If Blitz Loves You? He Loves You. I Think This Might Be One Of The Most Blitz Songs I Know.

If Blitz loves you? He loves you. I think this might be one of the most Blitz songs I know.

Has Blitzø made any office toys of Stolas? You know, these things?

He absolutely has. For a while there, he actually had one made out of Stolas's feathers before it occurred to him that he probably shouldn't just have those lying around the office. Not that Stolas can't defend himself, he absolutely can, but if a disgruntled client were to notice them and track his baby down, Blitz would be pretty upset about it. He doesn't know if Goetia feathers can be used against them by just anyone, but if the feathers end up in the hands of someone powerful enough, and skilled enough, to use them as part of their magic? Blitz doesn't want to be the reason something horrible happens to that bird. Not that he's attached, of course. Too much imp to simp, right? Ha.... haaaa..... sorry Blitz, we know you're full of shit.

Unfortunately, his office toys don't tend to last long. Whether he's being inappropriate with them or, as happens more often, launching them into epic battles via office-supply trebuchets and catapults that inevitably either go too hard or break apart, it's a tough life for those office toys. They fall apart, or get cannibalized because the actual supplies become needed.

His current Stolas-Toy is made out of dried glue formed into a doll, and covered in pencil shavings.

It is also stuck in the lemon tree.

The tree is semi-sentient and slightly pissed at Blitz right now, so he's not going in there to get the toy out. If the tree is that determined to keep Stolas-Toy, it can have him. Totally not anything to do with Blitz being in denial about his feelings for Stolas or his hurt or anything like that, he is absolutely not using this as a convenient excuse to just deal with things. He definitely didn't launch the toy into the tree on purpose. Why would you... even suggest... is it getting hot in here...?

He also has a Lucifer-Toy and an Andrealphus. The latter is made out of a tissue and some rubber bands, while Lucifer was painstakingly carved from a bunch of chalk that Blitz glued together. Lucifer, of course, is shaped like a duck.

Do you ever just read something that hits you in such an unexpected and profound way that you need to just step away for a while, but it's good? Like it's a lovely feeling, a somewhat complex feeling, and you wouldn't trade it for anything--it's something beautiful mixed with something sad, but it's perfect. It just touches the loneliness, but it doesn't hurt, it makes you happy? Like oddly, intensely, quietly happy?

Blitz didn't get it. He looked over at the strange woman speaking to him and blinked, first one eye and then the other, but didn't get it. The way she stood and the way she had spoken indicated that that was absolutely supposed to be a joke--and it probably was funny, he realized, feeling a sudden rush of empathy. Just because he didn't get it didn't mean it wasn't funny. There had been way, way too many times that he tried to tell a joke that--fuck, not only did they not stick, but they flopped so damn hard they made his face-planting look like a delicate ballet. Not wanting her to feel any of that, he put on a grin and used a foot to push out the third chair.

His companion, on the other hand, had clearly understood the joke. The tall Goetia was laughing softly, his black eyes almost warm with amusement--a miracle for him.

"Hey now," Blitz objected, "someone gonna explain it to me? And you, Jester Tits, sit down and have some coffee with us. It's actually pretty good." Blitz had a beignet that he hadn't touched yet, so he tore it in half and set her piece on a napkin, scooting it over to be in front of the chair he'd offered her.

Vepar stood and touched his chest, bowing his head to her. "Please," he said, "do join us." Glancing over at Blitz, he quickly fingerspelled Justice for him, with a deliberate break between the T and the I.

Eyes widening in delight as he suddenly understood, Blitz let out an abrupt laugh, got up, and clapped the strange woman on the back a few times. "Just ice. Okay, okay, I get it. Spelling ain't exactly my strong suit, but I get it now. Nice to meet you. My name's Blitz--the oh is silent." He almost made a terribly lewd joke to follow that up with, but there was just something about her that made him think twice about it. Plopping back down into his chair, he dumped his water out, poured half his coffee into the water cup, and put that in front of her as well. "This fucker," he said, gesturing to the iridescent blue-green, sleekly built Goetia, "is Vepar, Duke of Loss or whatever. He's a creeper. And I guess--a friend?" He looked at Vepar. "Unless we're sticking with enemies."

"Why not do both?" Vepar gave him a quick smile, then looked back to their new companion, intensely curious about her.

@doublejango

"Blitzo ...did you know justice is a dish best served cold ...because," she snickers, "Because otherwise, it's just water."

"Ain't asking for much, are you?" Blitz asked with a dry laugh, closing his eyes and pressing a hand against his forehead. "Fuck. Something that scares the Goetia?" Even asking it felt wrong somehow, like he was somehow betraying Stolas--but Stolas wouldn't want this. Stolas wouldn't want powerful Goetia to go against relatively helpless Goetia, would he? He was better than that. Stolas was kinder than that, more compassionate--

And then there was Vepar, Blitz realized. He stood up straight, adjusting his hold on the phone. "Actually, I know someone who can help... and I think I got somethin' that might do you some fucking good. It's this," he dropped his voice, glancing around to be sure there wasn't anybody listening, but the street Blitz was on was very, very quiet in comparison to what it sounded like was happening in the background of Striker's call, "this amulet. It protects the wearer against any kind of demonic attack. I just figured out that a demon can put it on--but here's the fucking catch. While it'll protect you, and you can put it on? Once it's on, you can't take it off. someone else has to.

