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blood and whiny jesters
[Shiiiiiiit.
Shitshitfuckshit. Shit and then double fuck, and FUCK AGAIN.
How has this happened? This bullshit is why he never comes to the living world; he's a performer, an entertainer, not an action hero! Why did he ever let Blitzø talk him into coming to observe him at work, just so the asshole could show off?
"It's just one job, Fizz. You'll be nowhere near the guns and blood, Fizz. It's totally safe and I'll have you back to your big royal chicken in one piece, Fizz. Don't you want to see the living world at least once in your life, Fizz?"
He is going to punch that dickhead SO HARD when he gets home. Because it will be when, right? Not if. And then he will never ever set foot outside the Lust Ring again, let alone outside of Hell.
It had all happened in a flash of white hot pain and the smell of magic gone wrong, the pages of the Prince's tome fluttering and the spell going awry at the last moment. Instead of a nice safe portal opening from the offices of I.M.P. into whatever part of the living world Blitzø's contract was in, Fizz found himself tumbling through a nauseating vortex of images and sounds that make no sense.
And when it stops things don't get less confusing.
The light is fucking dim, and all he can see is stone before he has to fall to his knees and retch from the sensation of whatever the shit had gone wrong. Urgh. Shakily, he wipes a hand over the back of his mouth, unaware that he's crash-landed straight in front of someone like the weirdest multicoloured unwanted houseguest.]
...Blitzø? Fuck.
[His voice is harsh and raspy, as if he smokes about eighty a day, the bells on his hat jingling when he shifts a bit to try and look around.]
Shitshitfuckshit. Shit and then double fuck, and FUCK AGAIN.
How has this happened? This bullshit is why he never comes to the living world; he's a performer, an entertainer, not an action hero! Why did he ever let Blitzø talk him into coming to observe him at work, just so the asshole could show off?
"It's just one job, Fizz. You'll be nowhere near the guns and blood, Fizz. It's totally safe and I'll have you back to your big royal chicken in one piece, Fizz. Don't you want to see the living world at least once in your life, Fizz?"
He is going to punch that dickhead SO HARD when he gets home. Because it will be when, right? Not if. And then he will never ever set foot outside the Lust Ring again, let alone outside of Hell.
It had all happened in a flash of white hot pain and the smell of magic gone wrong, the pages of the Prince's tome fluttering and the spell going awry at the last moment. Instead of a nice safe portal opening from the offices of I.M.P. into whatever part of the living world Blitzø's contract was in, Fizz found himself tumbling through a nauseating vortex of images and sounds that make no sense.
And when it stops things don't get less confusing.
The light is fucking dim, and all he can see is stone before he has to fall to his knees and retch from the sensation of whatever the shit had gone wrong. Urgh. Shakily, he wipes a hand over the back of his mouth, unaware that he's crash-landed straight in front of someone like the weirdest multicoloured unwanted houseguest.]
...Blitzø? Fuck.
[His voice is harsh and raspy, as if he smokes about eighty a day, the bells on his hat jingling when he shifts a bit to try and look around.]
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Small mercies: of all the villages and hamlets and cities in this world bolstered by the weight of corpses and war, Mère-Lachaiselongue is built on deaths long past. Stones like dried skulls crowd the walls of the inner mausoleum, and the veinous cluster of roots running through hard-packed dirt are like the dried hands of something ancient and unbothered by the passage of time.
Regis, perched on the edge of a sprawling sarcophagus lining the far wall of his inner sanctum, is reading when his new houseguest arrives as a pile of color and bell-chime curses. It's startling in a way that not a lot of things are, lately; he supposes that he should have every inclination to hide, to vanish before this spontaneous crash-landing can threaten the tenuous equilibrium he's made for himself here.
Instead, Regis closes his book over his knee. Gets up with a soft sigh, and steps into flickering candlelight. ]
Mind the flasks, please. [ Gesturing to a little pile of decoctions just to the colorful stranger's left. ] I suppose asking you if you're quite alright will sound more facetious than well-meaning, so I'll rephrase: are you hurt?
[ Barber-surgeon. His voice remains even, his concern wary but sincere. ]
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He had been hoping that wherever the fuck this is, he at least had managed to avoid notice when he crash landed. But suppose the universe has decided that it's his turn to be the bitch-boy for the day... wonderful. Just... wonderful.
Fizz scrambles back and away from the voice (thankfully not knocking any of the flasks over in the process) and blinks rapidly to adjust his eyes to the light. His tail, long and slender with a barbed spade on the end, whips up behind him in a defensive gesture and his sharp teeth bare, all in an attempt to hide how utterly terrified he is.
The man in front of him looks-- tall. Imposing. But that's about all Fizz can tell, and he doesn't have much experience with living humans (ha) to be able to tell anything about how dangerous he might be.]
What...?
[The question about his welfare takes the wind out of his sails somewhat, shifting some of that terror into confusion. He is a little hurt, he can feel the throbbing at his right shoulder where he landed, but why would he reveal that to this stranger?]
Who're you? Where the heaven am I?
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Oh well. The world will always find new and interesting ways to humble him; he smiles about it despite everything, and the expression warms further when the stranger says "where the heaven" instead of "where the hells". ]
We could add "how" and "why" to your queries, and complete the set.
[ More valuable questions to ask than who Regis is (no one, really), and where he lives (nowhere important, actually), he thinks. But being flippant about things won't help, and more essentially－
－his surprise guest looks terrified. The body language tugs at something in Regis, and prompts another slow, careful step forward. ]
At any rate, you're among friends. Or, mm. A friend. [ A soft smile, curling just the corner of his mouth. ] A humble recluse living with his herbs and books. You won't find much that could harm you here.
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But there's something about that expression that speaks of sincerity, it almost reminds him of Oz in a very roundabout way. Not that he wants to think of Ozzie right now, or he might just start to cry for how wrong all of this has gone, and how much he already wants to be home.]
A friend? You make a lot of friends with people who break into your home by accident?
[Fizz takes a careful step backwards to match the taller man's step forwards, the bells on the ends of his jester's hat jingling softly with the motion. Sharp hearing might note that any movement of his arms and legs is accompanied by a quiet mechanical whirring noise, and his footsteps clink on the floor loudly. He seems to be 'wearing' metal high heeled boots, with a bright blue heart glowing on the front of each foot.
A deep breath, but he needs help so he can't afford to spit in the face of someone apparently offering it. Though his guard remains completely up, that tail lashing behind him like a wary cat.]
You want to tell me where this is, friend?
[Don't think he hasn't noticed neither of his prior questions haven't actually been answered.]
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He puts his hands up, long fingers and long nails pointing towards the stone ceiling. Regis doesn't cut an impressive figure, by any means: tall but unremarkably dressed, toting a wine-red satchel across his chest with all the sartorial grace of a first-year university student who's afraid of pickpockets.
(The truth of the matter is that Regis' calmness stems from the immortal confidence that he can't be harmed by the creature in front of him; but even still, he's attempting to be more diplomatic than fascinated. The latter is probably too patronizing, if he spoke the opinion into reality.) ]
I try to assume the best in a given situation, lest I unwittingly invite the worst. [ Translation: "I don't want to antagonize people because I don't actually like getting into fights." ] But to answer your question, friend, my name is Emiel Regis, and this is Mère-Lachaiselongue Cemetary, just southeast of Beauclair Port in Toussaint.
Forgive me my forwardness, but I assume that my answer doesn't help your situation any.
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Not helpful.
