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“Thank you, for... inviting me out tonight,” Stolas managed to say. “Despite everything that's happened, I…I enjoyed spending time with you.”
“Yeah,” Blitzø responded in irritation, not making eye contact.
“You know,” Stolas went on, taking a risk. “I have some more wine in the house. Octavia's with her mother this weekend. So, we could –”
“I'm not fucking you tonight, okay? I'm really just –” Blitzø sighed heavily. “I'm really not in the mood, Stolas.”
Stolas redirected his request, looking for more neutral territory. “We could talk, or... watch a movie, or... maybe cuddle?”
Blitzø turned to look at Stolas at last. A small spring of hope began to well up within him as the imp softened his gaze into something more… what was it? Friendly? Affectionate?
No.
Sympathetic.
The hope within Stolas dried up with the dawning realization that Blitzø was looking at him with pity, that anything he’d get out of this interaction would be out of the imp’s good graces.
“You know what?” Blitzø broke the silence at last, noticing the tentative smile on the owl’s face fall. “Fuck it. I asked you out tonight; you wanna go get something to eat?”
“Oh, I don’t…”
“You don’t want to be seen with me in public?” Blitzø supplied flatly, a knowing look of ennui on his face.
“It’s just that,” Stolas wrung his hands, struggling to explain. “I hadn’t thought about the implications when I accepted… how it would affect Via… what people would say about… about an affair…”
“Thought that a prince could do whatever he wanted,” Blitzø countered with a bit of edge back in his tone.
“Yes, well…I’m not so sure she would agree with that sentiment. I’m also not particularly…well-liked…among the Goetia,” Stolas admitted sheepishly.
To Stolas’ surprise, Blitzø smiled with a sharp exhale. There was still the shine of pity in his eyes, but his demeanor changed to that of someone looking to care for an injured animal or mentor a small child.
“Get in the van. Actually, go change into something that looks a little less like you’re gonna sing a solo in the third act,” Blitzø directed gently. “I’ll take you where no one will even care. I promise.”
Stolas hesitated. He wanted to salvage the evening, wanted to spend more time with the imp of his affections, but to subject himself to more public humiliation…
He supposed it came down to one simple question he needed to ask himself: did he trust Blitzø? Stolas knew that the answer should be no, he knew that he shouldn’t blindly follow Blitzø based on his feelings, but at the same time, he really, really didn’t want to go inside alone to an empty palace.
“Okay,” he quietly conceded, turning to ascend the stairs. After locating the most inconspicuous outfit he could (aside from his Loo Loo Land T-shirt), he found himself opening the passenger door to the van. He’d found a maroon hoodie with dark maroon stars adorning it and paired it with black pants he’d found that looked about as casual as his wardrobe allowed.
Blitzø had watched him as he descended the steps back to the van with an appraising look. “Not bad, big bird,” he praised. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Didn’t know I had what in me?” Stolas asked, climbing into the passenger side.
“You know,” Blitzø gestured to all of him. “Looking normal.”
He started the van and pulled around the palace drive to leave out of the gate. The drive was quiet, and Stolas didn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, he wanted to make polite conversation; on the other, he had no desire to anger the imp any more than he most likely already had that evening. It was hard to tell what was going through Blitzø’s mind as he drove. Aside from harsh words spit out the open window to other drivers, he gave no indication of being irritated.
They drove for some time, the cleaner more well-kept buildings slowly replaced by less desirable ones, before they came to a small square building with a large red sign sporting a yellow ‘W’.
“Know what you want?” Blitzø asked the owl with a sideways glance.
“Um…” Stolas pondered, eyes on the large lit menu.
A voice crackled into the speaker at the center of the sign demanding their order in a practiced and bored voice.
“I'll take a number 6 with cheese and extra hot sauce and a peach fizzy pop,” Blitzø turned to Stolas for his order. After about 15 seconds of Stolas still looking over the menu, Blitzø turned back to the speaker.
“Two of those actually,” Blitzø decided for him.
“$37.50, please pull around.”
Blitzø began pulling forward when Stolas spoke up in a pouty voice. “You didn't give me a chance to decide,” he whined.
