Chapter Text
Valería basically lived on the couch. Day and night, she was sprawled on the couch on her phone, eating, and/or napping. None of the Vees really cared so long as she wasn't dead or doing something that would fuck up their image. They were usually too busy to notice what she was doing anyway. Once she'd literally gone 4 days without moving from the couch. Sure, she was depressed, but who wouldn't be if their parents were Vox and Valentino? She was constantly the middleman in their arguments. Constantly trying to tame them both before they hurt or kill each other. Valería couldn't even count how many hours she'd spent in Vox's office repairing his screen after Valentino threw something at it and shattered it. How many hours she'd spent listening to Valentino rant about whatever the fuck pissed him off that day while trying to convince him not to shoot someone. Not to mention that just everyone she lives with runs a very unethical corporation that exploits all of Hell one way or another. She hated them all. She also loved them all. It was complicated.
"Mi niñitaaa~!" Valería heard her father call out just as she was about to put in her other VoxTek-brand wireless earbud. Grumbling, she shoved them both back into the case.
"¿¡QUÉ!?" She hissed, pissed off that her dumbass father would interrupt her music time. Valentino just chuckled, strolling toward her before taking her phone out of her hand.
"You're spending time with me today, cariño," Valentino stated. This wasn't a question or a suggestion by any means. She would be hanging out with him today whether she wanted to or not. She definitely didn't.
"Like hell I am!" She scoffed, reaching for her phone back. Valentino threw it carelessly behind him, his smile never faltering. "MY PHONE!" Valeria screeched, giving her father a death glare.
"Don't be so pissy, angelita. Your other papito will just give you a new one later," Valentino hummed. He really didn't care much for her opinion on anything. Valentino got what he wanted or else he threw a pissy fit. If you can call shooting people a pissy fit.
“What do you even want to do?” she grumbled, unable to imagine her father doing anything that wasn't violent or sexual. Other than drawing, she supposed. He was a phenomenal artist.
“Weeelll…~ There’re many things we could do, amorcita,” He replied, his smile widening. She dramatically tossed her glasses across the room, rubbing her eyes.
“Ay, tan dramática!” he teased. She just shot him a glare, squinting since she threw her glasses. She had Valentino’s shitty eyesight.
“What do you even like to do? Drag a pencil across a piece of paper?” She snipped at him. Valentino chuckled, taking a drag of his cigar.
“Sí, that's a good idea. You should draw with me, cariño,” he suggested. She knew she probably didn't have a real choice in the matter, though.
“I can't draw for shit,” she pointed out. She really couldn't draw. It felt like she got all of Valentino’s shitty genes and none of the good ones, his artistic nature for example.
“Well, we can always fix that,” he assured her.
“You're gonna teach me to draw? Yeah, no thanks,” she sassed him. She was too depressed to care about doing anything, let alone learning how to do something.
“Come on, lighten up! You're always on that couch! You never eeever spend time with me…,” he whined. God damn it. He always did this guilt-tripping shit, and she hated it. It didn't make her feel guilty, but she still obeyed him because she'd rather do some bullshit than deal with him being mad.
“Fine! I’ll do your stupid artsy bullshit!” she yelled, throwing herself into an upright position with far more force than necessary.
“There’s my hotheaded niñita preciosa~” he baby-voiced her.
Drawing was definitely not Valeria’s strong suit.
“This looks like your studio when you're filming an orgy,” she stated monotonously, staring at the mess of scribbles and lines she’d made on the paper.
“Mija,” Valentino briefly scolded her. Valería was someone he particularly didn't want to discuss his work with. He normally didn't even let her in the studio; she’d just happened to see in there sometimes.
“What? It’s true,” she defended, trying to erase everything on the paper.
“Ay, cabrón… nena, here…,” he grabbed her pencil, ready to show her how to draw properly.