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Charlie fidgets at the front desk. Valentino had told her to come whenever, and here she is. In the waiting room the decor is all cherry pink, purple, gold, occasionally a splash of Vox’s neon blue between the hearts and posters. Carnivorous potted plants are placed at intervals, as well as lumpy designer chairs that don’t look very practical for sitting on. A secretary, an imp with custom blue horns, is looking at her while talking into a phone. It’s like he’s dragging it out to avoid talking to her. Charlie’s bright smile is strained. Their staring contest has lasted about a minute. But she’s been seen now, having received double takes from staff and visitors passing through, so Charlie can’t retreat, only stand there as anxiety churns up her stomach.
It’s when she feels her neck prickle that the imp stops jabbering. His eyes fix on a spot behind her. Charlie can see a bright blue glow in the reflection of his glasses, and a moment later there is a loud crack, and a large clawed hand settles on her shoulder.
‘Hello Princess,’ comes the rich voice of the media overlord. Charlie swallows, composing herself, and turns around, tipping her head up to look him in the eye. She refuses to give away how nervous she feels.
‘Vox,’ she says. Charlie immediately has to blink away the flashbacks of their last encounter. The slide of tongue, the stutter of breath, the discontentment. This asshole. She was sort of imagining—hoping—she’d see Valentino first.
‘You should have told us you were coming,’ he says, fixing his red eyed gaze upon her, ‘and we’d have given you a proper welcome.’
‘Well, if you’re busy, I can—‘
‘Not at all! I’ve already rearranged meetings. Val promised you a tour, yes?’
Maybe this was a bad idea.
‘Yeah I…’ she clears her throat, forcing herself not to be overly polite. ‘Yeah.’
His smile is predatory.
‘Excellent. We’ll waste no time then.’
He turns to align himself next to her, coattails following the movement, and places a hand on the small of her back. Charlie feels the imp staring. All it takes is a little nudge and she’s off, being guided across the foyer.
‘So, what did it?’ Vox asks, half a step behind her. ‘What are your aims for this visit, Charlie? I don’t quite believe you’re having the tour just for the free skirt. There’s more… substance to you than that.’
Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth. Substance?
‘I want to step up,’ she says, as they reach some sort of lift with his face on it. ‘Like you said. Get to know my people more and, um, this seemed like a good place to start.’
She peeks up at him, half expecting a laugh. His teeth grow bright as he smiles wide, but does not mock her.
‘Respectable.’
The door opens without the need of a button press and he herds her inside. She remembers that cologne all too well. It’s… she inhales again. It’s nice. Charlie brushes off the thought. Get it the fuck together. Remember he was awful to you. She feels a bit sick.
‘Velvette and Valentino are pleased to know you came. They’ll drop by when they can,’ he says.
‘They’re not coming now?’
‘Soon. In the meantime I’ll show you my sectors.’
So she will be alone with him. Again. She fidgets as the lift comes to a halt. What does he think might happen? He was reluctant, and patient (for the most part) last time, when they were forced together. He wouldn’t have pursued her under normal circumstances, he made that clear. But is it different now? Now he’s got a taste, now they have done that, will he look at her differently?
‘Everything okay?’
He’s enjoying her discomfort, she realises. The bastard.
‘I don’t want to sleep with you,’ blurts Charlie. Then she raises her hands to her mouth, shocked at the way it came out. She stammers, feeling her face go hot. ‘I just mean, it’s not why I’m here, I only— because Val—‘
Vox is undeniably smirking now. He waves her off. ‘This will remain entirely professional, I assure you. That only happened out of necessity.’
Right. Her relief is palpable. He seems quick to forgive her rudeness. Though, weirdly, she isn’t entirely satisfied by his response. It was the most ideal one, but, something else, very small, demonic and ugly, is almost… put out. Charlie shakes her head to dispel it.
Vox steps out into a corridor. She can only follow, gazing up at the high ceiling, all accented in his signature blue. The Vee Tower makes her feel small, despite her own riches and the grandiosity of her own townhouse. And the holiday villa. And the family home: the palace, which has been practically abandoned since her mom disappeared.
‘Only the most highly ranked employees are allowed to use these hallways,’ Vox explains. ‘The supercomputers live up here, as well as classified technology.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like, classified,’ Vox says.
‘I thought I was getting a tour,’ she says, attempting to inject something lighthearted into this exchange.
He seems annoyed until he looks back at her and realises she’s teasing. Is that small smile not at her expense this time?
‘Um, another thing,’ she pushes on. Off topic, but Charlie needs to address it. Soon, ideally, because it’s been haunting her for the past week.
‘The… the footage of… in the alley.’
Vox’s smile goes a little cruel. ‘Of you and Valentino? That was bold, Charlotte. I’m impressed.’
Charlie flushes for the second time. She remembers the way she looked into the camera after Val brought her to a finish.
‘I wasn’t thinking. I don’t, if that gets out—‘
If he makes her suck his dicks again to delete that one too, she is not going to be happy.
Vox waves her off again. ‘Relax, Princess. Consider it a gesture of goodwill. It won’t be used against you.’
His heels clack. She has to make a conscious effort to keep up.