“Gotta be quicker than that, princess,” Blitzø explained. “You don't wanna piss off the demons handling your food.”
“Piss them off?” Stolas said incredulously. “Because they'd have to wait an extra minute?”
“Christ on a stick, you were gonna take a whole minute to decide?” Blitzø absentmindedly handed his card to the outstretched hand of the cashier as he turned to Stolas with genuine surprise.
Stolas crossed his arms and stared ahead. “A minute is not a long time,” he whispered.
The cashier handed back the card and receipt without so much as a glance in their direction, his full attention on the cellphone in his other hand as it played a video featuring a baby goat prancing gleefully around a living room in a diaper. Blitzø took the card, put it in his wallet and crumpled the receipt before the cashier returned with their drinks. He passed them out the window and handed Blitzø a brown bag with the telltale signs of grease spotting the bottom.
“Have a good night,” the cashier said lazily, still not looking in their direction before closing the window and walking away.
“That was rather rude,” Stolas scoffed as Blitzø pulled forward and checked the bag for their food. He handed a paper wrapped bundle to Stolas with a confused look on his face.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“He didn't look at us at all, barely said a word, and when he did speak to us it was in that tone of voice as though we were somehow inconveniencing him by our mere presence!”
It started with stunned silence, developed into a snicker, before growing into a raucous laughter erupting out of Blitzø's mouth. Stolas felt a mild flush flash over him in embarrassment.
“I'm sorry,” Blitzø waving an arm and composing himself to speak, “But Satan's tits, you don't even know, do you?”
“Know what?” Stolas said assertively, trying to maintain what little dignity he felt entitled to in the moment.
“That was downright pleasant,” Blitzø explained, gesturing back to the drive-thru window. “But I guess you're probably used to people kissing your feathered ass everywhere you go, huh?”
Stolas didn't respond. Pleasant? Why would someone find that exchange anything but ill-mannered and unacceptable?!
“Look,” Blitzø went on, opening his own sandwich and pulling into the street. “Demons are out here just trying to survive. They do their fucking job, they live their fucking lives, but at the end of the day, they don't owe you jack. That guy gets paid the same if he's peachy or pissy as fuck, so why should he fucking care?”
Stolas mulled it over in his mind. Because you should take pride in what you do! He thought indignantly.
Although admittedly – would he take pride in such a position?
The van pulled into an empty lot covered in gravel with small weeds attempting to emerge from the hard soil beneath. Stolas hadn't yet opened the sandwich he'd been handed. He looked down on it now in curiosity as he peeled the paper back apprehensively. Blitzø opened two straws and inserted them into the drinks in the cupholder while he dug fries out of the bag and smushed them into his face.
“What sort of meat is this, anyway?” Stolas questioned, examining his sandwich.
“…what kind of meat do you want it to be?”
“Oh, I don’t really know. I typically indulge in any manner of rodents.”
“Well, I’m sure that’s in there somewhere!” Blitzø assured gleefully, chomping into his own sandwich dripping with cheese and hot sauce with gusto.
Stolas found the food to be not entirely unappealing, though he was rather curious how they managed to coat the entire surface of the bun with a thin layer of grease to match the contents held within. When all was said and done, however, the sandwich was nearly enjoyable in an unfamiliar and almost primal sort of way. Stolas took a few of the fries from the carton offered him after taking a small sip of pop. They were cold and mushy with an unpleasant grainy texture as he bit into them. Perhaps he would pass on finishing those.
“You up for a drink?” Blitzø asked. He had finished his food significantly sooner than Stolas and now sat watching him with his elbow propped on the door, hand against the side of his head. Stolas thankfully had time to process the request as he'd just taken the last bite of his sandwich. He moved the food around his mouth as though he couldn't just swallow it whole while he thought about it. Honestly, he'd love a drink, but would that be wise? He'd already committed one faux pas that evening, he didn't really care to add another.
Sensing his unease, Blitzø clarified his request. “No one will even know that it's you, not that they'd care anyway,” he said with a sigh. “You look normal enough. I don't think anyone would guess you're fucking royalty, 'specially not where we’re going.” He ended with a smirk.
That smirk melted Stolas into submission, and he nodded as he swallowed the final bite. Blitzø started the van up again and pulled out into the road.
