"Not At All. I Never Open A Can Of Worms Unless I Wish To See Them Squirm," Vepar Answered, Unable To

"Not at all. I never open a can of worms unless I wish to see them squirm," Vepar answered, unable to stop smiling. Vox loved them! He loved them, clearly loved them, and so this was all worth it. "And they do indeed. As far as each shark is concerned, they are in an environment they've always known--the temperatures, the salinity, the types of food, even the angle of the light they perceive. It has been... a complicated bit of magic to pull off," he said, well-aware that he probably sounded like an ass for putting it that mildly, immediately blushing, "but well worth while. They are from different oceans, and some..." He nodded towards a massive shadow far off to the side. "Such as that giant, no longer exist on Earth. Still others never have at all, but evolved all the same in other worlds.

"And just as the sharks experience their own physical realities, so does each guest. Even if there are a hundred Sinners in this particular exhibit, they'll only see the party they come in with; every group will have a staff member with them, of course, to ensure safety--for the sharks. No offense intended, of course, but I don't particularly care if one of my sweetlings takes a bite out of a Sinner for misbehavior.

"Each party is always in their own pocket of reality, so this can be an escape from the... rather crowded confines of Hell, at least for a little while... No, my love. Let go of my finger. Thank you." A disappointed little chain catshark swam up and settled onto Vepar's arm instead. He stroked it idly. "And while I am delighted to share this with you, I won't pretend not to want something from you in return, Vox, nor will I wait to spring it on you at the end. I do not... anticipate my own death happening anytime soon. But if it does? I do not want this place to fall into the hands of just anyone. If you are amenable, I would like you to be my heir. It will take some doing, of course, for me to create the necessary magic that will prove self-sustaining and yet malleable by your will, but I will gladly craft such a thing if you will consider accepting it.

"And that is it. That is all I hope to gain from you: assurance that if I am killed, you will do your best to care for this place. The magic and the funding will be provided for, but the creatures within? They require not just care, but caring. Love. An eye to notice if one is ailing. Even if you were only able to stop by for a brief while each night... it would be a comfort to me, to know that there is someone who understands--inherently understands... how beautiful all of these lives are.

"You needn't answer now, of course. There is much more to see. But I do not wish to--leave you wondering when the proverbial trap will be sprung, or the pitch made.

"While you consider... do you shapeshift? Or would you enjoy being shifted? I thought we might swim with them, take on their forms for a while. Conversation will not be possible, but it might be... pleasant? To taste and feel the ocean as they do."

There’s a first time for everything, Vox reflects, apparently even being bowed to by a Goetia. He raises his eyebrows slightly, but otherwise takes it with as much grace as he can muster in the moment. Already this particular bird has leapt to the top of his list for the handful of Goetia he’s dealt with thus far (not that it was hard, as the few he’s met were generally pompous stuffy sticks-in-the-mud who felt that they could demand very niche shows out of his networks).

Such polite behavior is a rare commodity in hell, and Vox will admit that after seventy or so years he’s been guilty of stooping below on more than a few occasions. Sometimes it’s all other sinners respond to. But moments like these pull out the natural businessman in him, and he thinks that he’s going to get along with Vepar just fine. Even if it turns out to be an act– well, he can appreciate someone who understands the power of basic respect.

Vox tilts his head back to the waiting car. “Hey, Jordan. Free food, or do you want to head home for the night?” he calls.

The driver seems to consider this for a moment before stepping out of the car, revealing herself to be a muscle-bound Sinner of mostly humanoid shape, bar the miniature stoplight that takes the place of her head. The bottom light flashes green, resembling a half-lidded eye with its movements.

“Cool. Enjoy yourself, then. No need to wait up on me.”

The pair of them leave Jordan behind in the lobby, with Vox only lingering on the reef for a moment. He doesn’t want to hold Vepar up from whatever he has planned, but he shamelessly casts his gaze around to take everything in. The candles in particular make his processors stutter for a fraction of a second, the barest flicker of his screen. Were this anyone else but a Goetia, Vox would place a substantial bet on the individual in question wanting to either fuck him or kill him. (Or both.)

He supposes both options are still technically on the table, but he’ll give Vepar the benefit of the doubt for the moment.

Though the comment Vepar makes about seeming forward does seem to tick the needle in favor of the former. Vox listens patiently, his gaze bouncing between the tank and his companion.

...Offering a hand to help him down also adds another point to the ‘fuck’ category. Vox is rarely on the receiving end of such gestures, but hey, he can work with it–

The moment he’s underwater, Vox gives a yelp that is rather unbecoming of an Overlord with as much power as he holds.

