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The Full Moon

Blitz

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Stolitz

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

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Blitz stared at his phone, the spade-shaped tip of his tail flicking back and forth against the bottom of the sofa. The phone was nothing new, only with a new case that had a picture of Spirit, a dun horse from an animated movie, that he had thought would cheer him up.

Not that he needed cheering up. No. Of course not.

The full moon. He should have been grumbling and getting ready to head over to the feather duster's house, the grand mansion...and yet he was not. He was sitting at home, on his own, still in his long, black jacket that he usually wore to work, fingering the red skull on the small cord around his neck.

Not a necklace, no. That was girly shit. He was a fucking assassin, a bitch-boss-ass-assassin. Assassins didn't wear fucking jewellery.

But he was there and Stolas, well...

Stolas: I'm not feeling well tonight. I'll send someone to collect the book.

_ _

It wasn't as if he had not expected any different, not after the shit show that had taken place only one week ago, back at Ozzie's. That was hardly a debacle that Blitz wanted to revisit, grunting, curling a little more into himself, one knee drawn up against his chest. With his lips pressed more tightly together, tail twitching back and forth, the imp wasn't so sure what he felt about all of that.

It was...weird. Yeah, he wouldn't have wanted to fuck him either after being humiliated in front of the entire club, but, in a way, it was nothing that he had not known already. Not that he wanted his dirty laundry aired out to a club full of other strangers that didn't know what a shit person he was, but it was nothing new. He knew Fizzarolli hated his guts. He knew Verosika hated his guts. Damn, she would have stomped on his nuts too and crushed them into dust if she'd had the chance, but it was not as if there were not things on both sides of the relationship, in both cases, that had ended their different relationships.

Everyone was shit in Hell. Blitz, in that regard, was nothing special. And yet he was held to higher standards, or so it seemed, than so many others that fucked and lied and cheated and did whatever the hell it was that they wanted with no repercussions. Everyone looked at them and said, "yeah, they're an arsehole." So, why was it that everyone thought that they had to take him to task over his arseholery?

It was not even his fault that the tent had burned down, back at the circus. It had not been his fault that Fizz, well... But he'd been blamed for it anyway. That one he'd accepted as his due. It was not as if he'd been there anyway, so it was partially his fault. If he'd been there, he might have been able to do something.

Everyone who got close to him left eventually and that was not an unusual story to hear in Hell.

Blitz sighed, leaning onto the kitchen counter. He hadn't even realised that he'd been pacing when the noise of his footfalls came to a sudden and abrupt halt, his tail lashing agitatedly behind him. His tail was a tell that he tried to keep secret, though things like that could be harder than one desired for even an imp like him to hide.

Stolas had always known when he was upset, even before he had realised it. That tail, twitching, scooting back and forth across the bedsheets, even when he was just walking into the prince's bedroom. It gave him away, even though he didn't want to truly hide things from Stolas, not in that way. It had never...

What had it "never"? Blitz refused to finish the thought, a sigh building in his chest. Fuck that, fuck all of that...

He hadn't thought, not really, that Stolas would be so swift to cast him aside, however. Sure, Ozzie's had been a nightmare...but was he really that dispensable? An "impish little plaything" to be cast out at the first sign of trouble?

Maybe he should have known all that long ago, but Blitz had never been the brightest on that side of things. Where he tried to keep himself held back and away from "emotional trouble", it didn't always work out that way. Life was a bitch. And so was Hell.

Loona strode in, a hand thrust into her pocket, the other clasping her phone as if it was a lifeline. She was rarely seen without it in her hand and to see her without it might have given him cause for concern.

"Heading out, Blitz."

She didn't tell him where she was going, of course not. But that was all par for the course, as Blitz knew he couldn't keep reining her in forever. She was an adult, as much as it hurt him to think that, one day, she would leave him too. The imp exhaled the sigh that he had been holding in, chest not all that much lighter after expending it. Maybe her leaving was something he should prepare for sooner rather than later.

"Sure thing, Loony. You don't let anyone give you shit out there, alright?" He growled, snapping his fingers. "You know what to do!"

Loona rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, Blitz, I know. Fuck, it's like you don't trust me."

He shook his head, stepping away, looking for his coat. It had to be around the apartment somewhere, hopefully not bundled up on the floor in a corner...

"Not you, Loony, just fucking...everyone else."

That hung in the air as he stared at his phone, a message typed out to Stolas in reply to that crap about him being "sick" (like fuck he was) that he deleted instantly. No, not that, fuck that. Loona shot him a look, but was wise enough not to say anything.

