here…”
Darkness washed over his reality, and vertigo seized Jesse’s mind to yank him awake. That sudden tumble, the sensation of plummeting down a dark pit, zapped his cells with momentary energy. Yet, it quickly faded, and he ended up just as tired as before; if not more. Anger spiked in his weary soul, and Jesse rubbed at his eyes.
“When he wakes up, I’ll wake you up, okay; I promise.”
“…thanks kid.” Sweet relief filled his eyes, and it wasn’t long before Jesse tumbled into a deep slumber.
Octavia watched as her uncle’s ‘boyfriend’ fell asleep in a chair. With him out cold, it was just her and the heart monitor trapped in a one-sided conversation. The instant she was certain that the incubus was completely asleep, she stood from her own chair and walked towards the bed.
Her uncle looked like shit, to be blunt. Gray, immobile; the doctors said there had been internal bleeding. A few ribs had apparently shattered and stabbed more than a few organs, but none of the vital ones: thankfully. The usual glowing aura that he strode about with in such confidence had been diminished to a pale light of its former glory. No longer a beacon of power, but a reflection of how weak he could ultimately become. A tube ran from his wrist; another hung over the edge of his beak, and the rest of him remained covered by a white blanket.
Deep within, in the places of her gut that she stored all manner of bitter emotions, a wave of self-loathing crashed along her innards. It all had to be connected, somehow. Their conversation, his sudden departure, then abrupt hospitalization told Octavia that this incident involved her, somehow. Guilt, in all its repugnant service to the soul and mind, wracked her psyche with paragraphs of demeaning mantras.
Under the eyes of none, she reached out and edged her fingers beneath his own. Her wrist tilted around, and the warmth of her hand shuddered at the immense cold of his own; not as a consequence of his magical nature, but from the injuries to his body.
It was one of the first lessons her dad had ever taught her; Goetia possessed a natural resistance to the magic of other Goetia.
A rap at the door turned her head.
In the doorway stood a stranger. Ringed, crimson eyes sat upon a broad and flat head. A prominent snout jutted outwards, rigged with a menacing underbite. Two little horns jutted up alongside a bowler hat; one that matched the color and style of a three-piece suit. Within two large hands, a bouquet of flowers. Dark red tie, massive, finned tail; all of it added together showed that the visitor was a shark demon.
With Octavia’s attention upon him, the tall and silent figure strode into the room, then stopped in front of her. In his shadow, her shoulders pulled back, as the intensity of his steady gaze proclaimed that he knew her, yet Octavia had never seen him before.
“Can…I help you?” she asked, a way eye set to trail up his towering form in multiple laps.
“I wanted to see him.”
It was a smoother voice than she expected to hear, but thick with weariness; as if reality had smooshed it flat. His eyes shifted from her towards the bed, and a single breath caused a surprisingly broad chest to rise.
“My condolences for your emotional pain. I assume he means a great deal to you.”
“Are you…a friend of my uncle?”
“…we are acquainted.”
Octavia’s eyes flickered over to Jesse, who was still asleep in the chairs. Not a snore, not a twitch; not anything.
“Alright, you can leave the flowers on the table.”
The shark demon moved, his steps deliberate and slow; the echo of his polished shoes a clock’s click that filled the silence left by the heart monitor. Paper rustled, as he set the bouquet on the nightstand. Then, he turned, and held the guard of the bed with both hands.
Looming silence carried over the shark demon’s shoulders and radiated from his eyes, as he stared down at the unconscious peacock. There was something… off. All types of demons existed in royal channels, from all rings and walks of life on the business end of things, so his species wasn’t the issue.
It was the way he looked at her uncle.
“It’s almost funny, he reminds me of my son.” Fancy heels tapped against the hard floor; a sound so light, yet so sharp. It punctuated the heartbeat of an invisible clock; one that Octavia hoped to stare into, just to slow it to a halt. Against the rich, almost-muddy green of his skin, the red of the stranger’s eyes gleamed all the brighter. “You are Prince Stolas’ daughter aren’t you?”
The back of Octavia’s right heel gently bore back against the floor, “Yeah.”
“Hm,” the shark grunted. “Have you ever thought about how he would feel, if something happened to you? What he would do to those responsible?”
“No.”
“Well, food for thought.” Predatory eyes drifted back towards the bed, and Octavia’s heel shifted forward. Part of her screamed to flee, as it sensed an underlying lake of malice within those words. However, fear for her uncle compelled that she stay; who was this guy? “Whatever he decided to do, I couldn’t blame him. It’s what love does, after all.” Suddenly, his gaze was back upon her. “It frees us, breaks our chains, our inhibitions, makes us cross lines that we once never dared to. Do you think that’s fair, Octavia?”
“I, uhh—” She hadn’t revealed her name, so how did he know it? Was it simply from her connection with her dad?
“An unspoken pass to do whatever it takes to fill the hole that is left behind, by one’s passing. You can break down, cry, abuse yourself or others; even destroy yourself. In the end, everyone will simply say that if was grief; that it was justified, because we all process it differently.”
It was then that Octavia finally took a step back, one eye on Jesse. If she moved to wake him up, what would happen? What if she screamed? Even if someone came, it likely wouldn’t save her. The room was too cramped, too intimate, to make a clean getaway.
“That’s some, uhh—some pretty heavy stuff.”
“I’m usually quiet, so I have plenty of time to introspect.”
“…how did you say that you knew my uncle again?”
“I didn’t.”
His towering frame slithered away from the edge of the hospital bed, to cast a shadow across the room. Octavia swallowed a nervous lump in her throat, her attention mired in every bit of him; posture, step speed, as she anticipated the worst. The closer he drew, the faster her heart pounded against her ribs; an eventual thunderclap inside the ears. Words locked in her throat, mind too anxious and panicked to force her beak to part.
Close enough that she could smell his faded cologne, a huge, lightly scarred hand rested upon her shoulder. Then…
…he brushed past her, and left the room.
Wide-eyed, her head snapped one-hundred and eighty degrees to look at the door.
What in the hell was that all about?
Chapter 21: Down Comes the Claw
Summary:
Andrealphus awakens.
Powerful forces move to great effect.
A prince makes a choice, and a princess is tasked.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Reality snapped to existence.
Lights, colors, sounds, pressure.
Seared into his chest.
Seared into his eyes.
Andrealphus gasped for air and choked on his own fluids.
Something was in his throat; something thick and foreign that reached deep down inside of him.
Another such thing stabbed into his nostrils.
Where was he?
Everything kept his hands down, as he tried to raise them. Too heavy. Too much nothing.
His head spun. His eyes watered.
Life; this was life. He was alive.
How?
When?
Why?
An army of noise drilled into his head. Beep after beep after shrill beep.
He swung his arm up, grabbed a tube, and began to pull.
A gag, as he could feel the appendage stuck deep into his gut. Slime, searing discomfort; it all raked up his throat to ravage him. Tears welled in his eyes, and after a minute, he yanked it free.
The beeping grew louder, shriller than before.
Andrealphus gripped the tube in his nose and pulled; far less pain, but different. It stung, in his head; a newborn headache to torment him later.
Something was wrong. Water…somewhere, inside him. In his gut, in his groin. Legs moved all to easily. They swung wide, touched the floor, and he surged upwards.
There was no one. No one around; no faces, no voices, just empty space filled with things.
Existence was lead. Pressed down at the shoulders, the marquis slumped his way out.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
As he walked, it trailed behind. What was it ? It was him. Parts of him, pieces, fragments.
Nothing stayed in focus; the world a blur. Air swarmed against him; for what, to breath? What was it to breathe?
His beak stretched, and his chest filled with substance. He coughed wet, and ignored the cold against his chest and legs.
Lights…lightness; all merged together.
A new sound.
A touch.
An influence.
A name?
Blue; vibrant blue, deep, sea-like blue. The purest he’d ever seen. A grin. Three faces. Words emerged on his beak.
“Asmodeus…”
Everything became weightless.
“…I’m sorry.”
Light vanished, and he breathed.
“I’m sorry…”
No strength remained.
Air pushed upwards.
The earth spun.
He fell…and the light was gone.
Minutes Ago…
“I can’t believe he got into your house, Ozzie.” Beelzelbub, Queen of Gluttony, sipped from a steaming teacup. Honey infused, loaded with sugar cubes; the herbal beverage was more like an energy drink than what it was meant to be.
“It’s not the first time Andre has overstepped his bounds. I remember hearing that he stirred up quite a mess on your turf too.” Asmodeus sat in a chair, legs crossed, a steaming teacup of his own gripped in two massive fingers.
Aside from the general buzz of Sloth’s finest hospital all around them, no one dared to disturb their conversation. Every nurse, doctor, surgeon, and intern gave them a wide, respectful berth. In fact, so did other guests, and patients too.
“He did, but he wasn’t in my home, pointing a sword at me. That would’ve been a huge buzzkill.” Massive, arching eyebrows bent at their base, as her brow furrowed. “You would think he’s crazy, but he told me himself that he’s fully aware of what he’s doing.”
“Funny thing, he told me that you kicked in his door, but he didn’t say what he did to deserve it. Care to fill me in?”
Queen Bee sighed and wiggled deeper into her seat, wings slightly agitated; as shown by their buzz and readjustment. “He crashed a house party that I was feeding on, in my own Ring, right under my nose.” Again, her wings buzzed, and her fingers readjusted along the teacup’s handle for a tighter grip. “Kicked in the door, scared everyone shitless, killed three partygoers, and then left; tarnished my spotless reputation.”
Asmodeus frowned, “Do you know why he did it?”
“His niece was there.”
Expectant silence lingered, as the Sin of Lust slid his ass to the literal edge of his seat. No longer interested in tea, he set it down on the nearest table. Asmodeus slid his hands together and leaned in, elbows planted atop his knees.
“Was she…in danger?”
At the question, Bee’s eyes flickered to withdraw a long-held conversation to the forefront. “He said the three demons he killed were about to assault her; but I can’t be one-hundred percent sure that’s the truth. My parties aren’t about that; you know that, right Ozzie?”
Vibrant, rich, blue flames nodded in the wake of his head. “Yeah, I know.”
“I tried looking into it more, but everyone was gobsmacked. All the guests were too traumatized to say anything, and the reporters weren’t much help either. Hell, not even the mortician would help.”
At that, Asmodeus’ brow deepened with thought. “Odd, most demons bark at the chance to even wave, but you’re telling me none of them could give you anything useful?”
“Not a single one.”
A weary, contemplative, and heavy exhale rose in the Sin of Lust, and upon its exhalation, wiped his mind of doubt.
“I think Andrealphus was telling you the truth.”
Bee’s head tilted, and she gave a doubtful giggle. “What makes you so sure?”
“Think about it, Bee; he fucked around in your territory and paid the price for his niece’s sake. He fucked around in mine, and is probably going to piss blood for months; all for Octavia. Say what you want about Andre, but when it comes to her, he doesn’t fuck around.”
Hurried hooves drew his attention. Three nurses, masked up and perky, jogged past and down a nearby hallway. For residents of Sloth, they sure did book it!
“Speaking of the princess, have you had the chance to talk with her yet?”
“No, last I checked she was sleeping. Her and Jesse were out like lights.”
Bee cocked her head, “Who’s Jesse?”
“He’s—” More hurried hooves echoed down the hall, followed by a series of shouts. “What the hell is going on over there?”
Patience at an end, the Sin of Lust leaned to look past his friend. All he saw was an empty hallway; that is, until the heel of a rubbery, stark-white shoe skid into view. One became two, two became four, and four surged to eight, as four nurses and interns were steadily pushed back. Hands up, they strained against something invisible, all while they unleashed a chorus of indecipherable dialogue.
Then, from around the corner, a gaunt specter emerged. Sunken, pallid eyes and grayed feathers marked its avian visage. It easily towered above the medical staff; stride slow but mighty. With equal ease, its every step pushed the smaller demons back, even as they tried to dig in their hells.
“Someone get some benzodiazepine!”
“That’ll take too long to kick in; get Marcus!”
“Marcus is on vacation!”
“FUCK!”
A collective strained groan rang out, as the figure pushed them all back another step, and Asmodeus’ eyes tightened.
“…Andre?”
“Marquis, can you hear us?!” One of the nurses shouted, her tiny shoulder braced against his hip. “You can’t be walking around! You’ve pulled your stitches!”
Eyes quick to respond, all three pair shots towards the ground behind Andrealphus, and spotted a pattering trail of blood that didn’t even gleam. Asmodeus pushed himself up from his chair and strode towards the group. Perhaps it was simply his aura, or the ever-active mind of neurodivergence, but several of the interns turned their heads and gawked upwards.
The closer he drew, the reality of Andrealphus’ mental state became clear. Lights were on, but no one was home, and Asmodeus quickly reached out to grasp him by the shoulder. Immediately, the dull bird stopped dead in his tracks and stared into nothing.
“Andre.” It was simply to hook the Goetia’s attention, filled with power and authority. Yet, it gained him nothing. “Do you know where you are?” he asked, and clicked his fingers multiple times in front of that porcelain beak.
