Chapter Text
That was the last time he drank anything Valentino placed in front of him ever again.
Sure, he’d had the odd surprise, probably more than that, honestly, and none of them were exactly pleasant, but he could usually handle the shit Val put in his stuff.
But this.
This was just.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Vox swam through suffocating fabric, thrashing for the light at the end of the tunnel, a shark fighting to break its snout over the waves until finally, he managed to poke out from what was formerly the collar of his own shirt.
He looked down at himself.
A breeze he’d never felt in this particular room made him hunch his very naked, exposed shoulders. He shivered, burrowing back into his suit, only keeping his head poked out.
Even his hands were wrong, wrong, wrong, his claws missing, having fallen off somewhere, leaving soft, sickeningly vulnerable flesh. Useless, attachable artificial tips. He balled his hands into fists, tucking them to his chest. They could’ve shrunk with him, but he wasn’t even afforded that courtesy.
Because that was apparently what happened, what Val decided would be a brilliant idea.
To shrink him down like a batch of laundry gone wrong.
“Val… what the fuck did you do to me? ” Vox screamed, voice so very small, and humiliatingly, higher in pitch, barely recognizable as his own echoing in the vastness of a room that used to be, not a few seconds before, relatively normal sized.
The crack between the couch cushions had never been so perilous.
Vox clung to the dark blue fibers of his coat. He eyed the offending beverage sitting innocently on the coffee table, disguised as champagne.
It didn't taste much like champagne.
Unfortunately, only one gulp to curb Val’s obnoxious pouting was enough for… this.
An enormous, familiar purple head hovered in front of him, coal-red eyes narrowed in mild consternation, not panicked or concerned as they should be. His gaudy top hat looked even more ridiculous from this angle.
“Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen,” Val mused. He arched a brow, finger tapping at his lips. “We’ll have to alter the formula again. Vel can deal with that shit.” He shrugged, already reaching for a new cigarette to light.
Vox wished Valentino had a nose he could tear off.
“Supposed to happen?” Vox hissed through gritted teeth. “You mean to tell me our evening champagne was not supposed to turn me into a fucking leprechaun?” He wrapped the collar of his shirt tighter around himself.
“Yeah, I guess something was added that shouldn’t’ve been,” Val struck a match, the glow withering as it made contact with the paper tip. “Trouble with magic shit, you never really know if you’re getting what you paid for.”
“And you thought you’d just give me something without even knowing what it would do?” Screw it, he was going to jump onto Valentino’s face and carve out his eyes; it wasn’t like they were all that useful to the moth anyways.
Valentino was entirely unaware of his impending threat of total blindness.
“Relax, babe, it should wear off in an hour or so.” Val tilted his head. “Well, give or take a few. Though, that’s what it would’ve been if it worked how it was supposed to. So, who knows, maybe we’ll be in for a few more surprises.” Val let out a curling breath of smoke, mouth curving into a smile. Ordinarily, the noxious pink cloud would stutter in his fans for a bit, before dissipating, leaving only a faint buzz, but with a single huff, Vox found himself doubled over, hacking his lungs out.
Just what he needed, clearly.
Vox clawed at his chest, and Lucifer, it was everywhere, overwhelmingly sweet, sticking on his tongue, jamming his fans, and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t—
He—
“Don’t worry, Voxxy, I’ll take care of you.”
The world tilted.
Shit.
The ceiling was not a normal ceiling.
It was oddly round, and silver, probably metal, but it didn’t look like his workshop. The last thing he remembered was—
Vox bolted upright.
He deftly flicked away error messages as he struggled to his knees and—
What the fuck was he wearing.
His bare feet caught on a jumble of soft, pink silk, overlaid with a light baby blue fabric, spilling out into a full-length… dress.
What.
The.
Fuck.
It looked like a stupid princess gown from one of the horrifically animated movies Vel made them watch one night, claiming nostalgia or whatever. Fingers traced over a linen bodice laced tightly with a scarlet ribbon, culminating in a bow hanging over his collarbone. The sleeves only went down to his elbows, the cuffs ending in droopy ruffles, and goose pimples rose on the remaining exposed skin of his forearms.
Just.
Why?
Why did this happen to him? Who put this shit on him? Whoever it was, they were not long for this world. He would make sure of it.
