Chapter Text
wanna go to a party
its velvette btw. vox is gonna text too
i have a costume for you planned
he said something about networking (??) which u should ignore. its a party.
There is a networking event in two weeks that you would benefit from. Velvette will be in touch about an outfit if you’re interested.
V
‘Are you busy?’
Vox pokes his head around the door to Velvette’s luxury fitting room. Charlie goes a little pink. The fashion overlord had told Charlie she needed her in her underwear, and so she stands with goosebumps and resists the urge to try and cover herself. Velvette already chastised her earlier for moving as she gathered slippery material at her waist, violet power suspending it in midair, and she doesn’t want a repeat experience.
‘Do we not look fuckin’ busy, Vee?’ Velvette says around the pins in her mouth.
‘Not really,’ Vox replies.
He waltzes further into the room. Velvette doesn’t even look at him, just waves her hands to add more ruffles on each hip. Pale pink silk spills on to the floor, giving a few metres of train, then finishes up in the arms of a sweating assistant where it is still attached to the bolt.
‘Hm,’ she considers. ‘I like the texture, but there are better colours for you.’
Vel snaps her fingers at another girl, who hurries forward with a different shade. Charlie feels the fabric slide off of her and roll itself back up. She glances at Vox who stands in front of the room's pink panelling, but he's frowning down at his phone.
‘What did you say my costume was again?’
‘The theme,’ Velvette tells her, waving her arm at the new sample before the assistant has properly reached them, ‘is some princess and knight bullshit.’ Her signature cherry-red fills the room as the material flows through the air, finding its place again, bunching on each of Charlie’s hips and providing a little more modesty over her backside.
‘It would be tacky if you went as a princess. So you and him,’ she jerks a thumb, ‘will be getting armour. Good costume armour. I’m getting the metalsmiths on it. Vox, seriously, what do you want?’
Vox looks up from his phone. He clears his throat.
‘Charlie,’ he says, eyes politely upon her face, ‘how much control do you have over your demonic power?’
She fidgets. Velvette’s hand comes to her waist to keep her still. It’s interesting how his gaze seems to switch on and off from that hungry, predatory look. She remembers the way he looked up her skirt last time she was here. But she also remembers how he kept wandering eyes in check for all the hours they spent together in Purgatory, fostering an atmosphere where she almost felt safe. (And then of course he trampled all over it later. She wonders if he will slip again.)
‘I don’t know. I try not to use it.’
‘Hm.’ He crosses his arms and taps his free pointer claw. ‘You haven’t considered it might have benefits?’
‘Arms up,’ Velvette instructs, some new irritation in her voice. Charlie obliges, twisting her wrists through the air as she raises them toward the soft spotlight above. Vox’s gaze flickers but returns intently back to her eyes.
‘I mean, not really,’ she replies. ‘It’s demonic power. I don’t—it doesn’t feel right.’
‘Higher,’ says Velvette.
Charlie complies. She gets wrapped in more material, ruffles brushing her chest as Velvette experiments with different neckline styles.
‘You are partly demon,’ Vox says. ‘It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.’
‘Demons are bad by default. I don’t see why I should use that power.’
Velvette seems to change her mind, dropping the silk and trying it at her waist again.
‘That’s not a very positive way of thinking,’ he tells her. ‘I thought that was your thing.’
‘But it’s realistic,’ Charlie says. ‘You are a demon. You use your power for bad things.’ She notes how sparks flit between his antennae. ‘I’m grateful you want to help, but I, I’m sorry, I don’t want it.’
Velvette huffs, perhaps in a laugh, a hand skimming Charlie’s upper thigh. Her cheeks prickle with more warmth. Vox’s responding smile doesn’t meet his eyes.
‘Power is your birthright. It’s a tool. It doesn't know morals.’
‘You’re boring her, Vox,’ Velvette says. The fabric withdraws again. ‘Is he boring you, Charlie?’