“…Asmodeus…” came a dry croak.
Dead, vacant eyes continued to stare into the distance. Shallow breaths rattled from his throat in constant cadence, and the drip of blood joined them in song. A pang of guilt struck the fiery, proud demon as he stared into the withered visage of his colleague. Had a single punch done all of this?
A brisk inhale snapped him from his thoughts, as Andre finally locked onto his face.
“I’m sorry…” Andre’s shoulders sank, but his neck remained stretched, and a sliver of color flashed across the dry stones that were his eyes. Arms went limp, fingers dangled towards the ground like guests of the gallows, and his knees bent under the weight of his upper body; diminished as it was.
The marquis’ eyes closed, and strength fled from his posture entirely.
“…I’m sorry.”
Orderlies clamored to catch the Goetia as he collapsed.
Asmodeus stared down, mind aflame, until a tender touch poked against his broad back. Bee’s voice graced the scene.
“You did all that, Ozzie?”
As a stretcher was wheeled into place and Andrealphus was hoisted upon it, the Sin of Lust frowned. That punch did some damage, sure; the doctor had said as much, but the amount of auric alteration was cause for concern. It wasn’t just physical, but a seemingly complete lack of magic altogether. Jesse had just told him that Andre had gotten it all back.
“Something’s not right, Bee. His Goetian blood should be kicking this injury’s ass.”
“Maybe you just hit him harder than you thought?”
Large fingers drummed against mountainous triceps: had he? To Asmodeus’ memory, he had pulled back at the last moment, and given that he was considered the weakest of the Sins, magical heritage should have fixed Andrealphus up. Instead, he looked…ghoulish.
“No, I didn’t.”
Suspicion upon his brow, Asmodeus followed after the nurses, as they wheeled Andrealphus back to his room; Bee in tow. Whether it was simply in solidarity with her bestie, or her own desire to question the marquis, he didn’t know. So, he went with Option A and left it at that.
At the doorway to Andrealphus’ room, a fiery red parrot stood; leaned up against the frame, until he saw the stretcher. Then, he quickly moved aside.
“Thank the stars, I wasn’t sure what to make of his absence from bed. What happened?”
The question was directed at the hospital staff, but they ignored the avian altogether, which turned his gaze towards the Sins. “Lord Asmodeus, Queen Bee-zelbub; I had not expected to see you two here.”
Bee giggled as the parrot bowed, then waved a hand in his direction. “Enough with the pleasantries, Prince Vassago; we’re already tight, you know that.”
“With you perhaps, my queen.” Shielded eyes glanced over and upwards towards the towering Sin of Lust, and while they glimmered with dull respect, they also could barely keep contact. “Are you both here to see Andre?”
“Actually, we are here to see Princess Octavia; we have some questions for her.”
Vassago’s arm rose, forearm bent upwards so that a limp wrist could shield the underside of his beak. “Then you would need to wake her first. She and Jesse have been up for nearly an entire day’s worth of time; thus, both are, summarily, out cold.”
“We already know, but it’s important.” Asmodeus narrowed his eyes with gentle suspicion. “Have you seen anyone that you didn’t recognize go in and out of his room; someone that wasn’t hospital staff?”
“No, but then, I wasn’t glued to the room for long. I visited earlier, but stepped out to inform Stolas of his daughter’s location. Apparently, he had no idea that she had made the journey to visit her uncle.” Vassago fully turned his head to look into the room, and kept his eyes locked on the scene within. “He wasn’t too happy to hear she had snuck out to see him. Given their history, I cannot say that I fully blame him.”
Asmodeus sighed and pinched his brow. “Maybe some separation would be for the best, but there’s no way to know how Andrealphus will react when he wakes up again.”
A sudden stab of a nudge buried itself into Asmodeus’ hip. He turned in surprise, only to find that it was Bee who had elbowed him. Instead of a smile, she raised a crooked finger his way, and he bent down.
“Who’s the suit?” she whispered, and gestured with her eyes.
He looked down the hall, and saw a burly, three-headed cerberus demon leaned against the wall. Tight, satin sleeves strained against a broad and bulky body of muscle. An embossed and golden helmet covered each head; open space for the muzzle to poke out, while protective plating covered the sides of the face and concealed the eyes from view.
“…shit.” Asmodeus recognized the attire, and sure enough, as the demon shifted to scratch its shoulder, a gleaming pin appeared on its collar. In the shape of an apple, coiled in a serpent’s embrace, it symbolized one as a member of Lucifer’s personal guard.
All three heads covered an angle, and with its hulking back against the wall, every approach was covered. It’s what made so suited for guard-duty; hard to sneak past someone with excellent senses of not only smell and hearing, but sight as well.
While Asmodeus pondered what one of them could possibly be up to, Bee playfully tapped his thigh with the back of her hand. “Think I should go butter him up and figure out what’s up?”
“C’mon girl, you know they’re all snipped. I couldn’t even get anything out of one on my best day. Nah, whatever it is, let’s just stay out of---and he’s walking this way.”
Baphomet, incubi, and imp alike gave Lucifer’s Guard ample berth as he walked down the hall. Each head was fixated straight ahead, expressions rigid as stone and eyes completely hidden by a black visor. Meaty, furry fists hung at its sides, but as it drew closer, they rose to adjust the golden tie that hung from its centermost, thick neck.
“Asmodeus: Sin of Lust, Queen Beelzebub: Sin of Gluttony, Prince Vassago of the Ars Goetia; an odd conjunction of elite forces.”
Its tone was almost robotic, but each head took a name, and all three uttered the statement; like that of a program.
“Even more odd to see one of Lucifer’s own in such a place, at such a time.” Vassago chimed in, feet planted alongside Asmodeus. “Are we to expect his eminence to make an appearance?” Genuine curiosity and excitement dotted the parrot’s tone.
“Negative; we are only here to obtain Marquis Andrealphus for questioning.”
Silence fell over the upper-class demons, shock registered across each of their faces.
“Evidence has come to light of not only illicit magical practices, but involvement with underground criminal organizations. As such, King Lucifer has opened an investigation.”
“What kind of investigation?” Asmodeus rumbled.
“Under royal law, Section Fifty-Nine, Subsection Eighteen; all property which is suspect of aiding and abetting negative intent towards the crown shall be seized by the crown, properly inspected, and either destroyed or returned; based upon its degree of innocence.”
Approaching footsteps rumbled down the hall, and everyone looked up to spot four more cerberus guards; hidden eyes locked beyond the elite group in front of Andrealphus’ room. A snap of arms, heels, and sleeves boomed forward, as the squad stopped behind the first guard.
“Now, if you would all be so kind as to step aside.”
Asmodeus and Bee shared a wary glance. They held much sway in Lucifer’s court, but even they knew better than to interfere in his business. Vassago, however, was hesitant to move; even as both Sins parted to open a path. At his refusal, the leader of the squad raised his chin.
“Prince Vassago, is there an issue?”
“I simply wish to save you face. Princess Octavia is in that room, and if she were to awake to Lucifer’s Royal Guard absconding with her beloved uncle; well…” Vassago straightened his posture, but Asmodeus eyed his clasped hands, which tightened their grip in the safe, hidden haven of his back. “I only ask that you approach your duties with tact befitting your station. We wouldn’t wish to stain our King’s reputation.”
None of the canines moved; not a single muscle. However, the aura about them grew heavy, as if to absorb the weight of Vassago’s words.
“…Your words speak truth. Very well; remove Octavia of the Ars Goetia, so that we may perform our duties: posthaste.”
With a little bow of respect, Vassago turned and dipped into Andrealphus’ room. The second his face was out of sight, his smile vanished. Staff members still huddled about the bed, in the midst of reattaching tubes and needles. His head turned, only to spot both Octavia and Jesse still asleep in their clearly uncomfortable chairs.
For a moment, he hesitated. Should he wake them both? Perhaps they could extract Andrealphus without waking Jesse, and he could contain the fallout? A decision had to be made, and fast.
Vassago approached Jesse and seized a shoulder, the other quick to clamp across the incubus’ mouth. In seconds, bewildered, sluggish eyes opened, and before the demon could attempt to cause a ruckus, a shush was given. Close, the prince lowered his voice to a ghostly whisper, but spoke in a tone most serious.
“Listen to me carefully. In seconds, they are going to take Andrealphus away from here. I will do everything within my power to ensure no harm comes to him, but I cannot do that if they detain you as well.”
Wild surges of muscle attempted to jump forward, but Vassago held them back with practiced restraint and magical strength.
“I am going to get you out of here, you must find the Hazbin Hotel…” A scroll of parchment was pulled from the inside of his coat and pushed into Jesse’s hands. “…and ask for Charlie Morningstar. Seek an audience and give her the contents of that scroll. Can you do that? No one else is to open it, save her; understand?”
Octavia twitched, then gave a groan, and Vassago swiftly snapped his fingers. Beneath Jesse, a shimmering portal of red, crystalline glass opened.
“Be swift; Andre’s life depends on it!”
With that, Vassago dropped the incubus through and shut the portal.
The parrot smoothed down his plumage, then turned to Octavia; his hand upon her shoulder with a gentle jostle.
“Princess Octavia, it is time to wake up.”
Grass and dirt slammed against Jesse’s face as he landed.
A deep groan rolled about in his chest, as soreness set into his bones and muscles. Still barely awake, he clutched the scroll in his hand and peeled himself off whatever lawn he had managed to imprint. All that ran through his mind were a singular set of words.
Andre. Danger. Morningstar.
He spat out blades of grass and pebbles of soil, then sat up on his knees to survey his surroundings. Bustling city streets sat in the distance, at the bottom of a massive hill. An entire city, cut up into sections by the shape of a pentagram, stretched out before him. Above in the sky, the same moon that he and Andre had dined on, in the Starlight Lounge, hovered.
It was Pride, and he had traveled there in the blink of an eye from Sloth!
Jesse dusted himself off and stood, only for his mind to question why Vassago had teleported him to the top of a hill. With only a single turn, he discovered the answer to his question.
A glimmering mansion; nay, a palace, sat before him. Glittering with vibrant, theatrical bulbs and overwhelming red hues, it stretched into the sky as a monument. Across its face sat a colossal sign, yet before the building’s size, it appeared rather small by comparison. It read, Hazbin Hotel.
Scroll in hand, he ran up the golden cobblestone driveway.
Casino-décor towered above; spades, clubs, hearts, and diamonds glowed with neon light below bars of sheet music. As he passed beneath the balcony, the glow of theatre lighting warmed his shoulders, even in Hell’s already scalding climate. Through a pair of glass doors, he stared into the seemingly vacant lobby ahead and gripped the golden handle. As he pulled, the door didn’t budge.
“No…no, no, no…” Jesse muttered, as he gave the door further tugs at varying strengths. Then, he tried to push it, yet it remained shut. A bulky shoulder smashed against the glass, along with another push of the handle. “Hello?!” he called out, wide eyes trapped in a perpetual minefield of pinball bumpers, as he scanned the lobby for any signs that he’d been heard.
Panic boiled in his chest to infuse his breath with steam. There had to be someone, anyone, inside that could help him. He couldn’t wait around, and so he turned away from the door and scanned the driveway. Jesse bent down, as he found what he wanted, and picked up a smooth rock.
An old scrap of knowledge from his teenage years; car windows were built to withstand impact through tempering. A precise impact could release enough tension within the glass to crack it, and he only hoped it would also work on the door; for all he knew, it could be enchanted.
Rock in one hand and scroll in the other, he pulled his elbow back and slightly leaned into his heel. Just as he was about to throw it, motion caught his eye from inside. Immediately, he ran back towards the glass and began to knock; so loud and quick that no one in their right mind could reasonably claim to have ignored it accidentally.
“Hey! Hey, please, I need to get in!” he barked.
A pink and white, lanky spider, one that looked prime to be employed at Ozzie’s, approached the door. Its superior height reminded him of Andrealphus, but the face couldn’t have been any further in the other direction if it tried. Suspicion kept its brow raised, and in that expression, something felt…familiar.
The door opened, and the demon lingered in the way, one of four elbows braced to the frame.
“Sorry buddy, we ain’t taking any applications right now; hotel is overbooked.” Slick, city accent; the inflection from another time. Two-different colored eyes kept Jesse’s gaze in a state of constant distraction, as it flicked between both nonstop.
“I don’t need a room. I need to talk to Charlie Morningstar!”
“Yeah, you and everyone else in this fucking city wants to talk to her. Sorry, but she’s busy with important shit, so she doesn’t have time for a pop in meeting from a stranger off the street. Come back some other time.”
Jesse shoved the scroll upwards, clenched in his fist. “I need to give her this.” As the spider demon rolled its eyes and reached for the scroll, he pulled it away. “Personally.”
“It’s not some freaky fanart, is it? Charlie likes that shit, but her girl sure as hell doesn’t; and let me tell ya, you do not want to piss off Vags.”
