Chapter Text
The door to the Vees’ private planning room SLAMMED open so hard the screens on the wall flicker.
Velvette jumps slightly — not out of fear (she would kill anyone who said otherwise)
, but because it almost made her drop her limited-edition phone case.
Valentino doesn’t; he’s too busy lighting another cigarette with the last one.
Vox storms in, static sparking off his antennae like a small thunderstorm.
“She’s OUT. She’s off the list. I don’t want to hear her name again.”
Velvette pauses mid-click on her phone, one eyebrow lifting as she half-swipes a filter onto her face.
“…who?
Because I just unfollowed like thirty people this morning.”
Vox points at the holographic list on the wall with the fury of a man betrayed by fate itself.
“ROSIE!”
Velvette raises a brow higher — impressed, even — and leans back with a slow smirk.
“You mean Cannibal Barbie?
The tea-party terror?
The Victorian cupcake with knives?”
Valentino exhales a long plume of smoke.
“…the one with the fancy hat collection?”
Vox screamed pointing and gesturing towards Valentino:
“Yes! HER! The hat lady! She’s not coming!”
Velvette kicks one leg over the other, grin sharpening.
“Why?
Afraid she’ll outdress you at your own party?
Because honestly, babe… she might.”
Vox’s screen spasms violently.
“SHE—”
He jabs a finger at the air.
“IGNORES me.”
Velvette blinks slowly, unimpressed.
“…okay?
So do half the Overlords. And most of my models.”
“No, not okay! Not okay at all!
Do you have ANY idea how humiliating that is?!
I’m Vox!
VOX!
Everyone sees me!”
Valentino mutters:
“Not her, apparently.”
Vox whirls around, sparks flying.
“EXACTLY!
She didn’t even look at me!
Back when I visited her Emporium with Alastor—AND DON’T MAKE THAT FACE, VELVETTE, IT WAS A BUSINESS CALL—she just walked RIGHT past me like I was some—some—coat rack!”
Velvette clamps a hand over her mouth, voice muffled by giggles.
“Oh my god…
she friend-zoned you into furniture.”
Valentino coughs on smoke mid-laugh.
“She thought you were a LAMP, amigo.”
“NOT. HELPING.”
He begins pacing, wires flailing like stressed-out tentacles.
He continued going in circles hand raised near his face half open:
“And then in my mind—”
He stops, realizing he’s admitting too much.
“NOT THAT I CARE what she’d do, BUT—
I could just see it, alright?”
Velvette leans in eagerly, propping her chin on her hand.
“Oooh, a vision.
C’mon, give mama the drama.”
“She’d walk into my party—MY CELEBRATION—
look right at Alastor even though I’ve clearly WON,
and go:
‘Oh, sweetheart, you look pale, are they feeding you properly?’”
Velvette BURSTS out laughing, nearly falling out of her hover-chair.
Holy shit, she WOULD.
She’d probably bring him a casserole.”
Valentino chimes in lazily:
“And then she’d look at you and go:
‘Oh. The puppy is here.’”
Velvette wheezes so hard her holographic stickers glitch.
“LOST. PUPPY. VOX.
I’m making that a hashtag.”
Vox’s screen nearly shatters.
“THAT! Right there!
That is EXACTLY why she is BANISHED from the list.
I will NOT be belittled in my OWN tower by that— that—
that VICTORIAN SALAD... FORK!”
Silence.
Velvette snorts loudly.
“Victorian… salad… fork…?”
She starts typing.
“Oh that’s going on merch.”
Valentino claps slowly.
“Poetry.”
Vox ignores them, clutching the sides of his head dramatically.
“She’ll ruin everything!
She’ll treat Alastor like a guest of honor even though he’s the prisoner!
She’ll talk to him! She’ll offer him sandwiches!
She’ll—she’ll pat his cheek!”
Velvette rolls her eyes with a grin.
“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”
“I AM NOT JEALOUS.”
He slams his hands down on the table.