‘Oh– I, well, I wouldn’t say–’
‘See?’ Vox says, beginning to slowly pace. ‘Not bored. Charlie, you must understand that there are benefits–’
Velvette rolls her eyes and produces a tape measure. What Vox says next is lost, because Charlie is suddenly focussed on the pads of dainty fingers on her skin. Velvette has such small hands, she thinks. Charlie wonders what it would feel like to cup one in both of her own. The plastic ribbon slips over her hips, guided by these points of warmth.
‘–you wouldn’t blame a gun, would you?’ Vox is saying. ‘It’s what you do with–’
Velvette’s touch lingers, warm and almost heavy, though she is hardly pressing down. Another blush creeps up Charlie’s neck when Velvette wraps the measure around her thigh like a garter. Velvette must notice some change, because she looks up to meet Charlie’s eyes, a smile tugging the edge of her painted mouth.
‘Right, Vee,’ she says then, the moment shattering, ‘shut up now and clear off. I need a lifecast. Privacy may be a foreign concept to you, but not her, evidently.’
‘Lifecast?’ Charlie says. She blinks as the tape measure whips away along with Velvette’s touch. Vox gestures indignantly at the camera blinking in the corner.
‘These are my eyes too, it doesn’t matter. We’re in the middle of a conversation.’
‘And I’m in the middle of a fitting, prick. Shoo.’
He readjusts his posture as if it isn’t already ramrod-straight.
‘Well, I suppose I should be overseeing the news broadcast. I might be able to catch you after, Princess, if I don’t get too busy.’
The air around him warps and crackles. Vox disappears into the camera with a snap. Charlie is still staring at where he disappeared when Velvette nudges her.
‘I need your bra off to get an accurate impression. You can put this on instead.’
Charlie’s eyes dart between the camera and Velvette as yet another assistant steps forward with a long-sleeved bodysuit. It looks too small, but evidently stretches.
‘It will protect your skin,’ explains Vel. Her fingers trail over Charlie’s pale back, up the little bumps of her spine. Charlie swallows, turning to look into a mirror to the side of them. She watches as much as she feels how Velvette slips a finger under her bra strap, then tugs it outward. Then with a flick, the clasps release. She sees her own breasts dip down immediately without the support, the cups falling away, and also recognises how her face burns, redness speaking from the dots on her cheeks. There is a pause during which Velvette perhaps expects a reaction. Her doll-head turns to the mirror too, but Charlie suddenly finds herself unable to look her in the eye, so she busies herself with taking the garment off.
An assistant helps her into the bodysuit. Nothing is hidden, no dip smoothed over. Charlie might as well be naked. Another pulls her hair out of the way, winding it into a bun and securing it behind her head, and yet another approaches with a bucket of some grey putty-like substance. It all feels rather clinical.
‘I wonder,’ Charlie dares ask, eyeing the last assistant, ‘why Vox has cameras in your parts of the building. Like in the changing rooms, or Val’s spa?’
Velvette circles, assessing her canvas.
‘He’s particular about these things,’ she says. ‘They stop souls doing shit behind our back. Keep us one step ahead. They also deter Val from stealing my designer jewellery and blamin’ someone else, so I’m in favour.’
‘You don’t mind that you’re being watched too?’
‘I’m the social media overlord, Char, it’s my job to be seen. Now, legs apart more, and don’t move.’
Charlie still can’t fathom how Velvette is so okay with being constantly monitored, and scrutinised, with her life posted online for the masses. She parts her legs. Velvette, satisfied, snaps her fingers for the girls to start.
The cast is applied in cold dollops and then smoothed over her chest. It tickles. She tries to stay still, but she flinches when a touch gets too close to her armpit or a thumb rubs a thick layer over a nipple. The hands work up to her neck, over her inner thighs, skimming between her legs, rubbing it evenly over her crotch. They do her back too, but leave out her arms. This is all done in relative silence while Velvette oversees, head cocked, and Charlie reminds herself to breathe.