“What d’ya think of the food?”
“Delightful,” Stolas replied, trying hard to mask his mild disappointment.
“Never heard it called that before,” Blitzø chuckled.
Stolas found himself staring out the window at the sky as they drove to the bar, the skies of Pride a dark red. He longed for the stars on such tranquil nights, but alas, Hell held no such celestial beauty. The warmth of the sky mingling with swaths of smog trailing through it masked any trace of a proper night welkin. It seemed cruel to deny such a beautiful display to so many Hellborn who’d done nothing to deserve their spot in a world designed for punishment and despair.
Stolas suddenly felt immensely grateful for his role in life, giving him access to that which he desired so greatly. He couldn’t help but wonder what he would have done with his life if he’d had the choice, if he’d not been assigned an occupation at birth. Would he still have been able to work with the stars somehow? Would he have even had that desire that so overwhelmed him now in this life?
“What made you want to be an assassin, Blitzø?” Stolas asked, realizing how out of the blue his question seemed.
Blitzø paused before answering, clearly taken aback by the sudden interest. “Was a bodyguard. It’s pretty fucking boring when you’re not killing people. So, I decided to just kill people,” he answered with a shrug.
“How did you get into being a bodyguard?” Stolas ventured further.
“This an interview?” Blitzø turned to him skeptically.
“I’m just curious,” Stolas mused, looking out the window to the sky again. “You know, I can see prophecies in the stars,” he continued. “But I can’t see my own future. I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d been able to choose it for myself.”
Blitzø huffed. “You telling me you don’t want to be able to read the stars? C’mon, Stolas.”
“I do,” Stolas agreed.
Blitzø stole silent glances in the owl’s direction as they settled back into silence.
“I like protecting people,” he said, almost too quiet for Stolas to hear. “Especially people I care about. ’S why I became a bodyguard.”
Turning off the expressway, Blitzø whipped down a side street with reckless abandon before snugly parking the van between two cars in a parallel parking move to rival a Fast and Furious maneuver. Stolas held both the dashboard and his breath as he feigned a collected presence.
The bar they walked into was unlike anything Stolas had ever seen before. It was dimly lit in a way that suggested money was owed to the electric company rather than intended for ambience, the wall, floor, and ceiling were all the same dismal color of graying wood, and a thick haze of smoke took up residence across the room evenly, giving an unsettling air of profound despondency. They walked up to find purchase at the counter where a stout and miserable looking sinner was cleaning up the spilled drinks of customers long past. He lifted a nearly empty lipstick-smeared pint to his mouth and threw back the contents, turning afterward to spit out the cigarette butt that had apparently been hiding in its depths.
The stools were at a conveniently average height for the pair compared to what Stolas was used to. They were too tall for the imp and slightly too short for the prince. It brought them to an even footing that their normal circumstances didn't often allow for. The seats were covered with a black vinyl taped over with clear packing tape that had tinted yellow through years of tobacco stains. Stolas had never imagined such a place, let alone been a patron. He followed Blitzø's movements and did his best to hide his nervousness.
“So, what are you having?” Blitzø asked the owl as they sat down.
“Oh, I don't really know.” Stolas replied, “I would normally choose either a nice wine or something strong enough to erase all memory of the evening, but neither of those options seem particularly suitable in this instance.”
Blitzø laughed. “Yeah, the only wine you'll find here either came from a fucking box or the bottom of the garbage can.”
“I suppose I'll just have you order for me then,” Stolas decided. “What are you drinking?”
“Beer,” Blitzø stated, “But I doubt you'd be into that. I think I know what to get you.”
The bartender approached them sullenly, and Blitzø placed their drink order, requesting a cocktail for Stolas that he'd never heard of.
“What is Sex on the Beach like?” Stolas asked.
“Not bad,” Blitzø replied teasingly. “You'll get sand in your cooch, buuut if you don't mind a gritty kitty....”
There was a stunned silence before Stolas began laughing in little hoots. Before he could continue his inquiry, Blitzø's phone pinged. His amused face suddenly changed tone as he looked at the screen.
“Shit,” he said. “I-I'll be right back. I need to take this.”