It’s a fleeting second of mostly shock, not even lasting long enough for a proper fear to set in. None of his sensors are screaming; there is no water rushing into his hollowed-out corpse seeking to corrupt the electronic components within.

There is no freezing lakewater rushing into his lungs, no television tied to his ankle to assure his descent to the depths-

No warning of imminent shutdown.

He is fine.

Well–he is fine, apart from the abrupt understanding of something he had been warned about many times before and never truly understood until now.

This was what they meant when they said Goetia were more powerful than sinners. Here his companion holds the power to drown Vox, to render him stuck and unable to regenerate for as long as he wished. Nevermind the consequences that would follow: for Vox, being submerged was second only to angelic weaponry itself. No hope of escaping on his own, no awareness, not even a subconscious mind to immerse himself in in the interim; just pure nonexistence.

Instead... Vepar uses it to show him sharks.

...Huh. He hasn’t been humbled like this in quite some time; at least not in a way that he’s willing to admit to himself.

“...Holy shit,” Vox mumbles. His eyes are enormous, filling up most of the screen, and it takes him a moment to remember himself, to find his foothold as an Overlord again. “Apologies for my language.”

“...Heloise.” Lovely. Fuck, he fucking loves hammerheads and their goofy-ass heads. A small smile fights for screen real estate with his eyes, winning out the battle for a space at the bottom. “No harm, you have my word.”

He follows Vepar’s movements, his hand held out and still, claws relaxed. He won’t reach for any that come by, but allow them to come to him if they choose– and some of them do, such as the black-tipped reef that seems as fascinated by Vox as he is by it. Oh, he loves it. He fucking loves it.

He’s unaware of his smile pushing bigger, sincere in a way that had become rather rare for him.

“This is… kind of amazing? I mean. Not kind of, just amazing. Full stop.” Vox laughs, his fans kicking up speed a notch. “Shit, I’m usually better with words than this.”

When the black-tipped reef noses against him, his haptic sensors register the roughness of the skin. Vox can’t help but marvel. After all, this is the first time he’s ever actually touched one–well, one from topside, anyway.

Not many chances to touch sharks in fucking Ohio.

“...You know, I can’t believe you think this wouldn’t appeal to more sinners. All the magic and beauty aside, most of them would jump at the opportunity to see things from their old lives, or even to see things they never got the chance to in life. This place could be packed tomorrow with the right advertising, if you wanted.”

Maybe he doesn’t. Vox would understand that; he already feels a deep-seated satisfaction in his bones, having not only this experience but in private with the man who’d made the whole thing possible. No other racous patrons around to disrupt the view, cracking crude jokes, tapping on the glass and doing whatever the hell else the worst of sinners down here could do in a place like this. He’d freely admit to the part of him that wants to sink his claws into the building foundations and never let it go. No one else would –could– appreciate it like he would.

But he also likes a crowd. And moreso, Vox loves being the intermediary, the educator, the entertainer. The person to introduce others to the next big thing, to show them something new, to point them to the experience that would put a light in their eyes and a smile on their face. Not the artist, necessarily, but the curator.

And oh, would Vox happily do that for this. Easily, willingly, paid for in the entertainment value he’d get and maybe garnering some goodwill with Vepar if he’s lucky. The whole of Pride Ring would seethe with jealousy if they knew just how quickly the Duke of Loss had been able to gain Vox’s approval–no, his enthusiasm, even.

“All these species from different parts of the world… How do they all live together? Do they all experience different temperatures and salinity? Are there any ecosystem conflicts you have to account for?”

“...I have so many questions. I hope you don’t regret opening up that can of worms.”

Copyslut bitch? Copyslut bitch? Blitz didn't think he had ever actually been insulted in a way he liked more. The way the doppelganger said it gave him a bizarre and sudden hit of dopamine, and he wanted to give him a thumbs-up or at least tell him he was a good boy for that one, but it was too late. Everything happened so quickly, that asshole grabbed him and--

Shit, shit shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshitshitshit!

Broken glass was suddenly exploding all around them, and no matter how furious Blitz was at the audacity of whoever the fuck this was, because how fucking dare someone dress up like him? A protective instinct kicked in. This fucker was probably still an imp, even if he was under some kind of disguise, and with that glass falling--Blitz gripped the other him, rolling with him as they smashed through the mirrors. And, albeit awkwardly, he pulled his jacket up and over the other's guys face.