‘Can you promise?’ she says, steely. Vox stops outside a pair of double doors and turns to her.
‘I’ll even shake on it, if you’re that distrusting.’
‘With all due respect, I have a right to be.’
Vox makes an amused sound in his throat and holds out a large hand.
‘That footage won’t be used against you or shown to anybody bar the Vees and yourself, should you request it.
‘I don’t need to see it,’ she says quickly, extending her own.
‘Your loss.’
Charlie makes a face at him as their palms meet. She can feel all his power humming under his skin. She wonders how he bears it. It’s so intense, so present. It must be like a nest of bees. She feels the deal tuck neatly away as he squeezes her hand, then pulls away, using his spare to push open one of two enormous double doors they have stopped in front of.
‘This is one of my offices,’ he says, tone steeped in pride.
It’s massive. And, essentially, half-gigantic shark tank. Her spatial perception of the building twists–this thing must take up an obscene number of floors below. She sees silhouettes in the depths, dorsal fins and glowing eyes. There is a gangway Vox obviously expects her to cross, because he makes a start.
They walk toward the core, a mass of screens in the centre. It is by all standards a horribly inefficient use of all this space. Well, that’s probably the point. To show off that he can afford it. Vox starts rattling off facts while she stares about, partly taking it in, keeping dead central on the walkway to stay away from the edge. Numbers, costs, dimensions in regard to this place all blur together. He explains how much water there is and the engineering it took to contain it all, then begins yapping fondly about how he created his sharks. When they reach the middle he gestures and tells her what each screen specialises in and how he connects to the system. Charlie hopes there isn’t a test later, because there is far too much jargon for her to have understood it properly.
‘I’d say that’s the office overview covered. What do you think?’
He looks expectantly at her, hands folded behind his back, head slightly cocked.
‘Um, the sharks are very…’ she peers apprehensively at the water. ‘Nice. Very nice.’
‘Aren’t they just? Practically sentient, with the most elite–’
He catches her expression, and self awareness seems to hit him, and the burgeoning tangent halts.
‘Well, I suppose you have questions, Princess. It is your people you said you want to… what was it, get to know more? So what can I tell you about us?’
Well, she’s already gotten to know him in some form, alright. Just not quite a, well, productive one. She toys with the hem of her jacket.
‘So, how do overlords work? I mean, I know the basics, obviously, but I want to know, uh, the full scope. How did you get here?’
A cable extends from his back–shit, that’s new, she’s not seen this in person yet–and loops across the space to push his desk chair towards her. It bumps the back of her legs, encouraging her to sit, and she does, as he leans on some sort of control panel with meticulously arranged keyboards and buttons and little screens. She feels dwarfed by it, sinking into the plush leather seat, with a backrest that rises high like the back of a throne.
‘They didn’t teach that at your private school?’
The cable retreats like a tape measure being recalled, snapping out of existence somewhere between his shoulder blades.
‘Don’t patronise me. It was a taboo topic.’
‘Interesting. I’m hearing ‘censorship’. Have you ever thought about why you didn’t learn about the real world?’
‘They were doing their best to protect us,’ she says defensively. ‘We learned plenty about the real world.’
Vox snorts. ‘Okay, sure.’
Charlie glares at him. She reminds herself she does not need to prove herself to him. This is what she is here for, to fill the gaps in her knowledge.
‘Anyyywayy,’ Vox says, running a hand idly over some of the keys beside him, ‘back to your question. We work through influence. That is the essence to becoming a successful overlord. You need to be known, respected, and only then will people want to hand you their souls. From there, it’s a snowball effect.’
He gets down from his perch and starts pacing, gesturing. The screens behind him flicker, showing her silhouettes of sinners and overlords, and chains connecting them all.
‘Many demons own a couple of souls. That is nowhere near enough. You need hundreds to even start. Thousands to significantly increase your magical ability. And as your power grows, so does your influence, and so does your soul bank. Et cetera.’
Vox turns on his heel and paces back.
‘Take one of our allies, Carmilla Carmine, for example. Arms dealer. Manufactures a lot of our shit too. She rose up the ranks as an apprentice, starting slow, then seized control when she had the knowhow, the knowledge, the support. People she once worked for bowed to her. Some of them offered their souls in exchange for a place just beneath her.’
‘Why would you offer up your soul, just like that?’ Charlie interjects. ‘I get it if you’re desperate, or new to Hell… but why, if you know better?’
Vox shrugs. Personal weakness. For security, maybe. And a lot of them are what we call ‘leasehold contracts’. He makes air quotes with his claws. ‘So the soul is free again after, say, a hundred years. Which is nothing in the face of immortality.’
Charlie spins a little in his chair, from foot to foot.
‘I mean, the last four years have proven that sinners… aren’t so immortal. I still wouldn’t want that for my soul.’
She’s referring to the exterminations. Part of the reason she fell out with her dad, because he just sat back and let it all happen in the absence of her mom.
‘Quite,’ Vox muses. ‘Well, I suppose these people are not as educated as you.’
It’s a backhanded compliment and Charlie knows it.
‘Speaking of,’ Vox says, ‘they send you to another ring for it, don’t they?’
She blinks.
‘Yeah, Gluttony. I boarded for a few years.’