And neither is the answer given. There's a name, which means nothing, and a place... which also means nothing. Shit. Fuck shit fuck. He had been hoping against hope that the portal had misfired so badly that he was somehow still somewhere in Hell, or at least somewhere in the living world close to where he was meant to end up. But he's never heard of literally any of those places-- Toussaint? Is that a city? A town? A country?
Fizz can feel his breathing coming in too short pants, his heart pounding a million miles a second, as anxiety floods him like a tidal wave. His tail stops even the pretence of threatening behaviour, instinct bringing it to wrap tightly around himself in a gesture of fear.]
Fuck.
[A succinct agreement to that supposition.
Shit. Shit. Breathe, Fizz, don't panic. Now is not the time for a panic attack, the situation is much too dangerous for that. Pretend this is a performance, this is a stage, and Mammon is watching-- time to pull on the game face and be perfect.
He swallows hard, struggling to maintain a neutral expression and keep his thoughts in order.]
Uh-- I mean, no. You're right, I don't know where that is.
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Regis' brows turn down, somewhat. Sympathy, empathy. His hands also lower with the rest of him, posture hunched, knees bent, folding into a half-kneel. The practiced movement of someone who has done this many times before in the past, but doesn't bear the marks of having been bitten or mauled for his trouble.
Poor thing is not a thing he cares to say; he has also been that poor thing far too many times to count. But he believes in the strength of someone's outreached hand. ]
Then we can try to see if we can't find someplace more familiar to you.
[ One thing at a time. Crouched low, still a safe few feet away from the newcomer, Regis breathes slowly and deliberately. ]
May I ask for your name? And what you are, if that question doesn't ring too gauche. I can assure you that there'll be no judgments made based on the answer to said question－ I simply dislike having to mentally catalogue you as an unknown. Seems rude, somehow.
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Fizz keeps his gaze locked onto Regis' eyes, looking for any flicker of a clue that this is a trap or anything about this is untrue. He learned a long time ago that the eyes were where to look for things like that, often speaking far more honestly than a wide smile or a jovial tone.
It's the crouch that finally convinces him. It's not a position a predator would take, it puts Regis too off-balance. If Fizz could actually fight worth shit, then he could take advantage of someone knelt like that.]
...Fizzarolli. My name, I mean, it's Fizzarolli.
[He hesitates on answering the other question, given how fucking illegal it is for him to even be in the living world. But fuck it... seriously, fuck it, he's not about to spit in the face of help when he's this lost. Though he does take another step backwards until he feels stone against his back, just in case.]
I'm-- uh, not human.
[Smooth, Fizz.
He shrugs as if to brush off what he actually is as unimportant, and then hisses slightly in pain as his shoulder reminds him of the rough landing he had here. Damn, he really hopes nothing is damaged.]
You know, you really are being fucking calm about this.
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Fizzarolli. What a lovely name.
[ Very musical! Things Regis appreciates, despite the predicament they're in. He remains where he's crouched, elbow to one hiked knee, before he decides that it's a pain to maintain that position. Down he goes onto dust-soaked stone, taking a perch with his legs neatly folded.
Fizz isn't wrong, by the way. Regis knows he really has no business being this calm, but one can't fight one's nature. ]
As for my being calm, why shouldn't I be? I know exactly where I am, what time of day it is outside, and the name of the Duchess currently occupying the royal city of Beauclair. It's any given Sunday for me, despite the sudden appearance of a rather－ forgive my saying so－ eccentric-looking guest.
[ A soft, thoughtful sound. ]
I'm certain that if you wanted trouble for me, you would have caused it by now.
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It's the odd little compliment to his name, and that Regis sits on the floor in front of him, that finally drains the worst of the anxious energy out of him. He's not feeling good about any of this, but at least he's not on the verge of a panic attack.]
No forgiveness needed, I've been called a lot worse than eccentric looking.
[Fizz sinks down against the wall to sit as well. He legs move a bit weirdly, as if he has multiple knee joints, or perhaps no bones at all, ending up with him sat cross-legged.]
So-- Emiel, wasn't it? You're right that I don't mean you any trouble, I don't mean you anything at all, this-- was a fucking mistake. I don't know how it happened or how to leave.
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He notes the curious expanding and contracting of the demon(?)'s extremities. Curiouser and curiouser. ]
Please, call me Regis. [ A tip of his head to the side, crow-like. Maybe Regis invokes some of the avian poise that Stolas has, with none of the horniness; he maintains the polite distance between them, but keeps his body angled towards Fizzarolli. Quietly attentive－
－and considering how best to level with this newcomer. How much of his cards should be played, and if they should be played at all. ]
From what you're saying, it seems you're not from this world at all. Not a difficult concept to grasp, as there are many precedents in our society that corroborate the possibility of "crossing over". [ His own kind included. ] But, ah.
Quite a predicament, if none of this was under your control. [ Sincerely: ] This does leave you quite buggered, doesn't it.
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[He would like to go back to his life with Oz where he could just be getting buggered in the fun way, please. He would like to see Blitzø and awkwardly talk about their reforming friendship. Heaven, he would even like to see Mammon coming towards him with a new contract for an extra line of Fizzies for people to fuck. Anything but being stuck here.
He rubs his hands over his face briefly, internally telling himself to get a grip. It's easier this time, with Regis having mostly proved (for now) that he's not a threat. He can do this. It's not in his usual wheelhouse, sure, but he can do anything he sets his mind to. He fucking learned how to walk again, how to talk again, how to juggle and sing and thrive long after most people would have given him up for dead. He became the most famous jester in all Seven Rings, worked for two Deadly Sins, and somehow stole the heart of one them.
Surviving a little accidental trip to somewhere unknown? Piece of fucking cake.
Looking much more determined when he lets his hands drop to his sides, Fizz pushes up to his feet with one graceful arch of his back and extension of his legs, finally starting to investigate his surroundings rather than keeping all of his focus on Regis.]
But fuck it, it could be worse. I've already found a friend, right? So that's one to Fizz.
[His grin is wide and shows too many teeth, but it's at least half genuine. He's mostly trying to lock Regis down on side, because this will be a lot easier with someone who knows this place and can wander around without a disguise.]
...okay, Regis, I'm an open book. If you'll help me get back to Hell, no secrets. Deal?
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―Anyway. Their surroundings are thus: a cavernous, two-story crypt with labyrinthine tunnels leading north and south from the main sarcophagus room. Regis is currently sat on the dirt-covered stone of said sarcophagus room, his back to the stairs leading up to a cozy alcove lined with fully-occupied bookshelves. Posters with hand-drawn anatomy studies are carefully pinned to crumbling mortar; there are dried herbs hanging from reinforced wooden scaffolding, casting strange shadows onto tables decorated with vials and glasses connected by tubes.
A library, a laboratory, a hideout. Regis lets Fizz look around with impunity, taking time with his own ascent back onto his feet. ]
Back to Hell, of all places?
[ A question delivered like a laugh. There's something funny about someone wanting to be sent to Hell without it being a self-destructive desire. ]
Well, I shall see what I can do. [ Very exciting! ] And yes, I think candor would help far more than hinder, in this case. We seem to be dealing with a great deal of unknowns.
[ Patting dirt off his pant leg: ] But before we get down to business－
－you can allow yourself your emotions. Break a glass or two, if need be. I've many to spare.
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Wild.
Imagine not believing in the Seven Rings?]
Yeah, well, I was born in Hell, and today's the first time I've ever left. I don't do the living world, this was supposed to be a one time tourist trip with a friend.
