"The Longer Yeh' Hang Around Meh', The More At Risk Yeh' Are. Ah' Wouldn't Wanna Put Yeh' Through That."

"The longer yeh' hang around meh', the more at risk yeh' are. Ah' wouldn't wanna put yeh' through that." (Decided to send some angst to my darling Blitzy)

For a moment there, Blitz waited for the punchline. There had to be one coming, because nobody just came out with it and said sincere shit like that, not in real life. His expression went from one of expectation to a worried frown though in the next few moments, and then to a dark glower.

Looking down, Blitz took a few steps away. Hands on his hips, he glared at the ground, then gave it a good kick with the toe of a boot, still not looking over at Angel.

Talking to this guy was like talking to a mirror sometimes. It didn't get worse than that. Worse than them. Obviously.

"My life isn't exactly a safe one," he said, only halfway turning to look back at Angel. "It's fucked up. I'm fucked up. You hang out with me long enough, you'll get fucked up, too. Probably by me." He turned back to him now, his frown softening into a moment of unguarded pain, even as he tried to make his voice strong. "If you wanna puss out, be my fucking guest. But, you know. I kind of hope you don't." Fuck, he hated honesty. The imp frowned more, debating whether or not he should say that he was really enjoying getting to know Angel, or if that would just sound like a pathetic line at this point.

Probably.

So, instead, he walked over and offered Angel his hand, looking up at him--half demanding, half hopeful.

"Let's quit being little bitches together. Stop running from our bullshit. Together."

"Careful? Ha! Moxxie, Careful is like, my middle name," Blitz declared with forced cheer. He started to go, but then abruptly turned back and took Moxxie by both shoulders this time. Blitz leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. "If you want them to listen, speak with authority. Stand like you already have their attention, like you know exactly what is happening--not like you're waiting for them, but like they're already late. Talk like you know they will listen, not like you hope they will. Give orders and don't answer questions. Make it a con, Moxxie. Act it out. You've got what it takes to play the part." He gave a little nudge, possibly pushing Moxxie a little off-balance, and coiled his tail around one of Moxxie's legs for a very brief moment before letting go and stepping back.

"I love you, Mox," he said, expression and voice serious before he quickly put his game-face back on, grinning and standing taller. "Now, let's go play fuckin' firemen!" He pulled two guns. "Whooo! New kink, unfuckinglocked!" It was an act, of course, he was still worried, but Blitz did it well. He took off, heading for the farthest human sleeping spot he could find, trusting that Moxxie would be fine.

Worrying that he wouldn't. But he couldn't think about that possibility right now. If he stopped to think, he might panic. And if he did that, he'd be letting Moxxie down. That, that was something Blitz couldn't do, not today.

-

Blitz knocked on the door of an RV, but when that didn't get an immediate answer, he kicked at it hard enough to cave it in. He could hear a startled yelp and shriek from inside, so he shouted, "Get up, bitches! There's a fucking wildfire coming this way. Don't wait to grab shit, just get your asses to the south side of camp. Look for a guy in a little red demon costume and do whatever he says."

"What the fuck? What fire? What do you--"

Blitz fired a shot past the man's head, intentionally missing, very intentionally getting his complete attention. "I said go."

The humans seemed to take him seriously. They stared for a moment, then burst into motion, pulling on clothing and grabbing random shit--no horse statues in sight, so Blitz wasn't sure what could be worth delaying like that for--and so he moved on to the next RV, and the next, the next. Some people were waking up on their own by then, noticing the smoke and the fire and either panicking or following the stream of other confused, frightened humans he was directing towards Moxxie.

Whenever it felt like things were taking too long, or if a cluster of too many RVs or cabins looked too daunting, Blitz used his weapons, not bothering with kicking. The shots roused far more people than anything else, and all he had to do was shout.

It was surprisingly tiring, running around a fuckin' camp like this, waking everyone and trying to get them to go that way. No, don't wait, no, don't grab anything, just go, go, go. All he could do was hope and pray that things were going well for Moxxie...

Blitz stopped for a moment and wiped sweat off his forehead, watching as a tongue of fire licked along the ground between him and the last cabin. They were closer now to where Moxxie was--or where he hoped Moxxie was, he couldn't see him through the smoke and the falling ashes, through the crowd of people near the trailhead--and he was tempted to just run over there and say screw this last dumbass. Blitz was tired--but fuck it. The job wasn't done yet. Framing it that way helped, and he hurried over to open the one last door...

But the door opened and the human ran out, holding a dog. The bulky man did a double-take at Blitz's bizarre appearance, then grabbed him and hefted him up over his shoulder. Blitz grunted.

"What the--put me down!"

"Gotta go, little buddy, there's a fire," the human shouted, and started running towards the others.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Blitz growled, but he stayed put for now, letting the caring human carry him like a sack of potatoes. At least they were heading in the right direction.

