Safe Sane And Rebound - Tumblr Posts

for @visage-of-hell -- thank you for liking the starter call, and thank you more for having an awesome idea for the thread! you totally didn't have to supply the plot but hgfjshgdfj i love it. btw for anyone casually reading, there's a lil DDDNE under the read-more, so that maaaay not be your flavor.

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Fuck Verosika. Fuck Verosika and Denis and Stolas and Demetri and Evelyn and Jasper and Rochefort and all of them. Fuck that entire party. Fuck everything and everyone--and most of all, fuck himself. The thoughts rattled around in Blitz's head, sharp as razors. He was too sober for all of this, too sober for this night, for this week, for life. Too sober, but for once, he didn't have the heart to get drunk. He didn't want to. He wanted to be present tonight, to remember all of this, every bit of pain, the humiliation. He wanted to remember seeing Stolas go off to dance with Demetri. Sweet Demetri. God, Demetri had been such a babe, and although their affair had been short, there had been times there when Blitz had thought maybe, maybe...

Fuck everything. And fuck himself. He needed to get out of his head, but he needed to hurt, and he knew where to go for that--and he wasn't even going to have to leave the Pride Ring. Sure, there would be more clubs down in Lust, but Blitz didn't want the general overtones of caring that Asmodeus offered. He wanted someone irresponsibly cruel to hurt him. Usually, he went to Lacerate to be a loving dom, to just do whatever it was a sub needed for the night, to get out of his own head and play with people... but tonight, he went for something else.

Blitz had stopped at home first. He needed the smell of Verosika's party off his skin. He had showered, scrubbing hard, then got dressed in tight leather pants and a black fishnet shirt, with chrome rings for his spines to slide through. He'd put on black eyeliner and he oiled his horns, spines, and hooves with a very lightly scented and pleasant oil--it carried a hint of gunpowder in it, subtly mixed in with the scent of hot stone and cedar. He might be getting ready for a date with someone he cared about--but that, Blitz thought, wasn't likely to happen again anytime soon.

So. All dolled up, he checked in at the desk and grabbed the white wrist-band, a color he'd never actually worn here before, signifying that he was here to sub and that he didn't want someone to ask for his limits, didn't want a safe-word. He wanted complete surrender and didn't care who it was to.

Sinners came to Lacerate; there was always someone here ready to hurt you.

As he drifted through the corridors and rooms, he caught the eye of a handful of subs he had played with before. Inevitably, they lit up, smiling and waving, or at least nodding if their hands were busy, happy to see him. Blitz always smiled back, although it hurt a little more now. When would they start showing up at Verosika's party? He hadn't even done most of those people wrong, he just didn't let them keep him... was that really cause enough to hate someone? To obsess? But Stolas... I hurt him. I hurt Stolas. The only person who matters. And Stolas is going to go home with Demetri, and they're going to fall in love, and...

Good for them, he reminded himself.

Good for them.

When he found someone he wanted, the man seemed surprised. Blitz circled around him, looking him up and down, running his claws over the guy's abdomen--well aware he was showing off his own physique as he did so, letting the undulating blue and purple lights of the low-ceilinged, black-walled room play off of his muscles and spines.

"Blitz? I thought you, you know. Liked to play on my side of things. You good?"

Blitz shrugged and held up his wrist, showing the band. The lights also caught on the Asmodean crystal permanently embedded in the back of his left hand, even when he didn't have a glove on, but he couldn't look at that. "Not really. But I'm not here to be good."

-

Two hours later and Blitz was exhausted. Shivering, aching, pushed past his limit, he wanted to curl up on the floor and be cry until he either passed out or was sick--maybe both. But instead, he let the guy who had just fucked him up pick him up and make him drink a big glass of water. There was something dissolved in it--crushed up calcium and salt, Blitz realized, and grunted in gratitude that this fucker remembered what Blitz's particular race of imp needed in recovery. He drank every drop, closed his eyes, and although he hated himself a little for this, too, just let himself be held against a broad chest, let himself float a little longer in the safe place, where his body hurt more than his heart, and his mind didn't have what it took to keep up anymore.

