the graduate

by suzylamb

Summary:

Moxxie graduates high school and things sure do happen.

Notes:

I am so excited to absolutely destroy this girl’s life and then fix it piece by piece lol

parent-child enmeshment between these two go brrrrr. also this girl’s repression skills are top notch… truly “I’ll put all my thoughts and feelings here, and then one day, I’ll die” type shit, but we’ll get even more into that Later

Chapter 1

The diner’s waitresses bustled endlessly despite the low number of occupants, refilling almost-full coffee cups and wiping down sticky, empty tabletops. From the kitchen, the scream of a steam wand managed to reverberate through the restaurant, causing a tweaker shark sitting behind the father-daughter duo to widen his eyes before quickly slithering out of the building, tossing loose coins and a pack of cigarettes from his pocket onto his table while muttering about deadlines and where to find what. 

 

It was so familiar; they came here quite a few times when she was younger, and nothing about it had changed from the time they’d been there last. Moxxie knew their last visit had left her father feeling… annoyed, to put it lightly. A young waiter had hung around their table too much, specifically to make conversation with her. Crimson had scowled and said something to Alessio about the audacity of this generation, which Al had silently agreed with and left the table momentarily to deal with the issue when the kid had ducked into the restroom. He came back out with a quickly blackening eye, which was truly unfortunate for the cycloptic boy, and a bleeding cut along the side of his face. Needless to say, he didn’t come back around, and they hadn’t come back since. 

 

“What made you think to bring me here for breakfast, daddy?” 

 

“Can’t I bring my girl to a special place for a special day?” Crimson asked through a puff of smoke, the grey cloud practically obscuring his face. 

 

Moxxie managed a smile even as she felt her stomach tighten at the answer; she knew it was only a half-truth. Sure, there were memories of the place, but it was also a more neutral ground than home. “Of course. The last time we came here was when I was cast as Meg for school’s Phantom, right?” She knew it had been. She remembered being so excited, she’d hardly noticed the troubling interaction going on in front of her. She certainly hadn’t noticed the lame attempts at flirtation from the poor guy… 

 

Crimson gave an almost imperceptible nod, his face unreadable as the smoke around him cleared ever so slightly. “Mmhmm. Hard to believe how long ago that was.”

 

Moxxie nodded as she shifted in her seat, her legs tucked beneath her. Talking about time usually meant one thing with him, and there she was, starting it off for him to maneuver to his point… Can’t he leave it alone, just for today? She speared her pancake with her fork, chewing it until it was barely even mush in her mouth. 

 

Crimson sipped from his coffee cup, from which Moxxie could smell heavy fumes of rum emanate. His cigar rested on the saucer as he watched her carefully. “And now you’re graduating, a whole year early. That’s how smart my little girl is. You get it from me, you know? Better that than this ugly mug, huh?” He coughed up a sarcastic laugh, reaching over the table to pat Moxxie’s cheek as she gave another small smile and giggled appeasingly. 

 

“Daddy, we look too alike for just one of us to be ugly. You’re perfectly handsome.” It was true enough; whenever they were together, it was almost inevitable someone would mention their similarities. Mostly their horns, but her freckles and his scars were a close second for comparison. At least they were when he wasn’t in earshot. 

 

The don smiled at the comment, giving his daughter a quick pinch on the freckled cheek before pulling away and picking his cigar back up. “Well. Speaking of handsome, ye seen the Eazimoni’s youngest lately? Real nice-looking, now those braces are off.”

 

She nearly threw up then and there. Of course he can’t. Swallowing down the bile with bitter orange juice, she felt her hooves twitch, as if they would start running before she could stop them. Where, oh where, she wondered, would they take me? “Yeah, the braces might be off, but is the hunchback gone?” 

 

His face morphed between amused and angry in half a second, clearly trying to decide between laughter or lashing out. “Alright… then how about Whatshisface’s third boy? He’s real fun at parties, you remember, but he's a good worker, too. Or his fourth—if he’d just knock it off with that whole… faggot thing.”

 

The bile returned with a vengeance, and Moxxie had to quickly cover her gag with a casual hand over her mouth. “Daddy…” she quietly started, knowing the violent shift the conversation would be taking if she couldn’t navigate it quickly, carefully.  

 

“Dolly, you know that shit doesn't fly with the family. You’re lucky I still let you be friends with him. And after all that nonsense with that girl from school.”

 

All that nonsense. All she’d done was hold a friend’s hand, a female friend, as she walked to Al’s car to be brought home. But the shark had seen enough to tell her father about it, without as much as a warning. He would do so sometimes, when he knew it would result in more than a verbal admonishment, such as her bedroom door being taken off. For that particular transgression, she’d been pulled out of school for a month and a half. She learned, only when she got back, that her friend had been transferred to another school, halfway across the ring. 