Unfortunately, a quick glance around his surroundings yielded nothing else to change into, only a small, round space, walls smooth, cool, transparent— yup, that was glass.
He was in a fucking jar.
Vox let out a garbled sound that might have been laughter, only a dash of hysteria mixed in, for flavour. Instinctively, he reached for his power, to the well of rushing, sparking blue—
Nothing.
An aching pit of nothing, metaphorical wires torn from their connections, exposed ends grasping for what should be there, an enormous sea of unfathomable depths, and why, why wasn’t it—
Sad little sparks fizzled from his fingertips.
Further experimentation yielded he could not, in fact, teleport. His body shuddered in place, fans churning as his efforts left him exhausted.
Well.
He was going to murder Valentino—
“Oh, Voxxy! You’re awake.” His future victim of homicide loomed into frame, crouching to peer at Vox as if he were a particularly charming specimen. “Don’t worry, you won’t suffocate in there, I remembered to leave you an air hole. You’re welcome.”
“Val,” Vox’s hands curled into fists against the glass, “if you don’t let me out of here right now , and get me out of, this— this thing, ” he shook a handful of silk, “I swear, you won’t have any wi-fi for the rest of your goddamn life.”
“But you look so cute like this, majo,” Val cooed, tapping the glass, and Vox promptly crouched, fingers scrabbling uselessly as the jar nearly tipped over. “Oops, sorry, pequeñito. Besides, that dress suits you so well, I wouldn’t want it going to waste.”
“Where did you even—?”
“I had Velvette make some for me, don’t worry, there’s more where that came from,” Val gestured at his get-up with a swirling claw.
Vox stiffened.
She couldn’t see him like this, no one could, not on top of everything.
Val evidently noticed, eyes crinkling in faint amusement. Prick.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her anything.” He gently patted the top of the jar. “She just thinks she made some cute doll outfits for some props I’ll be using in a shoot.”
“You. What.” If he still had his claws, he would be leaving deep grooves in the glass.
“Doll outfits,” Val said cheerily, “this is the Princesa Edition, hope you like it. Suits you, too.”
“Val,” Vox bit out between clenched teeth. “If you value your life, you’ll—”
“I can’t wait to see you in this one,” Valentino held up a little frilly black and white number leaving very little to the imagination and hell to the fucking no.
“Let me out! ” Vox deftly ignored the fact he was on the verge of pleading. This was just so beyond anything he could’ve imagined happening to him, and neither his life nor death had been especially mundane.
“We can’t have you tumbling over the edge to your death, Voxxy, and I don’t want to step on you by accident. Besides,” Val’s eyes crinkled, the edge of his smile sharpening into a smirk, “I might have some ideas we can play around with, now that you’re all safe and sound.”
Oh.
No.
No no no.
Vox skittered blindly to the opposite end of the jar, as far away from that promising grin as possible. He dimly registered the coldness of his glass prison pressing into his spine.
“Relax, guapo, I’m not doing anything yet,” Val pouted, “and I’ll be gentle, promise.”
Ha.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” Vox hissed. He had no idea what Val had specifically in mind, but he was not going to find out. Precarious ledges be damned, he’d stay tucked under a piece of furniture until this was sorted out if he had to.
“You just sit tight, Voxxy, don’t worry, I’ll be back.” Val winked, already turning away, and Vox found himself reaching out into nothing as if he could physically yank him back.
“That’s not— Val! ”
“Get comfortable,” Valentino called over his shoulder before he disappeared behind the doors of his enormous walk-in closet. Maybe Vox would be waiting all day.
He didn’t curl into a miserable ball, his legs scrunched against his chest. That would be pathetic. He merely needed somewhere convenient to rest his stupid, heavy screen to ease the ache running through his circuitry and his kneecaps currently served as decent support.
A shudder ran through him.
He swallowed thickly and huffed a breath, rolling his shoulders back.
He was escaping before Val had the chance to come back.
Vox shuffled to the side overlooking the edge of the dresser he seemed to be perched on. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could tip the jar over and roll it close enough to tumble to the ground. But. Could he survive falling from that height? Even if he did, would his legs still be intact enough for him to get away? Would the glass of the jar shatter and impale him? He wouldn’t have time to regenerate enough before Val came back.