"I know a Goetia, one who's--well, no, he is a complete psycho, but he's still in good with the rest of them, and he doesn't have a problem with us. Let me talk to him, see if he can take it to you. Whatever shit is going on, he should be able to get through it, through any wards or whatever, to find you.

"As long as you're goddamn alive to be found." His hand tightened around the phone again, making it creak. "So tell me, Striker, that you'll be alive. I don't want to lose another friend. Not today. Not when I just got you back."

Striker’s voice was cold and bitter.

“Lucifer? Lovin’ us? Blitz, I highly doubt that. The way he’s been runnin’ things, treatin’ the Hellborn like we’re nothin’ more than dirt, don’t exactly scream love to me. But I’ll tell ya this—things would be better if Princess Charlotte took his place. She’s got more sense and heart than he’s ever shown.”

He paused, his voice thickening with the weight of old scars.

“This ain’t the first time a Goetia took away someone I loved. I was married once, had a kid. My boy, Jackson, was only seven. A Goetia bastard wanted our land to build some fancy country house, and I wouldn’t give it to him. So he set fire to our home. Made sure I was there to watch them burn… my wife, my son. Gone, all ‘cause I stood in his way.”

There was a heavy silence before Striker’s tone sharpened again.

“If you really wanna help, Blitz, I need leverage. Find somethin’ those bastards care about, somethin’ so important they’d do anythin’ to get it back. Or someone they’re scared of. Paimon, Lucifer—don’t matter which. Somethin’ to turn this whole damn game upside down.”

This was horrible. Sure, they lived in Hell, and Blitz coped by making endless jokes about it, but right now? Right now, life actually felt like Hell. He could hear the hollowness in Moxxie's voice, he could practically feel the agony radiating off of him, and there was nothing Blitz could do to make it better. He wanted to. Fuck, he wanted to help him, to do anything, anything to make it hurt just a little bit less--but there was nothing he could do. Only time was going to help either of them, and time was passing so damned slowly, leaving every minute a torture.

Neither of them was handling this. They were getting by, they were surviving the passing minutes, but they weren't handling this. Not really.

How the fuck could they?

Blitz looked over at Loona, but her ears were back; she didn't want to talk. So, he nodded, grabbed a few extra weapons, then opened the portal and gestured Moxxie through first.

-

When Blitz stepped through, something broke. He didn't know what, but he felt like, a distinct and almost painful snapping sensation in his head, like someone had shot him between the horns with a massive rubber-band. He hissed quietly in surprised pain, glanced down at his hand--

The crystal was dark. Whatever light it had once held, the light was gone.

Eyes widening, Blitz choked down the wave of fear, then let himself look around at....

Not the place they were supposed to be.

Everything here was ice. Dark blue, nearly black, smooth, shining. The walls, the floor, the ceiling. The corridor ran straight before them, or branched off to the sides behind them--and although he couldn't prove it, Blitz knew, knew fucking immediately, that they were trapped in some kind of maze. Trapped. Together. In a place that felt like it fucking epitomized loneliness and emptiness.

Loss.

It wasn't silent. Air whispered. Water dripped. The ice creaked and groaned, crackled subtly. No, it wasn't silent--but the sounds weren't reassuring. They weren't the sounds of a living world.

These, Blitz thought, were the sounds of a tomb.

Unwilling to risk a shot, he deliberately drew a knife rather than risk reaching for a firearm if something happened.

"So, I guess you uh, kinda already figured this out... but I don't think this is Phoenix fucking Arizona. Mox, are you..." Blitz had to swallow back a wave of grief, sudden and keen. He closed his eyes, his head spinning. "I guess we... we.... walk. You pick what way we go. I'll follow you." And all my choices are shit anyway. They all turn wrong. Better, much better, if I just follow you.

His voice echoed, the words bouncing away down the halls, distorting eerily as they came back to them.

Moxxie stiffened as Blitz’s hand came down on his shoulder. The touch sent an icy jolt through his spine, and for a split second, he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t blame Blitz. He couldn’t blame him. Blitz was his friend…and Millie’s death wasn’t Blitz’s fault, no matter how many ways his mind tried to twist the story in the dead of night, no matter how easy it would be to place all that hurt on someone else. What he did blame Blitz for was giving him some stupid babysitting assignment watching over Stolas because he was too afraid to talk to him. When he could have been with them. When he could have been with her. Maybe it would have made a difference.

But seeing Blitz, standing there like nothing had changed—like the world wasn’t still crumbling under Moxxie’s feet—was…hard. Too hard.

A dozen angry thoughts flitted around in his mind as Blitz rambled on, trying to sound upbeat, talking about contracts and killing, about “living the sweet life.” The words barely registered. It was all a blur of empty noise, like someone turning up the volume on static. But Moxxie nodded anyway, out of habit, or maybe because he didn’t know what else to do. If he didn’t focus on something, he’d fall apart right there in front of everyone.

His fingers tightened around the mug he was holding. He could still hear her laugh—Millie’s laugh, echoing in his head, blending with Blitz’s words. How many times had they come back from jobs like this, covered in blood, but still alive? Still together?

Not this time.

He forced a breath out, trying to swallow the knot in his throat. “Yeah, I’m ready,” Moxxie lied, his voice quieter than he intended. His eyes flicked up to Blitz’s face for just a second, catching that forced smile, the look in his eyes Blitz was trying to hide. Moxxie knew it too well—guilt. That same crushing, consuming guilt that had been eating him alive.

But there was no going back. No undoing it. They both had to live with the wreckage.

[@doublejango