Vox flexes his hand.
‘I’m sure you know we can’t go there. But you have our products right? Our smartboards? Digital influence, see. We have eyes all over, even outside Pride. This is an edge that newer overlords need. It’s not as easy to get on the ladder as it used to be.’
The screens change, illustrating this through an overwhelming collage of old news broadcasts, adverts, surveillance footage.
‘That’s why we three joined forces. The fossils, these old overlords, had it easier. There used to be less competition. Less education and knowledge about soul contracts. Sure, they were formidable, back in the day, long before you were born and still long before I died. But now they have lost their ambition, so they can sit back on their laurels, hoarding souls that could be ours. It’s not like regular deals expire. Therefore they remain overlords, unchallenged, like dusty forgotten gods.’
Interesting. She thinks Vox is enjoying this performance a bit too much, though.
‘What other types of contract are there?’
Vox nods, like it was a good question, and she feels pleased with herself. He continues to gesture, splaying out his fingers, the light of the screens glinting over his claws. It is almost mesmerising.
‘Well, you can have partial contracts. In them, souls are pretty much free to do as they like, as long as they show up to work. Carmilla has a lot of these, as does Val, though his are… stricter. Carmilla is soft. She gives hers far too much slack.’
‘That doesn’t sound like a bad thing,’ Charlie replies earnestly. ‘They’re people too.’
Vox looks like he’s trying not to laugh.
‘It’s wasting potential,’ he says. ‘We’d have never grown so much so fast if we did things like Carmine.’ He spreads his hands. ‘How else could we pretty much have a monopoly on all media? There is no room for mercy.’
She frowns at him.
‘Mhm, I knew you wouldn’t like that.’ His pacing brings him in front of her, and he leans down, bending at the waist to be eye level with her, his hands returning to their spot behind him.
‘It's a necessity, sweetheart.’
‘Is it?’ she challenges.
His glowing eyes are unwavering, unforgiving.
‘Yes.’
Charlie bites back her criticisms. She has more questions.
‘How much natural power did you start with?’
Vox pulls back.
‘Ah, I was quite gifted. See, power in life can also translate. And I was powerful.’
Charlie tries to imagine him as a human. She can’t picture it at all. He embodies himself so well like this.
‘I had high voltage electricity at my fingertips. I could change my voice and use my head like an actual television, within the limitations of the fifties. My hypno eye was… persuasive, but nothing much yet. It was much later that it grew in properly. And then teleportation, and then-’ he extends half a dozen cables from his back, ‘these.’
‘And how many souls do you own?’
The wires curl in the air.
‘Together we own nearly a million.’
She gapes at him. ‘A million?’
Vox looks like a smug cat. ‘About three hundrered thousand we own absolutely. Many more partially. We never do leaseholds. And then, there are what we call ‘dormant’ players.’ Pride has swollen his mouth into a large grin. ‘This is what makes us different from other overlords, who have more… old fashioned ways of collecting souls.’
‘Dormant?’
There is that red fluid dripping from his mouth, down his screen. Her mind flashes back to the last time she saw it: his hand on her ass, his claws bullying her sore nipple, his dicks–
‘Dormant souls don’t know they are ours.’
Her face twists again. ‘How did you manage that?
‘Small print. Product terms and conditions. Velvette’s social media pop-ups, or Val’s porn site sign-ups.’ He’s relishing the horror growing on her face, she can just tell. Fucking asshole. ‘And then they become ours to use as we wish. If we do call on them, usually we ensure they don’t remember, afterwards.’
Charlie presses the heels of her hands to her closed eyes. This is a lot. She can’t believe they are talking so casually about this, how desensitised Hell is to owning people. This is inhumane. This is–
‘This is like, slavery,’ she exclaims.
‘Mm, no. It’s a mutual exchange. They get exactly what we promise them. They have a choice.’
‘And you own them forever? That doesn’t seem fair. All it takes is one accidental click. You shouldn’t be doing this.’
‘It’s how the world works, sweetheart. There are winners and losers. Think of it like natural selection.’
‘No! This is not natural! This is an intelligent, self-aware society! Everybody should be equal!’
Vox starts to laugh then. It’s the same laugh she found herself enjoying when they were fucking, so targeted and so cruel. Back then she felt it in her teeth as she bit into his muscled shoulder, as he thrusted harder and she insisted he couldn’t finish inside her. Charlie turns red, though whether it’s from his current ridicule or the memory, she isn’t sure.
‘Oh that is so rich Princess, coming from the highest of the high.’
‘I don’t claim to be more important! I don’t take advantage of anybody!’
‘You are immortal and the closest to omnipotent one could get down here. You can’t avoid your part in this, Charlotte.’
Charlie scoffs. Vox cocks his head.
‘What? What did I say?’
‘I’m not even a bit powerful. My parents are. Not me.’
His eyes linger on her.
‘Are you sure?’
‘This isn’t the point! The point is that this is all wrong and I don’t want any part of it! I can’t help how I was born! But you can help by… not enslaving people!’
Vox inspects his claws. He’s infuriatingly calm.
‘Let me ask you something. Do you know who made the necklace you’re wearing?’