Eventually, though, his playmate had to go home. He helped Blitz dress, assured that he was actually out of sub-space before he left, and then he was gone. Gone, and Blitz was left alone. Aching--his back was raw from the beating he'd demanded--and heartsick and sober again.

Maybe it was time to go home.

He sighed, rubbed a hand over his mouth, and closed his eyes. Nah. He wasn't gonna fuckin' cry. Not here. Blitz took a deep breath, steadied himself, then headed out of the private little room and down the hall...

But he heard a whimper.

Real pain. Something about it--that sounded off. He stopped in the hall, turning his head to try and listen, try and pinpoint exactly where the fuck that whimper had come from. There was a difference between pain and pain, one that way too many years as a dom who enjoyed sadism had conditioned Blitz to hear, and that sound was the difference; behind one of those doors, someone was getting hurt in a way they didn't want and couldn't stop.

Instantly bristling, growling, Blitz ripped his white wristband off and dropped it on the floor. He was too tired to fight well, but that didn't fucking matter.

He was vaguely aware of someone else opening a door nearby when he positioned himself to kick in the door in question. "Don't fuck with me," Blitz snapped at whoever had just stepped out into the hall, tail thrashing angrily. He glared at the door, kicked it--and while it thudded in the frame, it didn't open. He could hear the heavy locks holding it in place. "God fucking damn it. Hey, you. Help me kick this door down and I'll give you head after we fuck these fuckers up," Blitz offered, sensing someone near him, but not actually stopping to look before he kicked the door again, harder this time, putting all of his damn fury and heartache into it.

The Hellhound had power. Not just the ability to use magic, but actual magic, power coursing through her, as rich and dangerous and clearly useful as anything an Overlord commanded. Blitz shouldn't be hung up on that, not when there was potentially a fight mere seconds away, but for a moment, he just stood there, staring, eyes huge, trying to take it in. She'd leapt in to help with the fight, she had the kind of power that probably meant she stood well fucking above most of her kind, and something about her seemed--

Relentlessly unsatisfied.

He took all of that in in a heartbeat, before shaking himself out of the daze as the door sagged, catching on a single chain and a bolt. Blitz's wonderment turned to a feral grin. One hard ram of his horns against the door was enough to shatter the rest of the hardware keeping it dangling there like a loose tooth. Sparks flew, a chain snapped, a bolt sheared off, and the door clattered in, falling half into the room and half into the hall.

Trusting that this woman was going to continue kicking ass with him, since she sure as fuck seemed on board with it, Blitz dove into the room, coming up with a knife in each hand, taking the scene in as he made it to his feet.

They were all Sinners. One was strapped to a table, some feline-type, a young man with white fur, wide red eyes, and a white wristband that looked like it had been pulled on too tightly, and probably not by him. There were three other Sinners standing around him, stunned; they clearly hadn't expected the door to actually come down.

All three of the problems were armed--with torture implements. Real torture, the kind that nobody was meant to come back from, or at least not come back sane from. The kitten-sinner would eventually resurrect if they killed him, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be traumatized all to fuck, or that he deserved to be here having people flay his skin off in strips and laugh about it.

"You guys picked the wrong fucking night," Blitz declared. He sounded far too gleeful to be threatening, though, laughter in his voice--because fuck, this was a treat This was like a goddamn dream come true, this was exactly what he needed to clear his head: some good old fashioned ultra-violence.

Healthy, right?

His evident cheer gave the three further pause, stunting their ability to react anywhere near quickly enough.

Blitz leapt onto the one closest to the cat, latching onto the Sinner like an evil koala, knees around his chest, knives already buried into his throat. Laughing--cackling, really--Blitz crossed the blades and jerked them apart, severing the spine before he immediately head-butted the corpse.

The head fell to the ground with an almost wooden thwomp and Blitz jumped free before the body fell. He landed on the torture table, standing over the victim, teeth bared in a snarl. "Kick their asses while I cut him free!" he called out. It was stupid, he had no reason to believe the woman was really going to want to fight like a team in this, or that she would be up for tackling two Sinners... but fuck, the way she had just immediately leapt into the fucking situation out there in the hall, and the ferocity in her eyes, that air of not being satisfied, of not having gotten what she needed from tonight--

Blitz trusted her with his back, focusing on cutting the bonds around the cat. Everything was happening so fucking quickly, and maybe he was about to get himself seriously fucking hurt for choosing to trust the wrong person, but so fucking be it.