He stared at it, sitting down, staring at his phone, re-reading the text all over again. Like that was going to change anything. There was still some small part of his mind that thought that he might have gotten it wrong, that he was reading what he would have liked to see many moons ago, before...

Well, before things had changed. Though not even Blitz knew what that change was yet, not in any way. He didn't want to think too deeply about it, yet the stirring twist of unease curling through the pit of his stomach wasn't something he could ignore.

What the fuck did it mean? After Ozzie's... Was Stolas backing out of their arrangement? The deal? A fuck for the book? It was plain, yes, simple, no, but it was their deal and their contract. Stolas couldn't simply fucking break the whole thing off... Or could he?

He clenched his hand into a fist. No... Well, if that happened, it wouldn't be because of him. Blitz couldn't say he much blamed the bird for not wanting to fuck him, not that night, not after what had happened. He wouldn't have wanted to fuck him either, not when he'd been humiliated and paraded in front of everyone at the club, demons who had never even known his name before. Blitz shuddered. Who the hell would have wanted to fuck a partner like that? Someone that was the lowest of the low in both Hell's society and beyond, in everyone's eyes...

Blitz sighed, ignoring the look from his daughter, though Loona's ear did twitch in his direction, picking up on what he wasn't saying. Fuck, it had been a long time since he'd let those thoughts in, but they had been easier to chase from his mind when there'd, at the very least, been a horny owl demon wanting him to fuck him every full moon and every night that Stolas could get him in-between too. There'd been an obvious want then, a need, even if it was only for his body.

Staring at his phone going on the time of the evening when he would have been scurrying his little imp tail over to the mansion, however, was the worst time for him to let those thoughts in.

"No!"

Blitz grunted, shoulders trembling with the force with which he let fly the word. Loona glanced at him, though it was not the strangest thing that her adoptive father had ever done. It was up there though, considering how he had been acting of late. Not that she was going to say a damn word about any of that.

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"Well, if his highness' feathered arse is skipping out on our deal this month, there ain't no fucking reason for me to hang around here tonight!"

"What?" Loona picked up her ears, eyes remaining on her phone, from where she was leaning against the kitchen counter, the living area of the apartment extending into it. "You got ghosted by bird-beak on the full moon. Dude, that's cold."

There might have been sympathy in her eyes, but Blitz was already shaking his head, holding up his hands.

"Oh, no, Loonie-Toonie - that's a good thing! If I don't have to fuck for that Satan-damned book this month, well... I get a night off, don't I? Yes! That's exactly what that means! That I get a night off! You going out somewhere, Loona?"

He turned hopeful eyes on her, though Loona scoffed and flicked an ear at him.

"Yeah, Blitz, with Tex and his girlfriend. Some other hounds are gonna be there too, I dunno. No, you're not invited."

Blitz scowled, yet wasn't even in the mood to rant about how he didn't want her hanging around with "STD infested boys". For once, he was more interested in making sure that he had something to do, that his unexpected night off was not spent drinking himself into a stupor on the saggy old sofa. That was called a Tuesday.

Moxxie and Millie! He spun, throwing his hands up, a grin on his face. That was all he needed! Following those two lovebirds around making kissy face at each other was a lesson that he had not yet learned to take, no siree! If they left their curtains open again, he was sure to get a show too and that was not something that a certain imp was about to pass up!

It was a time-honoured tradition and all it took was a quick check of Millie's Voxtagram feed to see where she was at. She liked to "check-in" to places, though Moxxie wasn't much of a user of it, stupid Moxxie. When was that baby-weiner dick-imp going to get with the times and the social media apps of Hell that were all the rage?

He hugged Loona goodbye, ignoring her growl as he smooshed his cheek up to hers, yet Blitz was not as light on his feet as he leapt down the stairs of the apartment complex, taking them two at a time.

No, no... No, that was not for him to think about, not one little bit. He ignored that there was a stray feather on the stairs. That wasn't an owl's feather anyway. Fuck that. Fuck all that shit.

That night...wasn't for Stolas. Like every other night there was, it was all for him, all for Blitz.

He found Moxxie and Millie about twenty minutes away, give or take, at a moderate little bar with red lighting. Not unusual, in Hell, but it gave everything a rosy-edged glow that was not quite romantic and not quite lustful.

"What's up, fam?" He cried, arms flung high, Millie smiling while Moxxie rolled his eyes. "Limp dick birdbrain ain't calling in the book tonight, so looks like you've got me all to yourselves! Ain't you the lucky bunch?"

So it was that he found himself out with Moxxie and Millie, one of the two a lot more pleased than the other about him being there. Fancy cocktail after cocktail slipped down Blitz' throat as he gulped them down, Moxxie trying for some sort of creamy liquor that he didn't see the point in.