“No! It’s—well—fucking, look; it’s important. I was told by Prince Vassago to find Charlie and give this to her in person, no questions asked; and I don’t have time to bat dicks around about it!”
The doorman’s expression shifted instantly. “Prince Vassago?” Just like that, he pushed away from the doorframe so that Jesse could pass. “Get the fuck on in here.”
Not even a second through the door, he heard the spider take a deep breath.
“YO, CHARLIE!” he yelled, loud enough to make the incubus jump in shock. “YOU’VE GOT A VIP GUEST FROM THE PRINCE IN THE LOBBY!”
High pitched ringing dug into his brain, and Jesse winced as he tried to slap, rub, and dig it out. Yeesh; spider had pipes. Still, something about him bugged the bouncer. It was a memory; either a name, a face, a poster, maybe even a song, but he couldn’t quite…wait…
“…holy shit, are you Angel Dust?”
Before he could get an answer, a pillar of fire erupted from the floor, and out stepped a rosy-cheeked woman with skin pale as death itself. It almost looked like paint, perfectly applied and made with only the best ingredients to ensure it would never lose its vibrancy or luster. Dressed up in a sharp red suit, everything about her screamed sunshine , from her golden, tied up hair to the wide and cheery smile that made Jesse’s cheekbones nearly lift to the same tune.
“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!” she said, voice practically a exuberant cheer. Glitter and paper stars popped into the air, as if there were a party cracker hidden in both sleeves of that rich suit. Jesse squinted and wiped them away as they fell upon his shoulders and head. “Prince Vassago sent you?”
Wordlessly, he held up the scroll, and Charlie mouthed a silent thank you as she snipped open the seal with her nails and unrolled it completely. With a cough, she read its contents.
“Your Highness,
Machinations continue, the culprit moves to strike soon. Under laws penned by your sire, our glorious King Lucifer, Marquis Andrealphus of the Ars Goetia is being taken into royal custody; on charges to conspire against the crown. A greater falsehood, I have never heard. I believe a malicious force, the same which poisoned your friend, wishes to remove him from the board; perhaps permanently. As to why, I do not know, but you must speak with your father posthaste, and impose upon him the severity of things, should these dark plots come to fruition.
The demon I have sent is named Jesse, and he has a high personal interest regarding this matter. As a native to this realm, he can freely traverse the various rings; something your sinner companions are incapable of accomplishing. He will be instrumental in uncovering the truth.
Your father’s Royal Guard has likely already searched Andrealphus’ manor. That is where you both must go; for it is what my divination has shown me. Do what you must to stall your father before you go, and I will enlist the aid of Prince Stolas to buy further time.
If we lose Marquis Andrealphus, your vision of redemption fades from possibility.
For the sake of your dream, save him.
Your Eternal Devotee,
Prince Vassago of the Ars Goetia”
A stretched moment of silence filled the lobby; each demon lost in their own thoughts. Jesse stared at vacant air, mind loose gravel upon a steep incline. The manor; what was back at the manor? Already, he poured through every memory, scoured the details of every room, but came up confused.
“Heavy shit.” Angel Dust said, having been present for the entire reading. Then, he frowned. “Same motherfucker that shot Husk, huh?” Secondary arms joined at the hands, then cracked and popped their knuckles with intensity. “I’ll bury ‘em!”
“Easy, Angel; Vassago is right, you can’t leave Pride.”
“What about Alastor? All that fancy-ass radio magic and he can’t cross a border?”
“I…honestly don’t know.” Confusion and curiosity cocked a finger to her cheek. “First thing’s first, I’ll need to see if dad is in his tower.”
Like sun upon the horizon, realization dawned on him. Jesse was standing in front of the Princess of Hell! Not just a princess like Octavia, but the princess! An itch rippled up his spine, infected the edges of his wings, and compelled him to bow. A silent, ‘oh-shit’ formed on his lips. Royalty of that level never came to Ozzie’s, yet here he stood less than a few feet away from the pinnacle of royalty!
“S-sorry, Your Highness! He only gave me a name; I somehow didn’t…put two and two together…”
“Oh, it’s fine; Vassago did the same thing. I’m not much of a thing outside of Pride, unless I turn on a little, y’know…” Charlie rocked her shoulders side to side and playfully jabbed at the air, like she was a boxer. “…razzle dazzle!” One innocent jab connected with Jesse’s meaty arm, however, and she recoiled instantly to shake out the apparent sting to her hand. “Oof, you uhh…have a real solid shoulder there.”
Charlie cleared her throat, as Angel leaned over to ogle a bit. Jesse did his best to ignore the staring; there were more important things going on…but he’d never had a pornstar size him up before. It was kind of nice, but different than how Andrealphus looked at him: totally different.
“Right!” Charlie said, with a single clap of both hands. “I’ll go and talk to dad, while you…make yourself at home, I guess! Hopefully this shouldn’t take too long. Angel, do you mind?”
“Go do your thing; I’ll keep him company.”
As the princess turned back up the stairs and the sound of her footsteps echoed through the lobby for several seconds, Jesse gave Angel a wary side-eye. Lust was his realm of expertise; baked into his blood, and easily recognizable in even the smallest amounts.
“Just makin’ an observation here, but…usually the only people good enough to get into a fucking mansion are butlers and other royals; you don’t look like either.”
“So?”
“So, what’s your connection?”
Jesse caught a frustrated huff before it could escape, then forced it out in discrete breaths as he spoke. “Business.”
He could feel Angel’s brow hike up.
“Ohhhh, so you’re into that line of work? Yeah, that makes sense; thick hunk of prime rib like you really screams, ‘too-sexy-for-relationships’; no offense.” Angel tapped the tip of his boot to the ground a few times, then turned towards what was unmistakably a bar. “Want a drink to take the edge off? I can’t tell if you’re constantly flexing or not, but you look high strung.”
Yeah, a drink sounded great.
Jesse followed, but stopped short of sitting down, and chose instead to stand a bit back with his thick arms crossed over a muscular and pronounced chest. “I’m not a sex-worker.”
Empty mixer in hand, the spider held up two of his spares. “Whatever you say; just calling ‘em as I see ‘em.”
“How does someone with eight eyes get that wrong?”
“By not being perfect, I guess?” Ice, marked bottles; it all began to fill Angel’s many hands. “Must be weird for someone who looks like they were carved out of marble. What are you anyway?”
“What am I?”
“Yeah, like…how all Sinners look different, so we’re called different things sometimes. Since you’re not from here, you can’t be a Sinner, which means you’re a demon, which means you gotta be some type of demon.”
“…I’m an incubus.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you know what a succubus is?”
“Yeah, it was a movie I starred in about two years ago.”
Jesse pinched his brow, unable to tell if Angel had just cracked a joke or not.
“No; a succubus, not a succ-u-bus.”
“Ohhhh, yeah, yeah; I know what those are. They’re the…” Multiple fingers snapped, as he stayed busy at work to mix up a drink. “…demon gals with the huge tits that suck men’s souls out through their cocks: yeah.”
“I’m that, just the male equivalent.”
Angel stopped shaking the mixer and grabbed a glass; his concoction almost completed. “So, what, do you like…punish mortal souls and shit?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“How should I know?”
“Why wouldn’t you know?”
“I—for fuck’s sake—I work at a club called Ozzie’s; as in short for Asmodeus, the Sin of Lust?”
“…and you’re not a sex worker, despite all of that?”
Jesse rolled his eyes. “I’m a bouncer.”
“Yeah, I bet you are; bounce my fucking brains out on that dick, big daddy.”
It was said with such a straight face that Jesse actually balked, as his brain froze. It quickly thawed, as the bitter scent of booze struck his nose. The drink in front of him was green, almost like a mixture between lime and chemical waste. Two cherries and a pickle sat on toothpicks which leaned against the rim, held in placed by the ice cubes that floated in the mixture.
“The fuck am I looking at?”
“I call it ‘The Sour-Puss’, just the thing to kick the negativity right out of you. Go on, give it a swig, or a sip; however fast you wanna suck it down ain’t my concern.”
Hesitantly, Jesse reached out and eased the glass closer, a frown on his face. “…thanks, I think.”
“You’re welcome. I use it when I need to get myself out of a haze for big shoots and shit.”
All he could smell was chemical cleaner, diluted candy coating, and pickles. Even with those two cherries present, the entire beverage radiated an aura of desperation; similar to water poured into an almost-empty shampoo bottle. With a grimace, Jesse put the rim to his lips and threw it back.
Dry heat slapped the back of his eyeballs and vaporized them of all germs. His throat dried up completely, then lubricated itself in seconds. Pickles, lime, and bitterness slapped down his tongue, burned his throat, and shook his ribcage. A single, strained wheeze shot from Jesse’s mouth as he slammed the glass down onto the counter and cleared his throat.
“Fucking hell, that’s—gah!” Tongue out, eyes clenched shut, his head shook furiously to dislodge the combination of sensations; all bad, all unwelcome…but his brain did feel sharp, spurred awake by a straight shot of ‘fuck-that-shit’.
“It’s an acquired taste; took your mind off things though, didn’t it?”
“Angel!” A gruff, deep voice rang out from the steps. “Are you fucking around behind my bar again?”
Jesse turned his head to see what the voice belonged to; a black and white-furred feline humanoid with a little bowtie and suspenders. Not much else, aside from seemingly natural markings on his body; all similar to the ones on the outside of the building.
“Babe, what are you doing up; you’re supposed to be—”
“Couldn’t sleep, heard you yelling, came to see.” The cat’s marked ears perked, as his sights landed on Jesse. “New guest?”
“Not exactly.”
“I was gonna say, he doesn’t look like any other Sinner I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s…not really complicated, but I’m not even sure I was supposed to know about this; I just happened to be standing right there.”
Closer, the cat tread, until he took up a spot at the bar; posture relaxed. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised; ever since that bird showed up, everyone’s got some new kind of secret.” A glance over his shoulder, an arch of an oversized, red and black eyebrow; he frowned.
“Easy Husk, he doesn’t bite. That look on his face is because of the drink I just made him.”
Rushed footsteps stopped any and all future conversation to be had, as well as any assumptions of character; Charlie had returned.
“Alright, I told dad what’s going on, he said he’d look into it. That gives us time to do our thing.” As her polished shoes tapped onto the tile, the princess shot everyone present a smile. “You two stay here, keep the place tidy, don’t let Nifty stab anyone again, and I’ll be back...hopefully soon.”
“You better; I don’t want Alastor running this place.” Husk grunted.
“Oh, don’t be silly; if anyone would take over for me, it would be Vaggie…or my dad!”
The look exchanged between Angel and Alastor told Jesse that neither option was to their liking, but he didn’t have much time to dwell on it. His hand was gripped in a surprisingly strong, yet much smaller one, and found himself pulled towards the door.
“Come on Jesse, we need to get going. Quick question, how do you feel about heights?”
At the question, he blinked in confusion. “I’m strong, but…no offense; not strong enough to tote you around on my back, your Highness.”
“Oh, you won’t be doing the flying, silly, we’ll leave that to the dragon.”
“…the what?!”
Notes:
(With the release of Mastermind, I need to reconstruct the rest of this story. It might be some time until another chapter releases. This WILL, however, not stop me from finishing it. Frozen Heart will be completed before the end of next year.)
Chapter 22: Remnants of Count Rose
Summary:
Jesse and Charlie Morningstar delve into a marquis' manor, in search of answers that will save Andrealphus' life.
Chapter Text
Jesse clutched the mighty scale hide that sat beneath him, with a death grip that turned his pink-skinned knuckles to a pallid shade of white. Air like he had never experienced, in the form of freedom, whipped his hair back upon his face. Streams of wind blasted across his body, their power too great for his eyes to stay open, and his thighs squeezed against the leather saddle below.
“First time flying this high up?” A cheery voice shouted above the roar of wind.
He turned, body tense as a leaf in the breeze. “Little bit, yeah!”
Hell looked like a patchwork quilt; a sea of clouds stretched out to obfuscate the finer details. With his vision pulled so far back, the land looked unnatural, toy-like and plastic. A vibrant, colorful swath of occupied settlements dotted vast and vacant stretches of wild countryside; too far away to spot any lights or fumes that might have existed. Hell’s sun, forged by the hand of Lucifer himself, gleamed with an occult beauty that shined down upon everything below; and for a moment, Jesse forgot that he was atop a dragon’s back.
At his side, Charlie spread her arms wide without fear. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she cheered, a smile upon her rose-tinted cheeks. They shined all the more, in Hell’s glorious light, as did her pale white skin.
Jesse’s calves sensed gargantuan muscle shift, a power far greater than anything he could ever likely achieve, and he flinched as the dragon dipped downward! “Oh, shit!”
Another excited, joyous cheer cried out, while his stomach heaved from the steep plummet. Colossal wings tucked tight against an equally colossal body, as fluffy white clouds blocked their view on all sides. Then, as they passed, the ground was that much closer. The incubus clenched his ass and screamed as they nosedived straight out of the sky; a rush of adrenaline, fear, and excitement gushed out and crystallized over his heart.