[It's a half distracted answer as he finally absorbs where he is. This-- this place is a shithole. Even his crummy apartment in Greed, back before he won the first pageant and met Oz, had been better than this. Why are there sarcophaguses in here? What-- wait, didn't Regis say this was a cemetery? Who the fuck lives in a cemetery?
Intrigued, Fizz suddenly becomes a whirl of motion, like a very energetic and flexible slinky. Using three of his extendable limbs to help (not the right arm in case he has damaged the port), he moves like some sort of whirring blur of tinkling bells around both floors of this place Regis calls home. He flips up onto shelves, he hangs from things by his tail and backflips down, he's up and down on both levels as quick as thought.
Finally he stops by the bookshelves up on the alcove.]
Do all people in Toussaint live with corpses? Or are you just special?
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Should he clap? It's not a show, surely. Still, he leans back and cranes his neck from the ground floor, his smile stretching further than it should. From this distance, it's probably impossible to tell that Regis' teeth are sharper than they should be, but hey. Who knows.
Speaking of: ] Oh, I wouldn't want to give myself too much credit. [ "But yes, I'm a vampire", he thinks to append, but he's still playing that card close to his chest. Even Geralt, bless his stubborn soul, took a bit to piece Regis' identity together. ]
An eccentric, perhaps. I live here because I enjoy the privacy. [ Which doesn't, like, explain why he chose a cemetery, but. Shh. ] Not the best place for tourism, but some of the tombstones outside are quite amusing.
[ "Partied so hard, they perished from exhaustion" is a fun one. He points behind him, where dark tunnels lead up outside. ]
Would you like some fresh air?
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He tilts his head towards Regis with a slightly flat look and a raised eyebrow, he's not quite buying that someone who wants privacy would jump straight to living among corpses. But... what the fuck does he know?]
Uh, not sure that's the best idea.
[He gestures down at himself.]
I don't have a human disguise, and we're not supposed to be seen. Bit fucking late with you, obviously, but...
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"We're not supposed to be seen" invokes, again, a tremor of sympathy. It's a pleasant novelty to be able to relate to someone so quickly, and it makes Regis review whether or not he can afford a premature reveal of his identity.
(He thinks of his first foray into Beauclair, of his rapport with a succubus "terrorizing" the city's inhabitants. Funny memory.) ]
I see, [ he acquiesces, moving towards the stairs leading to the alcove. ] From what I can gather, this was meant to be a clandestine trip in spite of the rules binding you to Hell. Something reckless young people would do to sate boredom or curiosity.
[ A smile, without judgment. Been there, done that. ]
You also mentioned a friend. The one that talked you into all of this, presumably. [ Again, no judgment. Fondly, even. Also been there, done that. ] How long, do you suppose, before he notices your absence and rallies the armies of Hell to find you?
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Fuck, he's tall.
The idea of Blitzø being able to rally the armies of Hell to find him is such a ridiculous thought that Fizz actually laughs to himself for a few moments, a deep raspy chuckle that echoes in the underground space.]
You don't need to worry about any armies. I mean-- shit. Oz. Uh, maybe armies might be a problem, after all.
[How many succubus and incubus demons does Asmodeus have? And all of them have legal access to cross between worlds. If only there was a way he could get in touch and at least let Ozzie know he was safe, and then...]
...fuck, I'm an idiot.
[Scrabbling in his pocket, he pulls out his cell phone. The case on the back is bright blue and says CUM FOR THE JOKES in a swirly font, with a little clown charm at the top. It's the most out of place thing to exist in this world of fantasy and monsters, not that Fizz realises that.]
Shit, no signal.
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Which isn't to say that Regis isn't curious, either. He paces carefully over to where the imp (?) is hunched over his strange-looking device, politely but obviously peering over Fizz's shoulder for his own benefit. ]
How fascinating.
[ No crystals, no blood magic, no giant diamond to set on a pedestal to send images to far-off places??? He really needs to reassess his knowledge of Hell and its denizens. An entirely new academic endeavor. ]
A magic communicator of sorts, I assume? I've never seen anything like it. One would never have guessed that Hell would be so...
[ A wave of his hands. ] ...Advanced.
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You don't have cell phones in the living world?
[Huh? He had no idea that sort of technology was Hell-specific, but he knows so very little about the differences between the two places. It's not like he had a formal education, unless it was in juggling and other objectively cool skills like that.]
I mean, uh-- yeah, it's a communicator. It can do long distance voice, picture, or text conversations. See?
[He pulls up his latest texts from Blitzø and holds the phone out.]
[Fizz can't help but look a bit guilty at those last messages, shoulders hunching slightly.]
Guess he realised something went wrong, but I can't reply. So...
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Anyway. Fizz is stuck with just Regis for now, unless at some point Geralt decides to come NPC for Regis' adventures for once; the vampire in question takes a glance at the screen and the back-and-forth, and
thinks that maybe Fizz's friend isn't, uh. The smartest person in Hell. A snap judgment is made here, about Fizz's good heart and dishing it out to people who might be careless with it.
Regis keeps it to himself. This is all a lot to take in. ]
It does seem that you're very much missed. It might be that all that needs doing is keeping you safe and hidden until your companion figures out how to reverse the process that brought you here.
[ Gently, hovering beside Fizzarolli like a well-meaning ghost. ]
You didn't intend for this to happen, this much is clear. You're blameless.
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Or... guess he was.
But hearing that reassurance come from this outside source is oddly comforting, it adds another layer to the probability he won't be attacked for this. It's another kindness, one of several that are already stacking up.]
...yeah, thanks.
[It's a soft and slightly awkward response, accompanied by a smile that's much more genuine than the performer's mask he has been trying to hold onto after the initial panic abated.]
I don't know how much help I'm going to be on any of those counts, if I'm being honest. I'm not a fighter to keep myself safe, I'm a performer, and I've never even been to the living world before. I don't know how to fit in, even if I had a disguise. You've been-- really fucking kind so far, but letting me stick around is probably going to be a real pain in your ass.
[That doesn't stop the small flare of hope that he might be allowed to stick around all the same, rather than have to find a way to survive here alone.]
You sure you want that hassle, Regis?
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Right now, he pulls up a chair. Sits, and listens. Still calm as anything, but with the barest lowering of his brows to indicate sympathy. The expression is involuntary, but honest. ]
Thank you for the warning, however unnecessary it may be.
[ One day, he'll tell Geralt that honesty is a virtue that only the bravest possess; perhaps he'll think of Fizzarolli when he says so. ]
It requires courage to bare yourself as you've done, even to your own detriment. I'm certain it will be no trouble at all to be in the company of someone with such integrity.
[ A soft laugh, followed by a low, thoughtful hum. ]
There's another reason why I think this arrangement won't be a hassle at all. I believe it's something I should tell you in advance, since you've been so forthright with me.
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He's not entirely sure that spouting off about his own ineptitude regarding combat and the living world is brave-- it sure might be stupid-- and he doesn't think anyone has ever referred to him as someone of integrity. It nearly makes him laugh, but he restrains himself to a small twitch of his lips, far more focused on that fact that Regis is agreeing to help him.
Relief.
Relief is so strong that is nearly knocks him off his feet, and it's quickly followed by a gratitude that he opens his mouth to express, but is forestalled in doing so by that rather cryptic finisher.]
Yeah?
[He's all ears.
Not exactly wary or afraid, but definitely curious as to what sort of information could make this less of a hassle for Regis to have to deal with.]
Unless you're about to tell me that you're an expert at making portals, not sure how I won't be a hassle to you. But go on, I'm listening.