"What, that like drinking cum or something?" Blitz wrinkled his nose as the smaller imp gasped and made a strangled noise. "Jeez, Mox, you know you just have to ask if you want to get your rocks off like that."

The imp spluttered, his wife laughing, and, for a moment, all was right with the world. At least Blitz' world, the corner of the Hell-world that he inhabited down there. That was okay, right? It was okay if things were okay with him?

He shouldn't think like that, he told himself, shaking himself off, joshing Moxxie, though the imp was too far gone into his drinks by that point to respond to any of it. He shouldn't think too much. His mother had always said that was bad for him, and she meant it lovingly too, that she knew what dark thoughts went on in his head. Perhaps she had had those thoughts too, but Blitz didn't want to think about it too much, not since he'd lost her. There was no quiet nor any peace to be found there.

"Hey, Mills, your husband's gone again."

Millie glanced down at her husband, slumped over the bar, babbling happily. He was half-asleep already, but at least he was a happy drunk. She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, Blitz... Think he needed a break, but you know, he gets like that sometimes. It's been a hard week for all of us."

Blitz shrugged, rolled his eyes and downed another drink. The pounding beat of the music was getting to him, clawing into his guts and twisting there.

"Speak for yourself, Mills, I'm doing great over here, greeeeeat, just great."

No one was buying it, of course, but no one really did with him. Blitz was used to not being believed - it kind of made it easier for him still when he said something that was true for once. Lies came easily and jokes even more so, but more than that seemed to be out of his reach. He was better at his job, flipping from wall to wall, guns in hand, laying out bodies one after the other, blasting them flat. That didn't require any talking, didn't need him to show any manner of emotion other than composure.

The female imp glanced at him, shaking her head, though she didn't say anything. Smart. That was one of many things he liked about Mills. She was quick with a blade and quicker with her tongue, though she knew exactly when to still both of them.

"Hey, fam - let's take a photo!"

Quickly, quickly, he had to distract her. He had to do something, anything, to keep things moving forward, to keep the evening on track. The hour had to be late, but he could see the corner of the moon, that fucking moon, out of the window. What sort of bar even needed windows in Hell anyway? No one was there for the fucking scenery!

They dragged Moxxie in, a little more awake, Millie grinning widely, though not as widely as Blitz. It was as if everything about that, so far short, evening had been piled into one moment, his eyes closed, cheeks pushed up high from the sheet width and depth of his smile.

"Saaaay... Hell horses!"

Millie laughed and Moxxie made a face, but it was a picture Blitz would like, if it had been taken under other circumstances, if it had been taken on any night other than the full moon. For there was the full moon still, the red glare of it mocking him, taunting him, telling him that he really should have been somewhere else.

And where was he, if not in the bird-brain's bed, fucking the feathers silly out of him? Out with Mox and Mills, like they even fucking wanted him around to begin with. Blitz' hand trembled, setting down the phone, Moxxie wakeful enough to order another drink, the bustle of the bar and the driving beat of the music filling his head.

It was too much, all too much. He shouldn't have been there, he should have been sinking his fingers into Stolas' soft feathers. Why couldn't he stop thinking about the feather-duster? No, none of it made sense, none of it at all!

His stomach churned, aching, sickening heaves lurching in the pit of his belly. What had he done? He checked his phone, the photo already posted to Voxtagram, though he didn't want to look, didn't want to see if anyone else had seen it yet, though he usually loved the engagement.

"Blitz?"

Millie's voice seemed as if it was coming from a very long way away, his guts churning, palms sweating.

"Is it hot in here? Satan's armpits... Fuck..."

Blitz tried to take his jacket off, but it got caught on his shoulders, his limbs not obeying his direction. What the fuck was up with that? He scowled, swearing, tongue tangled around the words. They should have been tangled around another tongue, a soft and willing brat melting into his arms.

What had he done?

Blitz thumped his fist on the bar top, earning himself odd looks.

What the fuck had he done?

"Blitz, are you okay?"

He was going to say no. He was going to say that maybe she should check on her blackout drunk husband instead. But he crumpled over the table, shoulders shaking, eyes watering, fists clenched, all before the imp even knew what was happening.

"Blitz..."

Fuck.

One tear fell. He'd deny it later.

"Blitz, come on..."

"No."

No. He was not okay. He was very much not okay.

Millie put her arm around him, though he did not cry, he did not sob, shoulders wracked and trembling with every drop of emotion he kept locked inside.

And it was all his own fault. That and the stupid feather-brain's fault, fuck that... Fuck all of that. But Blitz was not in the business of fixing what he had broken.

The full moon mocked him.