Cruelle, Darling

...Corrupted Little Bird~Pt. 2

~Author's Note: Bonjour, again!! I hope ya'll enjoy Part 2 as much as Part 1. And don't worry, Cruelle isn't as cruel as he's going to seem

The door to Dressing Room B slams open with enough ferocity to send the door knob crashing into the drywall, revealing not Cruelle, but a demon filled with unbridled rage. His blue eyes almost seem to bleed red as they glare at you with such immense detestation that you turn cold to the core. His gloved hands dig into the doorframe and, in hindsight, you think you saw the wood splint beneath his grip.

"You little wretch!" he roars, baring his teeth that now look like fangs.

Travis hesitantly steps forward. "What did she do, Mr. De Vil?" he asks. He flinches back when his client snaps his scorching gaze to him then back to you.

"You!" He jabs a finger out. "You ruined my beautiful mink coat, you worthless, pathetic-!"

"Mr. De Vil! P-please, calm yourself!" Travis says when Cruelle implies an advance towards you. "What did (y/n) do?"

You watch through throbbing eyes as Cruelle clasps a section of fur on the coat he's wearing and shoves into your face despite Travis positioning himself between the two of you. "Look what you did!"

You swoon at the sight of (l/c) lipstick smeared across the off-white fur and collapse against a door-it was from when you fell into it after Cruelle saved you from falling. It's like you're staring at your own death, your downfall. Oh my god...oh my god! What the hell did I do?!

Travis is equally in shock and horror at your insurmountable fuck-up, yet manages to speak, "Mr. De Vil...I'm... On the behalf of Miss (y/n), please let me express my sincerest, immeasurable apologies. My embarrassment for this inexcusable blunder is without limit."
Even while Travis is apologizing, Cruelle never tears his pinpoint irises away from you, although his demeanor has become a disturbing stoic and he's backed off. His chauffer has abruptly appeared nearby.

"Please allow me to give this coat to you as a gift, free of charge," Travis continues, "Miss (y/n) will personally see to your coat's cleaning."

This earns a look of peaked interest from De Vil, who glances at you and your boss yet says nothing. His already slit eyes narrow even further as he mulls the proposition over, but why that mulling included another slow onceover of you, who knew. You shudder under his intense glare that holds among an inhaling of the cigarette.

Cruelle looks away as if suddenly content. "Very well," he mutters, removing then tossing the weighty coat onto you haphazardly. "Have the girl deliver it to my flat no later than tomorrow night."

Why's he talking like I'm not here all of the sudden?you think sourly, making sure to keep your face away from the fur as far as possible.

"As you wish, Mr. De Vil!" Travis' voice becomes distant as he escorts his client to the entrance. "We are eternally grateful for your humble forgiveness!"

His ass-kissing fades out when he steps outside and disappears beneath the deafening roar of the Panther Deville that peels off into the night. The door bings from his return and he makes an infuriated beeline right up to you. You can only avert your eyes to the coat in response to his expression that shouts a message crystal clear: Screw this up, and you're done for.

"I'm on it..." you mutter and go to gather your belongings. It's going to be a long night.

* * *

Who knew there were so many dry cleaners in London that downright refused to clean a mink coat? Of course, they only did so because word spread quickly that it belonged to Cruelle De Vil, the Devil himself.