Charlie & Vox

[minimorningstar]

Art by kokqus

Comments

Special delivery!

[minimorningstar]

Well, well...! The hotel after all of... that... sure is active! And Charlie is glad that she's put Vaggi in charge of management. After everything... she realizes she trusts Vaggi to make the dream happen and make major decisions about the Hotel under pressure instead of herself. She has way, way more to focus on and make amends for, herself...

After the initial rush, everyone's getting settled, the counseling sessions are slow and steady, she's getting to know everyone...!

Razzle interrupts after one of those sessions, tugging her towards the front door. "Huh? Wh-- hey, what is it, Razz...le...?"

At the front doors of the Hotel... a basket with some disparate parts, and a familiar television screen...?

[trust_us_with_your]

It's pitiful, really, like someone had abandoned a baby at an orphanage.

The basket was ornate- Valentino would NEVER keep an ugly one- and filled to the brim with machine parts (was that a limb??) that had definitely seen better days and had a lot of very 'this is suuuper unfinished' lettering scribbled on the surfaces. But placed on the top was a weird iPad wearing a hat, the screen dark. There was a torn-out piece of notepad paper taped to the front:

Do whatever you want with him.
You're welcome~

❤️ Valentino, CEO of ValTek (Name TBD, ok? whatever)

1/?

[minimorningstar]

That's... Vox??

[minimorningstar]

"Oh, fuck you...!" Charlie blurted at first, giving the note and unconscious TV a sneer. Ooooough an ugly side of her wanted to just swing her leg back and give the whole thing a PUNT across the courtyard...!!!

[minimorningstar]

....Uuuuugh. No... no. 'Do whatever you want with him'... like he really did just get abandoned.

[minimorningstar]

Charlie noticed the wires still sticking out of the bottom, where his head used to be attached to a neck. Where he was literally ripped apart, just to stop him from killing everyone.

This Sinner, who nearly got Hell into war again, who nearly killed everyone, who hurt Angel so, so badly along with Valentino...

...

... But he, too, was... hurt.

5/5

[minimorningstar]

"Do you think I... could be redeemed?"

Charlie let out a frustrated breath.

Yes. She believed that. As much as considering it hurt, burned her pride and stoked her anxiety - she did believe Vox could change.

And if no one else was going to give him a chance, she was going to.

"When you wake up, we have SO many rules and boundaries to set up...!" she sighed, scooping up the basket in her arms and going back inside. Time to get a new key and bring Vox to his new room.

[trust_us_with_your]

Honestly? Not even Vox would blame her for giving him the ol' punt across the courtyard. But despite the shout and the sounds coming from inside the building, the screen didn't so much as give one sign of life. The basket had some heft to it, but it was nothing to a nephilim.

The jostle, then, would cause the soft whine of fans to kick on. One long, almost football-length minute passed before the back light struggled to kick on, vague snow glowing to life behind the taped-on note.

"Rg-rggh-ggh--" Muffled. Broken. Quiet. Confused? So much for his depression nap. Why were the lights different...? Too... too red...

[minimorningstar]

A key off the ring... hrm. Somewhere... yeah. Somewhere kinda close to her suite - so she could keep a better eye on him. And keep him from unnecessary encounters with Alastor.

She saw the flicker of the light coming on, and adjusted her hold of the basket carefully, making sure it wasn't facing anyone - no one needed to see the guy that caused so much chaos and possibly killed people they knew, or was responsible for their hardships.

...This was definitely going to be tough.

At least a little elevator ride gave her a chance to get a little privacy, since the elevators were still pretty small (it helped prevent people from trying to cart in massive shipments of explosives or equipment or whatever - one of Vaggi's clever ideas). Reaching into the basket to adjust Vox so he was facing upright, Charlie looked him over.

"You okay?"

[trust_us_with_your]

His vision swam as his eyes came online, the grimace quick to follow. When he noticed the note, his face shifted away from the block, if anything to let him work out his surroundings. The connection, it was... this was one of his networks, yes, but not THE network. Where was he? Whose tiny elevator was this--

He was turned, and his expression froze. His screen glitched. Then, he scowled. "...Do I look okay?? What the fuck is going on? ...Velvette??"

Was he being kidnapped? Great. Just fucking great-- "...Val?? This better not be a fuckin' prank, or I swear to God-"

[minimorningstar]

"Uhhhh. Nope," Charlie corrected, holding the basket closer to her face. Just a bit. "I... thiiiink maybe you and Valentino had a fight? Because he left you here at the Hotel, so... uh..."

The Greenhorn

[trust_us_with_your]

Pain. The most incredible pain he'd ever felt in his life. Countless times, he'd heard folk gabbing away about how peaceful death was, lying in bed and surrounded by loved ones. But they never talk of those who perish in violent accidents.

Vincent Whittman perished in 1952, surrounded by adoring followers and with the smell of his own searing flesh and aquarium muck in his nose. It felt like hours until the life slipped from him, screaming in agony with his body locked up, but from impact to his crumpling in his makeshift 'throne', he'd died in just three seconds.

