Blitz Really Can't Stand Knowing He Hurt Someone He Cares About. I'm Not Just Talking About The Fire,

Blitz really can't stand knowing he hurt someone he cares about. I'm not just talking about the fire, either.

We all know that he immediately tried to apologize once he realized he'd genuinely hurt Stolas at the end of Full Moon, though he was portaled out before he could finish the words.

But even in Truth Seekers, when the truth serum caused him to tell Moxxie he had shitty taste in music, he IMMEDIATELY apologized, like as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and even started CRYING while lamenting about having hurt Moxxie and lied to him a lot.

Idk I just think it's important to point out that underneath all the trauma, Blitz is a big ole softy who can't stand knowing he's hurt the feelings of people he cares about.

for @infinity-cantos, continued from here--

"Uh huh," Blitz said, stirring his drink idly, "right. Thievery is so much cleaner than murder. You just violate people's sense of security and steal their mementos and their fortunes. I deliver them to the afterlife they've earned." He took another drink, getting whip cream all over his upper lip. "Guess neither of us needs to lose any sleep over it, though." Even if it was fun to needle a fellow menace to society about the things they did, Blitz didn't fully believe she was that awful. It was Hell, why wouldn't there be someone ready to take everything good away from you the moment you let your guard down? That was what life was. That was all it was.

It wasn't like happiness was attainable or real, not beyond a fuckin' cute drink with your best friend's face on the cup, or a ten second orgasm, or sleeping in after canceling plans.

Don't get all fuckin' bitter, he told himself, briefly scowling.

Blitz licked his lip, then looked out the window, watching a group of Hellhounds pass by. They looked like tourists up from another ring, probably fascinated by all of the Sinners, all of the chaos of Pride. None of them were Loona, though, and so his interest faded.

Blitz looked back at Kaizaan. "So what's going on? We really run into each other by happenstance here? I probably shouldn't flatter myself by thinking that you need my help for something, so... what gives, am I your next target?"

A crystal, after all, seemed right up her alley. Not that the Asmodean Crystal could be parted from him, it seemed. Blitz had tried. Whether he had his glove on or not, the crystal was always there now, a part of his hand, his body. When he needed it to, he was learning to make it seem to disappear, but it was always there. He could feel its energy entwined with his, feel how intimately they were tied together. Stealing it might not work--at least, not while he was alive.

Sipping at his glittery drink, Blitz studied her eyes, wondering just how far she'd go.

"It's perfect," Striker agreed. It wasn't perfect. It was small and they were going to be too damn close to each other for either of their comfort, but it would do the job. Looking around for some extra barrier, he grabbed a metal door off of its tracks from under a counter. It was loud, but there was so damn much noise out there right now, no one was likely to notice, and it might help protect them.

Once they were inside, he nodded to Fizz to help him. The metal door was flimsy enough that they could bend it into shape inside the closet with them--line the wall and cover the lower half of the door. It wasn't much, but it was something, a secondary barrier in case things got worse. If shrapnel tore through the closet door, the metal liner they'd added might at least slow it down some, at worst.

But it's something, he reminded himself, and we get by on every little something.

Now, with nothing left to do, it was just the two of them in a little closet, eyes gleaming in the dark. Moving carefully, so as not to bump or step on the clown, Striker sat down against one wall. He stretched out his legs and folded his arms, trying to at least pretend he was comfortable, calm. That things were alright. Pretending could get a person a lot farther than giving in.

"So. Fizzarolli, right? How you been? Been a while since you an' I crossed paths." He chuckled and closed his eyes. "Guess violent chaos is our theme."

For a brief moment, Fizz freezes at the sound of that familiar voice. Oh, fucking hell, not HIM. He didn't even have to look to know his guess was right, who else could it be? Face set in a grimace, he follows closely behind Striker not wanting to get left behind. & Definitely not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

He winces at the sound of glass shattering & ducked inside the restaurant with him. "Yeah, thanks, oh knight in shining armor." he grumbles, still freshly annoyed that they had run into each other ——— again. 

At least this time was different, well, sort of. 