Charlie, taken aback by the change in subject, reaches up to touch the gold chain. It is usually hidden beneath a collar.
‘My mother gave it to me.’
‘But who made it?’
‘How should I know? How is this relevant?’
‘Well,’ Vox says, circling, ‘you should know, by your logic. That gold is mined by soul-bound imps, or fish demons, in the Greed Ring. The average life expectancy for them is just over thirty years old. And from there, it is very likely that the bottom-class jeweller was not paid a living wage. Unable to afford their own work. Did you know that?’
Charlie opens her mouth, closes it again. She feels like he’s slapped her. She did not know that.
‘Everything comes from something.’ His eyes gleam. ‘And you’re more a part of it than you’d ever know. It’s the natural order, Charlie, and you need to accept it.’
The screens around them blink out, all turning black. He lets her sit with this for a long moment. Charlie feels like the chain is burning a brand into her skin. She rips it off and puts it in her pocket, lip trembling.
‘Right!’ Vox says brightly. He claps his hands together. ‘Val’s nearly ready for us! Ready to go upstairs?’
Charlie drags her gaze up to him, stiff in the chair. He mock-pouts.
‘Or is this all a bit much for the Princess of Hell, hm? Don’t let me stop you from running home to your ignorance.’
Anger flushes through her and she stirs.
‘I said not to patronise me. I’m coming.’
‘Wonderful. We’ll go the long way.’
Vox leads her past offices, labs, dorms for the live-in staff. He explains VoxTek’s manufacturing processes and professional partnerships. When cutting through the back of a broadcasting studio, Charlie receives a withering look from Katie Killjoy, who spots them in the wings while on air. They pass scientists and engineers with job titles she didn’t know existed until Vox mentions them, and so many types of demon, sinner and hellborn alike, that it makes her dizzy.
When they reach Valentino’s quarter everything gets a little more pink and smells a little sweeter. Less like the cold tang of metal. Vox leads her into the main studio which has apparently wrapped up filming for the time being as it is mostly empty of crew. There are spotlights rigged high above and dressing rooms dotting the outskirts, as well as all sorts of camera equipment she wouldn’t be able to name. There is an enormous unmade bed in the middle with a sinner apparently sleeping on it. Their feathers are bent the wrong way and appear matted and sticky. Charlie stares. They don’t seem to be breathing. She swallows hard and hurries to keep up.
Vox leads her up a gilded spiral staircase to some sort of lounge. This is where Valentino is, head bowed to look at his phone as he leans on a dressing table. Behind him, an entire wall of shelves display an almost frighteningly expansive collection of sex toys. If she didn’t know better she might have assumed it was some contemporary art piece.
Val glances up. Then he un-subtly kicks away some objects at his feet, away from them. Charlie watches them flop over the floor. The red smears they leave in their wake imply these objects are ripped-off limbs.
‘Princess!’ He says brightly, bringing back her attention. ‘We’re so happy you came.’
Valentino takes her hand and kisses it in his signature fashion, leaving a tingling trail of pink saliva over her wrist. She doesn’t wipe away like she did last time.
‘Hello,’ she says, with a smile she doesn’t actually have to force. She reminds herself that she needs to remain at least disapproving, considering there are dead sinners strewn around here, and it was likely his fault.
‘I do hope Voxy isn’t boring you to death. We should have intervened sooner.’
‘Oh, Charlie and I had some great chats, didn’t we?’
Charlie looks sidelong at him.
‘Uh huh.’
Valentino puts a hand on her shoulder and steers her away from Vox’s side, further into the room.
‘My tour starts here.’ He gestures at the wall.
‘Val, she doesn’t want to see your sex toy collection,’ Vox hisses.
‘Why don’t you ask her yourself? What was that campaign about empowering hot female voices?’ He tsks.
Charlie looks up at the overwhelming array of dildos, vibrators, gags, whips, plugs, harnesses, coils of rope and a multitude of other objects she can’t determine a use for.
‘What does that one do?’
‘Excellent question, Princesa. That’s what we call an anal hook—‘
‘Right,’ Vox announces, placing his palms on Charlie’s waist—she ignores the weirdly pleasant shudder at having so many hands on her—and tugs her out of Val’s grasp toward a different exit. Val follows, pouting.
‘She wants to expand her mind, Vox, she’s not a baby.’
Another smile pulls at Charlie’s lips. Against her will, she has warmed to him. She wonders how much of this is chemical. Maybe his smoke, his touch, had lasting side effects. Well, it feels pretty real, regardless. She tries not to overthink it.
‘We don’t have time to go over every piece of kit,’ Vox snaps. ‘We can show her your spa facilities or something.’
‘Ooh! You have a spa?’ she interjects.
‘Obviously,’ Val preens. ‘We are not savages. Though it’s probably still being deep cleaned, since I was in there with Angie earlier.’
Vox rolls his eyes. Val looks down at her with a long, thoughtful finger resting on his chin.
‘I could show you where the magic happens.’
‘What magic?’ Vox asks suspiciously.
‘I’m not talking to you. Charlie, would you like to see the Purgatory control room?’
Vox‘s eyes dart to Charlie and back.
‘Okay,’ she says.
Val grins, mostly at Vox, who leers in return, all teeth.
