divinetree | Charlie & Vox

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?

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..."

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--"

"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?"

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.

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?"

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...?

"OOOOHhhhh yeah okaayyyy let's-- let's not, Vee, hold on..." Charlie winced, taking 'Vee's' other hand and tugging it away from his head and... yeah. Let's. Let's wrap that up. "You're probably gonna pass out, um, but! I'll make sure you're safe, okay? Say, Razzle, could you carry him once we're outside...?"

Carefully, but hastily, Charlie started looping the roll of bandages around the television frame to cover up the hole. GOSH. Golly. Okay. Razzle supported 'Vee' from behind as the door opened, the gaggle of them shuffled out of the imp's place.

There was no fight, especially from his earlier panicked, almost animalistic flight. With the hole wrapped closed, his arms almost haphazardly wrapped, he wasn't exactly looking stellar. But it wasn't like he was feeling stellar right now, anyway.

His legs could work, though. He managed one foot in front of the other in stepping out of the building and into the bright and blinding red. His screen flickered, buzzed, the sound mingled with a groan.

But he pushed through it, forced his gaze upward. There was a pentagram. A pentagram... what...?

Vee raised an arm to point at it, and turned his head to look at Charlie. Slowly, pixelated question marks began to litter the screen, for lack of voicing the confusion.

Keeping her hand on 'Vee's' shoulder, Charlie was almost confused herself by the question marks and the gesture - she looked up and into the sky, taking a second to register--

"Oh! That's... that's the Seal. That's... that's where you fell from. This is, uh... well, welcome to Pentagram City. It's part of the Pride Ring of... Hell."

Sinners never really reacted well to hearing that, she heard. And saw, from a distance, usually... but hopefully she could keep him from completely losing his mind about it...?? Or maybe crying and freaking out for a while would be good, actually? Oh gosh. Razzle behind the two of them shifted to his larger draconic form, getting ready to carry the princess and the hapless Sinner as requested.

Hell.

Hell.

He went numb, save for the waves of intense pain moving through his body from every wrapped wound. The hole in his head throbbed like a pulse. It felt like just minutes ago, he was full of life and ready to move forward with his campaign, his people beneath him. He was the brightest he'd ever been! But now...?

The exposed eye turned haunted, his pupil a pin. Text appeared on the screen again:

I'm dead? I died?

No question of not going to Heaven. He knew God would -never- move over for a usurper. But Vincent Whittman... dead at the height of his fame? He knew he would have climbed so much higher. No... no, he wasn't done yet. He couldn't be done. That- he was supposed to-- he was supposed to keep climbing! He had so much work that still needed to be done!

Would there be newspaper articles? News briefs? He needed to find them. He needed to confirm. He needed to see the people grieving him! He was a fucking GOD! He was their EVERYTHING!!

No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No

He clutched his head.

I wasn't ready yet I wasn't done

Dying... that sort of thing really must be so scary. Not feeling ready for it all to end, not feeling like you did what you needed to do... Charlie carefully kept her hands hovering nearby, in case the blood loss and panic attack made him collapse.

She doesn't have an answer for I'm sorry that you're dead. There just... isn't one.

"I know... I'm sorry."

He wasn't wondering why he went to hell, though. So... maybe he already knew he had done things that were wrong. ...She could ask later.

"Breathe, Vee - you still need to breathe."

Color bars filled his screen. Signal loss tones sounded through his remaining speaker. But the static rolled in an odd rhythm. Breathing... was he trying breathing?

Dead. Dead. Sent to Hell. Hell was REAL?? His mother would be pissing herself laughing right now.

No. He wouldn't collapse. He wouldn't cry. Crying was what weak men do. He instead gulped for air, fought to still a heart he somehow still had. But what did that make him now? Was he still a person? When she spoke of televisions, she said his head as a TV? Was it REALLY??

He looked to the windows of the building they'd left, and saw his reflection. Bloodied. Battered. A television for a head. Something fell, struck him. One of his fucking decorative TVs??

Hell ran on IRONY?? Laughable. Stupid. Ridiculous. Why was his head so god damned HEAVY, he couldn't exist like this, it hurt so much--

"---am---"

He struggled. Made a brief connection. It wasn't like vocal chords, air passing through. His mind rushed, swapped through channels. Using an amalgam of sound from the channels he could pick up, he tried again-

"---What---"
"---Am---"
"---I?---"

"...You're a Sinner. A Sinner is... a kind of demon," Charlie informed.

She couldn't perceive it, but Vincent certainly would be able to - the presence of something else in the airwaves, pressuring back, probing - like a curious hand from the shadows.

She couldn't perceive it, so she just kept talking.

"You are a demon, now. And... well. You... live here, with the other Sinners, and everyone else in Hell."

...What was that? What was that?? It was like a touch against his senses, like a finger brushing against skin. Vee flinched a little, and cast his gaze around.

A Sinner. A demon. So humans became... demons... in Hell. They got a title, an apt one at that. Yeah, he'd committed more than his fair share of sin. That's what a body count does for you.

Get it together. Get it together, Vince.

His breaths still left him as short, hiccuping gasps, but he tried again. He swapped channels. Give him a second-

"--Being--"
"--Watched--"

He reached a shaky hand out to her shoulder.

"--Need--"
"--Leave--"

"Uh, well. Yeah! We are out in public, yeah," Charlie nodded, not catching on to what he was saying exactly. Razzle lowered his head, letting out a low friendly rumble. "Right! So-- we'll just ride on Razzle back to where I know it's safe. Fair? I'll make sure you don't fall off!"

Does... she not feel it? That strangeness in the air? It was making his skin crawl.