Right now, it felt goddamn worth it.

'It was any other fucking day', she had tried to remind herself. No different from any other. Get up, get shit done, go back to bed, rinse and repeat all over again. Day and night played on a repetitive loop that had become as empty and meaningless as it had predictable. But it wasn't just any other day. For mortals, it was Halloween. Nothing of any importance to a hellborn, but the woman she had shared the whole of her heart with had reveled in the sheer nauseating festivity of it all. The cheesy oldschool horror flicks, corny cheaply-made decorations, lame costumes, tons of candy-flavored shitty booze ... it was deeply nostalgic to the sinner, and so Visage had made it her mission every damned year to bring her own variation of those cliche holiday rituals to Hell. To give her love a taste of the familiar. It was their yearly specialty--and once more ... she was spending that day alone. The passing of the past two years had dulled the sting of many of the most grievous emotional wounds. Back when everything still reminded Visage of her, when just getting out of bed each morning seemed an insurmountable task. It had slowly gotten easier, as the intensity of the memories faded, but some wounds still stubbornly refused to close. This one, in particular, still festered. And so, as she always did when the pain was simply too much to carry, she sought to shed it--if only for one night. With enough alcohol and hard narcotics, any memory could fade. By the time she had finished up at the first bar, the sound of her lover's final words was almost in-perceivable in the back of her mind. A far away whisper drowned out by the incoherent buzzing of white noise in her ears. By the second bar, the image of her lover's head rolling across the asphalt wasn't seared into the inside of her eyelids anymore whenever she closed her eyes. Just shapeless blobs that churned and roiled like an angry sea, too clouded and unsteady to make out in any manner of detail. But no matter how much she drank, how many pills she swallowed, something else still lingered ... still scraped at her insides like grasping talons. How it felt. That deep ache that came from the hollow space left where her beloved Dhallia used to be ... and knowing that she only had herself to blame for it. Words like claws raking across rusted metal pierced through the haze of her chemical escape, ceaseless and deafening as ever. She would still be here, if not for you. You were supposed to protect her. You were all she had. And now she's gone. Booze and drugs wouldn't be enough to kill the root of the pain tonight. No. She needed a needed a stronger high ... some carnal and ravenous that could penetrate deeper than any artificial buzz ever could ... and only one place could provide it. --

Lacerate wasn't her typical fuck dungeon of choice--too heavy-handed and direct in its approach for her tastes. It felt akin to shooting fish in a barrel, hunting prey that was essentially already caught. Night clubs were usually more her speed, where the dance of predator and prey could play out more naturally. And depending on the sort of night it was, she could be either. Tonight, though ... she needed a sure thing. She lacked the finesse and the patience to play her role convincingly. And in truth? She didn't know which role she was at that particular moment in time. The Overlord found herself game for just about anything on a night like this... ...And it was reflected in her choice of wristband, after going through all the available options. Grey--dom or sub, top or bottom, her tastes liable to change from moment to moment. A switch of the most dangerous kind. Patrons would need to play with care. Unfortunately, it made finding a suitable playmate for the night extraordinarily difficult. Most other grey-bands were much more tame and laid-back than the restless feral hellhound who navigated the club like the very essence of chaos itself. None could match the she-wolf's energy--when they were hot, she was cold ... ready to submit one moment, seizing a lover by the throat the very next. The volatile cocktail of drinks, drugs and grief were creating a perfect storm of unpredictability that was working strongly against her. Fuck it, she'd find a restroom and crank out a few angry loads by herself before calling it a night and cutting her losses. She would stagger her way home and just sleep it all off. Pain couldn't find her if she wasn't conscious. At least that was the plan ... until she heard it. The tell-tale mewling whimper of a victim in distress. Genuine distress, not something faked to cater to fantasy. Someone was not having a good time. Even above the low pulsing beat of the music and the voices of enthusiastic patrons, the Overlord tracked the source of the cries nearer and nearer ... until even the acrid scent of fear was able to cut through the thick cloying miasma of musk and arousal. Step by step, Visage found herself rapidly sobering up as surges of adrenaline began steadily flushing the chemicals from her system. That, alone, was just pissing her off even more. Whoever that weaselly fuck was, they were going to regret hurting someone against their will and obliterating her buzz. She was already feeling bad for whatever janitor was going to be responsible for mopping up the mess. No sooner had she arrived, though, than someone else was already there--an imp with an impressive rack of horns that stood a fair bit taller than most other imps she had seen. Apparently she hadn't been the only one to hear it. Another who was also inclined to act. Good. This could be a different kind of fun. The hellhound's brow furrowed as as the imp struggled against the bolted door, however, and after his first two tries couldn't make it budge ... Visage firmly gripped him by the shoulder before he could attempt to breach it a third time. "Hold up, I got this!" The words left her in a rumbling snarl, gently pushing him back a few steps as a familiar white-hot heat surged down her other arm before culminating down into the tips of her claws--claws that had now taken on a vivid blue glow akin to red-hot metal. THWACK! The first swing sliced cleanly through the top hinge of the door as though it were little more than wet paper. SHHNK! The back-swing took out the second hinge just as easily, and the large wooden door visibly sagged to one side--now only held upright by the various chains and locks that had sealed it shut. Her feral silver gaze fell upon the imp expectantly now, as though waiting for him to join her and barge in together. Whatever was happening behind that door, Visage was more than glad to accept backup if it was being freely offered.