‘So,’ Charlie says eventually, voice ever so slightly smaller, the way it goes when she feels out of her depth, ‘this is for… a breastplate?’
‘Mmhm,’ Velvette muses, stepping back even further to scrutinise her assistants' handiwork. ‘You’re gonna look gorg, babe.’
The putty sets fast. Charlie expects it to crack, but it’s flexible like jelly, and soon enough a slice is being cut over her ribs and the cast is being peeled away. The inside has the imprint of the bodysuit’s fabric on it, these miniscule little crosshatches. One of her hairs has been trapped inside and it is pulled sharply out of her scalp as the hollow greyish torso is carried away.
‘See?’ Velvette says. She’s offering out Charlie’s bra. It looks disproportionately large in comparison to her. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’
Charlie takes it gingerly and lets her hair down, which allows her just a little privacy to put it back on.
‘I, um, appreciate you doing this. Thank you. I’m looking forward to the party.’
Velvette waves her off. ‘Yeah, yeah. No need to grovel.’
Another assistant hands Charlie the rest of her clothes. She feels a sense of relief when she gets to button up her shirt, and starts to feel warmer with her red blazer on. She zips up the red skirt Velvette gave her last time, and by then she’s being unsubtly herded from the room.
‘Right,’ Velvette says, ‘We probably won’t need any more fittings, but I’ll be in touch. Come here for prees, yeah?’
‘Prees?’ Charlie asks.
‘Pre-drinks,’ she responds dismissively. ‘I’ll text you.’
She leans forward to kiss Charlie on both cheeks in farewell, and Charlie, slightly flustered, still trying to thank her, finds herself practically pushed in the long corridor outside. Then the door closes. She’s alone.
Charlie breathes deeply for a second, trying to categorise in her head the whirlwind she has just been subjected to. These Vees live differently to everything she has ever known. It’s a pace of life she’s not at all used to. The sluggishness that can come with immortality has not impacted these overlords in the slightest.
A moment to herself is all she’s allowed, apparently. She hasn’t even been able to fix her hair before Vox materialises beside her and she practically jumps out of her skin, wheeling back in shock. The air pops around him and he starts talking before he’s even fully settled into his body.
‘What are your plans for the future?’
‘Uh,’ she says intelligently. Her brain might as well be made up of that grey putty for all the good it’s doing at keeping up. ‘Hi again. That’s um, that’s a big question. Why? Why do you ask?’
Vox folds his hands behind his back.
‘I’m curious. You’ve got forever ahead of you. So what first?’
Forever ahead. An overwhelming concept that she tries not to consider. Charlie steels herself for criticism as she tries to form an answer.
‘I want to help people.’ She self-consciously smooths her hair, which has been a victim to Vox’s static. ‘Maybe find a way to turn their lives around. Uplift them.’
Vox’s face twitches, and as if to cover it he begins to walk, gesturing for her to follow him down the lavishly decorated corridor.
‘Like what your mother campaigned for?’
‘Yes, exactly! And, I’ve been thinking, since she’s been away, about like, looking into the idea of… redemption. For sinners.’
Vox makes a noise that sounds like a laugh. She pauses in her stride and makes a point to frown at him. He clears his throat.
‘Sorry. Continue.’
‘So we all know Hell’s overpopulated.’
‘Oh yeah,’ he says. ‘Great for business.’
‘Not great for ninety nine percent of the population,’ she chides. ‘So if they improve as people, atone for their sins, they could go to Heaven instead!’
Vox laughs properly now, arms coming around his stomach as if it might stop him doubling over. He falls behind to cackle. She would be more annoyed, but this is a glimpse of the overlord she’s not seen yet, and she’s curious about how much less posturing he’s been doing upon this encounter. Is this what it’s like to know him? As somebody with emotions?
