Chapter Text
“Hey Val babes, could you take a look at this?”
Vox looks up from his breakfast to see Velvette push her tablet across the table at Val, who stops smearing cherry jam on his toast to lean over and pull the device next to his plate. The moth demon makes a hum of approval. “Ooh! Very nice, babydoll.”
Velvette’s smile is a flash of fangs. “Thanks. Know what the inspo is?”
Val glances at the doll demon from over his glasses. “A test, hm?” His eyes flick down at the screen before jumping back up seconds later. A smug smile spreads across his face. “Velvette, baby, darling… this is too easy. You should know me better than that.” He leans back in his seat, a poker player about to reveal the perfect hand. “Westwood, 1974. Specifically the clothes she made after she and Malcolm McLaren renamed their boutique to Sex. Kind of before your time—” He laughs as he ducks away from the fork that Velvette has thrown in his direction. “But I see you’ve updated it into some kind of cyberpunk situation. I like it.”
“Westwood is timeless,” Velvette scoffs. Then her grin is back. “But thank God at least someone gets it. D’you know one of my brain-dead assistants asked if I was—” She pitches her voice into a nasal caricature, ”—‘going for a goth vibe’?”
Val scoffs, “Idiota—I hope you taught the bitch a lesson.”
“’Course I did. Anyway, d’you think something is missing?”
Val raises his eyebrows. He straightens in his seat, takes a bite of his toast, and gestures for Velvette to continue as he inspects her tablet once more.
The doll demon jumps down from her seat and drags her chair closer to Val before her head pops back up over the edge of the table. She continues matter-of-factly, “Not that I need your advice—‘coz I don’t—but I’ve been working on this for the past week and there always seems to be something missing.”
Val tilts the tablet left and right as he studies the screen. “Hmm.. the colours look good. What’s the fabric?”
“Custom blend. Had to pull someone from R&D to make it for me. The design is woven into the fabric and glows in the dark, but the special feature is that the colour is thermal reactive.”
Vox remembers this. Remembers the shorter demon storming into his office last week stating she needs one of his people from the Research and Development department to make her something. He had approved the request without much thought.
The moth demon coos, “Ooh, can’t wait to see that.”
“Yes, yes, it’s all very exciting,” she dismisses impatiently. “But something’s off.”
The two overlords fall into thoughtful silence.
Val swipes a finger across the screen as if switching between images. After several back and forth comparisons, he says, “It’s the shoes.”
“What about the shoes?”
“They’re too delicate and small. Makes her look top heavy.”
Velvette leans closer. Her and Val’s cheeks press together. A pause. “Shit, you’re right.”
Val cackles. “Always am, babydoll. Always am.”
The doll demon elbows him in the ribs, but Val keeps laughing.
The two of them have entirely forgotten Vox’s presence.
Before he can think it through, he asks, “Can I see?”
His companions look up and blink at him.
“What? Is it a secret? Am I not allowed to look?” His tone is sarcastic.
Some rapid undecipherable look passes between Val and Velvette before the two turn back to him. Their expressions soften with what Vox can only describe as condescension.
“Babes—”
“Papito—"
Vox feels his hackles rise. Without warning, he springs forward and snatches the tablet from Val’s hands. And then he’s back in his seat, turning his prize over.
The room holds its breath.
Vox isn’t sure what he’s looking at. It’s obviously clothes on a model, but the shapes are abstract with what seems to be random lines of colour. He’s not sure if they’re meant to suggest design or texture. Arrows flow from different areas of the body, leading to cramp notes with codes and shorthand that he has never seen before.
“Well?” came Velvette’s impatient voice.
Vox keeps staring at the sketch, hoping more time will give him the answer.
“It’s… a dress?”
The reaction is immediate. Velvette’s eyeroll is so exaggerated, the motion pulls her head along the same trajectory. Val groans loudly as he buries his face in one hand, breathing out a string of Spanish.
The doll demon snatches her device back. Vox hears her mutter darkly, “Ugh, don’t even know why I’m surprised—”
He catches Val’s gaze and the moth demon looks away, shaking his head.
Vox looks back down at his breakfast.
Whatever.
It’s just a stupid dress.