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He turns in his chair, folded knees facing Fizzarolli. One hand lifts from resting position, fingers splayed. ]
It's the nature of my identity. [ Cryptic. Holding his hand to candlelight, he gives his companion a better look at its shape, innocuous save for the slightly-overlong nails; a strange demonstration, its intent unclear, until－
－the nails elongate in a whip-crack instant, too long and too sharp, curled like foot-long scimitars. The transition is quick, but slightly grotesque; the kind of wrongness that feels starkly at odds with how normal Regis seems at first glance.
He smiles about the anomaly, though, and flexes his unnatural fingers. ] I'm not human at all, you see.
[ As if he's speaking about the weather. ] Are there higher vampires in hell?
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Okay, it's a hand?
He has no idea what's really going on, wondering if there's some kind of hidden riddle to this, when suddenly the situation becomes a lot less hidden riddle and a lot more terrifying answer. It's a display that he's not expecting even in the slightest, and the only reason he hasn't moved to run or defend himself, is the fact he was warned something was going to happen which means this isn't an attack. Probably.
His eyes are still wide and wary when he raises them from that hand to Regis' face, shaking his head to the sound of tinkling bells.]
Higher vampire?
[Fizz repeats the words a little numbly. An insane part of his mind wants to laugh and quote one of the dumb vampire movies that often show in between Hell-a-novella marathons. I vant to suck your bluuuuuuuud. It's... nonsense. Vampires aren't real.
But those fingernails-- claws?-- sure are real. And why wouldn't vampires be real? Regis has accepted the fact a Hellborn creature from another place has manifested through a portal, that's... Fuck. Fuck. A vampire? A higher vampire, whatever the shit that's supposed to mean?
It's only when he catches the sound of himself swallowing hard that he realises he's been quiet a bit too long, caught in his confused whirlwind of thoughts.]
Uh-- no. We don't have vampires of any kind, I didn't even know they were real outside of stories.
[His eyes dart towards the doorway, then back to Regis again.]
Is this a world of vampires?
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After that's done (and after he tidies himself up again, nails retracted and fingers curled somewhat demurely around the strap of his satchel): ] Oh no, not at all. We're permanent visitors, as were humans before they decided to reproduce more rapidly than any other creature on this world anticipated.
[ A statement that probably raises more questions than it answers. Regis brushes it aside, eyes crinkling around their corners with gentle humor. ]
In short, I'm a novelty. Even among my own kind, if I may add. My previous promise that I mean you no harm still holds, and I would have kept this from you for your peace of mind, had you not been so graceful with your honesty.
[ He waits a beat. As light as his tone remains, he understands how serious this all is. ]
Does this change things?
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He still doesn't really know what to think about this.
It's a big revelation, but exactly how big is lost on him because he doesn't come from a world where higher vampires exist, or even where humans are the majority population. He has no idea what's even true about the myths, if anything, but it seems sort of rude and insensitive to ask if he should be careful of leaving his neck exposed or not eat any garlic.]
It makes me less confused about why you're living in a fucking cemetery.
[Should it change things?
Regis still promised him no harm would come to him, and that he would help Fizz both survive here and get home, why would his species change anything? Except perhaps to give them a commonality of not being human in a world made for humans?]
I guess it just means we both get to learn about a new species.
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So he actually laughs at the jab about living in a cemetery, because of course. It's the one aspect of his current situation that plays to every vampire trope out there, and the amused slant of his brows says well played. ]
Very much so. Perhaps we could trade fun facts about ourselves over a drink－ or a meal, if you're feeling peckish.
[ A beat, and a hum. ]
Ah, but I wouldn't want to assume. Do creatures from Hell still require physical sustenance? It would be good for me to know if you have...
[ How to phrase this without sounding patronizing??? Regis waves a hand, almost as if the gesture is a disclaimer. ]
...Special needs.
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[Is that rude of him to say? Maybe, but he can't think of a better way to phrase it. He doesn't look afraid of the idea, or of Regis, because he figures if the plan all along was to chomp on his throat then this whole pantomime to make him feel safer seems a whole lot of effort for nothing.]
Because no. But I'd worship you forever if you had any coffee. Or burgers. Shit, anything would do, I'm really hungry.
[He smiles, and it's at least half genuine.]
Do you have stuff like that? I mean-- vampires have 'special needs' right?
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He doesn't touch on his drinking yet. Instead, he chooses to concentrate focus on the subject of Fizzarolli's hunger, which...
...hm, he should do something about. Hard to invite guests over to eat and drink when vampires don't strictly require either. Back up and onto his feet, he moves towards a portion of the crypt that looks more like a cellar, tapping the strap of his satchel thoughtfully. ]
We're quire low-maintenance, truth be told. We've no need for most things that humans require, eating and drinking included.
[ There are a few baskets in the small alcove, covered with clean cloth. Peeling back one covering reveals cheeses, a bottle of unopened wine, dried fruits and bread. ] We don't even require blood if push comes to shove. I suppose we vampires differ from you greatly, in that sense.
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So what is it?
Something about drinking blood, but what? Is it a taboo to have asked? Offensive, maybe? Or does Regis think that Fizz is being insulting by insinuating he might end up as dinner for a hungry vampire?]
...hey, uh. [Ignoring the offered food for now, even if his stomach growls at the scent of cheese, he tentatively reaches out a hand to try and rest lightly on Regis' arm. His hand is cool to the touch even through clothing, a hard and unyielding black metal.] Sorry. Didn't mean to spout some ignorant bullshit. Was it racist of me to assume you did that?
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－Gods, it really is just the most charming thing. Here, in this world, where humans have killed elves for trifles and hung halflings for the crime of being short-statured. Here, in this world, where witchers are called mutants for slaughtering monsters that simply deigned to exist near so-called civilization.
Fizzarolli, who is someone from literal Hell, has the decency to apologize for saying something that could be construed as ignorant. Regis turns, looks over his shoulder with cheese in hand, and laughs brightly. ]
Someone with courage, integrity, and nobility. [ Without patronization. His smile is sincere but tight-lipped so as not to show teeth, a habit he's picked up over hundreds of years. ] Hell must be a wonderful place, with you in it.
[ Another light chuckle, and he shakes his head. ] No, you haven't offended at all. Many vampires do drink, to varying degrees of indulgence and violence. I simply chose not to, out of circumstance and principle. [ The last bit is a bit solemn, but it doesn't quite hit "sad". ] At any rate, I find rumors about vampires quite funny. You've no need to worry about my feelings on the matter.
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On the other hand... what the fuck does he do with a compliment like that?
He's used to compliments, he has adoring fans in every Ring of Hell and his might be the most famous face down there. But his compliments are usually along the lines of how awesome his tricks are, or how much they would like to fuck him, or how well the Fizzies do fuck them. Not... nobility, courage, and integrity.
Fizz flushes and reaches over Regis' shoulder to take a hunk of cheese to shove in his mouth to have something to do, his cheeks hamster full when he answers. Why does he choose to launch into his performer's sales pitch? He doesn't even know himself, it's just what comes out.]
R-Right, that's me, the famous Fizzarolli... making Hell a wonderful place to be at all my shows. Nightly at Ozzie's, and touring regularly under Mammon. And if that's not enough, you can always buy a Fizzie~!
[Shut up, Fizz. He tails off awkwardly, giving a hoarse and uncomfortable chuckle.]
Uh-- or not, sorry. Habit.
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－or, so Regis assumes. It's not like he can claim to know, but there's something a bit jarring about the sudden tonal shift that Fizzarolli takes, not dissimilar to how Geralt would always deflect discussions about the quality of his character by saying that his witcher mutations made him impossible to be cared for.