"Close your fucking eyes!" he snapped, holding him maybe a little too tightly--legs wrapped around hips that felt weirdly familiar, tail snaking in hard around the other's thighs, his other arm focused on holding the jacket over both of their faces. All around them, more mirrors were breaking, the funhouse floor having shaken just a little too much with the force of their attacks. Glass burst and shattered, and Blitz tried to hold this fucking asshole as close as he could, wanting to protect him--and blissfully unaware just how ironic it was to want to protect someone he had just attacked.

"Listen, just, fuck, fucking like, chill, okay?" As if he himself hadn't been the one to start causing the problems in the first place. "I mean, fuck you," he grunted, their faces way too close together, "but let's try not to fucking bleed to death in our sexy fucking suits, huh?" At least the cascades of breaking glass seemed to be ending, but holy shit they had set off a damn domino effect.

There was some yelling coming from outside--great. Fuck. With a groan, Blitz let go of--of-- Blitz Prime? Glowering at him, he bared his teeth and got to his feet. "I'm still going to kick your ass, but let's get the fuck out of here before someone comes in and tries to make us fucking pay for this shit." He offered his hand, frowning hard, hating this, but absolutely not about to let any of this circus fucks get their grubby little claws into his bank account.

Or their bank account--the guy smelled exactly like him, and looked like him, and sounded like him, and--fuck. Whatever. This was fine. Everything was fucking fine.

【𐂃】 What the actual fuck — did he roast himself back?! He knew his mirror image wasn't mimicking him correctly, but his counterattack echoes threw him for loop. Taken aback, confounded, thinking this had to be some kind of prank. It was too unorthodox, it had to have been? It would accommodate with a funhouse's concept.

❝ wait, wha— ? ❞ words were abruptly ceased when the two made head-to-head impact. Prompting his eyes to render shut with gritting fangs as his body went tumbling backwards. Barreling a few summersaults against the ground for a couple of feet before landing with a heavy THUD. Letting out a snarling "COPYSLUT BITCH" as he quickly sat up. Pissed beyond comprehension.

❝ Now you've done it. THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?!? Y' wanna put on a shitshow then fuckin' do it! but leave my FACE out of it. I AIN'T GOT TIME FOR SILLY CHARADES. ❞ Hell, he didn't even pay for any of this shit. In fact... he didn't know HOW he got here. One thing is certain -- he wasn't going to take his "doppleganger"s actions lightly. ❝ I don't care how GREAT your magic is. PLAY STUPID GAMES WIN STUPID PRIZES DUMBASS! ❞ springing back to his feet he immediately took the initiative to charge right back. Grabbing hold of their waistline as he ram their back into the mirrors behind them. Sending the two tussling in the midst of raining shattered shards.

Whoever this copycat was -- he was about to find out how FERAL he can be, because nobody held more hate for Blitzø than Blitzø himself. He had to face his inner demons, himself, constantly day by day. If they wanted a fight, they certainly picked the perfect form to peak his bloodlust.

𝗗𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗠𝗦 𝗚𝗨𝗜𝗗𝗘.

-- BOLD all that applies || ITALICS what applies on occasion

001.ㅤ 𝗘𝗬𝗘𝗦.

avoids eye contact when nervous, maintains eye contact when nervous. avoids eye contact due to being neurodivergent, enjoys eye contact as a means to read and convey emotion. looks down when emotional, looks up when emotional. cries openly, wipes tears quickly, suppresses tears. wandering gaze when lost in thought, holds gaze while thinking. seeks out eye contact for reassurance, seeks out eye contact to gauge enthusiasm during conversations, eyes move constantly during conversation. expressive eyes, emotions only evident through eyes, uses eye contact to intimidate. looks up while thinking, looks down while thinking.

002.ㅤ 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗦.

clasps behind back, rests in lap, fidgets with clothes. twiddles thumbs, chews at nails/skin, pushes back cuticles, draws patterns on table/counter surfaces. animated gestures while speaking, only gestures to emphasize, utilizes sign language, speaks only through sign. callouses, scars, smooth, wrinkled, worn, soft, delicate, boney, slender, thick, veiny. touches others while speaking, reaches out while laughing, reaches out to comfort others, reaches out to seek comfort. places face in hands when exasperated, places face in hands when exhausted, places palms over eyes to hide when overwhelmed, rests chin in hands. taps fingers when impatient, taps fingers when nervous, taps fingers while thinking. scratches scalp, strokes chin, rubs back of head, toys with objects around them, runs fingers over surfaces while walking by.

