Doublejango - A Helluva Mess

The brightly colored poster was almost too much, Blitz almost didn't look at it twice, but something caught his eye.

Still aching from his brawl with Lucifer, he took the flyer down from a post and read it over, eyes widening. "Fuck," Blitz whispered, before immediately ducking back into the building. The sheet of paper felt illegal somehow, some kind of trap--

But all the same, he snapped a photo of it and sent it to Moxxie along with the words: 'it ain't just us feeling disgruntled'

Then, before he could overthink it, Blitz went to the copier and put the sheet in. A dozen freshly printed copies in hand, he grabbed some pins and headed back outside to put a few more of these up. Maybe it was dangerous, maybe it was foolish, but he didn't want anyone to feel alone in this. Their voices were goddamn legion, if they used them right.

After putting the last poster up, Blitz rested a hand on the paper and let out a slow, shaky breath. Maybe they could do this without violence...

But then again, maybe not. Blitz loved Lucifer and loved Hell, and would do whatever it took to help bring a new future forward, a better future, but as the cracked bones and deep bruises reminded him, there would always be a cost.

Always.

Time for a Revolution

*A series of flyers and posters appear in all rings of Hell. They're everywhere, any demon or sinner will eventually read them.*

RISE UP AGAINST THE OPPRESSORS!

For too long, Hell’s elite have crushed the backs of hardworking Imps, Hellhounds, and demons of all kinds.

The Goetia live in luxury, while we are forced to serve them, fighting for scraps and left to rot in the dirt. How much longer will we be slaves to a system designed to keep us down? How much longer will we suffer under the weight of their greed, their arrogance?

THE TIME FOR REVOLUTION IS NOW!

We are the backbone of Hell’s society. Without us, nothing would work. They depend on our labor, our sweat, our blood—and what do we get? NOTHING. We are treated like trash, disposable, while they hoard power and wealth!

IT’S TIME TO FIGHT BACK!

Let’s break their system! Let’s shatter their illusion of control! We will no longer be the tools of the Goetia and the powerful.

We will riot in the streets, occupy their grand palaces, and tear down their walls. Together, we will turn this place upside down, and show them that WE will no longer be silenced, no longer be used!

Occupy their streets!

Burn their symbols of power!

Tear down their walls of privilege!

Make them hear our cries for justice!

Join the revolution. It’s time to claim what’s ours.

We are the force of change, and nothing can stop us. Together, we will build a new Hell, a Hell where everyone has a voice, where no one is above another!

FOR FREEDOM! FOR JUSTICE! FOR US!

(This is a call to ALL Ocs and muses who would agree with Striker about starting a revolution. If your oc agrees and either writes a comment or goes into the streets, creates chaos, or even if they don't agree please tag this blog! I'd love to read all the reactions!)

for @voxuli thank you for being down to try a thing! and for giving Vepar a shot!

-

Although they had never yet spoken, Vepar enjoyed Vox. At least, in theory. The Overlord was charming, yes, and he was thorough. Vox seemed to not simply analyze trends as they arose, but to nearly predict them, from the Goetia's understanding. He admired that, and admired the work ethic; not everyone in Hell cared enough about anything to commit to it.

And, of course, he was curious about Vox, about his ambitions, his aspirations. A dedicated man, a man willing to work hard, who could charm others with a smile, no need of his hypnotic powers? A man like that was truly dangerous, and truly intriguing. While Vepar didn't often bother to pay attention to what the various overlords were doing, there were two that caught his attention. One, Visage, ran the district one of his businesses was located in. But the other? The other was this charming little television man. And so when he heard that Vox had a fondness for sharks? Vepar could not have been more pleased.

The grand opening of his next exhibit wasn't until the next day, and he hadn't really planned anything for it, not until he heard that. Not until he learned that there might be something he could offer Vox, something to entertain him for an evening--a fair exchange, as Vepar would very much enjoy the company. So, he had sent the Overlord an invitation: Come to a private viewing of the new shark exhibit, as up close and personal as you wish.

Now that the staff had all been sent home, Vepar waited. Most of the lights throughout the massive aquarium were turned down low, to give the creatures some semblance of a natural rhythm. There were even false stars and a moon overhead--the lights convincingly accurate, and what a painstaking but thoroughly satisfying bit of magic that had taken. But, to light their way throughout the aquarium, he had also laid hundreds of little candles. There was nothing to catch fire here, it was quite safe, but the effect was a lovely one, he thought, keeping the lighting soft and somber...

At least until they got to the shark exhibit. That, that Vepar was truly proud of, and eager to show the Overlord--

If he showed.

Although the Goetia could certainly get away with simply summoning Vox here, he had no reason to be so rude, not when he wanted something from him. So, patient--and perhaps worrying a little, fretting just a bit--he stood outside of the aquarium, watching, waiting, hoping. If there was just one soul in all of Hell who might love the grace of these creatures as much as he himself did? Then all of this would be well worth it.

Blitz heard Moxxie come in. He heard him walk in, heard his steps, heard him greet Loona, heard him start changing the coffee, but he couldn't move. He stayed at his desk, hidden away behind a mostly-closed door, with his head in his hands. A statue. Carved by grief and pain, he couldn't move. He didn't remember how to. Because Moxxie hadn't been there when Millie took that hit--

But Blitz had.