‘That’s cute, sweetheart, really. No bad ideas and all that.’ He wipes a digital tear from the corner of his eye. ‘Hmm, and you know what could help you with that?’
‘What?’ she says, deadpan.
‘Control over your power.’
‘This again?’ Her shoe scuffs on the polished floor. ‘Why do you care?’
‘Potential is a valuable resource.’ He spreads his arms. ‘You could do so much, uh, good, with it. Subvert its intended uses.’
He stops then, blocking her way on, to speak with more sincerity.
‘You’re allowed to accept this part of you. To accept all of us demons without your damning preconceptions.’
Her skin prickles. Maybe… maybe he does have a point.
‘So what can you do?’ he asks brightly.
Charlie doesn’t owe this bastard anything. Her reluctance must show on her face, because he tilts his screen and smiles quite attractively.
‘Come on, I’ll show you something we didn’t get around to on the tour. You can demonstrate there.’
And Charlie suddenly loses the ability to protest when his hand finds what is becoming a familiar spot at the small of her back. She feels it large and thrumming, spanning over her tailbone, nudging her forward. They start moving again.
‘Downstairs,’ he begins explaining, ‘we have a—‘
A door bangs open before he can finish. A tall, pale demon stumbles into the corridor, wearing very little and cradling their head with one of four visible hands. Charlie realises she recognises him as he stops short upon seeing them both. She feels Vox stiffen. The sinner that must be Angel Dust stares past her at Vox, expression unreadable. An uncomfortable moment passes.
‘Um, hey,’ she says, since they seem too preoccupied with some sort of weird staring contest to introduce her. ‘I’m Charlie.’
The porn demon, who sways a little where he stands, finally looks at her with wide-blown pupils. It takes him a second to register.
‘Shit, you’re the princess, ain’t ya?’
‘Just Charlie is fine! But um, yeah!’
‘Word of advice, Charlie,’ he slurs, ‘don’t make any deals with the Vees.’
‘Get out, Angel,’ Vox snaps. ‘Don’t talk to her.’
‘I’m allowed to be here, asshole. Val wanted me. Can’t find him.’
‘Well he’s not around.’ There is menace in the overlord’s tone. Charlie shifts so she can look up at Vox too.
‘Yeah,’ the spider sinner says, with an exaggerated eye roll. ‘I can see that.’
Vox’s eye twitches, and his display scrambles for a second, but he doesn’t rise to Angel’s disrespect. Charlie’s gaze darts between them. Maybe it’s from the drugs, but Angel’s mouth, strangely, is quirked almost triumphantly. The media demon responds with a sneer. Something has gotten at Vox, she thinks, somehow. Maybe he doesn’t want to respond in front of her. Maybe Angel has something on him.
After another wordless standoff, Angel just turns around and staggers back the way he came. Vox is rigid until he’s gone. Charlie opens her mouth to ask, but thinks better of it, and closes it again.
‘Right,’ Vox says, suddenly normal again. ‘There’s a training room adjacent to the gym.’ His hand slides up her back. ‘I bet it would feel good to let some of it out, hm?’
It feels like the sports hall at her old college in Gluttony. The training room is really just a large, indestructible space deep under city-level, with a few charred targets lined up along one wall, and some thick crash mats scattered about the floor. This place smells better than her college hall, at least.
‘If you need anything for transformation, I can get it. Any core elements. Or moving targets. We have it all.’
Charlie flexes her fingers.
‘Though I imagine you can conjure from nothing.’
She nods, feeling strangely anxious.
‘Go on,’ he urges.
She hesitantly raises her hand. A finger rises toward the high ceiling, and out pops a firework. There’s some recoil, and her hand flinches back, while it whistles through the air and hits the far wall. It explodes with a resounding bang in a shower of gold, red and blue glitter. She looks back at him.
‘Nice trick,’ he says mildly.