When he felt an impact against his body, it was a hard, dry and cobblestoned floor. He gasped, rolled, and fought to right himself, but atop his shoulders was a great and terrible weight. The hollers of pain and shock alerted the usual groups of 'vultures', Sinners and opportunistic imps and hellhounds alike hoping to take the rare valuable a freshly-dead human may find on them. Or, typically, the teeth sold for a few bucks. The flesh? Oh, the flesh... the cannibals paid good money for anyone who dropped off a body, and more for one that still had the lingering scent of the human world. All Vincent could remember were claws ripping at him, so much chuckling, and the crunch of plastic and glass. The latter came with a strange pain, and he failed to see from his right eye...

He couldn't recall much of anything else in the resulting confusion, the resulting panic. He found his footing, his head and neck in terrible agony, but ran as fast as he could. He didn't recognize this city that reeked of sulfur, blood and despair, but... he knew cities. Cities had loads of places to hide.

His breaths were shallow and high, hyperventilating hiccups when he scrambled like a panicked animal into the first shop he could find, some place with civilization, with people. He could call for... for what, help? The cops? Fuck, no- the cops would just nab him--

He froze when he burst through the door, remaining eye wide in horror, sparks flying from the open hole kicked in on his monitor and crumpled corner. His collar was soaked with blood, and his clothes mussed, torn and filthy, but he thought nothing of it in his panic.

None... none of the 'people' in here were people...

Where the fuck was he?

[minimorningstar]

Several disaffected Sinners and imps in the room seemed mostly nonplussed at the fucked up new guy scrambling in - if anything, the curious peering over the shape of his head was what caught eyes.

So, so many eyes. Red, slit pupils, glowing in the dim red--

"Oh shit!"

Princess Charlie Morningstar wasn't always out and about with the Sinners of the city - but her mother believed she should be aware of her people, get to know them, feel for them. With Razzle and Dazzle, she'd be safe. So, unlike the rest of the demons giving the newly fallen Sinner a few curious, skeptical and hesitant stares, gathering guns just in case, the Princess herself hurried right to him.

"Gosh-- that looks bad, are you okay? Hold on, hold still, I have some bandages," she insisted, digging through her handbag for them. "Don't be scared, it'll be okay..."

[trust_us_with_your]

Eyes. So many eyes. Monsters everywhere, just like the ones that attacked him. But now this one was approaching, looking so normal compared to the others, but flanked by two little horned beasts--

He sucked in a hard breath and immediately backpedaled, but the doors had closed behind him. He slammed his back right into them, but panic didn't stop him from trying to continue his flight, pushing back as best as he could, a claw raised.

Whatever those scrappers had done, they'd broken something integral: His attempt to bid that whatever SHE was to stay back was only garbled buzzing and static.

"--ay-- no-- on't--"

[minimorningstar]

"No, no, it's alright! I won't hurt you, it's gonna be okay," Charlie insisted, gesturing for him to calm down, hopefully.

An imp clicked their tongue against their razor sharp teeth. "'Nother new fallen, huh. Hate when these fuckers cause a scene - princess, can you take this outside?"

"Just give us a minute! We'll be out of your hair..." Charlie insisted, pulling out the little first aid kit her dad had gifted her. You know, just in case! "Hi-- don't be scared, I won't hurt you. My name's Charlie - what's yours?"

[trust_us_with_your]

New... new fallen? Princess? This was a dream. This was a weird dream, and he'd wake up in the hospital, because clearly he'd taken a pretty good hit on the head and then one of his followers took him to be seen by a doctor.

His one remaining eye widened, however, the blue pupil within the red still pinned in confusion. Helping...?

The... clown... creature... was helping? Why?

Name. Name? Charlie. Charlie wanted a name. But was it safe to use his real one? No. No, no. Best be safe, dream or no. But what should he offer?

One eyebrow creased imploringly, he shook his head. One small lie was fine. He didn't know what he was called. Not yet.

He tried speech again, but it was more garbled noise, like someone rapidly swapping channels as four of five different shows were playing on each in swift snippets.

[minimorningstar]

Gosh... Charlie carefully took the stranger's hand, giving his clawed fingers a squeeze. It'll be okay. Dazzle helpfully fluttered closer to roll up the tattered sleeve on the torn up arm on Vincent... the head was worse off, but both dragons and Charlie herself were a bit befuddled staring into the empty mass of electricity, wires, and... shapeless gore.

"Let's see... you... you have a technology for your head, it kind of looks like a... television? A lot smaller than I'm used to... I guess this is what they look like on Earth, now," she guessed, wrapping up the bloodied arm. Hrmm... would bandaging up the busted television work to help him regenerate normally...? It might be worth trying. "I guess we'll call you Vee for short - does that work?"