He'd been there. He had tried. He had tried to get to her, to get in between them--but it wasn't enough. The bullet had passed clean through Blitz and directly into Millie. He hadn't pushed her out of harm's way fast enough. He hadn't been strong enough to protect her. He was almost healed--Blitz always bounced back from injuries quickly--and healing felt like a betrayal of her. A betrayal of everything. He was alive and doing well, and Millie was gone. Millie was gone. Millie was gone.

Suddenly, he could move again.

Blitz hugged himself tightly and bent over further, stifling a sob. He couldn't start crying again. He couldn't. If he started crying again now, he would never fucking stop, and Moxxie deserved better than that. Moxxie needed better, needed more--needed him. So although Blitz wasn't sure how any of them were going to make it through the next five fucking minutes, he fought that sob back and pushed himself to his feet. It took a moment to gather himself, to try and put his smile on, but he managed it. If his eyes were haunted when he walked out there, well, so be it. He couldn't change that.

But he still smiled when he saw Moxxie, and he went over to clasp his shoulder.

"Hey, Mox." The words came out gentler than Blitz had intended. He had meant to be boisterous and rambunctious, but instead he just sounded kind. And kindness, he knew, was often a mistake when one was grieving, because kindness could break the dam again, could shatter whatever thin veneer of self-control one was hiding behind. So, he hastened to add, "You ready to kick some ass today? I got a big contract for us to tackle if you're up to it. Long as you're not obsessing over that Cats musical again these days and getting all distracted, you and me are gonna have a great time! Killing, maiming, getting paid! Living the sweet life!"

He felt like a monster, an absolute fucking monster, for putting on this act, but what could he do? It seemed like it was what Moxxie needed, and Blitz owed him.

He owed him everything.

Fuck, he owed him everything and more.

I let her die. I got her killed. I ruined his life. I took Millie. His heart was going to turn into a black and broken thing, but he would keep up a strong, energetic front for Moxxie as long as he could, whatever it took.

@doublejango

Moxxie trudged through the grimy streets of Hell, his hooves making soft, dull clicks against the cobblestones. His head throbbed—no, pounded—with the lingering effects of last night’s binge, and his heart ached with a pain far worse than any hangover could inflict. Six days. It had only been six days since Millie…since she was taken from him.

His wife, his anchor, the one who could always pull him out of the darkest pits, was gone. Her laughter, her fierce love, all of it snatched away too soon. Moxxie had barely processed it, let alone figured out how to live without her. And he hadn’t been there. No, he had been watching Prince Stolas because his fucking boss couldn’t find the balls to face him himself and make up. At least Millis had hung on long enough for him to say goodbye.

Moxxie stopped in front of the I.M.P. office and stared at the familiar doorway, the peeling red paint on the sign, the broken window they'd been meaning to fix for weeks. A hollow ache tugged at him, an emptiness that nothing could fill. His mind flashed to Millie’s smile, the way she’d kiss him on the cheek before a mission, her strength always so much greater than his.

A shuddering breath escaped him as he steeled himself. He ran a hand over his face, the bags under his eyes from nights spent staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, adjusted his tie. Even hungover, even broken, Moxxie knew he had to keep up appearances. Millie would’ve wanted that.

Stepping inside, the familiar scent of sulfur and cheap coffee filled his senses. Loona was in her usual spot behind the front desk, scrolling through her phone, barely acknowledging his presence. “Morning.” He tried anyway as he began making better coffee for them to enjoy.

Blitz hesitated before answering. He supported the idea of a revolution, he absolutely did, but he also didn't want Hell to devolve into chaos. The Hellborn needed this, needed to rise up; if there was one thing he had learned from Earth, from the free will that Lucifer had ensured every living creature had outside of Heaven, it was that oppression was intolerable beyond a certain point, and it seemed they had reached that.

Still, when he saw Striker's number... He couldn't help but feel a flash of fury. Striker had hurt Moxxie, hurt Millie, had nearly killed Stolas, and for all of that? Blitz wanted him dead. But still, he could remember the way Striker had spoken about Overlords and royalty, he knew there was pain there, something in the other imp's past that lit this fire in him. And like it or not, Striker was one of Blitz's people, through and through. Blitz had fought for them, and would fight again. The least he could do was put up posters--

And answer a potentially dangerous phonecall.

When he heard Striker's voice, he closed his eyes and tried to force the wave of anger back down. No anger. No rage.

"I'm listening," he said quietly. And it was true. He was. Blitz was Lucifer's man through and through, and wouldn't hide any of this from Lucifer, but he also trusted--deeply trusted--that the King would understand, that he had their backs. Still, before Striker could go on, Blitz added: "You're going to get yourself killed. You know that, right? Tell me it's for the right reasons. Tell me that you're--you're going to die for something. Not just to die against something. Tell me you're not going to throw your life away."

Striker stood in a dimly lit alley, the distant sound of the protest still echoing through the streets.

He pulled out his phone, hesitating for only a moment before dialing THE number.

“Blitz. It's me. Striker. Don't cut me off, I need to talk to ya."

@doublejango

RACIST PENGUINS?

I don't know what's funnier: the implication that these penguins know enough about imps to have slurs for them that can't be repeated on this show, or the implication the Blitzø speaks penguin