How long was this stupid potion even supposed to last for?
On second thought, maybe it would be better if Velvette knew. Perhaps she could’ve gotten him out at least, and hopefully not… put him in more ridiculous outfits.
No, she inevitably would. Ugh.
Vox sank to his knees, resting his head against the glass. There had to be a way out.
He’d—
He’d think of something.
The creak of a door had Vox stiffening. No, Valentino shouldn’t be done yet, it always took him ages to get ready when going out. Sometimes he would literally get lost in the vast expanse of his closet and needed Vox to come fish him out.
“Val?” A quiet, tentative hush, as though the speaker prayed they wouldn’t actually be answered. “You there?” A pause. Then, in a strikingly more relieved tone, “Thank Lucifer.” The door shut, lock clicking in place.
“Time to get down ta business.”
A distinct, familiar silhouette loomed, so, so much taller than it should be, and shit, shit, no, not him, anyone but him.
“Where would he… put it…” Angel Dust rummaged through dressers, pulling various miscellaneous items out before shoving them back in with a disappointed huff.
He was coming closer.
Shit shit shit shit.
Vox hunched down as far as he could, praying Angel would pass by without noticing him. What the fuck was he doing in Valentino’s room anyway, searching his stuff? Whatever, it was Val’s problem. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it. He hoped Angel managed to break something at least. And then left. Promptly.
Though.
Did he really have any other options?
No. Angel would sooner squish him or take a picture to blackmail him with than help him. He would just have to wait until he was gone so he could—
“Huh?”
Vox froze. He haltingly peeked up from his position on his knees.
Oh no.
Actually, maybe he could take his chances with the plummet of uncertain death.
Angel’s massive, fluffy white head peered down at him, black and white eyes blinking in slow disbelief.
Vox wanted to die.
He fought hard against the urge to hide his face, as if that would do anything to salvage this situation. No, there was nothing but to get up and face it.
His throat felt far too tight.
“Wow, they’ve got a really weird new toy line,” Angel commented. Before Vox could even begin to protest, Angel swiftly reached forward, and yanked the jar up, casually twisting it around in the light of the room as if examining a mildly exotic caterpillar. Vox slammed into the glass with the motion, nearly cracking his screen.
“Stop— Put me down! ” Vox cried as another tilt of the jar had him sliding across to smack into the opposite end. Suddenly, everything went still. Vox untangled himself enough to witness Angel’s gobsmacked expression.
“Vox? That… you?” He asked as though genuinely questioning his own sanity. Vox could similarly commiserate.
“... Yep,” Vox muttered. He sighed a long, slow breath, and forced himself to his feet, crossing his arms to fix Angel with the deadliest glare he could muster. It usually sent his employees scrambling, on the verge of tears. For some reason, Angel didn’t seem particularly affected, too busy staring like a startled fish, mouth hanging agape.
“What the— Why are ya fun-sized?” Angel inspected with more scrutiny, flaying him alive under his narrowed gaze, and Vox fervently missed his claws.
“What did you just call me—”
“Is that a dress ya wearin’?” The spider’s eyes bugged from his skull.
“It’s– it’s not important,” Vox spit, “listen, Angel—”
“That colour ain’t so bad,” Angel commented absently, “the cut could do with some work, though. Ruffles? Nah.”
“Angel .”
He seemed to remember he was talking to Vox, snapping to attention.
“I…” The words lodged in his throat and he choked around them, “need you to open this thing. Right. Now.”
Angel automatically reached for the top of the jar and— paused.
“Wait,” Angel said slowly, “you’re not gonna zap me or anythin’ as soon as I let ya out, right?”
“No.” Not until he got his powers back, at any rate. “I won’t do that. So, just. Open. It.” A sharp jolt through his left eye and Angel remaining stubbornly unmoved informed him he was not, in fact, effectively hypnotizing anyone. Well. Fuck.
Angel tilted his head, eyes narrowing in a way Vox decidedly did not like.
“How do I know you ain’t gonna suddenly grow big an’ kill me for seein’ ya like this?”
“I. Promise.” Vox’s hands bunched into the fabric of his stupid gown, “I won’t kill you.” Immediately.
“I dunno,” Angel tapped a finger to his lips, “ain’t no deal keepin’ me safe here, is there?”