This time, the expression on Regis' face does read as slightly sad. More so than when he shared his drinking habits, or lack thereof. He reciprocates that touch that Fizzarolli gave him earlier over his clothes, his fingers resting carefully on what feels to be cold metal. ]
It's quite alright. [ Memories surface of companions lost to time, ages ago. ] Though I meant what I said without knowledge of your fame or your reputation.
[ "Or the fact that you've sold yourself", feels too intrusive. His hand remains near where he approximates Fizz's wrist would be. ]
Are you a bard?
try not to judge me
Funny.
The insistence on reiterating the compliment makes his skin itch a little, the discomfort growing. He can almost hear Ozzie's voice in his head: Froggie, it's okay to let people see the real you. Well... shut up, Big Daddy.]
A bard?
[That, at least, is a question he can answer.]
Fuck no, I'm a jester. I'm a clown. I'm Fizza-fucking-rolli.
[Suddenly, he wants to be moving, to be proving he's still himself even in a cemetery of an insane new world. He grabs another mouthful of cheese, and then music seems to come from nowhere. Not that Fizz is surprised by it-- this is the gift that Lilith gave to Hell, songs and music, and it's a gift that Fizz has honed well over his years.
As the introductory music builds, Fizz zips back from Regis and extends to stand on top of one of the sarcophaguses, spreading his arms wide and bowing. And then he's off, singing in his raspy voice as he performs, graceful in his acrobatics and utilising what few props and juggling balls he has concealed on him.]
🎵The best of all the jesters
In all the seven Rings
It's the famous Fizzarolli
Fuckin' funny... and he sings
I'm flexible, just ask Ozzie
A master of spinning fire
Blindfolded knives, a thing of ease
I can dance on the high wire
My juggling is an art form
On the trapeze I am bespoke
Pies and balloons, easy for me
And I'll always finish with a joke
So keep your eyes fixed on me
Because I'm the best in all the biz
You'll want to fuck me, cheer me, love me
The one and only Fizz!🎵
[He finishes in the same place he started, bowing once more as the music dies away, grinning at Regis as if he's done nothing out of the commonplace.]
A bard, please.
LISTEN i love this!!!!!
He watches, rapt in a way that disarms himself, and heaves another laugh from the pit of his nonexistent stomach. It's a shame when Fizzarolli finishes, even if Regis thinks that certain bards would take umbrage at the crassness of some of the sung lyrics.
But then again, Fizzarolli said it himself: he's a jester, not a bard.
Regis is still bending his brain around the newness of this all, the novelty of it, as he claps for the performance. Sincere and surprised, which shows in his slightly-widened eyes. ]
Extraordinary－ my word, you really are quite the talent.
[ With apologies to Dandelion, who has definitely found his match. Regis stops clapping, but reluctantly. ]
It seems we'll have to expedite our search to send you back to Hell. There's no doubt you're sorely missed.
too kind <3 writing songs is HARD
So to feel Regis' genuine enjoyment of his performance fuels him, and the sincere pleasure of the moment is practically palpable, radiating from Fizz and informing every movement and inflection in the song. His smile is genuine, bright and delighted, at the compliments afterwards.]
Thank you so much, you're too kind. Now I can add higher vampires as fans to my list of accolades, huh? Pretty cool!
[He's mostly joking, slinking back over to the basket of food to take some more cheese.]
So-- you wanted to play a game of question and answer while we eat? Or I eat? Sounds like a good idea to me, the more we learn about each others species and worlds, the easier this shit will be.
[Performing has clearly loosened him up and pushed away reservations and anxieties, at least for now, his tail wagging slow and happy behind him.]
You want to go first, since I'm the intruder here?
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Anyway! That's a lot of philosophizing about a hell jester. Regis makes room for Fizz to perch on a slab of rock next to him if he'd like, and sets the basket and wine on top of two stacks of very thick, leather-bound books. ]
I prefer "visitor", [ he gently corrects. ] But, hm. Yes, I shall start if you've no objections.
[ No move to eat or drink on his end, though his dark eyes occasionally flit to the bottle. Abstaining has become harder and harder after his so-called "rebirth"; maybe it's Dettlaff's restless blood that compels him. ]
It's a widely regarded belief in this world that hell is where the souls of sinners go after they expire. This belief, in my opinion, serves two purposes: one, to discourage bad behavior and uphold an admittedly fragile moral order, and two, to give credence to the opposing idea of heaven.
[ Tl;dr- "I always thought heaven and hell were kinda bullshit, tbh." ]
I wonder how much this aligns with your reality.
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Maybe he'll ask on his turn.
For now he gives his attention to the question asked to him, and thankfully it's an easy one to answer.]
Yeah, that's exactly right. Once living humans die, their souls either go to Heaven or Hell depending on if they were a good person or not. Sinners are pretty powerful, and they can be unpredictable and dangerous, since they sort of-- exist in a different way to natural Hellborn creatures.
[That's a bit more of a complicated discussion, though, involving the Rings and the hierarchy, and-- well, time to go into that later.
Taking a small sip of wine, he contemplates what question he'd like to ask first in return.]
You know, it's really surreal to me that some people don't believe in Hell. The way you asked, it kind of sounded like maybe that includes you, so-- what did you think happened after people died?
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Thoughtful, Regis settles down and leans back. Long fingers drum across his knees, considering. ]
After one dies? Nothing at all. I'd always believed that legends and stories take the place of a tangible afterlife－ that we'd be kept alive by the virtue of historians and orators, not heaven or hell.
[ Bluntly, but without malice. "I never believed in your reality" is not a nice thing to say (he's been on the receiving end of this claim many, many times), but Regis means it as delicately as he can manage. He sympathizes, after all. ]
I've experienced death. Or something close to it, I suppose. There was never a crossing over, or a weighing of my actions to determine which end of the spectrum was more suitable for my soul.
[ A solemn, half-smile. ] It wasn't much of anything, truly. Which is why I didn't give the existence of Hell much thought.
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A flicker of empathy crosses Fizz's face when Regis shares about his near death experience-- no details, but he understands that. He knows that sometimes even speaking the bare minimum of it into existence can bring back the pain of it, and anything further gets caught in an unwilling throat.]
I'm glad you survived.
[The words are soft, but genuine.
He doesn't say I'm sorry. He's learned to hate that phrase himself, everyone was always so fucking sorry for what he lost, but no apologies could ever bring shit back. And worse, it always drove home there was something to be sorry for, that he was broken now.
Everyone was always sorry, nobody was ever glad that despite it all he lived.]
Not sure whether a vampire would end up in Heaven or Hell, but either way I'm glad you fought through it and you're here for me to have met you. I'd have been a lot more fucked without your kindness-- I can tell that already, and I haven't even been here a day.
[His smile gets a bit wider.]
But if you ever do end up in Hell, I'll be sure to visit Pride and say hi.
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His solemnity eases; the smile becomes just a smile, and becomes a half-grin by the time Fizz finishes. ]
Pride. [ A little huff, caught off-guard. ] I'll neither confirm nor deny that well-placed accusation.
[ Don't call him out like this!!!!!!!! jk though, because it's funny. Fizz has proven himself to be a capable jester 50 times over in the span of such a short amount of time, how impressive. ]
...Thank you, at any rate. It does remain an unfortunate truth that humans in this particular world tend towards xenophobia, but I shan't sour your experience of the surface before it's even begun. [ He'll have to go out tomorrow into the city for things like, you know, food and common amenities－ things to keep a guest comfortable, which are things he does not possess right now. He's not sure if he can leave Fizz alone in the crypt during that time, so he'll have to think on it.