 

Since then, she’d considered him no more than another family member at best, a rat at worst, and refused to speak to or even look at him more than absolutely necessary. She hoped it hurt his feelings as it hurt hers, although she highly doubted it. As much as she called him “Uncle Lesso,” a nickname held over from childhood when she couldn’t pronounce his name yet, he was, after all, merely her father’s consigliere. True, he was her sinfather, but… that position was mostly symbolic, even in more “normal” family structures. 

 

Not to mention, he was the one that always helped with her shooting practice, which Crimson was aware of, when it suited him. She remembered the first time she’d asked to try shooting a gun, and he was the one who convinced her father to let her, using more words than Moxxie almost ever heard from him all in one go. “Let her try, boss. It’ll be a laugh. Little girl using a pistol... Besides, what if she’s good at it? Might be a way for her to protect herself, if we’re ever not around.” And so she did, and she was good. Better than some associates, he’d said. 

 

Of course, there’d also been… the Incident, which was unspoken of to this day. During a training session in one of Greed’s several wasteyards (surprisingly good spots for sharpshooting), right after Moxxie had knocked a tin can from the tip of a ten-foot mound of trash, Alessio got a call, cutting their time short. Crimson said he was needed elsewhere, and Moxxie was to be brought home. For some reason, Al was in a better mood after the call, hightailed it to his car and opened Moxxie’s door to the backseat, waiting. 

 

She huffed but trailed behind him, before realizing her hair ribbons had slipped from her curly, black locks and were trailing on the toxic winds. She took her time chasing after them, of course. 

 

“Hurry up, little girl!” he’d called, not a touch of anger behind it. 

 

She snatched the red strings and grinned giddily as she started back towards the car. Before she could stop herself, or even realized what she was saying, she’d called back, “I’m hurrying, daddy!” 

 

Those toxic winds managed to seem even more stifling as soon as the words came out. The pair stood in silence—at least as silent as Hell could be. Bullets still flew and explosions still burst, but for a moment in the junkyard, it was all a million miles away. 

 

That was… years ago. Moxxie remembers it only through a vague memory, clouded by age and nostalgia, but thinks of it on occasion, and wonders if Alessio ever thinks of it, too. Subconscious thoughts was a topic studied in her psychology elective—which she had to fight fang and claw to be allowed to take, of course—and she could hardly think of anything else whenever the term was used. 

 

Taking her silence as a sign, Crimson rubbed his face with his palm, inhaling and exhaling rather dramatically. “I’ll give ya this, alright? For your party tonight, ya only gotta talk to the boys ya want to, and then let daddy know which ones had the real stand-out qualities we’re looking for. Y’know they’re all dying to get dates set up, now that you’ll be more available.”

 

Somehow, it felt almost merciful; through a thick mire of paternal control, an itty-bitty sliver of hope. She wouldn’t have to talk with the… objectionable sons, the lecherous older men—although daddy had already told her there wasn’t even a chance that she’d be married to any other dons. They were all far too old, too married, too dangerous… the list went on. The sons, they were the lucky ones. The ones Crimson approved of potentially merging the Knolastname family with, at least. 

 

It feels false and heavy when she smiles again, the comment about Whatshisface’s son—one of Moxxie’s closest friends—still lingering in the air, but she knows it’s what he expects. So, she must deliver. 

 

“I would appreciate that.” She shifted in her seat again, the urge to run slowly coming back. Where in Hell could she even run? It’s not as if she hadn’t thought of it, more than once. Wrath? Her grandparents may live there, but she knew that connection was tenuous at best. It had been years since she’d seen them, or they’d seen her. She finds it near impossible to imagine her grandma’s horns, or her grandpa’s voice. The house of a friend? She’d be returned to daddy within an hour, or less. Even when there were prearranged plans to go to a friend’s house, it was never a surprise being told she’d have to leave earlier than expected. 

 

Besides… What was so wrong with her life that she thought she deserved to run away? Had she ever gone without? Ever truly struggled? She always knew her future was plotted out for her, nothing to be worried about because she knew any man that would ever even touch her would be allowed to do so because daddy approved of him. He wouldn’t raise her with such attentiveness just to throw her to the gutter for the sake of the family.

He really was the only person who looked out for her, in all of Hell… 

 

She bit back all of those stupid, stupid thoughts of running away, and simply smiled yet again. “Thank you, daddy. I love you.” 

 

It was exactly what he wanted, expected. He threw back the rest of his rum and coffee and smiled back, grabbing his hat that he had resting on the table’s inner corner. “You know daddy loves you, too, dolly. Now, let’s get outta here, we got plenty of shit to get done before the big show.”