He walked over to an unoccupied corner of the bar for privacy while Stolas waited for their drinks. The prince watched him intently, trying to read his facial expression for clues. His demeanor began with immense worry and softened into an affectionate smile as he listened to the call on the other end. The bartender returned a short time later with the pint glass and cocktail and slammed them on the counter unceremoniously. He stood in front of Stolas and stared at him as though he'd insulted him by his mere existence. It took a moment for Stolas to realize that he was waiting for payment.
“O-oh,” Stolas stammered. “How much?”
“Twenty,” came the reply. Stolas began searching his pockets for some sort of currency when Blitzø returned. He handed the bartender a ten-dollar bill, which he snatched in a huff before walking away.
“He said it was twenty,” Stolas began to explain.
“Yeah, I bet he did,” Blitzø sneered, continuing loud enough for the bartender to hear. “I wouldn't pay twenty bucks for watered-down beer piss and gussied up orange juice. He's lucky he got ten.”
“Thank you,” Stolas said as he pulled his drink to him and stirred it with the little straw provided. “Is everything alright?”
“Huh?” Blitzø looked up from his beer. “Oh, yeah. Just Loony.”
“Your daughter?”
Blitzø looked a bit surprised at the question. “Yeah, my daughter.” He continued. “Just needed a quick pep talk from her old man,” Blitzø puffed out his chest with mock bravado before taking a long swig of his drink. “You gonna hit that or are you stickin' to foreplay?”
“What?”
Blitzø gestured to the drink in Stolas' hand that he'd been stirring since he'd received it. “Oh, oh yes,” he replied as he took a sip through the tiny straw. “Oh, my,” he drew back. “That is…” he took another sip. “That is very, very good!”
“It's the gayest drink I could think of. Figured you'd like it,” came the snarky reply.
Stolas hummed and continued sipping the delightful concoction, a thought passing through his mind as he enjoyed the fruity blend.
“You said earlier that I don't even know,” he mused, setting the cocktail down on the sticky surface of the bar. “What is it I don't know?”
Blitzø considered him for a moment. Stolas felt his eyes calculating how to answer the question, and he couldn't help but wonder how such a simple query could require such a complicated response. After a time, Blitzø turned his stool around and leaned his back against the bar.
“Stolas, what do you see when you look around?”
For at least the fifth time that evening, Stolas was shocked at his response. He spun his stool around accordingly and assessed the scene before him.
“People drinking,” he replied. “Having a good time.”
Blitzø nodded slowly. He took a sip of his beer and gestured to the end of the bar with his glass.
“What about that guy?”
The sinner at the end of the bar was holding his beer with both hands and watching the television on the wall as though it was the most interesting piece of media he'd ever witnessed. His finger drew small circles on the half-full glass while his blank expression reflected the light of the screen he found himself so enthralled with.
“Watching television?” Stolas guessed, recognizing this as a game he didn't remember signing up for.
“Look closer.”
Stolas looked as long as he could before he felt he was being intrusive and downright creepy.
“I don't know,” he conceded a bit shamefully.
“His glass is dry,” Blitzø looked to the open barroom as he spoke. “Means his beer is piss warm, so he's had it a while and hasn't finished it. He has a watch on, but he hasn't checked the time at all since we've been here. So, it's pretty fucking safe to guess that he isn't waiting for anyone and no one is waiting for him. And then there's what he's watching…”
Stolas looked up at the screen. He expected a sports game or perhaps a reality tv show. He was surprised to see that what the sinner was so entranced by was –
“The weather,” Blitzø finished his thought. “He doesn't have anywhere to go, probably doesn't have money for another fucking drink, so he's pretending to watch tv, so he doesn't get kicked the fuck out.”
Stolas dared a glance back at the man. He could find no evidence to negate what Blitzø had concluded, and it amazed him that he'd missed so much in his own appraisal.
“Now let's look at everyone else,” Blitzø continued gesturing around the room as he spoke. “That shark at the pool table? Ha! A pool shark... he's trying to look all smooth, but he's sweating the balls right off both his dicks. Do sharks have two sets of balls? Anyway, he's betting money on that game that he probably doesn't fucking have, and he knows he's gonna lose. Or that couple over there.”