“Angel, if you let me out now, I swear I won’t fry your brains out.”
“Real convincin’.”
“Agh! ” Vox banged against the glass, willing it to shatter under his pathetic pummeling.
“Hey, uh, stop that, ya gonna hurt yourself.” Angel cautiously set him down on the coffee table, kneeling in front of him while keeping a hand on the lid to, presumably, prevent Vox from tipping it over. It just made Vox hit harder until skin split, red running down horrifically bruised knuckles. Vox stared at the mess, numb. The blood dripped slowly, staining his vile get-up.
“That uh, that don’t look good,” Angel muttered, then sighed. He unfurled his endless legs, shuffling around the room, likely resuming his previous search. “How did this even happen?” He called over his shoulder.
“None of your business,” Vox snapped, though with less heat. He was just so… tired. He found himself slumped on his knees once more, head leaning against the glass. God, if Angel let him out, maybe he really could just squash him like a bug. How miserable was that?
“Ya know, you’re not all that scary like this,” Angel mused as he wandered into the side bathroom of all things, “more like a tiny angry bee or something.”
“What did you just—”
“Buzz buzz buzz , that’s all I’m hearin’,” Angel chuckled, then gave a small groan of disappointment. He came back into the main room in a huff. “You got no first aid kits in here?”
He was looking for a first aid kit? If he got hurt or something, why would Valentino’s rooms be his first place to look?
“What, twist your ankle on stage?”
Angel frowned incredulously.
“It’s for you, dumbass.” He rolled his eyes. Vox blinked, unable to entirely mask his surprise. At his blank stare, Angel only seemed to deflate, running a hand down his face. Then, he straightened, crossing his arms.
“Alright, here’s how it’s gonna go,” he said sternly, “I can take ya with me ta patch you up, but I ain’t lettin’ ya out ‘til you give me a proper… explanation…” Angel’s attention shifted, gaze locking onto something out of Vox’s line of sight. His eyes widened with a vicious understanding Vox didn’t appreciate.
“What? What are you—” Vox turned. What could there possibly—
Oh.
Vox stiffened.
There, discarded carelessly on a side table, sat a small, empty pink bottle. Different in design than the regular love potions, it looked more like a test tube. This one had ‘DELUXE #1’ splayed across in sparkly letters. Vox felt his blood run cold.
“Vox?” It was quiet, hesitant.
“I—” Humiliation, thick and hot, choked him. His hands curled into fists. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“I didn’t—”
“I’m not some kind of lab rat, okay? That’s not what this is. It’s not— you didn’t see anything, okay? Fucking nothing.” Vox dipped down into a threatening growl. Angel backed away from him, which was a bit ridiculous in the current circumstances.
Silence stretched.
“Val do this to you? He… did he stick ya in there?” Angel said eventually, voice nearly soft.
“This… wasn’t supposed to… happen,” Vox gritted out. He slumped. “Look, just fucking— go. If you don’t tell anyone about this, I won’t kill you.” He would find some other way out if it meant he wouldn’t have Angel staring at him like— like that anymore. It made his skin crawl.
Angel didn’t move. Then, he opened his mouth—
“Voxxy? Are you ready to pick your jaw off the floor?” Valentino called from his walk-in closet.
Vox froze. Angel similarly tensed, horror flashing across his face.
Vox didn’t have a moment to blink before he was snatched from the table, tumbling with the movement. He couldn’t help crying out as he rattled around like dice in a cup, smacking into the walls of his prison.
Angel booked it out of the room, not without lingering in the doorway for a moment. He let out a small, frustrated grunt, but turned on his heel, sprinting for the hallway. Vox couldn’t see past the bars of Angel’s fingers and relaxed at this slight mercy. At least he would avoid being spotted… for now.
Angel didn’t stop until they made it to his dressing room wherein he slammed the door shut, heaving for breath. Eventually, Vox was set down on a vanity, left to squint against bare, brightly burning dressing room lights. Vox slowly uncoiled from his previous crash position, wincing as the delicate flesh of his fingers caught along new cracks in his screen.
“Why…” Vox dropped his hand, fixing Angel with a perplexed frown. “Why’d you take me?”
Angel flapped his hands, clutching his head. He seemed to be in the midst of some sort of breakdown.