In the meantime: ] Now, a question from you.
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Fizz is pretty sure he can handle that, it's not like the folks here are going to know to call him a fire toad or anything. But what he's getting from this is that he definitely needs to try and find a way to blend in, and that he probably shouldn't be shouting about Regis being a vampire when they're in mixed company.
There are so many questions he wants to ask now it's his turn; some of them far more serious than others, and some of them much more personal. He's not sure whether to start with this world, like Regis did regarding Hell, or whether to start with his new vampire friend.
In the end, he goes with his gut, even if it might not be the most relevant question.]
Do you want to play Gwent?...I noticed you keep looking at the bottle of wine, is it going to be an issue if I eat and drink in front of you? I guess-- do you miss it from when you were alive? Or-- human?
[Vampires all used to be humans, right?]
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......this question. Very well-aimed in some respects, which is both surprising and not. His new companion, Regis has found in this brief amount of time they've spent together, has the distinct ability to be very astute about the things that matter.
He pauses, letting that obvious beat of silence stretch for a bit longer than necessary. It's unintentional, which probably says more than if he'd actually said anything at all. ]
―Ah. A common misconception, [ is how he gently recovers from that pause, ] that vampires are made, not born. It just so happens that we are a race of our own, wholly separate from humans. I have never been mortal, and thus I cannot miss what I've never been.
[ That's the easy part to answer. The rest isn't difficult either, per se, but it's a bit loaded. Maybe something to tell in installments, instead of laying everything out on the proverbial table right now. He shifts in his seat, not uncomfortable but thoughtful. ]
As for eating, our anatomy doesn't restrict us to the mere consumption of blood. I sometimes dabble in food when the mood takes me. [ A smile, as if that's a funny thing to say. ] And drink, well－ I mentioned that I avoid partaking. Not just blood, but any stimulants.
...Did I truly look so wistfully at the bottle?
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But the rest of it is what he's really interested in, because it gives him insight into Regis as a person rather than just what he is. Blood is a stimulant? That's unexpected. So it's not just a food source, but it's some kind of drug? How strong? Something akin to caffeine? Alcohol? Or something that'll really fuck up the brain, like H-8?]
Yeah, a few times.
[He doesn't think it's helpful to lie to Regis about that. He definitely looked, it's what clued Fizz in that there was something to be asked about.
He flicks the top of the bottle, a ring of metal on glass, and offers an encouraging smile.]
I'm not a big drinker, I prefer coffee. Or water.
[If Regis has some kind of problem (addiction?), then Fizz has no desire to make it harder by being an insensitive idiot. Besides, he doesn't usually drink a large amount of alcohol anyway, it can mess with his medic-- Ah shit, no medication. Okay, well, best hope he has no bad pain days here.]
...thanks for telling me. Can't be easy to admit when you've got to abstain from something, but I'll do my best not to make shit harder for you.
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A breath that he doesn't need to take, and he softens in return for Fizzarolli's smile. Unbidden, he feels himself leaning over in his perch to rest his palm on the crest of his companion's head, between the two protrusions that he assumes are horns, and carefully smooths the fabric of Fizzarolli's hat. If Fizzarolli will let him, that is. ]
I cannot imagine, [ he says, trying to emphasize how serious he is about this, ] that you could ever make things harder for anyone. You astound me.
[ Another pat, again, if Fizz will let him. Regis gentles, though the expression borders on slightly melancholy again. ]
The reason for my abstaining is sordid and unpleasant. I don't mean to generalize, but the principle reason behind most individuals' decision to stop something altogether is if said something caused them to make grave errors and lapses in judgment. I doubt you would've been so kind to me if you'd met me a few centuries ago, alas.
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He's pretty sure Regis is a person with feelings, regardless the outer packaging, and that's all that matters. If he has addiction issues, then Fizz would be a fucking dickhole to make those worse, even if he wasn't relying on Regis' kindness and generosity to keep him alive here.
He opens his mouth to crack a lewd joke about how often he makes things harder for some people, but then that hand is suddenly on his head. Between the remains of his horns. And Fizz freezes.
A short and sharp intake of breath, a sudden fear that Regis is about to pull the soft cloth from his head and reveal the shame underneath. Broken, disgusting-- he... Wait. Fuck. He's just patting? A small shudder goes through him, but he has a smile forced back to his lips by the time Regis is withdrawing his hand, determined to cover it up.]
Yeah? Well, good thing I'm meeting you now then, isn't it? Besides, some people who 'make grave errors' never care enough to try and right their mistakes, so-- You can tell me the shit you did one day if you want, and it'll make you feel better, but you don't have to.
[He shrugs, spreading his hands. Maybe Regis did some awful things, but he's a step ahead of most people who never even bother to try and change.
Fizz can't help his hands lifting, touching his hat only for a second, just making sure it's still securely in place and his secret is safe.]
Uh, your question, I guess?
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Calmly, he places his hands back on his knees. Listens, and watches Fizzarolli recover from that light stumble with as much finesse as he'd shown during his performance, and also watches the follow-up stumble of him readjusting his hat. It's impolite of Regis not to register the kind words that are being offered to him so generously, but he's preoccupied with those micro-communications, the body language.
When he's prompted for another question, he almost asks "did I offend you, just then?"
He reconsiders, because this is meant to be a rapport, not an interrogation. So: ]
I would love to know your favorite color.
[ Guilelessly! He sits there, patient, and smiles. ]
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With the imminent danger over, he bounces back quickly to pay attention to the conversation. He's not sure what sort of question might be coming his way, but he's sure it'll be something serious-- maybe more about the structure of Hell, or about what Fizz is specificially, or--
--what?]
You would? Uh...
[He tilts his head to one side, confusion pretty clear on his face.
Does he even have a favourite colour? He's never really considered it before. When he was a kid he just wore whatever clothes Cash could afford to give him, mostly living in his performance outfits, and that hadn't changed when he got older. Suppose he used to be fond of his Mammon merchandise, but he's gone off green in recent years.
His second instinct would be to say red. The red of an imp's skin, the red he misses almost every time he looks at himself in a mirror. But that's a fucking depressing answer.]
Blue?
[He shrugs.]
My business part-- my partner's mane and feathers are blue, so I guess... blue.
[It's still weird to be able to claim Ozzie as his own openly, feels like revealing a dangerous secret even outside of Hell. But he's not going to disgrace the courage Oz showed for them both by going back to hiding it, even if he does slip up by going back to the ruses sometimes.]
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Regis huffs at his companion's non-committal answer, amused and warm. ]
Ah, so you've a partner. Giving your friend who caused this whole ruckus an earful, I'd imagine.
[ "Blitzø", as Regis recalls from that funny little contraption with the glowing screen. ]
This raises more questions, but I won't pry for now. [ Another low, soft laugh. ] Blue it is. I shall have to find you something suitably blue during my next excursion to the city.
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His heart aches to think of Ozzie's pain, instinct has him reaching for his phone again as if he can call and reassure his lover that he's alright, but he stops himself before pulling it out. It's pointless, no signal.]
Actually... maybe it might be important to pry, Oz could be an issue.
[Oz is gentle most of the time but Fizz isn't an idiot, he knows the Deadly Sin of Lust has a lot of power behind him and he's the man's weak spot.
He sighs, resting his hands on his knees, looking up at Regis with a worried frown.]
He's sort of overprotective, which-- let me tell you, getting fucking tossed into another world is not going to help with the arguments about if I get to go out without a bodyguard. And he's got power behind him, a lot of it. If he found out where I was and thought I was in real trouble, he could...