Stolas looked at an incubus and an imp, limbs and lips tangled in a mess of lustful glory. “They look rather happy, though,” he ventured, full of romantic optimism.
“Yeah, but she's got a ring on her finger, and he doesn't,” Blitzø explained. “Not that you can't be happy in an affair,” - Stolas noticed Blitzø's eyes flick in his direction briefly - “But he's staring over her shoulder at the succubus in the corner staring back at him. Plus, he looks like a fuckboi.”
Stolas felt a bit defensive of his earlier assessment as he scanned the bar for proof of someone just drinking and having a good time. “What about them!” Stolas nearly shouted, stopping himself from pointing straight at the men he spotted by the dart board. They were laughing together, occasionally clapping each other on the back, and looked to be genuinely enjoying each other's company. “They look like they're having a good time!”
Blitzø looked in their direction and winced. “Yeah, I give it an hour before they're beating the piss outta one another,” he looked again and reassessed. “Less than an hour.”
Stolas opened and closed his beak as his gaze bounced from Blitzø to the pair of friends. “But why? They're clearly friends having a good time together. Why on earth would they fight?”
“Who knows,” Blitzø supplied. “Maybe one'll say something about the other's wife. Maybe they'll bring up a fight they already fucking had. Maybe one has drugs and doesn't want to share with the other. Trust me, though. They're going to be beating each other's asses by the time we finish our drinks.”
The scene suddenly felt very different. Could something so straight forward and gleeful really be so disingenuous? As much as he wanted to deny what Blitzø had revealed, it seemed so clear to him now. No one there was having a good time. He drew his talon through the condensation on his glass as Blitzø turned back around to the bar. Stolas followed suit and placed his drink back on the countertop.
“Stolas,” Blitzø began as though explaining a simple concept to a small child. “You seem like a good guy. I don't think you mean to be an asshole.”
“An asshole?” Stolas questioned in shock.
“Yeah,” Blitzø laughed. “But you're alright. And I think you might have more in common with these demons than you think. You just need to, you know, read the room. Pay attention to how people feel.”
The finality of the statement paired with the utter confusion emanating from the owl led to a forced silence that Stolas tried very hard to break. What can one really say to that? Blitzø had more than proven his point. There truly was nothing there for Stolas to argue, as much as he tried to formulate some semblance of a defense. He reluctantly conceded and took to slowly sipping his drink, relishing the combination of tropical flavors on his tongue as he lost himself to his thoughts.
Stolas ran through the events of the evening, the events in their relationship friendship arrangement, and different events in his life in general. He had so many thoughts fighting for attention, and he felt overwhelmed with the onslaught. His words, his actions, his interpretations of situations – had they all been seen in a different light by others?
“Ready to go?” Blitzø asked after slamming his pint down for the final time, breaking the owl from his personalized whirlwind of deep cogitation. He slurped the remaining sips of cocktail from the bottom of his glass before nodding.
Stepping around a couple of patrons fighting one another just outside the door, they exited the bar and made their way back to the van. Stolas looked toward the pair and recognized them from inside the bar.
“Don’t worry,” Blitzø said without so much as a glance in their direction. “They’ll make up.”
The ride back to the palace started quietly until Stolas decided to speak up.
“Thank you for taking me out tonight, Blitzø. I meant it earlier when I said I enjoyed spending time with you.”
Blitzø sighed. “You know I only asked you to Ozzie’s so I could get in, right?”
“I think I put that together,” Stolas smiled. “You need only ask, you know. I’ve no problem with flaunting my status on your behalf.”
“Sounds kinda sexy when you say it like that, Stols,” Blitzø grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Blitzø reached forward to turn on the radio, prompted by a short pause in their conversation. The music came out louder than expected, a familiar voice intonating her disdain for life in general over a mess of ‘music’.
“Ah,” Stolas stated in recognition as Blitzø lowered the volume. “Fuck You, Dad.”
“The fuck did you just say to me?” Blitzø turned to him angrily.
“The band,” Stolas explained. “They’re called Fuck You, Dad. Via listens to them.”
One side of Blitzø’s mouth twitched upward. “Loona does too,” he said with admiration in his voice. “This is her playlist.”