I hope Moxxie's alright. If anyone hurt him, I'm going to fucking dissect them.

Moxxie froze when he heard how serious Blitzo was, as if struck by one of those trees already in his imagination, nodding at the plan. “Yes, sir.”

This must be a dire situation of Blitzo was this worked up about it. He wrung his hands together but already he felt something wringing even tighter at his heart.

“But, s– Blitz!” he exclaimed. “What if they–” his memory of those sinners– those children. Those people people who should not have been able to even wield weapons at that age. “What if th–”

No, he had promised he wouldn’t compromise a mission again like that so he turned and looked to the encampment of endangered sinners.

“How will we get them to listen to us? Do you have a plan?”

He had to shake himself of doubts of both evil children and of Blitzo being so vulnerable to attacks and steady himself. He checked that his weapons were on hand and they were. He had a talent for hiding them. “Please be careful– those children attacked me when they knew I was an imp–” he wouldn’t usually admit he was afraid of humans like this but it was an emergency. “And those teens seemed to see I wasn’t ‘really’ a human pretty easily and they weren’t nice. 

Deep breaths, in and out. Steadying, but taking in the heady scent of burning pine trees. Looking upwards and seeing that smoke filled the sky, realizing he should head down as Blitzo commanded.

“Just please be careful…” 

The day had been long, the business darker than usual, and Crimson had almost forgotten that he had an appointment with a new Overlord. How she managed to leave the Pride ring, he didn't know, but rumors of that--and her inability to handle herself with any sort of dignity--had been circling. There were plenty of people who wanted her dead, and he was inclined to agree. Sinners didn't belong in any of the other rings. She belonged in Pride, where she damn well belonged. This evening was intended to be a good time to knock her off and ensure she respawned in the hands of someone who could, and would, extract every damn thing she knew from her, and find out how she had wiggled her way out of the rules. Crimson had the blessing of the other Families in this; no one had a problem with eradicating some little lost lamb from Pride. No one wanted that kind of filth here. No one wanted to be reminded of the ugly truths that came along with it.

But as he walked into the drawing room, tired and sore and ready to just get a drink and relax in a hot bath, he was brutally reminded of her presence as she went feral on one of his guys. Crimson might have said something, might had intervened, but he knew the one she was beating on. Harrell had a bad habit of not keeping his hands to himself, and while no one was ever safe in this town, while everyone was fair game for murder, that didn't mean they should act like animals towards the ladies. So, rather than try to break anything up, he leaned in the doorway, jacket held over a shoulder, his other hand holding a cigar, and just smoked and watched as she beat his employee to death.

"Boss!" the other shark said, realizing he was there. "We didn't do nothing!"

"Mmhmm. Sure. And I'm the Queen of Gluttony." Crimson flicked his hand at the man, sending him out of the room, and nodded towards Betty. "Don't stop on my account. Finish him off, then we'll sit and talk." He tossed his jacket over the back of a chair and then settled comfortably to sit and watch and see how this woman killed someone, fascinated. Now that he was seeing her, Crimson's mind was--changing, to say the least. Sure, it was still obscene for a Sinner to be down here, but this Sinner...

This Sinner just might be something special after all.

Being invited over to NOTAMAFIA TOWN could only mean one thing — BUSINESS INQUIRIES.

Betty boredly took a glance out the window of the busted helicopter, raising a brow at the UNGODLY SCENERY BELOW. It seemed primarily ran by MAFIA-ESQUED IMPS AND SHARKS — definitely to be expected. Just as the OVERUSE OF DRUGS, ALCOHOL, AND KILLING was expected as well.

This place reminded her of HOME — SAVAGE, RUTHLESS, DANGEROUS, AND DOWNRIGHT UNLAWFUL. Here, you could get away with JUST ABOUT ANYTHING WITH NO REPERCUSSIONS — unless you directly FUCKED WITH THE MAFIA HOUSE. Betty could respect this, as someone who grew up in a CUT THROAT, RAG TAG FAMILY HERSELF — GOD HELP WHOEVER TARGETED A MEMBER OF THE SHAVALI KOMPANYA.

What she didn’t like was the PRYING EYES STALKING HER AS SOON AS SHE STEPPED OUT INTO THE SMOKEY AIR. The SHARP GRINS were not of a friendly manner — but CONNIVING AND DEVIOUS. THE WARLORD’S CLAWS CRACKED AND FLEXED, PUMPING BLACK BLOOD FASTER IN HER BODY TO PREPARE HER MAGIC ATTACKS. If anything goes wrong and the meeting is a bust, at least she’d have her way BLUDGEONING A FEW CREEPS ON THE WAY OUT TO BLOW OFF PENT UP STEAM.

—

It didn’t last until that long.

