Vaejo

~1~

reference above ^

Pentagram city was bustling with life, or perhaps that wasn't the right word. Demons stared as he strode confidently down the street, hands in his pockets. Killua had been in this hellish landscape for a little over a year now and he'd managed to claw his way up the hierarchy pretty damn well. That was evident by the stares he drew as he strutted along the sidewalk. He was currently on his way to work. Killua would've never guessed that there were jobs in the afterlife, he'd always thought of it to be an empty void.

His ears twitched at the sound of a snapping camera shutter, and he turned his head to see a female sinner with wide eyes photographing him. As soon as she realized he'd noticed her she quickly put her phone away, looking nervous. Being famous is both amazing and a pain in the ass. He grumbled internally. He turned away from her and continued down the street. "No photos please, I'm busy." He'd long since abandoned the person he'd been in life, as once he'd arrived in hell it didn't really matter.

Killua opened the door to the V tower with a hum and entered the premise, making sure to curl his tail down to avoid any accidents. The other models tended to be quite clumsy, and he knew Velvette would be pissed if he rendered one of them incapacitated before a show. "There you are Vaejo! You have a show soon. Where the hell have you been?" Speak of the fuckin devil. The slightly shorter sinner stood there with her hands on her hips, a displeased expression on her face. Killua stretched with a yawn, his ears flattening slightly as he did so. "Yeah yeah, I'm here. Don't worry I'll be ready to go on in five." He replied, with a swish of his tail.

Velvette proceeded to shout at the other models, barking orders. Everyone was rushing around with last minute preparations. Killua took his sweet ass time on the way to his dressing room, he was in no real rush. He made his way inside and shut the door, sliding his jacket off and adorning the look he was supposed to be modeling. Only a few weeks after arriving in hell, had Killua gotten a job as a model in the fashion industry, he was one of the only male models among Velvette's domain, but he'd quickly stood out due to being able to pull off nearly anything.

Killua hummed, slipping on the tight form fitting top he was set to be wearing. He'd made this particular outfit pretty much by himself, that was another thing that had set him apart from the others. When he was putting on the clothes he was given, he really was nothing special. But once he'd brought his own style to the runway, Velvette started to take more notice of him. Initially it was against the rules, but the rules had been discarded in favor for results.

Killua combed through his hair a few times, then examined the fur on his legs to make sure it was perfect. After a quick onceover Killua emerged from the dressing room, making his way over to the studio. His makeup stylist began to touch up his face just before he went on, gulping nervously as she did so. Killua growled. "Give me that." he snapped, snatching the product from her. You can never trust a bitch with your makeup I swear. He thought, quickly doing his eyeliner. The stylist flinched and quickly backed away. "S-Sorry sir!" She squeaked, looking incredibly nervous.

Killua checked himself once more in the mirror, then got to his feet. "Alright, you ready?" He asked, glancing sideways at the two female sinners beside him. They were both nearly identical, and wearing  outfits that mirrored his, just in a more feminine style. I don't see why I need them in the back,  I can do just fine on my own. He grumbled internally, placing a hand on his hip. "Yeah, whatever." One of the two said, with a roll of her eyes. Killua huffed, "You give me any more of that sass and you'll be sitting out." Killua hissed, with a flick of his dangerously sharp tail barb.

She immediately stiffened and ducked her head. "Y-Yes sir.". He could hear the demons on the other side of the doors in front of him chattering in excitement, eagerly awaiting for him to emerge. "You're on in three." He heard a voice say, through the speaker. Killua placed his hands on the doors, taking a deep breath. "Two." Killua let out the breath slowly, ears flicking as he heard the two women behind him steel themselves for the show. "One." Killua pushed the doors open and strutted forward, the two falling in step behind him.

The sinners on either side of the runway went absolutely wild as the three emerged, crowding the edge of the platform and staring up at them with awestruck eyes. The feeling of everyone cheering for him, looking at him with such adoration, it was a feeling he craved. He'd never bore of it, it was almost intoxicating. Positive energy wasn't something he was used to, he was addicted to it. He paused as he got to the end of the runway, placing a hand on his hip and angling his head to highlight his good side for photographs.

As his eyes scanned the crowd, he noticed a familiar flat faced egotistical overlord among them, near the back. The hell's he doing here?  Vox seldom ever got involved in shows like this, what purpose would he have as a spectator? Killua's eyes narrowed slightly as he realized the demon was holding a microphone. He gave it a nice tap, then suddenly a voice came on loudly over the speakers. "Now presenting, the new 'Sleek Cerulean' clothing line. Brought to you by Vaejo, the Vee's very own pussycat." Killua's eye twitched, but he kept his cool for the sake of the show. Oh fuck you Vox.

Killua had been widely acknowledged as the 'Fourth Vee', but he was still below them in status and Vox would never let him forget it. Putting that extra pressure on him, as if in hopes he would fail and ruin his own reputation. He never failed to point out that the only reason that Killua had as much power as he did, was getting into a scrap with an overlord by chance and taking ownership of his souls in his victory. But I didn't spend this many damn months clawing my way up to the top just to be knocked back down. If you think stunts like these will get rid of me, then you're sorely mistaken.

1110 words

To be continued...