He nearly jumps at the sound of the massive boom. Eyes wide, he stands close behind Striker, hands awkwardly clinging to their arm. He was shaking. "Quickly, though, please." he hisses, wide eyed gaze searching the room for what they had mentioned. "I'd like to keep myself in check. Or else Angel's gonna get my fucking title." 

Not saying he didn't adore working with Angel, but like hell he was gonna be the second favorite star. Head shakes at the thought, squinting as he sees something in the far corner of the restaurant. 'Wait, wait. What's that ? " Stepping forward, he tugs at their hand, pulling him along as he ducks towards a closet that looked hopefully big enough for two. 

This was going to suck. 

"What about there ? " He pulls the door open, sighing as it reveals to be empty. & Definitely enough space for two. "It's ... better than nothing, right ? " 

Blitzøs entire life spent being unwanted. So he adapted, and learned how to be something needed, something to be used.

Which is why I think he firmly believes he is being used by Stolas. He simply cannot fathom a different reality, one in which he is wanted for once in his life.

"Yeah, it's not really my thing, Hell beaches are depressing, but figured I'd live a little." Blitz was dressed in all black, of course--short shorts and a short-sleeved button-down worn open, because he was absolutely not above letting his glorious abs shine, why be modest about something like that--and had a pair of gloves on. One of them sported a crystal on the back of it; the damn crystal was part of Blitz, permanently stuck to him now, and he hated looking at it without gloves on. At least, when it looked like part of an accessory, it wasn't so bad, but...

Nah. Fuck it. No brooding.

He hopped up onto a nearby fence and patted the worn wooden top railing, gesturing for Roth to join him. "Sorry to hear about the nightmares. They're a fucking bitch. The more real they are, the harder to shake off, right?" He studied Roth's eyes as he said it, not completely convinced, but then looked out to the water as well. Shit. How did one actually go about befriending any Sinner who wasn't Angel Dust? Blitz was putty in Angel's hands, but Angel was also the most damn good person when it came to socializing. Blitz and Roth... maybe not so much. But despite that, Blitz wanted to try. There was something about the cab driver he just really liked, and he wanted to be his friend--or at the very least, to be there for him when he was having a shit day.

"I'm sorry people laughed at you out there. They can go fuck themselves. You wanna talk about the dream, man? Maybe talking about it will make it lose some of its fuckin' power or something?"

He needed to breathe.

Finally, Roth was alone enough to recover. Removing his hat, Roth started wiping the panic sweat that covered his face. The heart was afraid. The blood was hot with anxiety. He just needed to get his bearings. He just needed to reassure himself that was a dream. A delusion. Yet, the dream felt real enough.

How can he tell down here? In this world, this prison of abstract shape and human mockery. How can he tell what was real, or not.

Blitzo’s  question soon caught his tired attention. Roth looked, his eyes lingering as he buried the fear deep down. He knew Blitzo was real. He knew enough that The Imp was real. He thinks.

“Yeah- yeah, I’m good man. Just doing good.”

Gradually, Roth collected enough charisma to lie. He smiled, forcing laughter from his already hoarse throat. Placing his cap back on firmly, he breathed in and exhaled. Maybe, to the untrained eye he could fool someone.

“Just had a bad dream. That’s all, just another bad dream. That’s natural, right?”

Roth’s eyes looked towards the ocean. He recalled how the freezing water filled his lungs, after The Wire threw him over the bridge. It was terrible.

Since damnation, he always had dreams about The Wire. About the man in black, who ambushed him on the Brooklyn Bridge so long ago.  Being murdered and living with the memory haunted Roth. Tortured him.

“Hey, nice seeing you around. Never took you for the tropical lifestyle.”

It was always a little daunting, in a dangerously thrilling way, to encounter the power of the Sins--especially Asmodeus. The way his magic seemed to somehow even make it into the ringtone, the warm charm to his voice as he spoke, never letting Blitz get a worse in edgewise--not that Blitz necessarily wanted to. Just listening to him was something that felt special. And that was Asmodeus's gift, wasn't it? It wasn't just that he could make anyone lustful, save those few who were so averse to it that it would never come naturally. Asmodeus had a way of touching the heart, of making colors feel brighter, of making everything seem to mean just a little bit more. Blitz generally made a habit out of not letting himself be impressed by the incredibly powerful, but all the same, he felt it.

