Chapter Text
You tip the glass in your hand, swirling the last bit of your drink before sipping it down. The nightclub was busy. Sinners crowded every corner of the building, committing to nefarious activities. Sitting at the bar, you looked to the stage before checking when it would be time for your next performance.
15 minutes.
You sigh. When you died, hell was much different.
Different overlords, scenes, districts. It was only recently (as in close to 20 years) that you started working as a stripper. Owning your soul after all these years was a feat in itself, but living paycheck to paycheck was hard. After the cut taken from the club, you were left with paying for rent and barely any food.
10 minutes
You call over the bartender, asking for another of whatever you just drank. All you know is that it tasted good and need another.
You were never necessarily mad or angered at the man who killed you. More so, you were annoyed that your fun night turned into your deathbed.
7 minutes
The barkeep slides over the glass. You catch it in time and take a large sip. The glass hits the counter harder than you meant for it to, making you jump.
“I’ll see you in hell.”
Those words ring in the back of your head. Unrelentingly on repeat.
3 minutes
Finishing the drink, the glass tips bottom up. You get up from your seat at the bar, heading backstage to get ready for your performance.
Slipping off the oversized hoodie, you adorn a black, satin dress that hugs your figure. The back has a small snip, which allows you to rip it off on stage. Standing behind the curtains, you take a deep breath before putting on your best face.
You walk out on stage, hands on your hips as they sway. Sinners surround the stage, cheering as you strut your way to the main platform. You grab hold of the pole, beginning your performance.
You focus more on the crowd than your act, having it become second nature. The muscle memory controlling you as the sinners bark and whistle. Somewhere in the middle, your dress rips off, but can’t tell when. The sinners standing in front watch, some obviously masturbating, others clearly having dirty thoughts of you. Your eyes wander the club, just watching as your body moves hypnotically to whatever song is playing.
Through the front door, you see more customers walk in. Some immediately come up to the stage, others get a seat at the bar. Your eyes trail through the new faces as you see someone new walk in. Valentino. He was one of the regulars here, having convinced multiple of the performers to come work for him. He’s usually surrounded by sinners, some being owned by him, others wanting a chance at stardom, but today was different. He was dragging in…
Oh fuck.
Vox. It was Vox.
You attempt to seem unbothered. Controlling your face, your expressions. Unwavering in your movements, continuing to sensually move your hands around your body. One caresses the scar left on your neck. A noticeable, dark slit in your throat. A small indent is left where the knife met your skin all those years ago.
You rush the rest of your performance, unable to keep your eyes off the tall, TV-headed man. He sat next to Valentino, drinking what looked to be whiskey. Seemingly annoyed, or bored… You can’t tell which it is.
Backstage, you get dressed. You look for the hoodie you had been wearing before, but it's nowhere to be seen. You sigh, guessing one of the other performers took it.
You check your bag, seeing if you happened to leave an outfit in there. A black turtle neck crop and a short, black skirt. This will have to do…
As you get ready to leave the club, your boss comes backstage.
“Hey. _____, needa talk to you.”
“Uh, yes? What is it?”
“You’re fired, ‘rnt bringin in customers no more.”
You sigh, knowing this would come eventually. You were never a top earner, nor did people come in to see solely you perform. In addition, it's not like your soul wasn’t yours, so keeping you around was a loss.
“Alright.”
You walk out the backstage. Trying to think of your next gig when you look over to the pair of Vees. You shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t. But you find yourself gravitating, pushing people out of the way. Eyes aimed at Vox. You find yourself at the front of the partying crowd surrounding them.
Vox isn’t paying attention to his surroundings, but rather staring at charts and statistics than those around him. Val preoccupied with some girl, seemingly trying to push her into a deal with him.
“Hello, Vincent.” You call out, stepping towards the pair, into the exclusive corner.
His head cranks a full 90 degrees to look at you before rapidly approaching you, grabbing you by your collar.
“How do you know that name?” He asks threateningly. Staring you down, his breath heaving as the screen ever so slightly glitches.
“Don’t recognize a woman you killed, I’m so hurt…” You taunt, raising your arms, surrendering. He drops you, letting go of your collar.
“Care to treat a lady to a drink?” You lean in, hands behind your back.
“No.” He looks down at you, left eye showing a black spiral, voice staticing and glitching.
You feel dizzy, your head beginning to pound as you stare into the swirl. You fight every urge to run and stumble to reach out and grab his hand. Pulling it to your neck, you scrape his nail where he slit your throat all those years ago.
“_____?” He asks, almost in disbelief. The hypnotic spirals from his eye disappear as he looks down at you, practically stunned. Releasing your neck, he returns to his regular, showman self.
“The one and only! Now, how about that drink?” You look up through lidded eyes, words dripping off your tongue like sweet honey. Staring him down.
He reaches into his suit pocket, pulling out a sleek business card. Handing it to you between two fingers.
“Come by tomorrow, 8 PM.” He smirks down at you, sinister thoughts obviously flowing through his twisted head, but hell if you know what they are. You take the card, staring down at it. It's navy blue with a cyan V in the middle, “Vee Tower” being written in the bottom corner and “Vox” in the top. He is already sitting back beside Valentino before you look back up, once again scrolling through charts and statistics.
You make your way out of the club, holding onto that card like it's your lifeline. If this was your one way to get somewhere in hell, then by god you will take it.