[Spreading his hands, a bit of embarrassment mingling with the concern.]
He's Asmodeus.
[Which explains it all, right? Surely even people who might not have believed in Hell have heard of the Seven Deadly Sins, the most powerful demons to exist.]
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－the name doesn't ring a bell. Regis picks up on the gravity of the reveal, of course, because Fizzarolli wouldn't have framed it in the way that he did without sufficient reason, but his knowledge of Hell is either folklore or the more academic "where did certain creatures who inhabit this world come from".
Which means that the intricate hierarchies of different dimensions are unknown to him, and he can only surmise. Fizzarolli mentioned something about his home being comprised of rings (seven of them?), and he assumes that, like in all worlds, there must be someone who holds dominion over one or all of them. Perhaps that's who Asmodeus is.
Anyway. Regis has to react, so: ] A name I'm unfamiliar with, I'm afraid. [ A slight bowing of his head, politely apologetic if not for the obvious undercurrent of curiosity that straightens his posture, makes him scoot a bit closer. Live a few hundred centuries, and one becomes hungry for new content. ] But, through the process of addition, I take it that he's someone with significant political power.
[ He tries not to smile, and fails. ] My sympathies. I do know how royalty can get, especially concerning their lovers.
[ Anna Henrietta, for example. She didn't take being spurned by Dandelion very well, but then again, that wasn't a misunderstanding or an accident. ]
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It hits him like a physical blow of homesickness and fear. He wants Ozzie right now more than he wants the breath in his lungs, he wants to hear that sultry voice and launch himself into arms that have always kept him safe.
Fuck. Fuck.
Fizz's eyes fill with tears and his tail winds around his legs in subconscious comfort. He does his best to blink away the evidence of his upset and push it down, to cover it with a perfect performance, but it's not entirely successful. His laugh is obviously forced and his smile is insincere.]
Right-- Fuck that was stupid of me, of course you wouldn't know Oz if you don't know hell.
[Shit. Shitshitshitshit.]
Have you heard of the Seven Deadly Sins? Pride, Wrath, Lust, Greed, Gluttony, Sloth, and Envy? Each of the Seven Rings of Hell is named after and ruled by one of the Deadly Sins, an immortal demon personifying that Sin. They've been around since the start of Hell, they're royal with a capital fucking R.
[Explaining this just makes him feel lonelier. It feels so clinical and also completely inadequate. How can words explain the power of the Sins?]
Ozzie-- Asmodeus-- he's the Deadly Sin of Lust.
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－The offer to break a glass or two still stands. [ "Allow yourself your emotions", Regis'd offered. Honestly, Fizzarolli's been handling all of this with a grace that most wouldn't have, and Regis hadn't even taken into account the possibility of his new visitor having someone who he'd miss like this, with what seems like the entire breadth of his being.
Perhaps he's too vampire to relate to that. He breathes through his nose, rubs the shoulder that his palm is still touching. ]
You will return to him. It will require a fair bit of consultation and patience from you, I expect, but we shall set things to rights.
[ A bit of nostalgia, here: he remembers Geralt sitting by himself away from their campfire, trying to convince everyone that he could find Ciri alone. An impossible task that seemed far more possible with the addition of helping hands.
Regis softens, and scoots closer. ]
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Except it's not.
And weeping like a little bitch-baby isn't going to change that. So he needs to get his shit together, and he needs to use this like he's used fear and pain and sorrow since the fire-- by making them his fucking fuel. He will not crumble and break, he won't go down, because he's fucking Fizzarolli and there are people waiting for him back home.
He'll be Satan-damned, but he's lucky to have wound up with Regis. Those comforting words go right to his soul, and the tentative gentle closeness of his presence is much appreciated.
Looking up at his new companion with a watery sort of smile, eyes bright in the darkness with determination, he suddenly extends his arms to wind them around Regis and himself three times over in a tight embrace.]
Thanks, Regis.
[He squeezes once and then retracts his arms again, rolling his shoulders as he lets his emotion bleed out of him with one long sigh.]
You're right, we'll figure this out. Against the team up of mega vampire and cool clown, this shit doesn't stand a chance, so Oz'll just have to be patient for a bit. And if he makes trouble here somehow, we'll figure that out too.
[Right. He's fine. He's fine, absolutely fine. Push it all down, be better, be fine. It's his question, isn't it? So-- moving on.]
Uh-- okay, so... what's the one best piece of advice you have for not fucking up while I'm here? Like should I be bowing to everyone I meet, or am I going to cause an international incident if I fucking sneeze in public, that sort of shit.
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(And truly, all Regis has is time. Always, forever.)
One more pat to Fizz's interestingly-built knee, and Regis lets the subject drop. ]
Yes, that. You would cause a bit of a ruckus were you to appear in public exactly as you are.
[ An apologetic little quirk of his lips. He mentioned the xenophobia thing, and it will definitely remain a hurdle that they'll have to jump over again and again. ]
I don't expect your manners will be the issue [ maybe less cursing in general, but, you know ], as much as your... [ Hm. ] ...physiognomy. Humans in this world aren't terribly tolerant of anything that doesn't look exactly like them, and even when the differences are negligible, the closeness is enough to breed contempt.
In other words: if we're to take you anywhere, you would have to wear a mask. And hide your tail.
[ The hat is fine, Regis figures. An accoutrement. ]
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[He's not offended by the idea that he needs to hide, he's more annoyed that he didn't think to ask Oz for an Asmodean Crystal so he could have the extra layer of defence of a human disguise. A human disguise would be beyond useful right now, but nooooo... stupid Fizz and stupid Blitzø didn't need one. Idiots.]
I don't mind wearing a mask, but my tail might be more of an issue.
[He swishes it demonstrably, long and agile.]
I can control it, it's a limb like any other, but it's also more than that for imps. We use it for balance, and often it's my subconscious controlling how it moves.
[Very much like a cat that betrays its emotions, imp tails often betray the inner workings of the imp they're attached to, as long as someone knows how to read it.]
I'm not sure how well I can walk without my tail helping, but I can practise. Fuck it, I learned to walk on these noodles, I can walk without my tail.
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A low hm, as he considers their options carefully and also tries to determine what "these noodles" might mean. Fizz is not lacking in surprises, at any rate. ]
Generous as ever. But it would be difficult for you, I surprise, and compromising your mobility for the sake of assimilation doesn't sit as well with me as I'd like.
[ He gets up, hand at his chin, thoughtful. A few paces in one direction, then another, Regis maneuvers towards a bookshelf and traces his fingers over the spines of a few old-looking books. ]
I could attempt to appeal to certain individuals who have the power to magically aid us. Cast a glamour of sorts, to alter perceptions of those who look at you.
[ Sorceresses always have some sort of agenda, though; Regis is strictly not a man of politics, if he can help it. ]
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He watches as Regis start perusing books, happy to let him direct the flow of things as someone who understands this world a lot better than he does.]
Wait, there's people here who can use that kind of magic? Fuck yes, that would be so useful! Honestly-- I could have brought a human disguise with me, Blitzø just convinced me they never use them so getting one wouldn't be worth worrying Oz about in telling him where we were going. Not my smartest move.
[Zipping up to his feet, he extends up to Regis' height to peer over his shoulder at whatever books he's looking at.]
But if you know someone who can do the same thing, then sign me up!
[Said with all the enthusiasm and naivety of someone who has never dealt with the Lodge of Sorceresses.]
