Chapter Text
Vincent sat at a table with a few ladies, all laughing and chatting away about something or other. A new dress, dinner, their husbands, all things Vincent was used to, and Violet could deal with. She went to pick up a cup of tea, sip at whatever beverage she’d been served, but the glass shattered in her hands. The sound of the glass was much louder in the fuzzy, silent room.
Wait, silent? When did it go silent? She looked up apologetically, only to be met with the icy, sharp stares of the women at the table. Violet tried to speak in her usual soft and feminine voice, but what came out was a voice she’d strayed from, a harshly masculine voice that she’d hated since it changed in her youth. Her unsettled apology was interrupted by the screeching of chairs. Everyone had stood, all staring daggers at Violet. She felt her breath grow shallow, her chest grow heavy. She stood as well, laughing nervously. It sounded wrong, too deep, too raspy.
“S-sorry, I- hhaha…” Violet moved to grab her chair and push it aside, but stumbled. She felt dizzy, why did she feel so dizzy? A woman grabbed her shoulder from behind, and she was relieved to see Frankie, her savior, she could make things better! But all Violet was met with was a look of disgust.
“Why, you’re not a woman at all! To think I let you in my home…” Her voice was sharp and stabbing, tearing at the ache in Violet’s chest, in Vincent’s chest. Violet tried to protest, to say anything, but the lump that had formed in her throat made it hard to speak.
She didn’t understand why this scenario was upsetting her so much, it was true, was it not? Was Violet not just a man in women’s clothes? A wolf in sheep’s clothing? She hated the way her eyes filled with tears, the way that things started to grow fuzzy around her vision until-
“Violet!”
Vincent was startled awake, sitting up in a cold sweat to find Frankie, the disgust from earlier replaced by a concerned gaze.
“Goodness, Violet. You were having a nightmare, I nearly heard you all the way from my own room.” Frankie spoke, handing a glass of water to Vincent. He realized quickly just how bad his head hurt, groaning softly as he raised a hand to hold it.
A nightmare. That made sense. That’s all it was, a nightmare. But why had it affected him so badly? He was a man. He’d been a man since he was born, and nothing could change that. No matter how women’s clothing and that sinful transsexuality interested him. No, he was a man who had strayed from the path of God in a fit of envy, and ended here in his eternal torment.
He took the glass, discomfort painting his face. Frankie must have noticed, because she sat next to him on the bed, “Poor thing, must’ve been frightening. Do you want to talk about it?”
Vincent just stared at his hands, how they awkwardly fit around the glass, too big to be delicate. He shook his head. How was he supposed to tell her that he dreamt that she had found out his biggest secret down here? “It was stupid.”
Nightmares were a common occurrence in his youth, and they were always pushed aside with a snide “get over it” or “it was just a dream” from either parent, even when he was nearly sobbing with terror from a horrible dream. Never had he been comforted and fawned over all because he’d gotten upset over something that wasn’t real.
Frankie simply hummed, her delicate hand rubbing over Vincent’s back, “Hhm, I bet you’re hurting a bit, hum?” Hurting? Well, yes, he was, but-
Oh shit.
He didn’t even remember getting home last night, his memories were a hazy flood of drinking, laughing, Astoria’s hair and eyes and her laugh, the way she danced and complimented Vincent… He shook the thought off.
“Yeah… how did I get home again?” Vincent asked softly, trying to lessen the ache behind the glass of his face.
Frankie simply chuckled, “Miss Astoria brought you home, such a handsome young lady, isn’t she?” She asked with a knowing smirk.
“I… guess?” Vincent replied with confusion. Had he said something last night? No use in lingering on that…
The majority of Vincent’s day was spent replaying the events he could remember from the night before. He lingered on Astoria’s demeanor, the way she spoke to him and other patrons of the bar, on the way she’d be so effortlessly charismatic while simultaneously being unladylike. Vincent had learned early to sit straight, cross his legs, stay quiet, and smile softly. But Astoria, Astoria didn’t abide by the same rules every other woman seemed to, and it entranced Vincent. Her loud demeanor, how she’d confidently turn men down, her sharp, intimidating grin. Vincent couldn’t get it to leave his mind. It played like reruns right behind his eyes as he restocked the shop with a smile he’d practiced for weeks.
He was in the middle of refolding some pants a pair of brats had mucked with when he heard a familiar voice behind him, “Rough night, dear?”
Vincent turned faster than he thought was humanly possible, facing Astoria with a bright smile, “Astoria! Ah-” he cleared his throat, realizing his reaction was much too excited for a woman he met yesterday, “I- yeah, a little bit. I’m sorry you had to er… deal with that, I’m not a big drinker and I-”
Astoria interrupted him with a wave of her hand, “Oh hush, it was no issue to me. The night was little more than great entertainment.”
Great entertainment? Vincent didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended, and voiced his thoughts with amusement, “Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?” He asked with a playful smile.
Apparently this was the correct response, because it was met with a sharp laugh, but it seemed a little different than the ones she’d gifted Vincent previously, “Take it as you please, my dear. Now, I feel we must discuss the happenings of last night…”
Vincent felt a pang of panic settle in his chest. Had he said something wrong? Told Astoria his secret? Certainly not, he couldn’t have gotten that drunk!