“It’s…unique…”
“That’s an understatement,” Blitzø laughed. “Do they gotta name the band that though? I fucking thought she was pissed at me the first time she told me who it was.”
“Eeexactly!” Stolas concurred. “I’m inclined to believe Via only listens to them so that she can easily express such a statement to me in a passive aggressive manner!”
“Not because of the musical talent?” Blitzø snorted.
“I don’t believe we agree on musical tastes, Blitzø,” Stolas declared. “But I feel as though we can agree on this band alone if nothing else.”
“Yeah,” Blitzø laughed. “We fucking agree on this one, buddy.”
A short time later, the palace came into view. As their night came to an end, Stolas realized just how much he had been enjoying his time out and how comfortable he felt with Blitzø. Though he was in an unfamiliar environment, he never felt out of place with the imp by his side. He’d felt…taken care of. It was a feeling he wasn’t used to, and he wasn’t quite prepared to bid it farewell.
Blitzø pulled up to the steps and put the van in park, leaving the engine on. Stolas felt an ache as it dawned on him just how much he was hoping the imp would want to stay. But no – he didn’t want to offer. He didn’t want to make this about sex, and there was no way to make it seem like anything else at that point. They had spent a good portion of the evening together. Begging for more would appear needy and desperate. It would put Blitzø in a compromising position, knowing full well that the assassin relied on maintaining Stolas’ happiness in order to continue the arrangement that kept his business going. Reluctantly, he opted to say goodnight.
“This was very enlightening, Blitzø,” Stolas began before turning to face him. “I had fun.”
“It was pretty fun, huh?” Blitzø smirked.
“We should… do this again sometime,” Stolas said it almost as a question, hope hanging on his every breath.
Blitzø smile faltered. He bit his bottom lip and looked to the side.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” he rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke, one hand still on the wheel.
Stolas nodded solemnly. “Well, if you ever change your mind…”
“Yeah, if I ever need to get into a club, I’ll give you a buzz,” Blitzø responded with the playful air back in his tone. Stolas couldn’t help but smile at that. Before he could talk himself out of it, he turned to open the door.
“Wait, Stolas,” Blitzø leaned toward him. “One more thing.”
Stolas felt as though he were in a movie. The way Blitzø shuffled across the seat toward him, the feeling of his claws gently holding Stolas’ face, the look in his eyes as he moved closer…closer…
The absolute electrifying moment their lips met.
It was new, different. Not full of passion or eroticism. This kiss wasn’t promising anything more than it delivered – a sweet, tender farewell to a perfect evening.
It was over too soon for Stolas’ liking, but it hadn’t ended abruptly. Blitzø pulled back slowly, and without shifting his gaze from the prince, he moved back to the driver’s seat and placed a hand on the wheel, the other on the shifter.
“It’s a date, right?” he smiled softly. “Can’t let you leave without a goodnight kiss.”
Stolas knew his face rivaled the red hue of the imp himself, and his cheeks hurt with the force of the smile he couldn’t hope to contain.
“See you next full moon,” Blitzø said, shifting the van into drive.
There was a magic in the air that Stolas wanted to hold onto… but he knew he could not linger. Still smiling, he nodded in Blitzø’s direction and turned to exit the van. His fingers made their way to his beak almost immediately after he turned away from Blitzø’s view, and he only glanced back once as he ascended the stairs.
Finding himself in his room at last, having seemingly floated from the palace entrance, he fell against the back of the door and sighed deeply. The enchantment began to fade, and he was faced with a dawning revelation.
He would never feel this way again.
The events of the night played through his mind – the scenes, the conversations…of course, the kiss. Blitzø had taken him out and showed him a side of Hell he’d never experienced. He’d brought him into his world, welcomed him even. They’d shared an evening together without obligation or expectation, simply enjoying each other’s company and playing it by ear. The bittersweet memories would haunt Stolas for years to come, and he knew it. The prince didn’t know if he’d ever have such moments again, but he didn’t want to give up on the dream of someday obtaining the happiness he had gotten a taste of tonight.
It all came down to one thing, one decision that he knew had to happen.
It was time.
Stolas needed to end the deal.