If Blitz had any idea just how beautifully the Hellhound fought, he would've been furious with himself for missing the chance to watch. Poetry in motion was always captivating, but when it was violent? When it was combat? When it was someone going all-out to save another person, or even just for the sheer, shameless joy of it? It was a rare beauty to behold--but he didn't know. He was so focused on getting the cat-demon free that he missed it. Everything happened so damn quickly, and this kid was bleeding the fuck out--

But the cat-demon's eyes widened and he hissed, baring his needle-like little fangs in alarm. Blitz turned to look--

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" he blurted out, fighting the urge to roll away from the attack. Instinct said to do that, but if he did, he'd be opening up the cat to an attack, and the guy was still tied with one more knot, the tangle of thick, over-tightened rawhide straps around his throat. Everything was going in slow-motion though, the way it always did in moments like this, those brief instances where life really did hang in the balance. Blitz was aware that the world was ending in the blink of an eye, but it didn't matter. He wasn't leaving this kitten undefended. Vaguely aware that the beautiful Hellhound had dispatched the other, he grabbed the outstretched wrist of his attacker. That flensing knife was poised to slice right down into Blitz's stomach. A blade that sharp, it was going to do real damage. it was thin, so at least there was that--but his detached thoughts about how survivable it might be didn't distract him from acting. Hands as strong as vise-grips, Blitz crushed the man's wrist as he took hold of him.

He launched himself back off of the table, pulling his attacker over it, with him. There was a brief sensation of sharpness, of heat. The pain would come later. He knew he'd been cut, he could feel the wetness already pouring down his chest, but it didn't matter; as the two of them fell, Blitz managed to turn that knife around.

By the time they hit the ground, the knife was in the SInner's guts. Snarling, Blitz head-butted him as hard as he could--there was a sickening crunch sound, which might have done the Sinner in--before he shoved the knife up higher, farther. In the next breath, the body atop him went limp. Lifeless.

He'd reanimate eventually.

Fucker.

Still growling, bristling, Blitz shoved the corpse off of himself, leaving the knife in it, and jumped back up onto the table.

"Is everyone--fuck! Fuck, is everyone okay?" he asked, standing over the victim, looking at the Hellhound with open worry in his eyes. Whoever she was, she had come to help. She was incredible. And if she was hurt? Blitz was never going to fucking forgive himself. Never-mind that his stupid mesh-shirt was hanging open, along with part of his chest, and that blood was dripping down him. They had won. There was time to worry about her, and about the cat.

The cat sinner was shaking hard--trying not to flinch whenever Blitz's blood dripped onto him--and scrabbling at the leather straps around his throat. Managing to tear them free, he sat up, clinging to the imp's thigh, and looked over at the Hellhound. Eyes wide, voice shaking, badly injured, he nonetheless managed to say, "Thank you. Both of you."