Astoria must have noticed this reaching discomfort, because her smile only sharpened. Her voice lowered as she stepped toward Vincent and circled him like a drop of blood in the ocean. She hummed knowingly, eyes narrowed as they studied Vincent. Vincent felt his heart racing, felt his mouth open to defend himself, to divert Astoria’s thoughts, but he couldn’t. He was frozen. When he’d been caught doing something unacceptable in life, he’d either eliminate the problem or talk his way out of it. He was good at talking. He’d learned in his youth that if he didn’t allow his opponent to get a word in, that he could control what people believed. He could make them perceive something that was only in his best interest. But now? He couldn’t. He didn’t understand it. He loved talking, but he couldn’t even begin to explain himself. How could he? He’d lied to everyone about his identity, he’d made up a woman in his head and played the part for far too long. He was ruined.
At least, he thought he was, before Astoria spoke, “You’re quite the flirty lady, aren’t you?” Vincent felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs with the wash of relief over his racing thoughts. He was just being talked to about his flamboyancy. He was okay. Violet was okay.
He laughed breathlessly and nodded with a blue sheen of blush, “I suppose, I get like that after a couple drinks.”
Instead of laughing along, Astoria tilts her head slightly, like the deer she’d been cursed as, “You flirted with mainly women, my dear.” She says softer, like she’s trying to keep the television demon’s “secret” under wraps, “Quite the scandal for an aspiring overlord…”
Right. He wasn’t supposed to like women. It was one of the odd switches of expectations that came with being a woman. He couldn’t bring himself to be interested in men, no matter how much he’d enjoy their voices or bodies or… well, maybe his sickening attraction he’d hidden like the plague in life would come in handy down here.
His stammers seemed to amuse the Radio Demon who chuckled, “You seem awfully relieved for a woman who’s been found out for her sapphic tendencies…”
He did, didn’t he? Vincent wasn’t sure how to perform fear, not after the wave of relief that had hit her like a brick. He could certainly still try to rationalize it, he supposed, “Well, it is hell, am I supposed to be scared of being found out for that? We’re all sinners.” He nearly snapped, turning back to the clothes to continue folding.
Astoria wasn’t convinced. She hummed, her eyes narrowed over Vincent’s casual demeanor, “What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.”
“There’s something you don’t want me knowing. You were oh so fearful before I told you that you were flirty with women. What were you expecting me to say? What are you hiding, dear?” Astoria purred like a cat preparing to strike.
“I’m not hiding anything!” Vincent defended far too quickly.
Astoria and Vincent stood in silence for a moment before the Radio Demon melted into a puddle of radio waves, leaving Vincent alone with his thoughts. Had he been too harsh? Had he gone too far and ruined his chance at being friends with the most powerful demon down here?
After a long day of moping about and wallowing in self-pity, Vincent decided to dress up as Violet and go out for the night, only after a long talk from Frankie about safety in the city. It wasn’t the first time he’d been on his own, the television demon felt like a scolded teenager. Though, he couldn’t help the joy in his chest at being fussed over. Tonight he’d chosen a blouse and flared pants that usually went with a blue women’s suit he liked. His bar of choice was the one Astoria had taken him to the night prior. He’d try to stick to martinis this time around. Sazerac’s were much stronger than he anticipated, and he drank a few too many the night prior.
Vincent found himself moping quietly to himself in the bar, very different to moping in the boutique, mind you. Instead of being left alone like he anticipated, he was approached by a man. He still wasn’t quite used to that, he’d been propositioned by plenty of men in various sexual ways that disgusted him even more than when he’d hear about his colleagues describing it. He’d never really understood why women were so cautious around him in bars until he was in their position.
“Hey hot stuff, you wanna have a fun time?” Asked a scratchy-voiced sinner.
Vincent looked over them with a blatant look of disgust, he was already tipsy and very not in the mood for some sinner to hit on him, “Not particularly, no.”
This was apparently the incorrect response, because the man did not budge, “Aw come on sweetness, you look awful lonely over here. Why don’t I buy you another drink? You could go on and sit with my buddies while I get em, how about that?”
’God, do men just not listen’? Vincent thought, frustrated with the persistence of the patron. He didn’t think much about how he didn’t lump himself in with men. “No, thank you, I’m perfectly fine by myself.”
The sinner was not getting the hint – or was, and just wasn’t listening – and pursued further: “You’d be damn lucky to score me, hell, you’re lucky I’m talking to you. I’m doing you a favor, baby.”
“Hey, scram. She ain’t interested,” interrupted Haze, Violet’s savior.
The sinner’s tail flicked in annoyance as he glared at the bartender, “Who asked you, dyke?”
Violet was about to interrupt and berate the man for calling Haze such a name, before the cattish demon snapped back, “Her girlfriend. You ain’t gettin’ her. She’s here for me.” The man blinked once, then snarled, murmuring something that was clearly a homophobic insult under his breath as he walked away. Haze turned to Violet with a softer gaze, “Sorry ‘bout that. You alright, there?”
Violet blinked at Haze, a bit surprised by the excuse that the woman had so effortlessly thrown out, “Girlfriend?” She questioned.
The bartender simply laughed, “Just giving you a quick out. Maybe wait until he leaves to go back home, though. Wouldn’t want you getting followed, y’know?” She went back to wiping down glasses as she spoke to Violet.
Violet looked down at the glass in her hand, sighing as she picked out the olive to eat, “Yeah… ‘course.”