‘This way,’ Val says, swaying his hips as he sets off across the deep pile carpet. ‘If you like, Princess, you can pick our next victi– volunteers. We’re due another episode. And it would be over so fast for us, we could watch it straight back!’
Charlie has enough sense to narrow her eyes at him.
‘Sore subject?’ he offers. Vox whacks him in the back of his bald head with a cable.
This control room is only next door. It’s all in the same style as that lounge, but the machine itself stands out. It looks almost like a grand piano. There are chunky buttons on a panel where keys would be, and a large touchscreen where one would place a music book. And instead of the open lid, a curved monitor folds out, exposing dense wiring inside. It displays the VoxTek logo bouncing around a backdrop of blue. There are pink sequins glued alongside the neon stripe branding the machine as a VoxTek product, which Charlie can only assume Valentino added himself.
‘Ta da!’ Valentino says. ‘Don’t ask me how it works. All I know is that it takes a certain magic to function, which its poor creator doesn’t have.’ He flicks fondly at Vox’s antennae.
‘It was created pretty much by accident,’ Vox begins to explain. ‘The funny thing is–’
‘Aaand, you’ve lost us,’ Valentino announces. ‘The princess doesn’t care about the science, do you Charlie?’
She’s about to object, because this feels relevant, but Val continues.
‘You know, Voxy, I’ve been thinking. We could totally try to find the Radio Demon this way.’
Vox freezes. The air temperature seems to drop ten degrees. Whatever Val just said, it apparently was not good.
‘Alastor’s dead, Val,’ he grits, voice low. ‘We decided this.’
Val’s face twists into a pout.
‘I’m only trying to help.’
‘Time and place, asshole.’ His narrowed gaze slides to Charlie, like it’s her fault she heard something he didn’t like. She wonders if she should leave. But it’s then that another voice, a woman’s, brash and distinctive, sounds from behind them all.
‘Woowww. Loving the atmosphere you’ve curated here, boys.’
Charlie turns. It’s Velvette herself, in the flesh, hand on hip in the doorway.
‘Hi Charlie,’ she says, looking her up and down. She wears an off-the-shoulder dress with heart cut-outs in the long sleeves. ‘Do forgive them. I’m convinced they were both dropped as children.’
‘Frequently,’ Val says from behind her, then makes a noise of pain as Vox evidently inflicts some sort of violence on him.
Charlie smiles, thankful for her good timing, and offers out a hand to shake. Velvette ignores it on her way over and pecks her on both cheeks instead, which is a startling form of introduction that Charlie was not aware people actually do. Tri-coloured hair, worn in bubble braids, tickles her jaw. Velvette’s perfume is more subtle than Val’s sweet smoke aroma–the kind that makes a person want to lean back in to scent it again.
When Velvette pulls back she flounders for a second.
‘Y-yeah hi,’ she manages. ‘Thank you for having me.’ Charlie shuffles out of the middle of their gathering to stand beside her. Velvette addresses Val.
‘Are you bullying him about his ex again?’
‘He’s not my ex,’ Vox snarls.
Val grins menacingly. Apparently he’s not done beating the dead horse.
‘You’d like him to be though, wouldn’t you?’
Vox’s face glitches out into chunks of code for a second.
‘Right, you’ve done it now, you fucking–’
Charlie steps back in alarm as Vox practically pounces on him, claws raised.
‘Oh!’ she exclaims.
‘Atrocious behaviour!’ Velvette yells at them, as they hit the floor hard. ‘We have a guest!’
Charlie has to stifle a laugh at how ludicrous of a scenario this is. Despite their flawless public image and power, these two overlords are just… brawling on the floor. Velvette reaches for Charlie’s arm as they scuffle, grunting and punching.
‘Come on. Better things to do than watch these losers beat the shit out of each other.’
Valentino lifts his head like he’s about to say something, but Vox fists a hand in his fluffy collar and slams him back to the ground. Velvette makes a noise of exasperation and begins marching her from the room. Charlie puts a hand over her mouth to try and stop the giggle threatening to bubble from her throat as they go.
‘Do they do that, often?’
‘Not usually in front of visitors. Morons.’ She is leading them down a hall to a curving marble staircase. ‘Forget them. I hear you’re owed a skirt.’
‘Ooh, um, I mean, that’s a kind offer, but you really don’t have to–’
‘Ugh, don’t give me that. I’ll show you the new season’s samples. It will be fun.’
And so commences Velvette’s tour. It is far more concise than Vox’s, but more informative than the brief time she spent with Valentino. Charlie is shown all sorts of collections, and the runway, the archives, the studios full of snooty designers and sewists and technicians. She is told about rather than shown the operating theatres for cosmetic surgeries that the Vees offer. And the whole time, Velvette has half an eye on her phone, attending to her social media and posting about some new makeup product that has her face all over the packaging.
‘You guys take on a lot,’ Charlie says, by the time they reach a luxurious circular dressing room, framed by mirrors and thick velvet curtains. Velvette tosses her braids behind her.
‘Somebody’s gotta do it. And we’re the best in the game.’
Charlie is starting to believe it. The attitude, the confidence, the eye for detail, and, well, her looks have got to help too.