003.ㅤ 𝗠𝗢𝗨𝗧𝗛.

chews lip, chews at inside of cheek, licks lips, bites tongue, chews on straws. resting frown, resting smile, neutral resting expression, resting pout. grinds teeth, flexes jaw. covers mouth when laughing, covers mouth when shocked, covers mouth when concerned, hands to lips while thinking, covers mouth when chewing, chews with mouth closed, chews with mouth open. smirks, grins, subtle smile, wide smiles, sad smiles, intimidating smiles, menacing grins. openly smiles, tries to suppress smiles, bares teeth when angry, lips quiver when emotional. stutters, speaks quickly, speaks slowly, good pronunciation, poor pronunciation, moderate pronunciation, purses lips, sucks in lips, holds mouth open when shocked or confused.

004.ㅤ 𝗟𝗘𝗚𝗦.

bounces leg when nervous. draws knees to chest when sitting, draws knees to chest as a means of comfort, sits on knees, sits with legs crisscrossed, sits with legs spread open in chairs, crosses legs when sitting in chairs, sits with one leg folded under the other. places feet on furniture, never places feet on furniture, sits on counters, sits on desks, sits on tables, sits on edge of seat, sits hunched over with forearms on knees, arches one knee up, sits on the arm of chairs/couches, feet on dashboard, swings legs back and forth when sitting somewhere elevated. wiggles toes when nervous, wiggles toes as a general tick. shuffles feet, kicks foot into ground, stomps feet. loud footsteps, quiet footsteps, silent footsteps.

005.ㅤ 𝗛𝗔𝗜𝗥.

runs fingers through hair, tugs at hair, picks at scalp, chews on hair, twists locks of hair while thinking or nervous, smooths out locks of hair while thinking or nervous. prefers hair out of face, prefers long hair, prefers short hair. wears hair back, keeps hair down, smooths back hair. plays with other’s hair while talking, plays with own hair while talking, strokes hair to comfort others, likes having hair stroked for their own comfort, braids others’ hair while talking, braids own hair while talking. flips hair out of face, pushes hair out of face, leaves hair alone even when falling into face.

Tagged by: @moxxietude Tagging: @toranoya for Saint Peter, @umbravirtus for Hans, @visage-of-hell, @poisonedspider, and anyone else in the mood to do the thing

Those words hit harder than maybe Elsa meant for them to. As he listened, Blitz's eyes widened and his tail drooped a little. The way Elsa spoke of the sister who had presumably died long ago was warm and loving, but the grief? The grief.

For an immortal to love any mortal at all, whether they were family or not, and to be left living on without them--carrying memories, loving ghosts... to have the entire world change without them... Was that what he was going to do to Stolas?

The assassin got up and walked away a few paces, hands on his hips. tail starting to swish. "Do you ever--would it be--I don't..." Sighing in disgust at himself, he pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes. "Is it better? For immortals. Better if you don't have to--if those of us who are just going to die... just stay away? So you don't have to... remember us?" He had just taken the conversation completely off topic and he knew it, but it was too late to turn it back now.

"He reminds me of my sister, Anna. I miss her. Her love could hold up the world. Sometimes I think it did because nothing feels the same without her. So it's wonderful when I can feel that warmth in others. I hope Peter gets all of the good things you hope for him. He deserves happiness."

VERSE INFO: FOLK OF THE AIR

Blitz is loyal to his lover, @botanikos's Stolas, prince of the Avernus Territory. They have his whole heart, and if Stolas asked, Blitz would do anything for him. Anything. It doesn't matter who else might come into their lives, or what loyalty Stolas might swear. Blitz only cares about Stolas. Passionately, dangerously, unhealthily, and without regret. The imp is a killer--an assassin who can be hired, although he tends to be tough for clients to court in this verse--and revels in violence. Any time he has an excuse to kill for Stolas, he takes it without regret. Sometimes, even if he doesn't have an excuse, beings end up lifeless and Blitz will leave their hearts for his beloved to find in the morning.

He came down from the Court of Termites several years ago, hired to kill Stolas--and the moment he saw him, the first instant, he fell in love. He didn't know if they had enchanted him, if they had some sort of trick, but he doubted it; Blitz has always had an incredibly strong resistance to magic, although he has very few powers of his own. Even if Stolas was using magic on him, it didn't matter. Looking at them was the first time Blitz cared about the beauty he saw, the first time he was moved. He didn't even let Stolas know he was there, he just returned home, killed his client--or so rumor says--and promptly went back to Prince Stolas's court to, well, court him.

