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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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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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