“Val is gonna kill me.” He stalked in circles, and the motion just made Vox dizzy. “I just stole a fuckin’ Vee, right under his nose, ha.”
“Uh, excuse you, I’m not stolen, you can’t just—”
“Wait.” Angel stopped abruptly in his tracks. His feverish expression did not inspire too much confidence. “He don’t know it were me in there.” Something slid behind his eyes, something dark, desperate. Vox instinctively scooted away, but there was nowhere to go.
“He won’t know unless you tell ‘im,” he said, advancing in languid steps, a panther through the brush. “And if I let ya go, you’re gonna tell ‘im. Aren’t ya?”
“Angel,” Vox said carefully, feeling suddenly as though he were treading along a slick, icy path. “The potion will wear off eventually.” Hopefully. He was not going to think of the increasingly plausible alternative. “You can’t keep me forever.”
“But I could take you back now,” Angel said lowly. Vox blinked. He’d never heard the pornstar sound so… threatening. “Wait 'til he leaves, and put you back right where I found ya.”
“Then I would tell,” Vox snarled, shoving down the rapid thumping in his chest. “And you’ll wish I’d killed you myself.”
“Or,” Angel said, a vicious smile warping his face, “I could take you out right now, and step on ya. How’s that sound?”
“You won’t get away with it,” Vox growled. “There are cameras and they definitely saw you bring me in here. Or did you forget?”
“If my choices are getting screwed now or later, I’ll take my chances. But at least I’ll have wiped out one Vee. I’ll be doin’ Hell a favour.”
Vox grit his teeth until they ached.
Angel had him right where he wanted him, and he knew it.
The bastard.
“What do you want,” he hissed.
Angel’s smile wavered slightly, a flash of surprise flickering. He leaned away, crossing his various arms. He heaved in a deep breath, and along with it, released the earlier danger in his expression, replacing it steadily with a rigid determination. Perhaps his spine wasn’t such a brittle strand of dry pasta after all. Just great.
“My contract,” he said simply. And oh, oh, of course. Of course, he wanted the fucking impossible.
“Do I look like Valentino?” Vox snapped.
“Don’t play shit with me, you’re close, you should—”
“You think I could just get Val to, what, hand it over to you on a silver platter?” Vox chuckled incredulously.
“‘Course not, I ain’t stupid, but ya must know where it is.” Angel refused to budge.
“Look, I don’t—” Vox rubbed a hand down his face. “We don’t tell each other where our contracts are.”
“You… don’t?” Angel deflated, then, had the audacity to look contrite. “I thought cause he’s your partner you’d uh, be more—”
Vox snorted.
“What, you thought we’d be waltzing through flower fields together, holding hands? And it doesn’t matter. We’re business partners, not…” Huh, why was there a funny twisting in his gut? He deftly brushed it aside.
“Thought you’d at least trust each other,” Angel muttered. Vox tapped a bitter finger against his glass prison.
Angel winced, then slumped, a balloon flopping over, having lost all its steam.
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “You’re… you might deserve this, an’ a lot more,” he gestured to Vox, and, rude, “but I’m not gonna… I shouldn’t a’ threatened ya.” He glanced to the side, shoulders hunching as he hugged himself. “Not with that.”
“What, with stepping on me?” Vox arched a brow.
“... No. With…” Angel ducked his head. “With Val.”
The room felt stifling. Vox looked down to see his arms had found themselves locked around his own stomach, squeezing. He glared, wrenching them apart. Instead, he buried his clawless fingers in the bloodstained silk of his gown.
“Not like I could stop you if you tried.” And wasn’t that the ugly truth?
“But that ain’t no excuse for me to…” Angel sighed, pinching his nose. “Alright. I can get ya outta here, but you’re keepin’ quiet, and we’re leavin’ now, before Val comes a’ knockin’.” Angel sprang into action, darting around the room, collecting his belongings and shoving them haphazardly into a bag.
Vox blinked.
Huh.
Seemed misplaced guilt went a long way, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it, lest it jeopardized his ticket out of there. Ha, what a loser. That squishiness would be the death of him one day.
Though.
Wait.
“Uh, where did you say we were going—?”
“The hotel, of course,” Angel said offhandedly, chucking a brazier over his shoulder. “Where else?”
Oh.
He was so fucked.