Chapter 2

Notes:

Alessio pov yahoo!! He is good at being the mildly “less abusive” father (figure) and also repressing his feelings. Hmm I wonder where Moxxie got it from… jk its from him and Crim simultaneously lol

this chapter is basically 1000 words of said repression, hypocrisy, internalized homophobia and being upset that your situationship’s/boss’ kid is mad at you lmao. also a fair bit of some lowkey (unsexy) possessiveness because thats greed baybee!

Greed’s streets were less than ideal to walk, run, or drive upon. Potholes big enough to be used as graves, sidewalk cracks even wider, and flaming piles of trash were just some of the common problems for any walker or driver in the ring. But, when they’re all you’ve ever known, it’s almost soothing. Especially when the driver is aware of them and is capable enough to maneuver most of it. 

 

Alessio was, of course, more than capable. Not necessarily because he was some great driver; he was good enough to be Crim’s designated chauffeur, but mostly because he couldn’t stand the imp’s bitching when they went over—or through—potholes. He self-assigned the job to himself one night after the complaining was out of control, simply telling the driver to stop in the middle of Ransom’s streets, and get the fuck out. Crim had been drinking since that morning, which always brought out the worst in him, and was going redder in the face every second. He finally calmed down when he realized the car wasn’t tossing him in his seat every ten seconds, even without his seat belt, which Al had told him to buckle before they started driving. He couldn’t stand the bastard not listening to him. How and why did he still hang around this fucking idiot? Been his consig for twenty-odd fucking years, his friend for longer, and the sinfather to his greatest treasure in Hell. 

 

Oh… right. That was why. 

 

It’d take a fool to not realize the shark’s affection for the girl, even as unspoken it was. He’d seen her being held by her father as a newly-hatched, and immediately knew he’d do any insane shit to keep his boss’ girl safe. Like… any insane shit. The “throw men clean through brick walls” and “snap a fucker’s neck with his thumb and forefinger” kind of insane shit. 

 

He still didn’t like thinking about how much of that was because she was Crim’s child, a living, breathing extension of him. 

 

So now, even for something as simple as taking the imps to breakfast at the shitty little diner they went to sometimes to check on Crim’s halfhearted “investment” in it, he drove them. 

 

For once, he was allowed to simply wait instead of performing some inane task, so he sat in the car and smoked and simply waited. When they came out, he opened her door, as he always did and would until it was her husband or her husband’s driver doing it, and she didn’t even spare him a glance. He certainly didn’t mind. Certainly. 

 

He knew she was mad at him. And he knew well why. But she didn’t understand. Wouldn’t understand. That kind of life… wasn’t for her. Even if it was innocent, the hand-holding, it wouldn’t always be. He had to curb it before it was too late. He wished somebody had been looking out for him like that when he was her age. Then maybe he wouldn’t be driving his sometimes-fuckbuddy, always-boss and his daughter around like he didn’t want to drive so far away with them in tow, where the family wouldn’t, couldn’t, find them. 

 

But he wouldn’t think about it. 

 

He’d just think about how to apologize. In his own silent, distant way. It was more than anybody’d ever done for him. Little girl didn’t know how much they looked out for her. Didn’t know how hard they worked to keep her alive. At least she tried to take care of herself sometimes, with her guns and undeniable intellect. It’d be easy to see her as some delicate, dumb thing, a mistake more than a few people had made. But she was her father’s daughter, and Crimson didn’t raise a stupid kid. It showed in more ways than just her school grades, of course, but Al couldn’t imagine many people could manage to retain good grades with the duties at home she had on her shoulders. She wasn’t some fainting flower, even if she could play it when she needed to. 

 

And now, she was graduating from St. Beryl’s, and would be officially put on the dating market of Greed’s families. He tried not to think about how that made him feel more than he felt comfortable feeling. He couldn’t imagine turning a corner in Crim’s house and not seeing her, reading or cooking or listening to the radio with her father. And in some way, he knew Crim felt the same. You don’t have a near-perfect kid around for sixteen years and then have two years to let go, happily throwing them to whatever shithead mafioso son begs and bags a buck the best to show his loyalty. 

 

… But it wasn’t his place to speak on it. 

 

The next destination was Whatshisface’s place for a pickup and dropoff, one much more innocuous than the other. Her dress for the big day had been fixed up by the don’s wife, as it was almost four sizes too large, more likely to fit a shark or succubus, but she’d picked it out of all her options at that ridiculous “boutique” she wanted to shop at, and Crim wasn’t often one to deny her. 

 

Concerning the dropoff? None of your fucking business. 