The ground grew closer and closer, until all else became terror and Jesse found the strength to clamp his eyes shut. That was it, they were going to crash! In that moment, his mind uttered every apology, prayer, and regret it could conjure; but then…there was no abrupt crash.
There was no pain.
He reopened his eyes and found himself in a whole new world.
A swirling tube of color surrounded them all; like that of a fully circular rainbow that stretched the length of all existence. The scent of sugar pricked his nose, and the air felt less abrasive, almost like that of sweet cotton candy. It passed over his outstretched hand and down his arm, as if it were possessed of guidance and life; only for the immaterial to take visible shape. Around his arm, a pink, puffy snake appeared; its’ entire form constructed of a cloud-like substance. It gazed up at him with curiosity, vacant, beady, black eyes frozen in place. Slowly, he reached out his opposite hand to touch it, only for the serpent to float away from his arm. As it floated away, a little forked tongue planted an equally tiny, ticklish kiss upon his cheek, then dissipated into the air.
Awe swelled in his chest. Not even Andre’s magic had been as captivating as what he witnessed then. Childlike wonder bloomed in his chest, light and unbound by the worries of his current situation and stretched an unstoppable grin upon his handsome face. “What is this?” he asked. “Where are we?”
“It’s how I travel between Rings.” Charlie giggled, as she leaned back to sprawl upon the back of her mighty steed. Arms behind her head, ankle crossed atop a knee; not a care in the world. “I haven’t given it a name yet, but it’s magical; something Dad taught me how to do whenever I needed to get somewhere quick.”
“Why does it smell like a candy store?”
“Well, it’s kind of my brand. My magic is…happy.” She accented the adjective with a gentle click of the tongue, as it that would help it stick.
Jesse raised his pierced brow. “Happy?”
“Yes: happy.”
“You can just make magic whatever you want?” His thoughts floated immediately to Andrealphus, and the burden his own magic had placed upon him. A lifetime of misery, of unfair restrictions, and yet here she sat with none. It brewed a bitter boil in his stomach; one that he wished to quickly be rid of.
“Well, no. There’s magic in all of us, but not everyone knows it. You’re an incubus, right? That means your magic comes from Asmodeus; since he, you know, made you.” Her smile appeared to take on something close to a dreamy quality, and the princess happily sighed. “The power of love; it sounds so romantic.”
A shadow fell upon Jesse’s face, and he scoffed dismissively. “Yeah, right; fat load of good it does me right now. I’m practically useless.”
One of those gentle, red eyes yawned open, but her relaxed pose didn’t change. “You think that you need to hurt others to be useful?”
“I just…” he started to say, then sighed. “…Andrealphus does such amazing things with his magic that I had no clue were possible until I met him. I’ve seen him use it to make beautiful things but also fight off the shit that shows up to wreck it. He creates, he destroys, and he protects the good that he brings into the world.” Fingers clenched shut, and the demon’s jawline clenched. “I want to do that, like he’s done for me.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
“I’m not like him. He’s, you know, a Goetia; and I’m just me.” Jesse sighed; a wave of resignation washed through his body. “I can’t even talk him down when he’s in a bad mood. I thought I could, but he just called me a commoner, and that I had no right telling him his business.”
A pensive little hum left Charlie’s lips and drifted through the sky, to grace Jesse’s ears. “You know, I’ve met a ton of commoners, and I have to say; they’re some of the most amazing people. Did it hurt, to hear him call you that?”
“It wasn’t what he said, just that…we were doing great. He was happy, enjoying life again, and then his powers came back and just…” Jesse sighed, a wave of weariness upon his brow. “…ripped it all away. Now there’s all this bullshit with whatever’s going on, and I’m supposed to fix it somehow!”
“I know that feeling; being weighed downed by expectations until it feels like you’re going to just—” Charlie slowly smooshed both hands together and blew a short raspberry. “—squish. Just know that there’s nothing wrong with asking for help; I do it all the time.”
“You ask for help?” he scoffed, an incredulous raise to his pierced brow. “You’re the Princess of Hell, what kind of help could you ever need from anyone?”
Jesse watched as Charlie rotated around, legs gently bent, heels raised above the back of the dragon. When the tips of her shoes faced him, her feet lowered as she hugged at the front of both legs. “Everyone needs friends, even the most powerful of us.” A warm smile rose to Charlie’s rosy cheeks; one that struck something deep within the incubus’ heart and opened it to her words. “One of Andrealphus’ friends sent you to my hotel, told me about what’s going on; and now another friend of his is flying on the back of a dragon, talking to a princess, about how he might be saved. I don’t know about you, but that’s pretty awesome, in my book.”
Her compliments stirred up profound gratitude, but the devils of doubt continued to gnaw at the fringes. “Anyone could have done this, especially Edmund.”
“Well, whoever Edmund is, I don’t see him here; just you.” Almost like a gleeful child, Charlie stretched her legs out, pressed her feet to the dragon’s hide, and scooted forward on her butt. Again and again, she scooted until Jesse could smell the sunshine on those golden locks. A finger rose, then prodded his shoulder. “You’re there for Andrealphus, when no one else is. Don’t underestimate how much that means.”
A sudden dip heaved Jesse’s stomach and curled his tail. Nausea welled upwards and tickled his throat. His head spun, and on instinct, he braced an arm around his gut. The urge to gag, followed by an unpleasant wave of discomfort, hit like a dynamic duo; but he held fast and looked towards the dragon’s head.
“We’re about to leave the tunnel.”
Shortly after she spoke, their shared world of rainbows and sweet delights snapped out of existence with such startling abruptness that it nearly gave Jesse mental whiplash. Cold air hit his skin, in an instant, and the vast expanse of Andrealphus’ land greeted them from below. Valleys of fallen snow coated the ground, and while the usual ornamental fittings of ice curled and stretched about the manor as always, they lacked their once-brilliant, regal aura. Instead, their light sat dimmed, painted by the forlorn whisper of winter winds.
Only once had Jesse ever seen the exterior of Andre’s estate, and he’d never forget it. Drained of color as it was, a majestic dignity lay upon the manor still; worn and faded by the only world it knew. Some bitterness, along with a deep sorrow, flicked the corner of the demon’s eye. His joyous place, his house of memories; a new friend and a new love, coated in the tracks of those who didn’t recognize his joy, nor its source.
As he spotted the main entrance, a profound silence squeezed his voice box shut. Metal had been pried, wood splintered, and a gaping gash sat amidst the destruction. The dragon, having spotted the remains of said breach, swooped low and landed upon the front steps. Snow scattered beneath the wind of its wings and the mighty presence of its claws; and yet was swift in its return, as it slid back down like piled sand.
“It looks like Vassago was right, dad’s guard have already been here.” Charlie patted the dragon’s neck, then slid down its shoulder and arm to touch the ground; hand fast to pat at the beast’s pale face. “Good boy, Razzle.”
Jesse quickly joined her, all thoughts of the grand beast of legend he had just flown upon absent from his mind. Heedless of the icy steps, he raced up them all in three swift strides and slipped through the damaged door…only to find the foyer in absolute ruin. Shattered crystals lay scattered about a fallen chandelier, torn fragments of royal tapestries flapped in the cold wind, and suits of armor lay toppled. All throughout, the icy floor lay cracked and jagged; and every door to every wing had been torn from their hinges.
“What…the fuck…”
“Yeah…” Charlie awkwardly hissed through her teeth with such clarity that it forced a startled jump out of Jesse. “…they don’t mess around. This one time, when I was six, some random guy waved at us from across the street. Then, boop; shot in the head.” She paused, as if to drink in the incubus’ bewildered expression, and leaned in. “For waving.”
Her story didn’t exactly fill him with confidence about their situation, but surely royalty would receive better treatment, right? With no way to be sure, he had to consider the possibility that Andrealphus could be royally fucked if they couldn’t clear his name. Nerves at an all-time high, Jesse’s eyes darted about the foyer; where to even start?
Weak droplets of starlight glimmered from the upper floor and coated the marble steps in a transparent sheen of frost. Never before had he seen actual snow within the manor; only the static aftereffects of subzero temperatures. Seeing it litter the ransacked foyer filled him with a sense of unease; as if the obscene vandalism had already been forgotten and left for the world to swallow into obscurity.
“There are rooms in this place I’ve never been in; we should start with those.”
Undeterred by the slick conditions, Jesse rushed up the steps, only to find that it wasn’t just the foyer which had been searched. Similar destruction stretched from where he stood to both ends of the hall, and several doors were visibly knocked off their hinges. Just how powerful was Lucifer’s personal guard? As far as Jesse understood, everything in Andre’s manor carried some hint of magic to it; that included the locks on the doors, and the doors themselves.
Immediately, his eye was drawn to a room at the farthest end of the hallway; one which didn’t lead to the staircase towards Andrealphus’ private quarters. As he turned towards it, a stifled, squeaky little sneeze distracted him, and so he turned to see Charlie, the Princess of Hell herself, rubbing her nose.
“Sorry…” she nasally sniffled, as she cupped her hands together and blew into them. “…it’s just really cold in here…you don’t feel that?”
Oh shit, right, he had protection: she didn’t.
“My room is right over there; it’s made to feel like summer.” He gestured with a bounce of head. “My coat should still be inside; go snag it. I’ll be in that room at the end of the hall.” For reference, he pointed to his left and then walked off in that same direction. How could the Princess of Hell get cold; she teleported in pillars of fire, for shit’s sake! Urgency fueled every step and turned a brisk walk into a broad stride, and then into a sprint. There was no telling how much time they had to find what they needed, and Jesse didn’t even know what to look for in the first place!
He rushed through the open doorframe and beheld what was once a lavish study. An avalanche of books coated the ground, the vacant shelves they leapt from left to yawn. A standing globe had been split open; its frame snapped and broken into splinters. High back chairs were tipped, their fabric ripped open with harsh gashes and fluffy entrails flung across the elaborate rug that protected most of the floor. Whatever they had hoped to find, apparently, wasn’t found; but the sight of their ferocity was enough to stir Jesse’s gut in unpleasant ways. Out of everything in the room, there was a singular object which remained, remarkably, untouched.
It was a painting; one which sat above a stone hearth, held in a golden frame of winding, floral design. An avian of clearly royal standing stood tall, with an elegant smile upon its beak and a kind gaze upon equally pink-shaded eyes. A sharp black crown sat atop a head of vibrant, pink head feathers; lined with broad gold accents and capped with brilliant argyle diamonds. Gold trimmed epaulets with black tassels perched upon sharp shoulders, each capped with a single ruby, and a singular topaz gemstone rested at the center of the figure’s collared throat. The overabundance of gold and pink didn’t restrain itself to just clothing, for he spotted eyeliner and eyeshadow of similar complexion.
Prolonged observation of the picture strained his eyes; too bright, too pretty, too…majestic? It was rather ambiguous as well, to the figure’s gender, and so Jesse had absolutely no clue who this person was; let alone what their portrait was doing in a previously forbidden room. Forgetfulness gnawed at the back of his mind, as if he should know, but no matter how hard he stared and wracked his mind: nothing came.
“Find anything?”
The sudden sound of Charlie’s voice jolted Jesse from his self-aggravation; with only a shiver to accompany his shame. Looks like she had found his coat, and surprisingly, it mostly fit her too; a bit on the short side, but the combination of thick denim and warm fur-lining was enough compensation.
“No, just this painting. What’s weird is that they didn’t touch it.”
“Huh…” Charlie approached and gazed upwards at the painting alongside him. “Oh, well, I can see why.”
“You can?” Excitement and hope kick started his heart, like he’d been ambushed by an electrified pair of flying boots.
“Mmhm.” she nodded. “Unless they’re under investigation, royals are still royals, and dad’s guards are really particular about showing them proper respect. They only start doing…” Charlie gestured vaguely towards the tumultuous vandalism all around them. “…this, when they think he's in danger. Otherwise, they have great respect for royalty, especially the decorated ones.”
“Decorated?”
“Yeah, decorated; as in, for military service?”
“How do you know they’re decorated?”
“…because that’s the famous military commander: Count Rose.”
The revelation unleashed the floodgates of Jesse’s mind and allowed a sea of information to rage forth.
Count Rosebury, born beneath a blood moon…these are the accounts of his heroism and tactical genius…
You don’t really talk about your father all that much…
Count Rose was his name: painter, commander, and poolside drunkard.
…he’s the one who taught me swordsmanship, honor, control, all with a smile on his face. Vibrant sort: father; a flamingo, mind you.
…always applauded my accomplishments; he was so excited for me to have a child of my own, to pass on the family gifts…
He taught me how to sculpt; well, he and mother both, actually.
I would not know Jesse, they are both long dead.
“That’s…Andre’s father.” He mumbled, pierced brow knit taut with the gravity of the photograph. No wonder he hadn’t been allowed into the study; it must have belonged to Count Rose! To behold him in person, or at least as close as one could get with his passing, heralded odd sensations of conflict within the incubus. On one hand, the fact that Andrealphus had kept the painting displayed he still cared about his father; in some form. Yet, the knowledge of all the flamingo had done to his son; complicit in shackling his sexuality, implanting the need to be better, to allow that buckling guilt to fester in his own son…
Jesse frowned and turned back towards the door, expression sour. “We should look somewhere else.”