Velvette calls upon her assistants. A second later, dozens of different skirts are being wheeled in on cherry-pink clothing rails. Charlie is directed to a slightly raised platform in the centre, feeling all these eyes on her, until Velvette dismisses them and begins thumbing through their options.
‘Um,’ Charlie finally has the courage to ask, ‘so who is the Radio Demon?’
Velvette pulls out a skirt to inspect, holding it out and squinting.
‘Ugh, that weirdo. Vox’s ex-friend turned rival. He’s been missing for what, over four years? It’s such old news now, but Vox has never gotten over him.’
Weird. Same as her mom. Four and a half, in her case.
‘Here, try this one on.’ Velvette snaps her fingers and a skirt which is far too short for Charlie’s liking replaces her trousers. She jumps, feeling a rush of cold air on her newly bared legs, and finds the hem to try and drag it a bit further down over her ass.
‘Don’t do that,’ Velvette says. ‘It looks fine as it is.’ She starts circling almost exactly in the way Vox was earlier. She’s already shorter than Charlie but she’s even more so now, eye level with her waist, as she reaches out a hand to tweak the material. Charlie squeaks when she feels a pinch on her ass. It’s a sharp sensation just above where her thigh meets cheek. Velvette laughs under her breath.
‘It looks more than fine, if you ask me.’
Charlie is blushing again. These Vees all have a talent for making her feel like a pinned butterfly, it seems. Well. She might as well see it through.
‘Do you have any which are… a bit longer?’
Velvette sighs. ‘I had a feeling you’d say that.’
She snaps her fingers again and latex wraps around her instead, clinging and tight. Charlie makes a face. She feels like she might fall over if she tries to walk. Velvette laughs again, a bark.
‘Shame. This suits you too. Next!’
The next skirt is ankle length. The weight of a thick petticoat settles around her hips to poof it out. She does a little twirl. It’s pretty, but not at all her. Velvette seems to see it too.
‘Hm. Nope!’
The next is short, but covers enough this time. There is a slit up one side, exposing a pale slither of thigh. It’s in Charlie’s signature red.
‘Oo, hear me out on this one,’ Velvette insists. ‘It works with your jacket. Makes you look very mature.’
Well, Charlie supposes she should be going for that sort of look, if she wants Hell to take her seriously.
‘Do you think so? I’ve never worn something like this before.’
‘Here’s your sign, Princess.’
Charlie takes a few steps in it. It’s restrictive, but not as bad as she was expecting. She looks at herself in the mirror again.
‘Okay.’ She smiles almost shyly. ‘Thank you.’
‘You can grab your trousers back before you leave. In the meantime, I’ve got most of the evening free. Vox texted about the spa being ready, if you fancied that? Pools, saunas, steam rooms, hot tubs, the lot. I have a scheduled livestream…’ she checks her phone, ‘in fifteen, so I could join you after?’
Charlie’s face evidently lights up, because Velvette smiles, albeit a little condescendingly.
‘I’ll have someone take you over. You can use my private changing room, and they’ll get you what you need. All good?’
‘All good,’ Charlie echoes.
Charlie holds up the scraps of navy fabric that she found folded next to the plush robe in Velvette's changing room. Hell, somebody has even had time to embroider her fucking name on to the terrycloth in looping cursive, but apparently couldn’t find her swimwear that fits. Or maybe it does fit. She’s… doubtful though, as she undresses.
The bottoms actually work, though the elastic strings are unadjustable and bite into the flesh at her hips, making a little bulge of it on either side. She looks over her shoulder at her ass. A fair amount of coverage, but a lot is hanging out still. She’s just glad she shaved her bikini line recently, as the fabric makes a steep V at the front. Charlie unclips her bra and piles her hair into a bun, then skeptically tries to arrange the two triangles in any meaningful way over her boobs, unsurprised to discover they give practically no support. It’s more like an adornment than a piece of clothing. It feels pornographic. At least the place is empty, she thinks, when she steps out practically naked.
Charlie slips into the cool water of the large pool and swims lengths for a while, following the glowing blue stripes on the floor that demarcate the lanes. Charlie had forgotten how pleasant the weightless glide was, the rhythm of strokes, and she becomes lost in it for a while, wondering what the other Vees are doing. It’s when she’s moved to the hot tub, and heat has eased tension from her shoulders, that she hears the door open and flip-flops on the floor.
Velvette saunters over in a skimpy bikini of her own, a cocktail glass in each hand. She has these elegant doll joints, even splitting her torso beneath her ribs, and her skin is shiny as though it's partly plastic, a perfect, unblemished shade of brown.
Velvette’s gaze is drawn to her cleavage before she meets her eyes, so Charlie takes it as permission to look her over too. Her white bikini is strapless, essentially a skinny tube top, teasing a very slight curve of underboob beneath. It’s such a small detail, but strangely captivating.
Velvette reaches her.
‘Margarita?’
Charlie thanks her and takes one as Velvette steps in. Beneath the bubbles, Charlie’s view is gone.
‘How was the livestream?’ she asks, fumbling for something to say. Velvette makes her nervous. Like she’s some popular girl from school deciding for some reason to stoop to her level. Does she actually want to spend time with Charlie, or did she get roped into this because of the others?