 

As the outing continued, Al listened as Crim brought out another gift: a hellphone, “bought” a week ago, when Al had offhandedly suggested she might like a more personal way of keeping touch with friends than the house phone. He’d heard they were the “new thing,” thanks to some squeaking sinner who apparently appointed himself the tech head of Hell. Crim had grumbled about it for a minute or two, but ended up agreeing with the caveat of, as with most things, he could take it away from her without so much as a warning. Had to make sure she wasn’t talking to the wrong people. Al agreed, of course. A handheld device that could take pictures and have them sent to anyone with the same device? A recipe for a disgusting disaster, so of course it would be monitored closely. Just friends, and even they would be filtered, carefully. 

 

Little girl was happy, though. From the driver’s seat, he heard her voice pitch up, and he saw in the rearview as she wrapped her arms around her father in a hug and he lazily rested his arm on her shoulder. 

 

“Uncle Al helped me think of it,” he admitted, eyes flicking to watch his reaction. Al gave none, only watching for hers. 

 

“… Is that so?” Her tone was neutral, which wasn’t usual for the expressive little actress. 

 

“‘Course it is, princess.” 

 

“… Hm.”

 

The rest of the ride was silent. Suited him just fine. 

 

                        🦈🦈🦈 

 

As expected, she looked lovely. The dress’ color was reminiscent of Loot Lake, the ruffles and fluffed black skirt beneath it adding to the foamy appearance. Strapless, which Crim had furrowed an eyebrow at, but the neckline rested just above her collarbones, so frilled it would take a true creeper to try looking under or through it. A heavy black ribbon wrapped under her bust, tied in the back and ending with the dress, cut off just at her heels. Her hair was loose and curly as usual but had strands pulled back with a gold and pearl hairpin, matching the thin gold chain that rested on her neck. 

 

That… was new. Crim hadn’t told him about a necklace. 

 

Not that it was any of his business what Crim got for her. Of course. 

 

He stood around the bottom of the stairs with Crim and some other fellas that were attending the ceremony, mostly for surveillance. Crim made a show of pressing his hat to his chest, exclaiming dramatically as she stood on the landing. 

 

“Oh! Where’s my little girl gone? Who’s this lovely lady standing here?” 

 

The crowd all agreed with various responses, some laughs traveling on the air as Mox fluffed the dress and bowed like the little princess she was. 

 

“Beautiful!” “Look at her!” “That’s our girl!” “Lady of the day, huh?”

 

Al’s fist, tucked to his side in an arm cross, definitely didn’t clench at the “our girl” comment. Because, sure, she was, wasn’t she? She’d been the family’s matriarch for years now, mistress of the house, taking care of everything under the sun for them. So, sure, she was their girl, too. 

 

Maybe not the same way she was his girl, definitely not the same way she was Crim’s. But sure. Sure. Their girl. 

 

Snapping out of his little spiral with a grunt, the crowd began dispersing and he realized it was suddenly only him and Mox left in the room, Crim taking off to the backyard where the party would be taking place, barking orders to the grunts outside. 

 

Looking down at him, her face is softer than he’s seen in a while. Not happy, but not as utterly pissed as she had been. 

 

Al shifted his jaw, moving his weight from foot to foot as he finally managed to nod towards her. “You…”

 

He has several ideas of what he wants to say. You look nice. Not enough. I’m sorry for telling him, but it’s a dangerous game you were playing and I don’t think you’re aware of that. Too much. 

 

He doesn’t get to finish that train of thoughts as the door to the backyard rattled and slammed closed. Crim strolled back in, tucking his flask into his jacket and looking between them lazily. “Gettin’ along?” He snickered at the “joke,” but his face remained unamused. 

 

“Of course we are, sir.” Moxxie cut through the silence, a smile plastered on her face as she adjusted her dress, carefully picking up the hem to walk down the steps. “We always get along. Don’t we… Uncle Lesso?”

 

It’s enough to squeeze the air out of his gills. It’s been months, months of silently driving her to and from school, of being brushed past without a second thought, of being scowled at, occasionally. Was all it took really just thinking to get her a hellphone? If that was it, he would’ve snatched up every single one he saw for her and delivered them without comment. But… no. There had to be something else. Something more than some silly piece of technology. 

 

He’s afraid to say anything—he’s never been a smooth talker, that was usually left to Crim. So he can only manage a nod, casting a quick glance to the other imp. 

 

It seems to be enough for him. He nods and a smile grows on his face, his arm raising for Mox to take as she reaches his side. “Glad to hear it, dolly. Now. Let’s go get you graduated, huh?”

Notes:

I really wrote Al like an annoyed wife in this chapter lmfao “hm wish he wouldve let me in on the lovebombing of the kid… at least i got credit for the phone” meanwhile Crim is like “ugh this is so obnoxious when will my possessions get along again what do i have to do here”

next chapter is gonna be back to Mox’s POV and show her side of all this

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of now and then