And then the cat-sinner passed out, the imp swayed with the blood-loss (and his exhaustion from earlier in the night), and a bouncer stuck their head in.

"What the fuck is going on in here? Everyone consent to this?" the bouncer asked.

Blitz started laughing. Maybe this wasn't the place, it sure as fuck wasn't the time, but oh fucking well. "Yeah. Yeah, this is real safe, sane, and consensual, all the way through, fucker."

Whatever it was Visage was prepared to see when the door was breached ... it had not been that. The giddy excitement of impeding combat was momentarily shocked out of her system like a dunk of ice-cold water at the grisly sight. And yet, just as quickly as the sight had rattled her, a smoldering fury began to slowly weave through her veins. It had been too blissfully long since she had been reminded of just how vile demons could be ... and the hellhound was all too eager to meet their wanton cruelty in equal measure. Before she could act on the urge, however, her new companion was the first to enter the fray. Real violence was a vice the hellhound had not been able to truly indulge since her bounty hunting days ... in a time before the mantle of Overlord had been thrown her way. Bearing witness to the imp's artfully brutal decapitation was like the first hit of a favored drug after being clean for entirely too long. Pure uncut euphoria. A faint sheen of pale luminous blue flashed across the silver of her eyes as her pupils shrunk to pin pricks. His words cut through that awestruck haze ... and the fur along the nape of her neck bristled in anticipation of the carnage she would soon leave in her wake. "Oh, with fuckin' pleasure, babe!" In a flicker of movement that one could easily miss in the blink of an eye, a wicked pair of sickle-shaped blades were pulled free from the leather sheathes strapped to each upper thigh. The pale hue of the engraved metal and the way they glowed like captured moonlight made the true nature of the weapons readily apparent--any Sinner struck down by these would not be respawning. The she-wolf was playing for keeps. Before the remaining two torturers could grasp the grim reality of their predicament, the lupine was on them like a bolt of lightning, one of the blades coming forward in a graceful arc as it sliced upward from the left underarm up into the shoulder in a single powerful swing that sent the severed limb sailing across the room. It was difficult to say which came next ... the howling shriek of agony from the demon or the wet meaty thud of the arm striking the opposite wall. Where the first blade had swung up, the second came down like the lashing talon of a great beast as it cleanly slid through flesh and into the small space between the throat and collar bone to hook into the back of the sternum. The Sinner's screaming wavered into a small strangled cry as the hellhound used her grip to bodily yank the demon down to his knees. With a fang-toothed grin more akin to a feral snarl, the Overlord lowered her face just near enough to lock eyes with the Sinner as he stared at her in incoherent horror. "G'night, asshole..." Before the demon could even articulate a final thought, Visage pulled hard, the blade ripping through both bone and cartilage with barely any resistance as splintered ribs jutted out from cleaved flesh. A cascade of organs slid outward through the grotesque wound to pool upon the floor ... before he slumped forward to fall face-first into the pile of viscera. A shaky sigh of satisfaction left her. It felt damn good to pour all that pain--that impotent anger--into something so deeply cleansing. In the heat of the moment like this, it wasn't about righting the injustice of their cruel torture anymore. In fact ... for a fleeting second, it wasn't a Sinner that Visage saw. Staring down at the rapidly-cooling corpse, it lay in a crumple of tattered wings and dark chainmail armor before flickering back to normal in the space of a single blink. That rush of fury wavered as she gaped down at the body with a faint gasp. Was she finally fucking losing it...? Unaware of the distraction, the remaining Sinner wanted no part of any of that, deciding to take his chances with the imp that was currently untying their intended prey rather than tangoing with the wrathful she-wolf. Unleashing a feral yell, he lunged at Blitz with a still-bloody flensing knife held firmly in hand.

What was she? What the actual sweet ever-loving fuck was she? A Hellhound, maybe a hybrid, a warrior, and an Overlord? Blitz had been shocked by how abruptly the woman shifted into rage, a righteous fury that silenced any arguments from the bouncer, but he couldn't say she was wrong for it. For any of it. Lacerate was usually a decent place, at least as far as clubs in Pride went, but this shouldn't have happened. Given that the semi-conscious Sinner was wrapped around his leg as Blitz stood on the table, he couldn't physically go to her to back her up in her confrontation. Instead, he clenched his fists and glared murder at the bouncer, tail whipping side to side, chin up, furious defiance written in every line of the imp's body.