Just being in the living room of the imp’s mansion gave her the most UNSETTLED feeling in her gut. Two sharks kept eyeing her up, getting closer and closer until one of them DARED to put his hand on her TENSE shoulder.

“ Heya, toots…can’t help but notice those CLAWS of yours ~ . “

“ If you do not get your RANCID FUCKING PAW off of me, THESE CLAWS ARE GOING SOMEPLACE WHERE THE SUN DOES NOT SHINE. “

The shark merely shook his head in disbelief, this time TOWERING ABOVE HER WITH A DARKENED GLINT IN HIS EYES.

“ The fuck didja’ say to me, WALKING CORPSE? You wanna DIE A SECOND TIME? “

Typical. She was a new Overlord, her name wasn’t SPREAD LIKE WILDFIRE YET. These poor saps have no idea what’s coming.

Puffing on her cigar heavily, Betty turned to leave — until she felt the shark’s hand deliver a prompt SLAP to her ass. WITH KNUCKLES GRIT AND HER TEMPER BOILING, Betty spun around and JAMMED HER CIGAR STRAIGHT INTO HIS EYEBALL FULL FORCE, DIGGING HER CLAWS INTO THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND SLAMMING IT DOWN ONTO THE GLASS TABLE BELOW. THE GLASS SHATTERED WITH BRUTE FORCE, THE CIGAR PENETRATING THROUGH THE BACK OF HIS HEAD LIKE A STAKE AS IT COLLIDED WITH THE BLOODIED FLOOR.

The warlord failed to notice Crimson walking in, too busy PUMMELING THE DEAD SHARK’S FACE INTO THE GROUND IN RAPID FIRE SUCCESSION, TEETH AND BRAIN MATTER FLYING.

@doublejango

I love that Blitz’s self-hatred has teeth. It’s not packaged into an easily digestible form where the character cries a little, says something self-damaging to another character, and then gets comforted out of it. There’s nothing wrong with that, it has its place, but, personally, the sharpness of Blitz’ self cruelty makes him such an interesting character.

It warps his perspective until he only sees potential attacks from others, never their care. He pushes people away before they get close enough to, in his mind, leave him to die alone. The fear of abandonment tied to the self-hatred has him alternately blowing off people or getting so far into their business they get upset. He’s not great at showing care and love to others, even when he feels it deeply, because doing so makes him vulnerable. His past mistakes are not seen as mistakes by him, but as big, glaring character flaws, and they feel so encompassing he runs from them instead of taking responsibility.

He has a string of failed relationships and his current relationships have friction directly related to the symptoms of his self-hatred. I love when self-hatred gets externalized and causes problems. I love when it’s not something used only to garner audience sympathy but is treated as an understandable character flaw deserving of empathy.

I wanted to do something while waiting for the "Full Moon" as my head is boiling with thoughts. Hang in there, Blitzy-flower! I believe in you!

CLAWS EMERGE FROM VELVET COLORED FOG, CLASPING AROUND CRIMSON’S THROAT BEFORE CRANING HIS HEAD UPWARDS TO MEET HER WIDE GRINNED EXPRESSION.

“ THE THICK TAR IS BLACK, THE DYING BRAMBLE SOAKED IN MUD —

YOU ARE LOOKING QUITE RAVISHING, I WOULD LOVE TO TASTE SUCH RICH BLOOD ~ . “

It’s a CRYPTIC version of ‘roses are red, violets are blue’ . Digits stroke along the spade of his tail, her tone dropping to a lower octave,

“ Darling, darling crimson blood ~ . “

[for the record, this made me cackle. Betty, Betty, you weird effing menace. Crimson is just over here like ????]

Crimson looked up slowly, yielding to her demanding claws, as she began speaking. Although he was outwardly calm, he was pure rage on the inside, blinding white rage at being handled like this. It showed somewhat in the way his eyes seemed both to darken and to heat at once, and he lifted his chin more than her grip demanded--calm defiance.

Still, he heard her out--at least until she touched his tail.

He would kill her. He had a few items of angelic steel. He would fucking kill her--

But no. No. Suppressing a growl, remaining deeply silent, deeply calm, he pushed his anger down. He hadn't gotten to where he was in life by being rash. Even if he had gotten colder and colder in recent years, that cold only helped, didn't it? It was an asset, changing one's blood out for ice-water, removing one's heart and putting an untouchable void in its place.

His eyes seemed brighter than usual, glued to hers, as he reached up and wrapped a hand around her wrist, having already flicked his tail out of reach.

"Romantic. But we ain't romantic yet, doll. What's going on?" Because this was surely a ruse. Betty wasn't stupid. She had eyes. She had to know better than to ever try to romance someone who had abandoned his conscience long ago... even if she didn't know how he'd done it.

"You need blood tonight? I can call someone in."