‘Fine. They loved it, as always.’ She leans forward. ‘Tell me. What was it like growing up as Hell’s princess? I bet you met loads of famous people.’
‘Well, it wasn’t as regal and flashy as some people imagine. We’re very… informal, I guess. Not like topside royalty. I’ve met some of the dead European ones, actually, and they seemed very different to us.’
‘I bet. I hear most of them are pedos.’
Charlie chokes on her drink.
‘I, um, didn’t get that impression. I guess my parents never met with the bad bad sinners.’
‘And what are the other rings like? Better than here?’
‘Well, um, I never liked Greed. I don’t think many people do. Wrath scared me as a kid, and I wasn't allowed in Lust ‘till I was older, for obvious reasons. Sloth is pretty nice, and I enjoyed school in Gluttony, but I wouldn’t want to live there. Pride is my home, y’know? And especially with the exterminations happening, I feel like I should stick around, see what I can do to help…’ she trails off.
‘Vox really got through to you there, hm?’
Charlie looks down, a little embarrassed.
‘Yeah, well, if I have potential, I don’t want to waste it.’
‘You’re in the right place for help with that,’ Velvette says. ‘You could be something pretty great.’
Charlie gives an awkward, self deprecating laugh. ‘I appreciate it.’
Velvette is looking at her intently, and it’s making her uneasy as the moment stretches, so she changes the subject.
‘I was wondering, do you…’ Charlie swirls her hand through the aerated water, ‘...get involved with them too?’
‘What? Like, sexually?’
Charlie nods. Velvette wrinkles her nose.
‘Fuck no. You wouldn’t catch me dead touching a man’s dick. I can admire bodies, artistically, but– no. No thank you.’
‘So you admire them artistically then?’
Charlie realises when it leaves her mouth that this questioning might be quite personal.
‘Well, Vox is nothing special. Unless he’s with Val.’
Charlie nods in understanding and doesn’t press for more. She finds that further conversation gets easier and easier, and learns that Velvette’s often rude-sounding way of speaking doesn’t necessarily reflect her actual intention. She seems to like talking about herself a lot, but she’s interesting, so Charlie hangs on every word.
‘Are you hungry?’ Velvette says, when Charlie’s fingertips have pruned, and the heat of the tub has started making her lightheaded. ‘We can eat in the lounge.’
There’s been so much information to digest today that food hasn’t crossed her mind until now.
‘Oh, please, if that’s not too much trouble.’
Velvette stands up, legs glistening, water droplets sticking like diamond beading. She adjusts her bikini top, shuffling it up a little, one side at a time. Charlie’s mouth goes dry for some reason.
Yeah. Come to think of it, she is definitely hungry.
Vox is flat on his back in the control room. He thinks this might have been Valentino’s motive all along–baiting him into a fight, embarrassing him in front of the princess, so the sex would be the sort Val was in the mood for. And Vox just gave it to him. Obviously. He shouldn’t be rewarding such poor behaviour, but here he is, groaning as Val straddles him and rocks forward. They’ve both come once, but Vox’s dicks are still crammed in to the hilt, pressing hard against one another, encompassed by Val’s hot, tight walls. And now, something else snags his attention though from one of the feeds.
‘Oohoohoo, Val, she’s put Charlie in a bikini.’
‘What? Let me see!’
Vox thrusts up. ‘You can see later. We’re in the middle of something.’
Val scrapes his claws down Vox’s chest and he shudders in response.
‘Not faaair, baby. You get to look.’
‘The top is far too small for her, in case you were wondering. And it’s wet. She’s got goosebumps.’
Val narrows his eyes and clenches around him. Vox’s eyes flicker as he tries to keep them from rolling.
‘Asshole,’ Val hisses. ‘I should go down there and see for myself.’
‘Oh yeah, because that won’t end disastrously. You can see the footage later. Leave it.’
Val’s dick, thick and inhumanly flexible, with a mind of its own now he’s not under any hypno, waves about like a charmed snake. It curves towards Vox’s hand, seeking his touch. Vox obliges. His hand fists around it and begins to jerk him, and they fuck casually like this for a while, while Vox peeks at the feeds until Charlie’s in the privacy of Velvette’s changing room.
‘I know what you were thinking,’ Val muses after a while.
‘What?’ Vox says, distracted. ‘About how impolite it is to have a fight-fuck break mid royal visit?’
‘Pfft, no. I’m talking about when she was alone with us. What we could have done.’
‘I wasn’t thinking that, Val. Sure it was a good lay, but I’m not desperate to do it again.’ He rolls his hips and smirks, heavy lidded. ‘Especially not while I have this pussy.’
Val smiles down at him and strokes his face, adoration in his gaze, but the flattery is not enough to distract him from his point.
‘Mm, I saw the way you looked at her, Voxy. We could have made sure she didn’t remember a thing.’ He clenches, dragging himself up, then back down.
‘Fffuck, you know that’s such a bad idea. We don’t k-know my mind control works on her. And if I—‘
Vox yelps as Val flicks at his nipple. Vox grabs at the offending wrist and glares.
‘If I try it, and it doesn’t work, she’ll definitely be scared off.’