When the confrontation ended though, Blitz's stance softened. He looked down at his chest and winced--yeah, that was a disgusting wound--and then snorted angrily. "I really liked this fucking shirt. And I'm good," he lied, "but this guy..."

"I will care for him," a smooth male voice cut in from the doorway, someone far calmer than that poor bouncer had been.

Blitz's tail immediately began thrashing again and he bared his teeth, looking at the... the... the fucking beautiful Goetia standing there. Iridescent, almost scaly feathers--probably blue-green, but they looked shiny and black right now in the club's lighting. He wore trousers and a vest that were clearly tailor-made, leaving his muscular, feathered arms bare to the shoulder.

Vepar. The owner.

The white cat Sinner awoke at the voice, blinked, then stared at Vepar, looking at him like he'd never seen anyone so beautiful.

"My lady Visage," the Goetia said as he stepped into the room, "I deeply appreciate your aid. This atrocity never should have happened. Thank you for your assistance, as well as for your visit to my establishment. It's always a pleasure, having an Overlord visit. Now, little one." He offered the cat his hand. "Would you like to be healed?"

"Y-yes please...?" Shy but clearly enamored, the Sinner let go of Blitz's leg and scooted over to take the Goetia's hand. When the bird scooped him up into his arms instead, he whimpered quietly in pain before he abruptly began purring; Vepar was holding him just right, so snug and comfortable and comforting, and seemed to be sending some sort of soothing energy into him...

"If you would like to wait, Mr... Buckzo, isn't it? I will gladly heal you as well."

Blitz blinked, frowned. Goetia could do that? It might be nice, but right now, he wasn't in the mood to trust anyone to do any magic on him. "No fucking thank you. I've got horsey bandages at home that'll do me just fine. But listen, you hurt that cat, I'll come back here and burn your whole fucking place down."

Vepar's eyes were very dark. Shadows within shadows, the deadly depths of an ocean. When he smiled and bowed his head ever so slightly, it did absolutely nothing to warm his expression. "Understood. I would appreciate if you refrain from threatening myself or my employees in the future, Assassin, but this once? I am inclined to forgive.

"Unless there is anything else? I'll be off with this little one."

Like a shell-shocked soldier locked in place, near-catatonic from the daze of that haunted vision ... only the sudden outburst by Blitz finally brought the hellhound back to reality in a jolt of sights and sounds that roared back into her ringing ears. Inwardly she cursed herself, even amidst the appreciative relief of seeing her new partner in crime handle his attacker so cleanly. He was a capable warrior, that much was beyond a doubt. Still ... her hesitation had gotten him injured and nearly cost the feline Sinner his afterlife. One errant swing of a knife was all it would have taken, if the imp had been a fraction slower to react. In an instant, a hot sour twist coiled like an agitated serpent deep in the pit of her gut, words filling her mind like seeping poison. As usual, you can't protect anyone... Standing there with ink-black ichor oozing off the curved edges of her blades, Visage had scarcely parted her muzzle to utter an awkward half-apology when a stranger barged into the doorway. At first too stunned to react, that numbed state of self-directed anger soon went up like a sheet of paper dropped into an open flame--her ire had itself a new scapegoat. Silver eyes narrowed dangerously as their edges took on a glimmer of that same azure hue that marked her signature flames, the grip on her sickle handles tightening with an audible creak of straining leather. "What the fuck is going on...? Y'know, that's a really fucking good question..." Pausing briefly to shove her blades back into their sheaths with enraged flourish, the lupine Overlord began to angrily storm towards the bouncer that had made the dire mistake of interjecting himself on his employer's behalf. He'd soon regret it. In a flash, Visage was inches from the other demon's face, canine muzzle creased into a hateful snarl. "How about you FUCKING tell me?! How does a trio of psychopaths manage to get a submissive alone in a room like this without any kind of safety overrides in place?! In a god-damn BDSM club of all the shit places!" Those eyes had long since shifted from silver to bright blue, pupils shrinking to the size of pin pricks until they almost vanished completely. An almost hollowed resonance echoed across every edge of her enraged words as she suddenly gripped the bouncer by his leather vest, yanking him off balance to pull him in closer. For the moment, anger was winning against any semblance of fear as the brute of a demon glared at the she-wolf who was daring to manhandle him. "Just who the fuck do you think you--" "I RUN this fucking district, you sorry sack of shit!" The swift retort was barked into his face in a fine mist of angry spittle. For a brief moment, the bouncer gaped in furious confusion ... but suddenly a visible sweep of terrified recognition flashed across his face. "Y-You're that new Overlord ... the one with those Grimfang goons...!" In an instant, that snarl twisted into a mocking sneer. "Gee, no shit, Sherlock!" Even as her tone dropped to a low ominous growl, the air of danger in her words was no less profound. "Now ... if your boss is too damned incompetent to run a business in my domain and keep its visitors safe, then he's gonna wish he'd never set up here. Got it...?" The other demon's head bobbed frantically in mute agreement and only then did Visage finally relinquish her grip on him with a hard shove backwards, employing enough force to leave him stumbling. "Good! We're leaving. Clean up this fucking mess, and it better not ever happen again." Only when the panicked bouncer had scrambled from the room did Visage's attention return back to the other two with a tired and apologetic expression. Already her eyes were returning to their normal black and silver. "You two able to walk outta here in one piece?"