Charlie bottles her irritation. Something else then, fine. She puts a knee to the rubbery floor, awkwardly in the short skirt, and places her hand flat against old gouges and scorch marks. Her face scrunches up, and she feels her hair rise, weightless, and begin whipping around her. Heat rears up from her belly, converted from that anxiety she feels.
Fire shoots from the point of contact. It races across the ground and engulfs a large portion of the room, flames licking up the walls, almost as high as the ceiling, searching for purchase, searching for something to burn. She feels the power pounding through her, orange and searing, eating through all her energy like her reserves are made of tissue paper. She manages to hold it for a few more seconds before the whole thing snuffs out. Charlie turns back to Vox with her nose slightly in the air. The floor smoulders.
‘Alright,’ Vox muses. ‘Workable.’ It’s the only praise she gets. Charlie hasn’t realised she wanted validation until she fails to properly receive any. She stands back up, head pounding, and adjusts her skirt.
‘How much say do you have?’ he asks. ‘Did it do precisely what you intended?’
‘Um, I don’t know.’ She’s embarrassingly breathless. ‘I haven’t practiced it. I just thought of making fire.’
Vox reaches out and takes one of her hands in his. It’s so big. Considering how her own hands dwarf Velvette’s, the size difference is startling. His touch is gentle. He turns her wrist so her palm is facing up. Charlie wonders if he feels her pulse kick under his touch.
‘Can you hone it? Make it small, dense, hot?’
‘I can do, uh,’ she stutters, ‘like these light blasts. I can’t really control them though.’
‘Interesting.’
He moves away from her, throwing out a casual arm. The entire hall glows a very weak blue. Little sparks wink in and out around them. The tiny hairs all over Charlie’s body prick at once, and her hair lifts in a less elegant manner than it does when she uses her own power. She feels like she’s underwater. And then Vox jerks a fist lazily into his chest in a summoning motion.
The scattered power darts toward him. It’s instant, condensing to bubble neon blue in the space between them, about the size of a football. Charlie looks past it at his screen. Her slightly narrowed gaze is reflected back at her.
Vox pushes his hands into the mass, condensing, shaping, all with seemingly very little effort. The ball sparks furiously as it gets smaller and smaller, brighter and brighter, until it’s a spitting orb of electricity in his palm. Then he clasps those hands together. Charlie jerks away, expecting some sort of explosion. But the thing only disappears. When Vox speaks, palms opening empty, his voice is low.
‘There are ways to use power without exhausting yourself. I can show you sometime.’
Then a hand settles on her shoulder. It’s almost unbearably hot. Charlie’s tongue feels heavy as she forces it to move.
‘What do you get from this? Why help me?’
‘An allyship benefits both sides. Why not? We’re allowed different goals.’
‘They feel contradictory.’
Vox’s hand smooths over her shoulder to her hair, which is still loose down her back. He cards a claw through it and she shudders.
‘They don’t have to be,’ he says. Her hair sifts like golden sand through his fingers.
‘What do you want from me then? I don’t…I don’t want to owe you anything. And you’ve already given more to me than I have to you.’
Vox smirks at this, and she blushes, opening her mouth to clarify.
‘I just mean—‘
His hand makes a final comb through her hair, and it drops to his side.
‘What do you mean, Princess?’
She straightens her back.
‘I want to know what your motives are. And what you think I have to offer.’
‘Like I said, this can be an allyship. No strings attached. We can ask favours of one another, like friends would, and you can always say no.’
His eye contact is unyielding. She wets her lips. There’s more to it, surely. And saying no? Really? These Vees don’t seem to have much of a grasp on the word.
‘Think about it,’ he murmurs, moving closer. His touch trails down her arm. ‘Let’s try this again.’
Skin thrumming, his fingers in her mouth, her teeth against his neck–
‘What?’ she breathes.
‘Try again,’ he says, with a smile that suggests he knows what came to mind. ‘At honing the fire.’
‘O- oh. Right.’ She swallows. ‘Of course.’