“But…” Charlie hesitated, voice caught on the edge of a nail. “…we just got in here, and didn’t even look around for anything.”
“Trust me, Your Highness; there’s nothing in that room worth finding.”
The urge to vacate the study possessed Jesse’s steps with terrible fervor. Distance was all he desired; away from that room, away from Count Rose’s gaze, and hopefully towards grander tidings. Down the hall, at its complete opposite end, resided the staircase that stretched up to Andrealphus’ room. Before, the first time he had been invited up, there hadn’t been time to investigate the area; so, if there was anything else to be found in those abandoned halls, it might just exist right beneath his nose.
Tucked behind the stairs, invisible from a straightforward approach; an iron door sat nestled in darkness.
“Odd that they somehow missed this one.” Jesse noted, hand outstretched towards the iron loop of a handle.
“Maybe it was already unlocked?”
“Never known Andre to not lock anything…” To his immense surprise, as he pulled on the handle, the iron door slid towards him with little resistance. “Okay, that’s…weird.” Cerulean flames glowed in the darkness ahead, captured by sconces which lined a descending hallway into unknown depths. It was truly a door which Jesse had never beheld, and thus the contents beneath infected him with an uncanny measurement of fear. What would he find down there?
Fear aside, a secret chamber was the most immediately likely place to find anything to help clear the marquis’ name, and so the incubus swallowed his hesitation and took the first step.
“So, I’m just a little bit curious…” Charlie’s voice echoed in the hallway, amongst the steady tap of descending footfalls. “…you’re from the Lust Ring, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s it like living there? I’ve really only ever been in the Pride Ring; well, in terms of living anyway, and I’ve only ever passed through. It was all very…” Jesse turned just in time to catch the dramatic twist of the princess’ face and the wave of her fingers; like they were playing a specific flourish of notes upon piano keys. “…wet.”
“It’s alright, I guess; way better than living in Greed, anyway.” He grunted. Brick after dark brick looped downwards in what felt like an infinite loop. Even though their journey south had only just begun, time stretched to exasperating levels. “Nothing but chemical waste, polluted skies, thieves, and shit housing down there.”
“I didn’t know that Lust demons could ever live in Greed!”
“I mean…wasn’t exactly my choice, but it was a long time ago; back when I was just a kid. Soon as I got my wings, I skipped town.”
“Where did you go?”
“Gluttony.”
“Oh, I love Gluttony! It’s probably my second favorite ring in all of Hell. Auntie Bee does such a great job down there, with all the parties, the candy, the sunshine, the happiness, I—”
“Hold up…Auntie Bee?” Jesse’s neck jerked around, feet on full autopilot. “You’re related to the Sin of Gluttony?!”
“Yeah; I’m related to all of the Sins. When Heaven banished my dad down here, they were created from the free will that humans started using; the good and the bad. Being prideful isn’t an inherently bad thing, for example, but being too full of yourself can be. Wanting to have a full belly is never wrong, but you don’t want to get too full, because then you’re just being greedy.”
“This…is starting to sound really complicated.”
“Oh, it’s an entire flow chart; but, back to the whole ‘living in Lust’ thing...?”
Jesse’s head spun, primarily from the fact that he hadn’t paid much thought to the moral complexity of the Sins, let alone Asmodeus. Sure, the giant walking rooster with three heads was one horny motherfucker, but in his realm, consent was king. He was big, but not excessive, and always knew when to rein himself in. Maybe that was where Andre had failed…
“It rains all the time, but it’s always warm rain; meant to make and keep everyone horny. It’s typically dark, because of the clouds, but there are a lot of bright, neon lights to help make up for it. There are strip joints, bars, porno theaters, sex shops on every corner…but there’s also a store for every kink you could ever have.”
“Every kink?” The dubious, yet highly inquisitive lilt in her voice almost made him smile.
“Well, no. There are a handful that even we don’t tolerate.”
“Like what?”
“…Look, I ain’t about to traumatize a Princess, let alone Hell’s one and only. All I’ll say is some of them are so bad, that the second any soul gets down here with those particulars on their track record, Asmodeus dusts ‘em instantly; no due process, no nothing.”
“I’m sorry…dusts them?”
“Yeah; burns ‘em to ash and sweeps them into the fires of Lust to be tormented and tortured for eternity. They fuel his factories and experiments, amongst other things.”
“So, they don’t even get a form?”
“What, like a body?” Jesse scoffed. “No, not a chance. Some sins are just that bad, Princess.”
Before their conversation could continue, the stairs ended, and a room unlike anything he’d ever seen stretched out before Jesse’s eyes. A starry sky, littered with constellations, levitated above a mostly vacant space. At its center sat a large, wide, low bowl that glowed with a mysterious, clear substance. Shelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with glass orbs of various colors; yet possessed of equal brightness. Some were dark and devoid of anything at all, but their outline shined regardless.
Jesse took a single step inside, and an echo caused the stars above to warble in his presence. “Whoa…”
“It’s so pretty! I’ve never seen a room like this before.”
“Doesn’t look like anything’s been touched…”
Together, they circled the pool, a myriad of questions pressed at the forefront of their minds. A misty, milk-like substance floated silently in the bowl; one which carried the aroma of fresh mountain air and a misting of rain. It almost seemed like a puzzle of some kind; one plus one equals something else, but the nature of the pool and the orbs remained a mystery.
“Maybe they just took one look and realized it wasn’t worth digging into?” With the lowest of the shelves being at chest level for him, Jesse reached out towards one of the vibrant orbs which swirled with color. Mint green mingled with streaks of white; ever spinning in a whirlpool with no mouth. “It…kind of looks like paint.”
The closer his hand drew, the warmer the air became. Gentle, prickling warmth akin to a summer’s day coiled about his fingers and swiftly traveled up his arm. Suddenly, a surge of color shot from the orb! Jesse flinched, but his reflexive fear shifted into awe, as the stream diverted around him and filled the room. Fresh canvas, graced by the presence of mashed leaves, unfolded into an idyllic scene of breathtaking beauty.
All around the two demons, a new world sprang to being; one of marble statues, bountiful gardens, glittering waters, and towering castle structures. Lily pads floated amongst stone cast ponds beneath the gaze of an unending, crystal blue sky and the gentle rays of the sun. Emerald grass stretched into the horizon, speckled with multi-colored flowers and the flapping of butterfly wings; all beneath an invisible sun’s radiant awning. As the creation of a new realm unfolded before their very eyes, Jesse and Charlie gazed around in awe at their breathtaking surroundings.
“It’s beautiful!”
“But…where are we?”
Jesse’s question hung in the air, only to be dispersed by the rapid pattering of tiny footsteps upon cobblestones.
“Father, father, father!”
A developing voice, still possessed of the squeak of extreme youth, cheered that singular word as if it were mantra. A flash of silver and blue rushed by, as a smear of paint, and reformed into the figure of a child. A tiny crystal tiara, snowflake-patterned vest, and itty-bitty epaulets rounded out a rather royal outfit, but the stark sharpness of the young peacock’s eyes put them all to shame. Piercing blue; uplifted with joy.
In their presence, swathes of paint materialized into a single point and began to construct a figure. All it required was a single shade of red, a bit of yellow, and in mere seconds another avian had joined the scenery. Gleaming pink feathers glowed in the sun, while loose summer attire clothed a rather thing form; decorated in a pattern of fronds on a backdrop of yellow, while allowing for ample chest plumage to jut into the open.
Jesse’s eyes widened, his square jaw weakened by the rush of so many visual stimulants at once. “Count Rose…”
The smiling flamingo turned towards the child and knelt upon stone, his voice succulent as cotton candy and just as airy. “Andrealphus, what have you brought me this time?”
Bouncing with excitement, he offered his father a crystalline swan; no larger than his own hands. Count Rose carefully raised then lowered his hand to test its weight and gave a pensive hum.
“Solid craftsmanship, polished beauty…a fine piece of work. Keep on practicing, and you’ll do the family crest proud, one day.” With a brilliant and bright smile, the hand of a caring father ruffled those soft head feathers; the presence of all others seemingly intangible.
“Will you come inside now, Father? Mother went up to her room again, and I can’t find Edmund.”
“You can’t find Edmund? Dear me, it must be a serious matter then. What about your sister?”
Little Andrealphus looked towards the ground and gently kicked at the dirt. “She said my swan was ugly, and that she was way prettier. I said, ‘nuh-uh, Father will prove you wrong!’ You think it’s prettier than Stella, right?”
Restrained laughter bubbled throughout the mystical realm; its strength an infinite being of ripples which fluctuated through the cyan horizon beyond. “I like to think you took inspiration from her, Andre. Never underestimate the potential that an unexpected muse can unlock.” Count Rose tilted the crystal swan as tenderly as one would cradle a newborn, and even though they stood a good distance away, Jesse and Charlie witnessed joy in his glowing, pink eyes. “It is exquisite, my dear boy; thank you. Now, let us go and find Edmund.”
Father and son stood hand in hand, and the world around them froze to a standstill. Mid-stride, both royals remained fixed; unblinking, as reality smeared into swathes of paint once again. A swirling whirlpool of color enveloped all, leaving Charlie and Jesse to float in a vibrant nether as the powers that were crafted a new painting for them to inhabit. Thick streaks of acrylic ran smooth until their sheen rivaled that of glowing mercury and hummed with the force of a comfortable feline basking in the sun. Then, in a violent snap, a new world materialized around them.
A pit of ice, submerged in a cage of marble, within which two figures stood; blade to blade. One was a young peacock, his slicked back blue locks frayed at the hairline with sweat, feet planted firm against the slick footing below. A tight-fitting, padded garment covered his body; stark white and built for fencing competitions. Determined, but weary fire blazed in his blue eyes, as he struggled to hold back his opponent’s strike.
The figure he locked blades with wore similar garb, but instead of a snowy white, it was a sleek black. Sharp features glared impatiently beneath golden shadows, accented blue streaks crept across dark gray feathers, and a pronounced blue tip to an otherwise immaculate ivory beak remained in a permanent downturned scowl; which not only honed the disdain in her expression, but made her winged lashes gleam with royal menace.
In a single, elegant flourish, the avian warrior brushed Andre’s blade to the side, twirled along his side, and struck the opposite side of his head with the flat of her blade with a thunderous slap.
“Wrong!” she growled, brandishing her blade with a twirl; its tip pointed at the peacock as she slowly stalked around his hunched form.
The teen clutched the side of his head, as fingers twitched with pain and unsteady breaths heaved throughout his slender frame. “For Lucifer’s sake, Mother, you could have blinded me!”
“And then you’d remember to parry properly! A swordsman’s mind must be honed against all manners of assault, not simply the one in front of him.”
“Perhaps if you’d let me use my magic, I’d be able to—”
A swift lunge from Andrealphus’ mother turned his rebuttal into a stutter; forced to step back into a guarded stance and defend against her assault. Steel clanged against steel in punctuations of hurried violence, her swings raining down like blurred streaks of lightning. Every strike caused the youth’s arms to tremble beneath the shockwaves, but they held, even as he was steadily pushed back.
Amidst the flurry of blows, right between one particular strike which broke Andre’s composure, his mother’s blade rose high as if to strike down from above. Predictably, both arms raised his own blade to block…only for her knee to surge forward and crash into his stomach! Spittle flew from the peacock’s beak and a pained squawk followed as he crashed upon the ground; the tip of a sword immediately placed an inch from his throat.
“You rely too much on what has been given, and not what you have earned. Consistency, reinforcement; both are far more powerful than any gift, because they cannot be taken from you!”
Andre coughed, his weapon knocked across the ice, the determination in his eyes faded to its last embers. Heavy gulps for air, accompanied by a beaten posture, signaled that all of the fight had been knocked out of him.
“It is a lesson you and Stella should both take to heart.” The avian pulled her blade away and allowed it to rest at her side, while she gazed with such contempt that the very air around her appeared to twist and wind with emotion. “My children…” she sneered, a harsh scowl affixed upon her face. Without a further word, she turned away and walked from the pit, a massive portcullis and its chains singing a metallic melody of defeat.
Then, as if time had run out, everything around Charlie and Jesse melted into a pot of infinite potential; leaving both perplexed, yet on the cusp of revelation. Left to float in the rainbow void once again, the incubus furrowed his brow in thought and gave a grunt. “So, that was Andre’s mother; and we just saw his father, which must mean…”
“…we’re somehow looking at his memories?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. It’s like we’re looking at a reel of his childhood.”
Charlie looked around at the void and waved her hands through the air, “Okay, this is really neat and all, but can we get out of here? I don’t think anything in here is going to help us.”
“If I knew how to, I would. Is there anything you can do, your Majesty; with your own magic?”
“Maybe…let me try.”