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A lot of personal tragedies packed into one eccentric package. Regis decides not to pry further into what makes Fizz tick, though a part of him does worry about what they might have to do if a medical emergency presents itself.
Sorceresses are slightly relevant to that internal monologue, perhaps. If nothing else, the members of the now-defunct Lodge are very resourceful. ]
There are several someone-s, yes. But I must be vigilant about which someone I choose.
[ He pulls out two books from his collection: Of Sorceresses and Magic, and A History of Magic in Toussaint. They're as boring as the titles suggest. ]
In our world, there are certain individuals capable of wielding the forces inherent in nature. You seem familiar with the concept, so I'll not bore you too terribly with the details. [ A light laugh. ] The long and short of it is that, as a vampire, I don't make a habit of involving myself with ambitious magic-wielders. You may be able to surmise why. However, a very good friend of mine had a peculiar and often debilitating ability to draw magical women to him with astonishing frequency― in the time I spent with him, I became familiar enough, often against my will, with the names and capabilities of many prevalent sorceresses of our current age.
[ This is where Geralt would interject with something like "Regis, you're monologuing again". Regis clears his throat. ]
Which is to say that, yes, it shouldn't be too terribly difficult to attempt contact with one of them. I'll just have to make myself available, and set some hard ground rules about what they can and cannot do with you.
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That sounds kind of ominous.
[He chuckles, but it's a little nervous.]
What sort of things are they likely to want to do with me? I mean, fuck, I know I'm a sexy little thing, but I don't usually drive people that wild.
[But truthfully, he sort of gets it, there seems to be a power parallel here. In his world it's royal demons who can use magic, and here it's sorceresses, but both apparently use those beneath them like pawns sometimes.]
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So says the imp whose lover is the ruler of lust.
[ A smile, slightly coy. "Come now, don't sell yourself short". The expression stays, even when he has to drop the proverbial shoe. ]
―Though, yes, I suppose the sorceresses I have in mind wouldn't be interested in you in that manner. They're arbiters of influence, first and foremost; any insight into the sorts of powers and advancements that you may possess as a being from another dimension may...
[ What's the best word to use, here? He waves a hand, searching. ]
...Inspire them. Academically and practically. [ That's obtuse, he realizes. His expression turns a touch wry. ] In short, any progress is exploitable progress.
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As long as the sorceresses aren't into that, he can cope.]
Then we need to make sure they know that if they're looking for power and influence, I'm the wrong way to go about it. Imps are pretty much the lowest form of life in Hell, way below Sinners in both power and status, there's nothing that can really be gained from me.
[Sure, he has more fame than the average imp, but even so he's still just an imp.]
Pretty sure you'll be of more interest in that category, right?
[Which might explain why Regis has tried to avoid sorceresses in general.]
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I should think there's a lot to be gained from you. [ Just the novelty of a successful transference from one dimension to another is immensely intriguing; literal wars have been waged over Ciri and her ability to hop between borders. But that seems too much to go into so quickly, so he sets it aside for now. Best not to worry Fizz too much about things that are uncertain.
Things that are less uncertain: ] And, you assume correctly, from me.
[ Calm and steady, Regis looks up from the book he's set on the table and lowers his brow in vague contrition. ]
It's the reason I live in a place like this. I would rather avoid conflict, as I've no stomach for hurting others.
[ "Hurting others", not "getting hurt". Unconsciously spoken like an apex predator. ]
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He's just an imp, and a pretty damaged one at that. He's got no magical ability, he's got no idea how the portals open other than it's something to do with the inherent ability of royal demons, and he has no influence over Hell. But then, he also has bionic arms and legs, a cell phone, and a variety of... interesting... things in his pockets.]
And you can't avoid conflict somewhere less creepy?
[He holds his hands up to show it was a joke. Sort of.]
I'd rather not involve you in something that means you have to fight anyone either, especially not on my account. Maybe-- maybe if you told me how to contact these sorceresses, I could do it without them ever having to know you were involved?
[There's something that tickles at the back of his head about Regis' phrasing and tone, but he doesn't quite put it together yet. It'll sit in his mind along with the way Regis had crouched in front of him without fear of being in the vulnerable position, and his general calm demeanour, and sooner or later he'll put it together that higher vampires are much scarier than he's imagining them to be.]
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It's quite alright. Conveniently, we higher vampires are impervious to magical detection, which makes it very easy for me to hide, if need be. And I expect that most sorceresses would avoid a fight with one of my kind.
In short, we shall try to keep things very civil. And I shall try to keep a bribe handy.
[ He laughs, because he knows that that sounds kind of ridiculous. But it works, more often than not, so he meanders over from his books to his cabinet of strange-looking potions, sifting through them for anything that a sorceress would find useful to have. ]
Things to think about in the morning. A bit of rest would do you good, I think.
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Unless that sorceress was really into butt plugs and juggling clubs.]
...uh, another possibly cliché question, but don't you need it to be night for us to move around without burning up?
[Not that he'd say no to some rest after the whirlwind shitshow of today, but he can become nocturnal if that's what's needed.]
And a less cliché question, but if we're sleeping in this place then... bathroom? Please tell me you have a bathroom.
i thought i replied to this weeks ago and i hadNT HIT SEND
Anyway. He stops rummaging at the question, and looks over his shoulder. If he looks slightly perturbed,
well. ]
The good news is that I've made friends with the sun, and can roam outside freely at all times of the day.
The bad news is that... hm. What you see here is, unfortunately, what you get.
[ Welcome to fantasy Medieval Europe, where running water is a luxury. Not to mention that crypts aren't known for having amenities, as its occupants are usually very, very dead.
Apologetically: ] Clearly, I valued privacy over hospitality when I chose where to hide.
MY TURN TO CURSE DW FOR EATING A TAG ):
[He repeats himself even though he understood what Regis was telling him perfectly well. The crypt, of which he's already fully examined by leaping around all over the place earlier, is everything there is. No bathroom. No toilet. No bath.]
Fuck, that might actually be the most heartbreaking thing you've told me so far. I thought I was going to miss Oz the most, but that's before I knew you didn't have a jacuzzi lined up for me.
[He's making a joke of it, but truthfully he is kind of worried. A hot bath with jets helps tight muscles and chronic pain, and it's not like he has any medication here to help. Fuck it, it's fine, he can power through.]
So, what? I've got to go piss among the gravestones? Any enemies up there you want me to aim for?
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"Damn, bitch, you live like this?" would be a good meme to describe Regis' self-imposed isolation. Then again, Regis, even with his centuries of knowledge based in this reality, can't imagine the conveniences of more advanced societies. ]
Hm. Wild wolves, and the occasional wraiths.
[ Not comforting! At least he's honest. Regis still looks contrite, however, and rubs his palms together in a way that looks almost like a sheepish raccoon. Graceful, but still apologetic. ]
We should expedite your glamouring exploits. There are far better accommodations in Beauclair proper― ah, how mortifying that I've been caught so unprepared.
[ A small smile, brows downturned. ]
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[He snorts a wheezy and rasping little laugh, because he can't imagine anyone who could have been more hospitable. It's not about running water and bathroom amenities (though fuck knows he wants those very much), but about the grace and kindness with which he's been treated so far.]
But yeah, a disguise as fast as possible sounds like a good first step. I don't have any of your money-- uh, fuck, obviously-- but if I have anything worth selling to help with whatever helping me out is going to cost then it's yours.
[Stretching, wincing again at the sharp stab from his shoulder where he had landed on it when he arrived, he heads for the stairs up and out of the underground dwelling.]
I'll be careful not to be seen, back in a few.