“She just… doesn’t respect me.”
Valentino flicks ash.
“Yeah, she respects Alastor more.”
The static that erupts from Vox is almost a scream.
“THAT IS THE PROBLEM, VAL.”
Velvette wipes a tear from laughing, then sighs dramatically.
“So, she’s off the list?
Like… forever?
Because I need to update the seating chart.
And maybe the security protocols.
And probably the snack table.
Rosie eats a lot.”
Vox straightens his suit, smoothing it down with shaky hands.
“She is NEVER coming to ANYTHING I host.
Ever.”
Valentino smirks.
“Shame. She throws great dinner parties.”
Velvette adds, biting her lip to hold back a grin:
“And she never forgets a face—
except, apparently… yours.”
Vox’s eye glitches into a bright red ■.
“MEETING. OVER.”
He storms out, slamming the door so hard half the lights flicker.
Velvette kicks her feet up, immediately bringing up her design app.
“Well.
This party’s gonna be fun.
There was not even a meeting. He just barged in...
And I’m making puppy-ear filters for Vox.”
Valentino hums.
“Bet you ten bucks Rosie crashes it anyway.”
Velvette doesn’t look up from her phone — she’s already editing a meme of Vox labeled LOCAL TV MAN FEARS WOMAN.
She giggles.
“Ten? Babe, please. Make it fifty.
Vox freaks out harder than my models after I cut their hair wrong.”
Val chuckles darkly.
“He’s a sore loser, that’s all.”
A beat.
A zap.
A crackle.
Then — the door SLAMS open again.
Vox is back.
Disheveled.
Screens glitching.
Wires sparking like deranged tendrils.
“I HEARD THAT!”
They both jolt.
Velvette, unfazed, keeps chewing her gum.
Vox (ranting, shouting, flailing):
“AND FOR YOUR INFORMATION—
I’LL MAKE SURE SHE KNOWS NOTHING!
NOTHING about this party!
NOTHING about the plan!
NOTHING about ANYTHING!
I will PERSONALLY make sure Rosie stays miles — MILES — away!”
He paces like a malfunctioning metronome.
“And if — IF — she somehow finds out—”
He gestures wildly, wires snapping like electric whips.
“I WILL HAVE MEASURES IN PLACE!
Security! Scanners! A firewall!
A GODDAMN SOCIAL MEDIA BLACKOUT FOR THE WHOLE DISTRICT IF I HAVE TO!”
Velvette’s eyebrows lift just slightly.
Her version of outright cackling.
“A blackout? Drama much?”
Vox points at her with a trembling, glitching hand.
“If she steps one FOOT near my tower—
ONE FOOT—
I’ll have her stuck in a hologram loop of Susan complaining about taxes for twenty hours straight!”
Velvette winces.
“…okay, that’s actually evil.”
Valentino laughs under his breath.
Vox spins around, eyes blazing.
“SHE WILL NEVER RUIN MY MOMENT AGAIN!
NEVER!
THIS IS MY ERA! MY ASCENSION!
AND ROSIE THE ENORMOUS HAT RACK WILL NOT—WILL. NOT.—
STEAL. MY. SPOTLIGHT!”
He points to the air as if addressing some unseen cosmic judge.
“MARK MY WORDS!
I’ll make sure she can’t even SEE the party from a telescope!”
With a furious static CRACK, he turns and storms back out again — even harder than the first time.
The door rattles for a full five seconds before settling.
Silence.
A long, smoky exhale from Valentino.
“…sore loser.”
Velvette snaps her gum, lounges back into her chair with a wicked grin.
“He’s not just a sore loser.
He’s a terrified loser.
And honestly?
It’s kind of adorable.”
She flicks her phone, sending a hologram of Rosie’s hat dancing across the room just to annoy him if he comes back again.
Valentino smirks.
“So. Fifty bucks?”
“Make it a hundred.
He’s gonna implode the minute she shows up.”
“Deal.”