As Charlie closed her eyes, the painted world seemed to still; its constant flow brought to a slow halt. Jesse had no idea what the princess was specifically doing, but whatever it was…something was paying attention. Several seconds passed, silence equally distributed between all present parties, until a lack of confidence bid the incubus to open his mouth.
“Well, is it working? Is anything happening?”
“I think so. Something is…” Rosey cheeks scrunched along ivory skin, and soft brows dipped deep to try and scoop closed eyes in the proper direction. “…trying to hide, I think, under all the paint.”
“Trying to hide?” Jesse’s imagination bid his head turn, and as he scanned every visible corner available to him, phantoms of nothing teased the corners of his vision; just as ghosts in the darkened night. “Like…something alive is in here?”
“No…more like…” Slowed, cautious speech dangled far too long for his liking spurred Jesse to peer deeper into the chaotic smears of color. Then…a crack splintered into being, with accompanying sound. “…I think it’s another memory.” At her words, the crack split further, the paint rendered dry. Flakes of color fluttered down around them, just as snow would on a dark winter’s eve, and the world rumbled.
“Charlie…” Voice thick with tension and concern, the muscular incubus braced himself for impact; any impact. “…I don’t think we’re supposed to look at this one…”
Elegance withered into bubbled, blackened hues of pitch tar; left to drip from the sky as a herald of corruption and doom. Vibrant vistas churned and howled like feral entities long lost to time; unnatural existences which were obliterated to spare all from their wrath. Featureless faces pressed against the walls of the world, agonized mouths frozen agape in expressions of mortification, and screamed once more as they too melted away. Fire sprouted from the walls, revealing itself from behind the curtain of joy which it consumed with reckless abandon and bottomless gluttony.
The very air roiled with the pungent stench of rotted wood and clogging smoke, as embers drifted through the veil they spawned from. Dread seized Jesse’s heart, and he stared into the abyss of smoke, as it appeared endless and eldritch. What would appear through the haze? A monster, another Hell, perhaps something far worse; but as his imagination ran wild with fear, something far worse greeted him.
A sound.
It wasn’t the sound of crackling flames, the continuous cracking of reality, or the roar of a monster. No, it was instead…
…a child’s scream.
As the smoke finally cleared, Jesse’s eyes stretched and the life in his lungs froze. An inescapable tremor wracked his strong body; muscles rent to jelly at what he witnessed. Constant shakes followed, rendering him helpless and immovable, as his lips trembled. “…what…” his voice shook, brittle as a dry, dead leaf.
Andrealphus’ palace, trapped beneath the backdrop of a flame-tainted sky, burned. Colossal pillars of ice and crystal cracked and crashed into the snow below; horrid screams unleased into the snow fields, above the chaotic chorus of gunfire and clanking steel. Knelt in the snow, as a sole witness to the carnage, a young peacock clutched a smaller white swan close to his chest; his arms a shelter from the horrors ahead. Tears trailed down his ash smudged face, royal nightwear ripped in various places, as the flames which engulfed his home reflected mockingly in his wide, cyan eyes.
Upon the estate’s front steps, bodies of shadow lay upon the ground, luminescent scarlet wounds wrought upon their featureless forms. A trail of dead stretched from bottom to top, and at their pinnacle of slaughter, an imp clashed with two phantoms. Silver danced in the light of flames, as a thick halberd swept through legs and blocked descending blades; all while a royal blue standard billowed in the winds of battle. As one opponent fell in a brutal stab to the gut, the imp pivoted and coiled its tail about the ankle of a second; yanking it off balance and impaling it on the spike of his weapon.
Even amidst the disorientation of combat, Jesse recognized the imp immediately. “That’s…Edmund!” The spitting image of Andrealphus’ loyal butler stood amongst the newly dead, his hand outstretched towards the distance and his young ward. Crimson bloomed upon his chin from a fresh gash; the exact same wound which would become a scar in present day.
“Master Andre!” he roared above the flames. “The manor is lost; take Lady Stella and run, before—”
A massive blur of darkness plummeted from the sky, landed right behind Edmund, and before the imp could react, yanked his head aside and plunged its teeth straight into his neck! A shower of black blood spewed from the wound, as Edmund cried out in agony and struggled against his captor, all to no avail; as the light quickly drained from his eyes.
“EDMUND!” Andrealphus howled.
Malicious, beady eyes glared out behind a veil of black, as the figure dumped Edmund’s limp corpse down the steps to join the others. It raised an arm, then wiped the bloody grin from its fangs and began to descend. “My, my…my, the help tasted better than I thought.” The voice warbled, thinned with contempt superiority and soured amusement; one Jesse had never heard before. Each syllable made his skin crawl, and his spine tighten, as he watched the figure casually stroll amongst countless bodies. “I wonder how well the main course will fare…"
Frost magic sprung to one of Andre’s hands, pointed squarely at the approaching figure. “Stay back!”
Fangs spilled over a bottom lip, the lines of a mouth suddenly revealed as tightly wound string beneath the abyssal skin. It stretched unnaturally wide, almost from ear to ear, the closer the figure drew. “Make me, boy.” it cackled, back hunched beneath sick delights.
Magic flashed across the battlefield in a streak of crackling blue; snow left to drift in its wake. A small cut sprouted upon the dark figure’s cheek; one which quickly flowed with scarlet blood. Yet, it did nothing to deter their approach, two pairs of claws drawn low; thirsting for nourishment.
“Off centered by a single centimeter. Come on; you can do better than that!”
Another magical spike of ice rocketed from Andre’s hand, his face furrowed in concentration and unbridled rage; only for the attack to be leisurely swatted aside. Claws rose, muscle tightened, and a gleeful, insane hum began to sound out; a funeral dirge that only grew louder with each step. A third spike flew, only for it to melt halfway towards its intended target.
“How utterly disappointing; the first and only son of the esteemed Count Rose; the thorn in my side for centuries…nothing more than a pathetic weakling.”
Transfixed by the scene before him, Jesse leapt out of his skin as a loud and sudden groan rocketed from behind him; it was Charlie! Sweat rolled down her forehead, arms trembled, and a deathly pallor corrupted her complexion to that of spoiled milk. “I can’t…hold it…I’m being pushed out...!” She plummeted to a knee, golden hair frayed, and shoulders slouched, but somehow managed to keep her hands raised.
Jesse’s head shot back around towards the figment of Andrealphus; aghast as the ground itself flanked away and drifted towards a blackening sky. The figure towered above Andrealphus and his sister, claws formed into a singular point.
“May the trellis of the Goetia wither and crumble beneath the weight of their sins…beginning with this singular House.”
Ground gave way, as reality yawned and swallowed the scene whole. Inescapable force propelled Jesse backwards, like that of a mighty gale, until the skin on his body stretched to the very atom. A startled and desperate roar flew from his lips, as Andre’s memories were swallowed by darkness; only to pass from them as a blur.
Color vanished, gravity pulled him down, his shoulder struck something hard and cold; all too fast to warrant reaction. Then, as the bewildered incubus oriented himself and blinked through the pain…he found himself back in Andrealphus’ manor, staring at the shelves of orbs from below.
Immediately, a name leapt to his lips. “Charlie?!”
“Ow…” came a meek little, raspy squeak. “…please get off of me…you’re really heavy.”
Jesse cranked his neck, then rolled off the unlucky princess, who had somehow managed to be the cushion for his fall. “Shit, are you alright? That was wild, but I think we’re back in the real world.”
“I think so…” she panted. “…you wouldn’t happen to have a juice box or anything, would you? I could really use something to drink…”
He had no idea how it worked, but he was grateful that they were both at least able to escape. Without thought, he jumped up and reached for the same orb a second time…only for nothing to happen as he touched it. “No, no, no, fuck! Did we break it?!” Despite nothing happening, the same vibrant whirlpool of color remained; same as before. Jesse pulled it from the shelf and found it to be surprisingly light; almost like a glass marble. Maybe if he brought it back to Andre, or Vassago, they would know how to fix it.
There was no way that Jesse could ignore such a revelation. It might even be the key to Andre’s innocence! The attack on his home; what if whoever did it was still lurking in the shadows, trying to snuff out the family line? If that was the case, then framing Andre for high treason would definitely be a good way to help do that!
“Your Highness, we have to take this orb; this might be the evidence that Vassago was talking about! Quick, make the rainbow tunnel again!”
“Can’t…too hungry…”
“…hungry?! The fuck do you mean, hun—” Realization struck like a bolt of lightning, and a memory of his own played within his head. Magic users needed energy to cast their spells, and if they drained all of their reserves, it would take a long ass time to get it back. “Oh, shit, right. You need…uhh…” He hopped on the tips of his hooves, head pivoting towards the doorway. “…kitchen; the fucking kitchen! There’s no way they’d take the food.” Jesse reached down, picked up the slender princess, then draped her over his broad shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this!”
With no immediate idea of how much time had been spent in Andre’s memories, and more questions than ever buzzing in his mind, the incubus skated across the icy floor as quickly and safely as he could.
Hold on Andre, I’m coming!
Chapter 23: Mother Marquise: Twilight Dreams of Purpose and Love
Summary:
While Jesse works to reinvigorate a sapped Princess Morningstar, Andre stews within the mental landscape of his unconscious mind. Goetia convene, in the physical and mental realms, seeking closure.
Chapter Text
Lost in an endless haze, left adrift amongst an ocean of dreams; what better place for him to be? Andrealphus regarded the veil of fog which swallowed his surroundings, with passive apathy. A sickly humidity blanketed the air, thick and sour, all while the faintest breeze of winter’s bite squeezed through from realms unknown. Upon a ground of liquid, his every step rippled out and gently parted the clouds at his feet; their signal silent as the world around him. For what seemed an overburdened stretch of time, he walked…and walked…
…until eventually, he raised a hand to swipe away the fog; and in doing so, felt it undulate and curl to his touch. Fluffy obfuscators bent about his fingers; kissing at his talons with reverence and hollow pleasantries: false love, meant for courtly attendance and naught else. They became as rings; symbols of a highly regard station and then faded as quickly as they had come. Nothing within his heart resonated at their presence or lack thereof.
Formless things, all with unlimited potential, resided within those gaseous constructs. Yet, they slipped through his fingers with natural ease, as if they were never meant to be captured by simple hands. Magic bloomed within; an all-too-familiar creep of petrification. The sensation spread from his core, through his arm, and nestled in the palm of his hand; tendrils deliberate in their total infection of Andre’s talons. That power, that curse, seeped amongst cloud vapors until what was once majestic and pure grayed with a depressing gloom.
Not satisfied with a single conversion, Andrealphus touched another cluster. All around him, with every infection, the haze rose before his very eyes, until it hung upon the air like an omen of ill weather. Snowflakes drifted down from above; mere specks of color amidst a world of corroded life, but not even they could draw a smile upon his beak.
The brevity of its beauty wasn’t lost upon him: snow. In the birth of every flake, a wondrous; almost heavenly, thing which glimmered in the sun’s rays. They were the cornerstone of holiday cheer, the epitome of majesty and softness; a sign of a world embraced in twilight hours where lovers could bask in the warmth of a nearby fire, sip from a hot beverage, and allow happiness to enter their hearts: an idyllic fantasy. But once snow accumulated, all the children had constructed their snowmen, and every angel had been carved upon the ground, its ugly half became all too clear. Blockaded streets, walkways mired with slush, deadly ice to slip and die upon…
Andrealphus gazed skyward and felt nothing as the kisses of heaven drifted upon his face.
“Even grown, you gawk at the sky like a child.”
Recognition flared in his mind, followed by a symphony of emotions. That voice; he knew it. One long unheard, lost to time, and buried within the vault of his memories. It was a voice which had haunted his childhood days with demanding calls, barked orders, and domineering presence. Where fear, or perhaps even dread should have existed, he instead turned and faced its source with an expression of awe. “Mother?”
There atop the infinitely stretching waters stood an avian of royal bearing. Golden eyeshadow adorned the skull of sharp, elongated lashes; all bordering a pair of eyes exactly like his own. Dark blue and black plumage sat upon her head; spiked in the back, loose up top, and long on the sides. A sleek black choker, embedded with an aquamarine gem, rested around her throat of pale gray feathers. Adorned in a sleek black dress, granted color by bracers identical to the choker, Marquise Azura regarded him with an aura of judgement.
“Hello, my son.” she spoke, blue-tipped beak raised upwards at him; her light scowl made all the deeper by it.
“…am I dead?”
“Not quite but give it time.”
He couldn’t stop staring at her face; how long had it been since he’d last seen her in anything other than pictures? Decades…long, lonely decades where her presence faded from home. She looked no different than before; as if preserved perfectly from the time of her demise. “Why are you here? Have you come to verify your disappointment? Perhaps, you wish to chastise me?”
Instead of answering him, she held up one of her hands; black-painted talon tips perked and caught the falling snow. He watched her carefully, wishing to ingrain the lines of her face forever within his mind; for it might be his last opportunity to do so. Just as he remembered, Azura’s expression remained passive and cold, yet infected with the tiniest hints of inquisitive pondering. “I see your powers have grown. Before, you could only create a single sputtering of them; now, you command the very skies.”