[trust_us_with_your]

From his position, he started swaying a little. Even as a freshly immortalized being, blood loss still had a funny way of making you woozy. He focused instead on the... strangely sweet... gesture.

Cautiously, he closed his claws around her hand. ...Claws??? His eye flicked to the dark blue hand ending in metallic claws, and gave a lazy blink, vision slightly graying at the edges.

Television... for a head...? What'd she mean...? He nodded. Yeah. TVs. They're the future, y'know. The future... the future he would make...

His sleeves were too much of a mess to fix, easy enough to roll away for bandaging...

...Mmmm... Vee. Vee sounded good. He nodded slowly, eye unfocused. God, his head felt so heavy.

Focus on the hand. Focus on the voice. But he was so itchy, too. His unoccupied hand reached up to scratch his head, claws delving instead into the massive hole where a foot had left the CRT monitor partly concave, shattered. Bits of plastic clattered to the floor, gory.

...Ooooh, what if he could be the first guy to literally pick his own brain...?

Good morning, PAL...

[sugaronthecream]

Get some rest in a strange little hotel room. No big deal, right? Do you manage to sleep in until the morning, Vox? Or do you wake up earlier, when there's a pair of glowing red eyes and a golden toothy smile peeking through the dark at you?

He's not doing anything. Just... sitting on the bed, looming over, looking far too amused.

[trust_us_with_your]

He never did sleep all that peacefully. Always illuminated by screens, the workaholism, and the depression did untold damage to his sleep hygiene. Vox of VoxTek could best be described as a catnap type, stealing chunks of sleep about 20 minutes at a time before rousing for a few minutes and entering the loop.

Each loop's end came with checking for messages. Piggybacking off the wifi, Vox pinged and reached out, refreshed, hoping for any messages from Valentino or Velvette just BEGGING forgiveness. Surely, they had to be...! They couldn't run a fucking business. They'd collapse the whole thing.

Or... or maybe there was a message wondering if he'd learned his lesson or that, haha, they were kidding and they cared and they were coming to get him. But his inbox was empty. It was empty at 11 PM. 12 AM. 1 AM...

Each check made another line etch beneath his eyes. When came the hour that many would call sunrise, Vox was deathly silent. His gaze had emptied. Left to his own thoughts, they quietly spiraled. There was the very real possibility that- especially in Valentino's case- Vox was likely forgotten. There were too many whores in Val's care. There was too much work to do. He was an easily distracted sort. As for Vel...? She liked to hold a grud--

Glowing eyes appeared in the dark. Teeth followed. But any fear he should have felt was gone ages ago... try about 80 years. Instead, Vox just felt... tired.

Annoyed.

"...Go away."

[sugaronthecream]

"Now, now," Alastor chuckled, laying on the bed and kicking his legs behind him in an eager whimsy, "is that any way to act after picking a fight with ALL of Heaven and dooming everyone you love~?"

And of course, he laughed at that - not that Vox was in on the joke.

[trust_us_with_your]

His frown deepened. Couldn't this guy wait until sun-up? Just a couple more hours?? He had important messages to wait for.

"F̹͗̾̚u̢ͭ͜c̯̈̏̊k̳̋ͫ̆̆͘͟.͇ͩ O̷̷ͅf̅ͫf̝̱͖͈ͯ.̙̍͒ Don't you have a business to pretend to run? A radio tower to haunt?" He was thankful for having hands back. He used one to pull the covers up and over his head.

[sugaronthecream]

"So sour!! You really are such a mess," Alastor gleefully chirped, crawling onto his hands and knees and looming over the lump of blankets, boxing Vox in with his arms as he smirked down at the hiding demon.

"Happy to have you aboard. I'm surprised you were well-behaved enough to still get fair treatment from Charlie, after the stunt you pulled - killing thousands in the city and nearly killing her, her loved one and the one angel even remotely willing to give Hell a chance!"

And all just to get at him? Why, Vox, he's flattered.

Not.

"Charlie made me pinkie promise not to hurt you or fight you. Aren't you lucky! If you survive a week of these silly trust exercises and group therapy sessions, I'll treat you to a drink."

[trust_us_with_your]

"I'm not going to even BE HERE in a week! I'm waiting for my ride." Such a defiant lump of blankets.

"Then we can both go back to our lives, and I'll rebuild." He could feel the hollowness in his words. He knew he'd flushed almost a hundred years of influence down the toilet. He could get about half of it back thanks to the short attention spans of people these days, but half was never, ever enough.

"I don't want any drink with you. There are plenty of assholes here who would indulge you."

[sugaronthecream]

"Oh? Is that really so?"

Alastor leaned over him, face nearly flush with the blanket, a hand resting on the lump beneath the comforter - a shoulder, or an arm, maybe. Close.

"You wanted my attention so, so badly. You'd kill for it. You were going to die for it. Well... now you've got it."

He chuckled, letting go, the weight leaving the mattress entirely as he stood. "Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, Vincent. See you later."