Blitz's magic is limited. He is wholly immune to fire (he'll take a nap in a fireplace if he comes home chilled) and can create fire at will, although it takes a lot out of him to do so. He possesses a black crystal, embedded into his left hand, that he uses to portal. It can only transport him--or so he has hinted--and it hurts him to use, but if he doesn't use it for too long, the crystal begins to fade... and so does Blitz. He considers his twisted relationship with it to be worth it. It can't be taken from him anyway, unless one manages to take his hand with it, and the imp is tenacious, tough, and very violent. In this verse, Blitz actually had a formal education, but he also grew up learning combat--and never the honorable kind. Kill quickly, kill brutally, make it dirty, make it fun. He's not high society and he's not powerful, but he's dangerous to tangle with all the same.

Blitz is about 5'6" when he stands upright--which, in this verse, he actually does, lacking the injury from his main verse that crippled his feet. He's a little more muscular--and definitely more feral. His horns are always dyed fully black, and he decorates them with tokens he steals from his kills. Melted gold drizzled prettily, a delicate bejeweled chain spiraled 'round, a ring slid over the tip. He does the same with the spines on his tail and head, but the ones on his shoulders are almost never decorated--and he will not let anyone but Stolas touch those ones without a fight.

The spade of his tail almost always has a delicate-looking blade fitted over it--lovely filigree, the edges razor sharp. He won't hesitate to injure someone with it if they try to touch his shoulder spines.

Blitz prefers to dress in all red--typically a red corset, long jacket that is such a deep red it is damn near black, and trousers that are just as dark, but with cheerfully bright red ribbons stitched on seemingly at random. He walks up on his hooves and almost never wears any sort of shoe or footwear--although he will decorate his hooves from time to time, if he's feeling fancy, and he keeps them sharp.

In this verse, Blitz does not have any children, adopted or otherwise, but has still been magically sterilized.

He will only ship with Jude's Stolas--no other ships, at all, although muses are welcome to try if they want to risk it--and the only Cardan is @cruelprincae, in case others magically come out of the woodwork. I'm happy to write with anyone who wants to play in this verse, but will probably keep all threads related; ie, if he kills person X in one thread, he will probably think about it in the next thread as a pleasant memory.

Ironically, despite being a faerie, this may be Blitz's most demonic verse. He is basically chaotic evil; the only check in his life is Stolas, and Blitz is just fine with that.

That had Blitz laughing, despite the momentary pause at how Fizz pushed him down. Fuck, his friend was hot. Blitz was trying, really fucking trying these days, not to notice how attractive his friend was, but sometimes? Sometimes, that shit was just difficult. Fizz had that magical quality, something warm and positive, that nobody could emulate, and that could never just be taken.

Admiring him, Blitz smiled when Fizz kicked his feet in the air. It was good to be friends, he thought. Because no matter how hot Fizzarolli might be? Being his friend felt like the best damn thing in the world. Blitz didn't want anything more from him. It was fun to be with him, fun with they flirted without meaning a thing--and sure, maybe it wasn't fun to come here after a party like Verosika's, but so what? Fizz had become the sun and melted his tears away, it seemed.

"Come on," he said, smirking and getting his phone out, as they talked about stolen sex toys. "This is Hell. You're telling me there's not a market for used sex toys? I bet..." A bit of Voogling, and then he found it. "Ha! There it is. Black market used sex toy pop-up sale, by invitation only. Apparently, you have to go through some kind of poker game to get an invite... whaddya think? Should we--ewwwuh, it says guaranteed not washed. That's... you know, I'm open to a lot of shit, and even I think that's disgusting.

"Wanna go to the used toy market, see if we spot any of your missing inventory? Might be a way to get a lead on who your thieves are."

" Life fucking sucks sometimes " Fizz added with a chuckle " But hey, it makes one stronger doesn't it " Fizz wasn't sure what Blitzo had been through. Only having a vague Idea. Ultimately, both were left alone eventually, left to fend for themself. All because of a lie.

"Nah, only if I want to " partly teasing, partly true. If you're his friend? Yeah sure. To most sane fans too. But it is not the same as when he was young - he wouldn't just give this luxury to everyone anymore.

Fizz had one arm curled around Blitz, stroking his back, the other hand patted the other Imp's head before his hand slows want to stroke his horns. " No need to apologize, pal "If anything, Fizz was glad Blitz still felt so comfortable around him. Blitzo always tried to be the strong one, even when they were younger - Fizz doubted Blitzo changed much in that aspect.

A grin came across the jester face, before starting to push Blitzo down on the couch, laying down next to him. Kicking his feet into the air. " haha ! Sure sounds like an idea! But it honestly the standard shit you get in most stores here, not even the luxury shit." there was a shrug " Not like its much of a lose " it was, just not for Ozzie and FIzz to worry much about " not like we can sell it anymore even if we get it back "

"It's just funny to think about someone who was this desperate to get released" he chuckled.