An ominous, abyssal blue coiled up her forearm; rife with darkness, as it bent like a prehensile vine. Andre’s snowflakes quickly brimmed to life with his mother’s occult energy, causing them to resemble dark stars, as she released them back into the sky. However, instead of tumbling to the ground to collect and clump together, they hovered in the air; locked in a continuous state of levitation, as they drifted about and infected other snowflakes to do the same.
“Much has changed since you and father left.”
“Yes, I am quite aware. You have developed quite a reputation amongst the vagrants and sycophants; not to mention the commoners. Hoarding power and influence, overcoming all which stands in your path; just as I taught you. However…” Azura’s scowl lessened somewhat, as if she were about to chuckle, but no such sound came. “…what I didn’t teach you was disrespect towards the Sins; let alone the idea that you could ever stand a chance against them in combat. Assaulting Asmodeus…” A scoff leapt from her beak, as if something potently sour had stealthily ambushed her tastebuds. “…I blame your father’s genetics for such foolhardy thinking.”
“So, you are here to chastise.”
“Do you object? In my eyes it is long overdue.”
“I had just cause.”
“If your cause was just, why are you here; dancing on the line between this world and the next, your pristine body laying broken in a hospital bed, throwing away all you had ever strived for; what your father and I strived for?”
“This is not about you, mother. It never was.”
“Everything you have done has been about us. All of your power, all of your faults; you point to your father and I for. The manor stands because we taught you duty. You live because I taught you how to defend yourself. The magic you wield has not fully consumed you because of our tutelage. The very wealth and status you grew up within and maintain to this very moment, are because of us.”
Andrealphus silently fumed; each word a spiteful, prodding barbed stake in his psyche. To hear his mother speak again in such a way ignited something within him; something repressed, desperate, and childish. Perhaps it was the same composure granted by his magic, and the mannerisms gained from his sire’s tutelage, that allowed him to suppress it to but a strained, steady tone.
“Is it so wrong…for a child to seek its parent’s affection?” He stepped forward, as the blank sky slipped into twilight hues of abyssal blue and purple. The altered snowflakes overtook the horizon, until the landscape had shifted from a dreary lake to a realm of encroaching night. “I tried…so hard to earn it. You never, not even once, smiled at me. You never hugged me, never held my hand, never told me that you were proud. No matter how hard I trained, studied, excelled; it was never good enough for you.”
“Your father praised you enough for the both of us.”
“When he wasn’t drinking, or out to war, or wooing you. But none of that mattered after what you two did…to your own son. You…” Too deep into his tirade, the chains of self-restraint loosened against the writhing of his innermost feelings. A twitch of the beak, a misplaced breath, an unsteady step, the half-aborted stutter of a thought smothered by another; all inescapable, natural, but damning. “…hated me. Were ashamed of me; hid me away and passed all of the glory onto Stella because of something I could not control.”
Azura stared, unblinking; the only sign of life a subtle trace of movement in her fingers.
“I did not ask to be born as Goetia; to be raised amidst royalty, lavished in riches, burdened with this curse. Yet, I was to blame for everything that came from it. Unable to love who I wanted, to practice what I wished; great and terrible purpose thrust upon me from the moment of my hatching. To be judged every second of every day, to have people I’d never even met howling for my blood because I was your son, your prodigy, your legacy…why did I deserve your ire? Can you even comprehend what it was like to never be good enough for anyone, not even yourself? Everything you demanded of me, I did. Every spell, every lesson, ever martial form, every mannerism and dance and song: I obeyed!”
So mighty was the tide of his anger, that the marquis was unable to stop himself from punching his own chest; posture shifted, eyes narrowed, beak clamped and seething.
“But even though I did as I was supposed to; as my station demanded of me, you and father died…and left us half-finished. Stella was still but a child— I was still but a child; and you left us all alone with Edmund. You missed her wedding; the very thing you pushed me aside for. You abandoned me with a mansion of nightmares and grief; a cursed and unloved thing to carry on your unfinished responsibilities. Yet, you have the gall to stand here before me and proclaim me foolhardy?”
Unbidden tears welled in his eyes; hot, primal, and overwhelming. Yet, they never broke contact with his mother.
“I had to protect everything; the manor, the family name, my sister. I became a cold, heartless bastard; left to rot in the home I had to rebuild in your absence because no one wished anything to do with me. I had to be strong in every aspect so that Hell didn’t eat me alive, so that I could be a pillar of knowledge and protection for my niece, and so the very fabric of the universe didn’t rend itself apart! There was no one to hold me in my loneliest nights; no one I could seek comfort in; no one who understand me as you and father understood each other…”
Andre’s hands trembled, then flew to his face; as if they were all that kept it from crumbling apart. A shaky breath lunged from his throat, and he shuddered with shame and anger.
“I became…so alone…mother. The weight of it all, being unable to share it with anyone…it ruined me.” The admission bent his back, posture finally broken by an unshakable sob. “Everything I touch dies, and those who can touch me wish not to. I calculate the heavens alone, where a single mistake will obliterate trillions of souls. Failure is not an option. Weakness is not an option. Everything around me falls apart, if I’m not the one holding it all together, and I’m tired of it! ” Another sob, this one far more potent and wild, lingered in his beak, while the overwhelming emotion humbled his back further. “I’m all powerful, but I’m powerless! I could not save you or father, I cannot save Octavia, and I cannot save myself!”
Unable to bear the weight any longer, Andrealphus dropped to his knees and planted his head to the ground; hands still a mask across his weeping visage.
“…I couldn’t even keep Edmund from despising me; my most loyal compatriot, my dutiful friend…I drove him away…and now, Octavia is going to be forced to bear a child against her will, just as her father was, and I can do nothing; as for all my strength, all my power, and the suffering which I endured to gain it; it isn’t enough! What good am I, what good is this power, if it can’t protect anything that I love?! Is my own pain not payment enough?! What more must I do, mother?! Tell me!”
A deep, ragged breath swelled his back, and with all the fury he could muster, Andrealphus raised his head and screamed at Azura.
“TELL ME!”
Bathed together beneath endless night; the dark stars above their only source of dim illumination, mother and son stared upon one another without words. Naught but the heavy panting of Andrealphus echoed across the lake, as he desperately awaited an answer. Exhaustive as it was, those words weren’t even a fraction of all he wished to say to her, and the strain of keeping them bottled up physically hurt. Her continued silence heightened that pain; twisting it into molten knots within his chest until every heave for air became agony. The absence of anything was far worse than her condemnation; and he begged for it to return, so that the terrible unknowing might be banished from his soul.
“You were always such a clingy child.”
Azura stepped forward; the ripples born from her step a wave.
“From the day you were hatched, you latched onto us with all the force in your tiny form.”
Another step, another ripple; the edges of her golden tail-feathers safely perched above the water.
“As my firstborn, your birth was observed by far more eyes than mine and your father’s. Expectations were placed upon us; that our union would serve to produce a powerful heir and continue the Goetia bloodline. The day that we discovered you were gifted in the arcane…the halls of the manor roared with joy; and when they fully manifested, I knew in my heart I had been blessed. My son…” She was close enough to touch him, familiar coldness; riddled with majesty and piercing cold which bit down to the bone. “…my beloved Andrealphus; the only thing in this realm to fill me with such terror.”
Unable to comprehend what he was hearing, Andrealphus stared upwards; eyes riddled with dripping starlight. In all his life, he’d never seen his mother afraid, so to hear an admission of it straight from her own beak was enough to rock him to his foundations. “You…were afraid of me?”
“Not of you, but of my duty. Knowing what awaited you the day you completed your studies, I could not afford to waste time on compassion. You could not be coddled. You could not be allowed to live as most other children do; free of all burdens, sheltered beneath the wings of their sires. No; instead, you needed to be trained so that once you came of age, Hell would hold no surprises for you. Our world would afford you no mercy, and every passing day I dreaded its inevitability.”
“Was my future truly so bleak, that you couldn’t even spare a fraction of affection towards me?” he replied. “Nothing I ever did was good enough for you, but Stella—oh; you were quick to grant her your favor.”
“Stella was born without your gifts, your talents, and thus could be afforded such frivolous luxuries.”
“No…” he hissed. “…it was more than that. I was supposed to be the one who married; the one who’d mix the magic of two royal houses into a single child and bring unending glory to our house, but you had to settle for my sister; the one who didn’t possess a speck of magical prowess! So, you had to wed her to one with immense, innate talent to ensure it would carry on, and thus doomed him to live a lie…because of me.” Andrealphus hung his head, unable to weather his mother’s gaze any longer. “If only I had been different, as I was supposed to be, perhaps Stolas would never have been victim to such a horrid fate; shackled to her abuse for the sake of Octavia’s wellbeing. Perhaps many things would have been better…”
“If you were different, your beloved niece wouldn’t exist. You likely would not have met that little low blood either; the one you gallivant about with; heart as full as your head.” Andrealphus sniffled, then gasped, as his mother’s hand cupped beneath his chin and lifted his head. “Perhaps, in another time, there exists a version of you with a wife, with children; one who wishes for something more, something missing that he cannot explain. That is his struggle, not yours. Embrace who you are, strive for what you wish to become, but never forget that you are burdened with glorious purpose because you are special: a gift…One which I wouldn’t trade to skirt my fate.”
Her words froze him in place, or mayhaps it was the soft touch of her palm. Softer than any silk to ever grace his body, it didn’t feel like the touch of a marquise, but of a goddess who’d shed the boundaries of physicality long ago. Something ephemeral, something which slipped through every raised barrier he possessed and cradled the core of his very being. Long gone was the sharp edge he was accustomed to; replaced by an uncharacteristic tenderness.
“No one, no matter how mighty, can fully prevent hardship or tragedy. It was a lesson I did not learn until long after my passing, but one which I impart unto you, in the hope you may engrain it upon your frozen heart.” Azura’s hand traced downwards and stopped over Andre’s chest. “The time you share with those you love; the memories you sculpt alongside them; that is what matters in one’s final moments. You do not need to protect everyone; you simply need to be there for them when they need support. Perhaps if I had realized that long ago, you wouldn’t have felt so alone. That is my failing…and I am truly sorry.”
Andrealphus watched, heart overflowed with emotion, as she knelt to her knees before him…and embraced him for the first time in his entire life. Wrapped in the warmth of a mother’s love, he crumbled to pieces: The Mighty Marquis no longer. Tears cascaded freely alongside ugly, muffled sobs which stained the marquise’s feathery neck, all while he pulled her in closed and clutched tight: unwilling to let go. Hate no longer existed in his heart; grudges for past actions dashed to pieces.
Within that twilight dream, beneath an unending expanse of sprawling constellations, a wound healed within his heart.
Far from the sanitized and chaotically ordered halls of Sloth’s finest hospital, Vassago stood outside of Andrealphus’ newly appointed room. Lucifer’s guard had wasted no further time in detaining the unconscious marquis, the instant Octavia had been escorted from the room. Whisked away to a hidden fortress; that was there they found themselves. Surrounded by the cool stench of solid stone and must, locked in by loyal beasts who were ravenous for answers, it was a perilous situation for both he and Andre.
Yet, there was little he could do, and so simply stood silently across from Octavia; their backs against parallel walls. While not yet possessed of much royal authority, her keen eye more than made up for it. Despite their best attempts to keep the princess in the dark about what mire Andre had found himself sunk into, Vassago knew she was no fool. The weight of where she stood wasn’t lost upon such youthful shoulders.
“Why is this happening?”
A simple question, but one which Vassago hesitated to answer with overbearing haste. Instead, to restrain himself, he looked across the hall and stared her dead in the eye for a moment. “Your uncle has many enemies. One day, you likely will too.”
Hesitation again followed, as if spread like a virus from him to her. Slender hands tucked themselves beneath opposing arms, as her attention drifted towards the door. “There’s no way he’s guilty. It doesn’t make any sense why they’d even think that…”
“Heed the lesson well, chica; Lucifer’s Guard do not distinguish friend from foe in matters regarding their master. They see only threats, or none at all.”
“But if he’s innocent, then—”
“Then they will release him, but the news of his suspected treachery will have already spread through the hive mind of gossip that is Goetian high society. There will be whispers, perhaps for several years, about this day; perhaps even longer, given the outcome.”
“You could vouch for him though, right Vassago? You know there’s no way he’d ever do something like this. If you said something in his defense, maybe—”
The parrot raised a hand, then sighed a deep, heavy sigh. “I will vouch for him here, where our words are kept under the lock and key of highest discretion, but out there…” While the admission sat strongly at the forefront of his mental landscape, bringing the words to life wrung his tongue into knots. “Andre is going to need support, powerful support, and if I speak up at the wrong moment, I too could lose what social sway I possess. I’d be no help to him, in such a situation…”
“But you know the truth!” Octavia pushed off the wall. “You know he wouldn’t do anything against Lucifer! If he’s innocent, he’s innocent; how does it get any more complicated than that?!”
