Chapter Text
So far, today has been a productive day. The most productive day of the year, actually.
Ratings are up, profits are up, even employee morale is at a high point—not that Vox cared. Today is on its way to being the best business day of the year.
Vox checked his internal clock, thirteen hours into the twenty hour work day? Sure, he’ll take a small break for lunch. He sent a quick text into the group chat.
TrustMe: Meet for lunch.
#I’mThatBitch: a little context please?
TrustMe: Today’s been very productive so far, I think we’ve earned a little time together.
#I’mThatBitch: and you expect us to drop everything and fit your schedule?
TrustMe: Yeah.
#I’mThatBitch: you can drop the cool guy act, we all know your a sap, vee
#I’mThatBitch: don’t ignore my texts just because you’re flustered, you tacky prick. Stop clutching your pearls
TrustMe: Why hasn’t Val responded yet?
#I’mThatBitch: He’s probably just broke his phone again, I’ll get him. Meet in your office.
Vox did an internal heel-click before zapping to his office waiting for his friends. His coworkers, he means. Yeah. Coworkers.
A minute goes by. He taps his foot. He checks his internal clock. The whirr of his vent system is loud. Checks his clock again. He fights the urge to rush them. Inefficient meat-bags.
An eternity (two minutes) passes before Vox’s suffering is interrupted. Not by the arrival of his late associates, but by another text.
#I’mThatBitch: Val’s suite. Now
Vox was taken aback by the disrespect. Well, it’s Velvette so it kind of made sense.
Valentino… He was bound to cause problems eventually. Now that Vox thinks about it, the reason today has been so productive is that there hasn’t been a Valentino-related incident. Up till now.
Valentino has always been at the core of workplace issues for Voxtech. Productivity had a direct relationship to the number of tantrums his moth threw that day. Vox had the graphs to prove it. Not that he spent a lot of time tracking Val or anything. It’s for data.
Vox teleported into Valentino’s suite, not bothering to start at the doors.
He straightened his jacket, “Come on, Val-“ and then he saw him.
Valentino perked up at the sound of Vox’s voice and turned his head where he lay, “No! Don’t look at me! Vel I told you not to tell him! He can’t look at me like this.” He curled away from Vox and threw himself into Velvette’s arms. She was kneeling beside him on the carpet, which was soaked with his blood.
Vox didn’t say a word. Rather, he zapped away with a blink of blue electricity.
Val knew that sound all too well, “I told you. He thinks I’m gross doesn’t he.”
Before Velvette could get a word in, Vox was back. He had a blue and black case in his arms. He set it down beside the two of them and clicked it open, “Hold him up.” He didn’t meet their eyes.
Velvette propped Val upright, leaning him against her back, when she saw what was inside the container, she eased up.
”Oh. Baby~” Val cooed at the sight of Vox preparing to bandage him up. Val wasn’t one for aftercare, but he’d take any attention he could get from Vox.
Velvette groaned and pulled out her phone. Sappy fuckers.
Vox examined Valentino’s wounds. The overlord mortally wounds himself on the daily, by accident or in the pursuit of inventing a new kink, it’s never been a problem before. These wounds weren’t healing at the rapid rate sinners were now used to. There was a subtle white glow emanating from the cuts covering his body.
”Angelic weapons” Vox muttered under his breath.
Valentino hissed at the disinfectant gauze pressed to his wounds. Vox fought to stay stoic.
”How did this even happen Val?” Velvette didn’t look up from her phone.
When Valentino told them, they stiffened.
”Velvette. Make sure Valentino is tended to. He’s been wounded by angelic weapons so we can’t just, let him bleed out this time.” Vox spoke with that professional sarcasm he’d perfected, but they knew it was forced. He fixed his suit, and briskly walked away.
He looked like a man mildly behind schedule to the average sinner, to the Vees, he looked like the mother of a kicked puppy on a warpath.
Vox walked as he worked, scanning all the footage across pentagram city. Looking for any instance of…
There. Four hours into the work day. Valentino hit Angel in front of his little “friends”. Vox told him to stop doing that in public. He watched the scene play out before him. Harsh words were thrown, weapons were drawn.
Princess Morningstar’s girlfriend’s spear glinted white. There it is.
Valentino laughed as he fought, until the suspiciously-exorcist-looking sinner drew her first blood.
It was downhill from there. Vox couldn’t stop watching. He felt his circuits overheat. He felt himself boiling over. He felt plans formulating. He felt-
He walked straight into a wall, completely distracted. Pain flashed across his screen and it pissed him off.
Those hippy dippy baloney assholes touched what’s his.
They’ll get whats coming to them.
They’re so FUCKED.
By the time Vox was done, the other two were still in Valentino’s suite. He smiled at what he saw, and his chest was already puffed up from OWNING those hotel-fuckers.
The were curled together on Valentino’s sofa, scrolling on their phones. Velvette was in a new outfit, unsurprisingly, and Valentino was wrapped in a pink blanket, he’s poking out. His face was no longer littered with bloody marks, but with slightly reddened bandages, and cute bandaids. He lit up when he saw Vox, and Velvette made no acknowledgment of his existence other than turning away from Valentino. It was their secret language for “Your turn to look after him.”
“Voxxy! You all up and left.”
Vox slid in next to Valentino, “Yeah, I… took care of something for us.” A shit-eating grin crept along his screen as he swiped a sip of Valentino’s drink. He knew it too.
Velvette raised an eyebrow, “Vee, what did you do-“ She spat out her drink, “Oh. My. God. You didn’t.”
Valentino ceased his fit—over his drink—to question Vox, “I don’t understand, what did you do?”
Vox put an arm around his moth, “I did what I always do. Keep the people updated on our breaking news.”
Still cackling, Velvette flicked her wrist, projecting purple holograms of the current media buzz. Every Voxtech platform was in a frenzy over the recently release Hazbin Files.
Somebody—could be anybody really—released ALL the personal information, of EVERY single resident and employee of the Hazbin Hotel, save for Alastor. Vox couldn’t hold his amusement.
An article exaggerating the recent scandal: “Princess of Hell found intimate with exorcist? Is the integrity of Hell’s royalty compromised!”
”Hey, Vox?”
”Yes, Val?”
”Thank you.”
”Anytime.”