Ballet Shoes and Radios

Total Fiasco

-Timeskip to the interview-

Charlie sang. And the reaction was just as Vaggie expected.

"Wow," a demon said. Probably at the news station, as their voice came from the speakers. But they weren't in the camera's sightline, "That was shit." Your blood boiled. The fool was very, very lucky he was out of the camera's view. Otherwise you would turn the fils de pute (son of a bitch in French. This I did not learn from my French teacher)inside out.

You were standing in front of the mass of large screens in one of the larger wide open spaces of Hell among several other demons. You noticed the crowd was giving you a wide berth. You smirked. Being known as one of the most dangerous beings in Hell meant people usually left you alone. Then you heard a sound not unlike radio static, and the crowd of demons a few feet away from you also shuffled to open up a space. A tall, red clad figure made himself present in the crowd. You had met him once or twice before the few times Lucifer called all his overlords together and of course, knew him well by reputation. The Radio Demon. Demons were starting to tear their attention away from the screen to gape at the two overlords, but looked away when they saw either of you notice their stares. 

Then something on the screen caught your eye. Angel Dust. In the turf war. "That salaud," you hissed viciously. (Shithead in French. Again, this is not information I obtained from my teacher.) The demons around you moved even further away as your eyes began to glow and tremble, sending out fuzzy halos of e/c colored rings. Your hands shook with pure energy, and the occasional spark like the beginning of a fire flickered between your fingers. You whipped around, making several demons trip backwards in fear, and stalked towards the approximate direction of the fight.

-Timeskip-

Vrrp. Vrrp. Vrrp. Vrrp.

Vaggie's right eye was twitching with anger, Charlie sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, and you lit then smothered flames in your palm. The spider demon, still managing to have bucketfuls of audacity, messed with the car windows. He turned to Vaggie, who's face was scrunched up now. "What?" he snarked.

"What? WHAT?! WHAT WERE YOU DOING?!" Vaggie ripped out tufts of her snow white hair.

Angel sighed. "I owed my girl buddy a solid! Isn't that a 'redeeming quality'? Helping friends with stuff?" he rolled his mismatched eyes. "NOT with turf wars that result in territorial genocide!" it was your turn to lose your temper.

"Eh. You win some, you lose a few hundred," he laughed, but noticing you and Vaggie's expressions of equal fury, he stopped, "It wasn't that bad anyway." He went back to playing with the car window roller. Vaggie chucked a knife at the window roller, causing the circuitry to spark. "Aw, come on! I had to! My credibility was on the line! I mean, what kind of reputation would I have if people found out I was tryna go clean? It just throws out my entire persona!" Angel wailed, pushing up his chest fluff in a suggestive manner.

"YOUR credibility?! What about the hotel's credibility?" You shrieked, "Your little stunt made us look like a fucking JOKE!"

"No, no, no, babe. Jokes are funny! I made you look... uh, sad!  And pathetic! Like an orphan... with no arms... or legs... Oh! With progeria! Great! Now I'm bummed thinkin' about it!" he tried to victimise himself. "This thing have any liquor?"

"Can you please just try to take this seriously?" Vaggie sighed.

"Fine. Don't get your taco in a twist, baby!" The spider snapped two of his many fingers.

"Are you trying to be sexist, or racist?" The moth demon demanded.

"Whatever pisses you off more," he snapped, "Is there seriously no liquor in here?" 

"I'm gonna kill him," Vaggie hissed.

"Too late, toots. Wait! Would that make me double dead? Hah, and where exactly do I go? To Double Hell? Sorry, you're stuck with me, bitch. Get used to it," Angel laughed, folding both his pairs of arms in smug confidence. "¡Con una mierda, malparido hijo de-!" Vaggie started, but the four armed demon cut her off, "Listen, who cares if some jack-offs got hurt? Most of 'em are ugly freaks. Look around!  You got a bunch a fuckin' Harlequin babies down here!" he chuckled.

"You're one to talk," Vaggie retorted. The two argued all the way to the hotel. It seemed an eternity had passed by the time the limousine arrived. Vaggie flung herself onto the nearest couch with a frustrated groan, and Angel took a popsicle out of the fridge. He began consuming it very loudly and pervertedly. Sighing, you sat down on the front desk and bent and stretched your knees to get the hinges moving smoothly again. You were quite... Unique. You were a marionette puppet demon. Where your joints would be, there were hinges. And your wrists were connected to faint, just visible purplish string-like strands of... light?... that lifted up and into nowhere. They just disappeared after a certain point. But when you used your magic, the "strings" glowed a clearer purple.

"It's a good idea to get some actual food in this place. Y'know, to feed all the wayward souls you've got in here!" Angel joked, he seemingly tried to comfort Charlie, but gave up. Charlie shot up and bolted through the door, probably to call her mother. She came back in after a bit, but a quick, loud knock followed. She opened it, and a loud, static filled voice carried out into the lounge, "Hel-" The door slammed. The hinges slid open again. "-Lo!" Another slam.

"Hey... Vaggie?"

"What."

"The radio demon is at the door..."

"WHAT?!" Vaggie bolted up, suddenly looking much more alert.

"Uh.... Who...?" Angel asked, abruptly removing the popsicle from his mouth, trailing both saliva and juice on the floor. "What should I do?" Charlie asked, looking towards you.

"Uh, well- Don't let him in!" Vaggie yelped.

"Let him in. See what he wants," you argued, twirling your wrists now. Charlie opened the door. 

"May I speak now?" the tall figure asked.

--------------------------

A/N:

Again, not done in one seating! Totally didn't do 60% of this during French class. Yep. Totally.