“Because the truth does not matter.”
“What?!” Bewildered, angry hands rose as it to capture some sense of control from the sky. “Of course, the truth matters!”
“All that matters is the narrative, chica. You are young, inexperienced; the harsh truths of the world have yet to harden you to reality, but this is the way of things. People willingly ignore the truth when it doesn’t suit them. They twist, bend, and muddy facts into fiction to fool others onto their side. Whether your uncle is innocent or not, sadly, comes down to public opinion. In this court, the truth will save his life, but outside it is merely a toy to be weaponized by his enemies.”
At his words, her face shifted away from anger…but to what exactly, Vassago couldn’t discern; not even with his magical sight. The information appeared to disturb her, but more than that, fill her eyes with a leaden hardness; as if a fragment of her fragile, childlike soul had just died. He wished to console her in some befitting manner; a word of kindness, a mantra for hope, the promise that everything would be okay in the end: anything. Yet…he stood in silence; a mere witness to her growth as a Goetian heir.
“Octavia!”
From down the hall, fast-paced footsteps clacked and echoed alongside the voice of none other than Prince Stolas. His cape flowed behind him; the brisk pace of his large gait enough to stir the wind itself. Polished and preened, his royal garb accented well with his natural plumage, even as his demonic eyes strained tight with gentle, fatherly concern.
“Dad…”
“Where have you been? I’ve been plucking my feathers out with worry!”
“I was just visiting Uncle Andre…”
“Of course.” An exasperated, deflated, yet rebellious and bitter rise and subsequent fall of his hands thickened the atmosphere with parental badgering. “Of course, you would sneak out and visit the one person I told you to stay away from. How many times have I told you, he is not good company?”
“To you, maybe.”
“Octavia!”
“Uncle Andre loves me; alright? He’s been there for me, listened to my problems, and actually seems to give a shit about my future.”
“Your future? Starlight, do you know where you’re standing right now? Do you understand the gravity of the position he has put you in? This is Lucifer’s sacred fortress; the one which was his first home upon entering Hell. It sits above even the Court of Sins, for none who enter here are judged by anyone other than the King of Hell himself!”
“I already knew that, Dad. Prince Vassago told me when we came here.”
“Yes, just as he explained to me that my only daughter had to be escorted out of a hospital room because her lunatic uncle is suspected of high treason.”
“He didn’t do it! I’m not just going to abandon him because they suspect him of something; you can suspect anyone of anything!”
“Darling, listen to me. This is what he does; he—”
“Why should I ever listen to you?! All you do is sit around in your bathrobe, drown yourself in liquor, and mope about the guy you cheated on mother with because he doesn’t want to fuck you anymore!” The owlet stamped her feet, wrists bent out towards curled fists which glowed with dim astral seas of black and purple.
Stolas balked, shaken by her outburst. Vassago watched quietly, trying to become as much of a wallflower as possible. It wasn’t due to Octavia’s rage, but for the simple fact that this was clearly a familial issue; one which he had no right to intrude upon. However, he did listen with great intent…
“He’s the one who saved me from the house party in Greed, while you were back at home passed out in your office: drunk. While you pick weeds, he encourages me to pick up a sword. He tells me constantly how I’m the future of the Goetia, and offers to teach me all kinds of magic; which is what you should’ve been doing. Oh, but guess what, the Grimoire was never at home to study from or practice out of, because you used it as payment to escape this family; to…pay that fucking whore you love so much! That’s what you care about. That’s how much you care about my future!”
“Via, sweetie, I—!”
“Shut up! Just…shut the fuck up, Dad! You abandoned mother, you tried to abandon me, and now you’re abandoning Uncle Andre; the only one in Hell who seems to actually give a shit about my life!” Empowered swirls of arcane might rose to her elbows, the glow of tempestuous power alive within her eyes; transformed from their usual reds into skies of violet night. “But I’m not like you. I am helping him, whether you like it or not! So, if you’re not going to do the same, then get the fuck out!”
As Vassago absorbed the aftershock of the princess’ emotional speech, he did his best to mask how stark of an effect her magical strength had upon him. For one so young, it was rare to see such raw magnitude of power, but there she stood: grave as an eclipsed star. Her potential was great, that was undeniable, and perhaps it was why Andrealphus had taken to tutoring her with such vigor. Give it a few years of development, and she’d likely be mightier than the three of them put together…but for the sake of not inflating her developing ego, Vassago kept that little tidbit of praise to himself.
Meanwhile, Stolas looked as if he was about to cry.
Perhaps it was the sorrowful look painted upon his face, how its potency was far too great for even rage-filled and passionate hearts to deflect, which softened the edge of her magic. Where one expected smugness over having expunged an entire cradle’s worth of bottled-up frustrations and grievances, there existed only concern…and regret.
“…Dad?”
Stolas sniffled, the moisture in his eyes clear; brilliant as any star in the cosmos. He raised a hand to halt their descent, but the motion only snuffed his daughter’s display of power out entirely.
“Hey…Dad, shit…don’t cry. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to…”
“You are right. I have been a…” His beak quivered; the strength he brought to fight back his emotions smothered beneath a tide of sadness. “…a terrible father. I did not—could not—explain myself to you in anyway which wouldn’t hurt…and I didn’t want to hurt you more than you’ve already been.” Another quiver, but this one was punctuated by a shudder of air, followed by a second sniffle and a wipe of the lower eyes. “But you deserve the truth; the whole truth, I just…I’m afraid once I do, you’ll never want anything to do with me ever again, and I cannot bear the thought of that; of losing you…”
Vassago watched as the princess embraced her father in a hug; face buried into his chest and fingers curled into his cape. He smiled, as Stolas hugged her just as tightly, then glanced towards the door. They’d likely benefit from a spot of privacy, and it was with such considerate thought that the parrot quietly approached Andrealphus’ “quarters” and planted his hand upon the door. All things about him faded from sight, from sound, from sensation entirely as he focused.
Using his powers of divination and true sight, he peeked beyond the grand barrier. At the back of room, rendered unconscious within a hospital bed and surrounded by medical apparatuses, was Andrealphus himself. A singular cerberus guard stood adjacent to him, its’ gaze affixed upon the peacock with unshakable concentration. Vassago assumed it was waiting for the marquis to awaken so that it may bombard him with questions.
I hope that Jesse and Princess Morningstar have been able to make progress. If they do not arrive soon, then I fear this situation will only grow worse…
Jesse hovered above the floor, furiously fussing over the temperature freshly made bowl of scorpion soup. It sat before one lethargic Charlie Morningstar, her vibrant features drained to dull, oppressive grays and sagging eye bags; not to mention the fade of her rosy cheeks and the sheen of clammy flesh. Even those golden locks of royal hair appeared dried and frazzled, like cracked and bent pieces of straw. Seeing her like that, drained of magic, reminded him way too much of Andrealphus after his battle back in the Starlight Lounge. If Vassago hadn’t been there…
Suddenly, the thought occurred that perhaps a simple meal wouldn’t be enough, yet still he fanned the steam in a bid to make it edible.
“Thank you, Jesse…” Charlie groaned, her hand limply slapping upon the table. What was one unsuccessful grab for a spoon quickly transformed into a sagging princess; one which he swooped in and grabbed by the shoulders to keep upright. “…it looks delicious…”
“Don’t mean to be a dick about it or anything, but we’re kinda on a tight timetable.” He reached down and snatched the spoon up, dipped it into the soup; ensuring that ample amounts of scorpion meat and vegetables came up with the broth, and hovered the utensil in front of her mouth. “Open.”
Without complaint, Charlie obeyed, but not quite enough for the contents of the spoon to fit. Deciding to help her along even more, Jesse tugged down on her chin to create the space he needed. “Mm…it’s…” she began to say, barely chewing at all. “…nice…”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m the newest Iron Chef, but I’mma need you to chew a bit quicker, Your Majesty.”
“Very…meaty…a bit bitter, though…” she mumbled, a cheek full of food muffling her words. Again, her neck failed to support her head, and Charlie’s upper body sagged forward in her chair for a second time. Once again, Jesse caught her before a mess could be made. “Oh, sorry…I’m just so…sleepy…” she yawned, sharp canines like that of a beast in the mouth of a maiden.
A firm but cautious, red-skinned hand tapped her cheek, “Don’t you dare pass out; we need to get back! Vassago said they were taking Andre somewhere, and you’re the only one between us who’d know where that is; so, c’mon princess, I need you.”
Smokey lids fluttered, then completely closed.
“Charlie? Charlie!”
It was too late; she’d fallen asleep.
“Fuck!” Jesse moved the bowl aside; the scraping sound that it created the only source of company he still had and lowered her head atop the table. Flapping wings beat with invigorated frustration, and the incubus climbed higher into the air to collect his thoughts. “Think Jesse, fucking think! You gotta speed this up, somehow.” A flat palm bapped the side of his head, right at the temple. “Think.”
Magic; what had he learned about magic from all his time with Andre? It had a source, it needed to be recharged, and it was tied to the user's life in some way. If Andrealphus hadn’t gotten a boost, he would’ve died from his injuries…but Charlie wasn’t injured; plus, as a princess of Hell she was likely stronger than him. What did that mean?
“C’mon bitch…think!” He struck the side of his head again, just as light as before, to keep the synapses firing. The rapid hammering of his heart made concentrating difficult, due to the severity of the situation at hand. “Think--!” Out of nowhere, it came to him; as abruptly and disruptive as a meteor striking the planet. A jumpstart; she needed a jumpstart!
Jesse craned his head back, then swooped down to Charlie’s side once more.
“There’s magic in everyone; you said that shit yourself, which means if you’re right…” He snatched up her hand and slapped it against his chest, right atop his heart. “…take mine!”
At first, nothing happened, but as if she could somehow still hear his words, Charlie’s fingers curled against that broad, infernal chest. Nails rendered the protection of his shirt all but useless; their bite felt through the material as if it didn’t exist at all. Her palm all but suctioned itself to his pec, clamped down until the furious heat of her own body roared against his own…and then he felt it: suction.
Paced, steady, parasitic sucks scraped something along his insides; like the worst case of heartburn and black lung mashed into a super virus. Burning, stabbing, scraping, draining; all sensations unleashed an aura of brilliant, incandescent pink which surrounded Jesse’s torso. All the while, demonic teeth grit down on one another and suppressed a howl of shocked pain that demanded its freedom through force!
“It hurts!” he groaned, pierced tail left to slap at the table’s edge; knees about to collapse beneath the pain. “Why does it hurt?! Fuck!”
That aura, the aura which was naught but pure magic; his magic, slowly flowed down the unconscious princess’ arm. Like a stream through a hose, she siphoned a natural gift away for redistribution, but he had no intent on letting her drain the entire riverbed; just enough to get her up and running again, just enough to—to—
Another pulse of pain shocked his core; one powerful enough to ground him, and as his feet touched the icy floor Jesse realized what he had done in error. Vassago had never touched Andre but simply gifted him a measured amount of magic. Charlie, on the other hand, was latched directly onto the source!
Yet, it appeared to be working. Color bloomed to life upon her face, the clarity of her pale skin returned, and straw blonde locks radiated with heavenly gold. There was no way he could stop her now; they were so close! So, Jesse bit his tongue through the pain and silently prayed to Asmodeus that she wouldn’t drain him dry. However, more changes occurred upon her person, the more incubus magic she took. A dark spiked tail stretched out towards the icy floor, red horns sprouted from her alabaster forehead, and a pair of pink wings burst through the back of her winter coat! Charlie stirred, not with a yawn, a groan, or even a question…but with a moaning stretch.
Suddenly her hand shoved Jesse away, causing him to hit the ground and gasp for air; the pain gone from his chest. As he fought through a newfound sensation of soreness, he watched as the princess awoke, rejuvenated and altered. Half-lidded eyes brimmed with a sultry, smoldering gaze replaced the wide and innocent ones from before. Pale skin shined with a newfound sheen; infected with reflective traces of purple and pink as slender curves twisted and arched. Rather worryingly, small, sharp fangs bit down upon her ruby-tinged lip and golden locks whipped about; seductive acts which were rather uncharacteristic of the princess he had interacted with up to that point.
“Uhh…Charlie; you feeling alright?” he groaned as he stood back up.
“I feel…” she paused, as slender fingers traced upwards from her hips to her chest; which somehow seemed to have…grown. “…wonderful~” A crimson sheen gleamed within her eyes; eyes which landed squarely on Jesse…and a serpentine tongue stretched out to trace across thin, feminine lips.
“…why are you looking at me like that?”
No answer came, as she extended a single, slender leg and slid from her seat. “You know, it’s the strangest thing…” she purred, a single hand planted on the back of her neck. Slender, yet bulged by the presence of tilted, strained muscle; flesh as pristine and valuable as diamond. “…I suddenly have a craving for a different sort of meat…”
Charlie took another step towards him, and it was then, and only then that Jesse realized what he had done.
He’d put himself on the menu.