Fuck, he felt it.

He stood very still in the rain, feeling the Sin's gaze on him, maybe a little humbled by the fact that Ozzie was taking the time to notice. It was hard not to feel like an inferior goddamn class at moments like this, when you could feel how awe-inspiring another being actually was... But Asmodeus didn't make that feel shitty. Not tonight.

When the call ended, Blitz hung up the phone. He stayed where he was for a moment, letting the rain run down his forehead and into his eyes, considering. He was tired. Going home would be nice. But if he went home now, if he just turned his back on someone who had gone out of his way to be kind to him, someone Blitz actually liked for that matter, wouldn't that just be proving Verosika and all of her party-goers right about what a shitstain he was?

I can do better. I can try.

I owe it to all of them to try.

Well, maybe not all of them, he amended to himself. Fuck Dennis's predatory ass. Seeing him at the party still left Blitz's skin feeling unclean. Fuck that. Fuck all of that. Ozzie took the time to reach out after all Blitz wanted to do was give him a compliment, and Blitz wasn't going to shit on that. So, bizarre bingo card in hand, he headed into the club and did as he was told for once, hanging up his jacket, behaving. He ordered a drink and found a spot at a table that looked like it had other singles at it--singles. Fuck. Hard to think of himself that way, hard to--

No. Fuck it.

It ain't that deep, Ozzie had said, probably just meaning about the interaction, but goddamn if those words weren't good ones to keep in mind about other things, too. They were a way to get through the night, at least. And that? That mattered? So, rather than fill out the bingo card, Blitz just doodled hearts all over it, sappy hearts, hearts with dicks, hearts on horses, hearts. He sipped quietly at a drink, and he just listened to the people around him, observing them.

It wasn't until later in the evening, when he saw Asmodeus not looking too busy for once, that Blitz got up. He walked over, hesitating just for a moment, before he reached up to tap on his arm.

"Hey, uh, big chicken man," he greeted, torn between friendliness and awkwardness, but smiling all the same. "It's been a nice night. Look, you didn't have to do what you did, reaching out like that, but it really turned my night around. Do you uh--would it make you uncomfortable if I ask to hug you?"

Asking. Being polite. Being well-behaved. Blitz could try to do these things, damn it. Fuck. He would try.

@doublejango asked: deer ozmodyeass, i herd u r duing a relashunship bingo. I am the oposit of your type but just want 2 say that i think your stil grate. you make people happy and thats werth a lot in Hell. — keep duing what you du. we need you. you make things briter and better. — Sinseerly, Blitzo p.s. sry 4 bad spelling / unprompted? ; always accepting.

Awww ... what the Hell is this sappy shit (knowing damn well he'll keep it in his desk for rainy days, don't worry about it)? Nah, that ain't gonna fly around here, baby. Whipping out his cellphone, he's texting a message:

❥ sms — Blitzø, I KNOW you aren't serious with that letter of yours. Answer the phone for me real quick.

Within two minutes, Blitzø will find his phone ringing with an intensity. Better answer it or else, assassin man.

❝ Where are you? ❞ Sin is already stepping out to stand in front of the club to find a sad-looking silhouette from a near distance, in Lust's rain. Man, the dramatic flare of this guy! ❝ Turn around. Since when did you know what my type is? Usually, people gotta ask me to dinner first before they get that kind of response from me. Hahaha! ❞ He's talking over the phone yet his eyes are locked on assassin.

❝ It ain't that deep, babe. I promise. Get your ass over here, join the party. ❞ Should Blitzø try to bypass Ozzie's personal invitation, Ozzie's summoning a bingo card and teleporting it to Blitzø's hands. Watching the imp's surprise from here is enough to get Asmodeus grinning wider.

❝ Let's get you some drinks, my man. And leave your coat at the door. See you inside. ❞ Click. No Jesse to answer to this time. Get over here, it's gaming night. Unless you want Deadly Sin to bring you to the club, personally? Because ... heh! It can be arranged!