"Of course. You're doing so very well with your district, Visage, I'd be quite pleased to spend some time with you, if you would like that. It's always good to see the--" Vepar's speech faltered for a moment, when the cat Sinner whispered something to him, and his expression abruptly softened. "I know, little one," he murmured, and rocked him gently, as if he were a child. "I know. Hush." Only when the cat quieted did the Duke look back up at Blitz, then at Visage. His black, black eyes drank in the light, their depths almost inviting, as if one could fling themselves into those eyes and fall forever, finding sweet oblivion, peace, and acceptance.

"Forgive me. As I was saying, it's always a pleasure to see the little local governments in action, such as you have here. And really, you're doing so well. Your district is surprisingly safe, for what it is." He hugged the cat closer; by this point, the battered submissive was very nearly asleep. His eyes were half-open, tears slipping out, but the look on his face was the contentment of someone truly exhausted who had finally found their way home. And, all around him, subtle blue-green magic glittered, fine lines in a netlike pattern hugging all around the little Sinner, holding his wounds shut, keeping him together.

"Come at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon, Ms. Visage. The club is not open at that hour, but you will be expected. You are welcome, of course, to bring bodyguards, should you feel more comfortable that way, and you will be able to leave with a substantial reward.

"Thank you both for your efforts here tonight." He turned and swept out, taking the cat with him.

Blitz, swaying slightly, flipped him off as he went. "Fuck that guy. Looking down on us!" He growled, but didn't really have the energy to stay angry. So, deflating, Blitz turned back to her. "So yooouu... are an Overlord? That's, you know, fuck it. I'm not questioning anything else tonight." He hopped down off of the table--faceplanted--and stood quickly, brushing himself off. Exhausted didn't even begin to cover how the fuck he felt right now. Still, he looked up at his ally, a woman he'd never seen before and never could have imagined, his golden eyes gleaming.

"I did promise to thank you in a pretty particular way. You want me to do that now? Or if there's another room you like better...?" It didn't matter that he could barely stand, or that she was mysterious as fuck. Blitz had offered a deal, and Satan fucking damn it, he was going to follow through on it if she asked him to. It didn't matter how exhausted he was. Blitz was tired of letting people down, and determined to keep his word whenever someone asked it of him.