‘Papi,’ Val complains, fucking up again, ‘just imagine it. Getting her all drugged up, on both our power. Making her strip. Doing a little spin for us.’
‘Uh huh,’ Vox says, mostly interested in how good his cocks feel against Val’s spongy insides. He is a warm heavy weight atop him, with huge toned thighs parted around Vox’s body.
‘We could show her allll those toys she’s never heard of before. Or bend her over the limbo console, and I could fuck you, and you could fuck her so hard she cries.’
‘Not happening.’
‘Oh? Would you prefer me ruining her insides with my cock instead, big boy? And what would you be doing?’
‘Nothing, Val, because it’s a stupid idea I won’t even entertain.’
Val begins to pout, which means he stops fucking down on Vox’s dicks in the way Vox likes. After a minute of this, Vox sighs.
‘You know…’ he plays with the gold chain resting over Valentino’s pecs, ‘we’re doing well. She’s interested. Maybe, soon, she’d do it voluntarily.’
Val’s antennae prick up.
‘If she remembers it, wouldn’t it fuck with the role model shit you’ve been preaching?’
Vox is almost proud of him. It’s a very sensible comment.
‘I mean, you already combined fingering her with that ‘fatherly figure’ vibe we told you to go for. That didn’t put her off.’
‘Freud would love me,’ he sniffs self-appreciatively.
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself though,’ Vox warns, bringing the wrist he’s holding to his flat mouth, to give his partner’s hand a kiss. Val’s smile is wide, and he starts moving properly again.
‘You- you still have to be nice. Only do what she wants. Like in the alleyway.’
‘That was so hard. Do you know how many blondes I had to fuck against brick walls afterwards?’
‘I saw,’ Vox said dryly. ‘You need to keep it under control. No more fantasising about drugging her.’
‘What else do we talk about then?’
‘We could just fuck?’
‘How about,’ Val says, running a finger under Vox’s screen, ‘we discuss how flustered you got when we brought up Alastor, hm?’
Vox’s face explodes into static.
‘Val,’ he splutters, accidentally projecting his voice far too loud. ‘I was pissed off. Not flustered.’
Valentino leans down and breathes in his ear.
‘Do you ever pretend I’m him?’ Val whispers. ‘Think about fucking that deer pussy?’
‘Y-you asshole, he doesn’t, have a fucking—‘
Val practically milks him, grinning. The pace increases so suddenly that Vox feels winded.
‘You don’t know that though, do you? He never let you close enough to find out.’
Vox summons his power, which crackles over his skin, threatening to zap him if he says any more.
‘How dare—‘
And then Vox’s hips spasm, and his body locks up, and he comes far too early.
Charlie opens her eyes. She grapples with disorientation for a second, until she sees the discarded takeaway boxes on the coffee table, and remembers she’s in the Vees’ main sitting room. It’s dark outside. She can see city lights through the gaps in the long drawn curtains. She must have fallen asleep during the film Velvette put on–and sure enough, she turns her head, and Vel is beside her too, looking far too serene and pretty for somebody who is drooling and quietly snoring, phone almost dropping from her lax hand.
She turns back to the enormous television screen, and flinches, because something must have autoplayed and it’s, well, porn. It looks like a How Long Does it Take to Break? episode, and the breaking hasn’t seemed to have taken long at all. It’s on mute, at least. Charlie watches with morbid fascination for a bit.
That spider sinner, Angel Dust, is on his knees in a sea of grey. The saturation has been edited, or something, because it’s far less harsh on the eyes than she personally remembers the space. He looks like he’s simpering about something. His creased brow is either out of real concern or is very good acting. Before she can decide which it might be, the scene changes, zooming out, and some large sinner is taking him by the neck and hauling him upright. Angel Dust grins, arching his back suggestively, and leans forward for a filthy kiss with this somebody who stays just out of frame. Charlie watches his dainty fingers settle on their wide scarred face. It’s at the close-up shot of his ass, and the weird-looking dick, that she turns her head away.
Her gaze sweeps back over the room. Then she startles, because somehow after waking up she had completely missed the fact that they have company now. Vox and Valentino are nestled on an opposite sofa in a way that suggests they have been here for a while. Val is lying over Vox’s lap, eyes slitted. Charlie can't tell if he’s asleep or not. Vox certainly isn’t–he’s stroking his partner’s wings. She thinks there might be scabbing bite marks on Vox’s neck but it could be a trick of the light. His red eyes, against a dimmed midnight face, are settled on her. She meets them. They make no move to talk to one another or acknowledge the other is awake. It’s when Vox’s gaze travels lower that Charlie realises her legs had parted as she slept in the short skirt, and one has fully escaped via the slit. He must be able to see right up between them. Charlie quickly presses her thighs back together, skin hot on skin. Vox’s eyes flit back up to her face. He continues the slow rhythmic movement of his hand over Val’s wing.
What a strange day. She hadn’t at all intended to stay long enough to fall asleep in a private lounge with three evil overlords. And yet, tiredness is still clouding the edges of her vision. As much as she wants to win the staring contest with Vox, she feels her head getting heavy, and soon her eyes fall closed to return her to her slumber.