But he nodded, and he moved automatically in a force of habit: Offering Charlie a bent leg and a hand to a step up onto the... dra-dragon mount, wow??? The little guys grow like that?

Didn't matter. He needed to get OUT of here. Seriously, what WAS that?? A demon??

"Oh, thank you!" Charlie gave him a little curtsy in thanks - at least he was a gentleman and wasn't too panicked to be one! That's a good sign! Once she hopped up onto Razzle, she offered her hand to him back to help him up as Razzle lowered his neck as low as possible. Dazzle happily fluttered and clung onto his brother's back further down.

Something flipped in his stomach, caught him by surprise amid the frazzled nerves. But he offered nothing save for the grasp of the hand before he mounted behind her. The other hand braced against what he was aware was his head now, so unwieldy and heavy, keeping it from wobbling and striking her, or dislocate his neck.

...How was he going to sleep with this damn thing? Do Sinners sleep? This was... this was punishment. Torture.

So why was -she- so kind, even knowing what he was...?

"Alright, hold on tight!" Charlie insisted, holding onto Razzle's fur as the dragon spread his wings and flapped, lazily lifting them over the city buildings. The air was sulfuric, smoky - there were buildings and construction, but in the distance one could see fires and hear gunfights. Bright lights for casinos, brothels, all sorts of dens of sin... but the Princess didn't live there, apparently.

Razzle flew them to the manor. While it was gated for security, that obviously didn't matter too much for the dragon - his appearance was unique to the Princess, after all, and a few imps walked to where they landed to greet her.

"...Ah, your highness. You brought a guest?" asked a strange little red creature, not unlike the ones in the building Vincent had fled to.

"Oh! Yeah - he's hurt, so I was going to make sure he was patched up and regenerating okay."

"Of course. The rooms will be prepared."

"It's fine! I can do it, don't worry. Here, Vee - let me help you down, you look a little top-heavy...!"

This was... this was Hell? There were fires, he could hear gunshots, but there were business here. There was a CITY here. It seemed he'd fallen into a particularly run down part of it, loaning to it being just a desolate place of malcontent. And he LIVED here now...?

Did they have news here? Variety shows? Talk shows...? She recognized televisions but, how did they get down here--

They landed and he was distracted by the manor. They weren't just calling her 'princess' as some term of endearment. No, she was... the real thing? But wait, was SHE the devil? Or did the devil have a kid--

He blinked at her offer, snapping to the present. He waved a placating hand- it's right, he wouldn't trouble her- and shifted one leg over to right himself.

But a hard spark of pain arced through his neck, sent him momentarily rigid as electricity flit up and out of his body. His head felt like lead. He pitched, and...

Whoops, down he goes, look out below-

"Whoop...!"

Quickly, Charlie's hands caught Vee's shoulder and hip before he completely pitched over and crumbled. The last licks of the electricity had her wincing a bit, but carefully she readjusted her grip and lifted him up.

"Hold on! I've got you, Vee. Let's juuuust... balance your head here on my shoulder aaaand... there we go!"

He's injured, after all - she'll just carry him inside, easily like he didn't have the weight of a full grown man. Razzle and Dazzle fluttered behind her, the former having shrunk down to his preferred size as they were ushered inside by the imp at the door.

Oh.

Uhm.

Lady, what the fuck can you lift-

If you asked any at the VNN station, they'd praise Charlie for her ability to render Vincent mercifully silent. He'd never been carried before, and needed a good- uh- minute to process. Unsure of where to put his hands, he instead laced his own fingers together and kept them tight against his stomach.

His eye trailed along her neck, so close to it now that he couldn't help but notice. The jawline. That... wasn't a make-up thing, was it? The white skin, the cheek spots...? Where were the horns? The wings? Tail...?

And the nose!! She didn't go far - there was a wash room just down the hall, and just as Charlie went to elbow the door open, Dazzle quickly opened the door for her so they could go inside. "Thaaank you!"

It was clean, tidy... and rather ornate. No real surprise, there - it fit right into the look of the manor, as did the chaise lounge she carefully started to lower him onto. Never mind that he would get it bloody - Charlie didn't worry about that one bit.

"Okay, yeah, you just relax and sit tight - Dazzle, can you go get the first aid stuff? And Razzle, can you please go get some drinking water for us? Thanks! Let's see... let's get the hot water running, that'll be a little nicer than a cold cloth, right?"

Good thing there's all these fluffy towels! It's enough to make you forget where you are, for a minute. "Oh-- I promise I won't make you owe me anything or say you have to stay here or whatever. Uh, I know sometimes people like to take advantage or whatever, but I think that's kinda mean, so I don't really do it, and you're all my people so I should take care of you anyways!" Charlie started prattling as she ran the sink, soaking a hand towel with warm water.

He settled on the lounge and wobbled a bit, heart racing and dizzy. He'd- he'd get it messy, and probably need to pay for it. But does Hell do money...? They had casinos, he'd seen. What do they trade? ...Oh god, souls??

Hell no. He's never selling his fucking soul. That's his first hard rule here. He'll get someone ELSE'S--

He sat up straighter, clutching the cushions beneath him to keep himself still as it was almost like she'd read his mind. But off she went for things, and he watched her go.

Vee leaned, owlishly blinking. What a weird woman. Kind, pretty. ...Really weird. Not Hell-like.

Then something caught his peripheral, and he lifted his gaze to a massive portrait above the mantle: The woman he just met but decidedly younger, a rather short and goofy-looking guy in a top hat and white suit, and what had to be the most heart-achingly gorgeous woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

Well, there's your answer. The Devil looks like an idiot. ...Lucifer, right? THAT'S the guy that defied God and got grounded for it? Then that must be... Lilith.

Holy shit. They really were... real.

The Greenhorn

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