The she-wolf's head snapped back to the doorway at the sound of another unfamiliar voice, a single brow raising at the appearance of the unexpected sight. A Goetia? Here...? As far as she knew, all of their kind were high-and-mighty nobility among hellborn. Fancy birds that lived in grand estates, ruling over the lowly 'rabble' beneath them. To see one of their kind in a place like this...? A myriad of questions flooded her mind. A cast-down pariah of a noble family? A bored duke or prince with a strange hobby? The curiosity was neigh overwhelming. Even so, Visage was always one to trust her instincts and everything about the avian put her immediately on edge. Something was ... off. The ease with which the feline sinner was won over was too convenient, the bird's offer too seemingly sincere. Alarm bells were ringing. But the hellhound found herself at something of an impasse--if she looked further into the club's odd owner and remained behind to ensure the sinner's continued safety, she couldn't also make sure her newfound imp comrade's obvious injuries were properly tended to. What to do? With a momentary crease of her brow, a forced smile quickly swept across her face to mask her ill-ease. "Oh, no, we were just leaving ... though I'm sure you won't mind me coming back tomorrow to follow up? I have some questions for our feline friend, here, but his treatment takes top priority right now. A shit Overlord I'd be if I didn't conduct a proper investigation into an incident like this in my own domain, mm...?" She let the question hang in the air with a small cant of her head, smile widening. It wasn't much, but it was enough to imply that she expected to see the sinner again, which would hopefully be enough to keep him safe until she could return while not openly voicing her distrust. Besides--the opportunity to remind the Goetia that his establishment resided within the territory of a hellhound Overlord was too delightfully petty to resist.

That gentle little boop damn near knocked the imp over, he was that unsteady on his feet. He'd been beaten to near unconsciousness earlier, fucked hard enough and long enough that he had begged him to stop--without using their safe-word, but he had been damn close-- and his back caned harder still. Even before the fight, Blitz had been exhausted--he had actually curled up and cried on someone, much to his fucking shame, as he came up out of subspace. Thankfully, she didn't know that, but he was on his last legs, the fight--and the wound--having taken a lot out of him.

Her being kind? That was almost too much to handle. Blitz met her eyes, searching them, trying to understand--why? She could get some pleasure from him, be served by him, and never have to look his way again, so why was she bothering? But when he finally let himself look down at his chest--and his ruined shirt, fuck, he had loved that fucking shirt--he felt sick. Thankfully, the blade had hit his sternum, but it had opened a significant laceration in his chest. Muscle and skin gaped open, and while it didn't fully hurt yet, it was a cold sensation, deeply cold.

"Yeah," he said, and pressed a hand against the damaged flesh, trying to hold it shut, "that actually might be a good idea... thank you." Looking up again, he met her eyes once more.

They were beautiful.

Really, really beautiful.

Whatever she was, whoever she was, she was stunning.

"My name's Blitz," he said, his voice soft, smile softer still. Tired, hurting, he still looked like he meant it when he smiled at her, like he couldn't help but smile. "Thank you. For all of this shit. I'm gonna owe you more than head by the time this is all over, babe."

Though she did her best for it not to register upon her face, Visage couldn't contain the faint crease of her brow at the Goetia's rather condescending choice of words. This wasn't an unfamiliar tone to her--the thinly-veiled message of 'you're doing well ... for a hellhound' seemed to color a great many of the meetings she had had thus far with many of her 'peers'. Considering where the Ars Goetia stood upon the proverbial totem pole, she honestly should have seen it coming. Her mixed heritage did little to dull the sting of their judgment, however, when the other half didn't rank much higher. At the end of the day, she was just some hellborn mutt 'putting on airs' and swinging above her weight class, in the eyes of those who thought so little of her. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she pointedly replied, "Oh, I'll be there. Don't you worry." Try as she might, she couldn't keep that venomous edge from her voice. In the end it didn't much matter, as the avian was quick to take his leave not long after, whisking away the injured sinner to who knew where. Somewhere safe was all that Visage hoped. A faint sigh escaped her as she watched Vepar go. Blitz's voice snapped her back to reality, though, giving him a thin lopsided smile. "Yeah, I get that reaction a lot. Hellborn Overlords aren't usually, like ... a thing. Buuuut that's a long and not-all-that-interesting story that can wait for another time. You, though..." Slipping in to swiftly close the space between the imp and herself, the she-wolf leaned down and paused to playfully boop him upon his face where a nose would normally be. "...look like shit. You don't owe me squat 'til we get you taken care of." Standing back to her full height her expression softened visibly. "You wanna 'pay me back', then start by comin' with me back to my place. I got plenty of first aid supplies and we can get that cleaned up in a jiffy."