The silence that hung after our short conversation felt particularly uncomfortable. The three of us stood at the entrance to the alley, and I could feel it in my gut that if I didn't start acting now, these two "stubborn individuals" would just stand there, glaring at each other, until the very end of the concert. No, seriously, what were they (and you) expecting? That I would now pull two plot devices out of my wide trousers and force them to become friends with the power of friendship magic? The hell you will, we're not in "My Little Pony"!
Walking to the club in silence would have been the height of idiocy, so I, as the most responsible and adult one in this company, made the strategic decision to start a "friendly" conversation. And no, this has absolutely, nothing to do with the fact that I myself flushed like a poppy flower when these two beauties on either side clung to my arms like drowning people to a lifebuoy. It just got hot, it's summer on Earth, after all. Tell my jealous valkyrie that, if she asks.
"So, have you been to... events like this often?" Yes, I couldn't think of anything better than this banal question. Be thankful I didn't actually start rambling about the weather. I had no skills in... um... befriending? Yes, that's it, befriending young, beautiful, and hopelessly asocial girls, nor could I have. It's enough to just remember the characters of both my past personalities—Adam the asshole and Beelzebub the psychopath—to understand that.
"Only in Hell, a couple of times," Loona answered with a heavy sigh, rolling her eyes. Judging by her tone, the experience wasn't the most pleasant, which, well, isn't surprising. It's Hell, after all, and there are plenty of idiots there, just like other shit.
"No," Octavia said simply and shortly, almost in a whisper, pressing a little closer to my arm. Hey, hey, take it easy, little owl! I get it, you're scared and it's unfamiliar, but maybe you shouldn't so openly embarrass an archangel who has lived for thousands of years? I'm not made of stone, after all. Her sudden closeness made my heart beat a little faster, and I sincerely hoped no one could feel it.
"I see. Well, then I'll try to make sure you both enjoy tonight's adventure and remember it for a long time," I tried to put on my most encouraging and confident smile.
"You're gonna get drunk and dance naked on stage?" Loona immediately suggested with a sly smirk. I think it's clear which of the three of us is the main skeptic here. Yes, this she-wolf definitely had a very, very bad experience visiting such establishments.
"Why would I do that?" I feigned indignation. "I'm a well-mannered young man, you know. And I hardly drink alcohol."
"Oh, come on," Loona continued to press her point. "So well-mannered..." And now she gave me a mocking look, full of undisguised doubt.
"Let's start with something simple: remember at least one time when I was rude or swore a lot in front of you," I decided to go all-in and hit her skepticism with a concrete argument. And it, damn it, worked! See, they're thinking, now they're both looking at me with surprise, apparently really unable to remember me using profanity so often during our conversations, which is the absolute norm for demons. Of course, my attitude towards them as younger ones who needed to be... guided onto the right path? Made "kinder" or something like that, plays a big role here. But the thing is also that I, unlike the past Adam, use profanity only when I know it will be appropriate... Or when I completely lose it, but that happens very rarely, especially lately. That's how it is.
"It's true," Octavia said thoughtfully. "I don't remember you ever swearing, even when..." She hesitated, her cheeks turning slightly pink. Apparently, she meant that moment at her grandfather's ball when I almost sent one overly arrogant "devil" to the next world.
"Exactly!" I grinned triumphantly. "I'm a good boy, so don't attribute all sorts of nasty things to me!" I say with an air of importance, at the same time noting that we had already reached our destination.
The club "The Underworld" turned out to be a small but very colorful establishment, skillfully hidden in the depths of some old, shabby gray three-story building, with a huge flashing neon sign, as well as posters with half-naked women in latex. There were no windows in the building, apparently so as not to embarrass the righteous citizens (HA, three times) with the bullshit that was going on inside. And a whole crowd of people had gathered at the door, who were being thoroughly "checked" by three thugs about two and a half meters tall and with faces clearly unburdened by the presence of intelligence. Yes, this is a very common feature among the local representatives of the human race, and for this, for the hundredth time, I mentally "thank" Asmodeus and my beloved ex-wife. Yes, I must admit, I'm not so positive anymore about letting that lustful bastard out of his "prison."
"Oh, fuck no!" Loona said emotionally, seeing a line of about fifty people in front of her. Yeah, no one, not even in Hell, wants to spend an extra half hour of their eternal life just standing stupidly in line.
Well, I'll have to use that wonderful thing called audacity. In case this incredibly useful and universal thing suddenly doesn't help, I'll have to use another, no less useful piece of crap called "magic."
"Good evening, we have VIP tickets, can you let us through?" paying no attention to the noisy crowd and the line, I went straight to the head bouncer, smiling kindly and trying to behave as politely and culturally as possible. Well, what? You have to set a good example for the nice girls from Hell, don't you?
"Tickets," he boomed, crossing his arms, the size of my head, over his chest and eyeing the three of us with such a contemptuous look, as if we were a bunch of bums who had accidentally wandered up to the club.
I silently handed him three tickets. The hulk lazily took them, twirled them in his sausage-fingers, and then, with a brazen, self-assured smirk, declared:
"No seats. Piss off."
Octavia and Loona exchanged confused glances. It seemed this oaf decided to assert himself a little at our expense, since two fragile girls and some scrawny-looking guy, in theory, shouldn't cause him any problems... They wouldn't have. If not for one "but."
"Listen here, you roided-out gorilla," I stepped right up to him, looking up into his stupid eyes, and my voice became quiet, icy, and somewhat hissing. I stole a trick from a certain deer... Or rather, "adapted" it, yes. "You have exactly two seconds to open this fucking door and let us in. Or, I swear, you'll fly straight into that trash can. Headfirst," I barely noticeably jerked my head towards the nearest container, filled to the brim with stinking garbage.
He just blinked his piggy eyes stupidly, trying to process what he had heard. And then his face twisted into a vicious, stupid grimace.
"What'd you say, you twig?!"
He swung for a punch. Slowly. Clumsily. Too slow, too slow. I didn't even bother to dodge. I just snapped my fingers.
There was a sharp click and the huge bouncer's body, letting out a surprised, strangled grunt, flew into the air like a feather, flew a couple of meters, and with a juicy, wet squelching sound, landed right in the overflowing trash can by the entrance, raising a cloud of dust and splashes of some disgusting liquid.
The other bouncers, who had been watching the show with lively interest, hastily exchanged glances, swallowed, and, turning pale, silently, without a single word, opened the heavy doors of the club for us.
"That's better," I winked at them and, gallantly letting my utterly stunned companions go first, walked inside.
"And you call yourself a 'good boy'?" Loona immediately pounced on me as soon as we had moved a safe distance from the entrance. "You're the biggest bad boy here, for fuck's sake!"
She was a little worked up, which, actually, surprised me. Shouldn't this kind of behavior be considered the absolute norm in Hell? And I didn't really do anything terrible to that idiot, just threw him in the trash to air out. Why such a strong emotional reaction? Octavia, in contrast to the hot-headed dog... was surprisingly silent, but a strange, sly smile played on her face, and she kept throwing quick, studying glances at me, which unsettled me a little. Because if Loona was just hard for me to understand, I couldn't understand our mysterious little owl at all.
Inside the club, it was dark, stuffy, and hellishly loud. The walls literally vibrated from the heavy, booming bass, and the air was fucking thick with cigarette smoke, sweat, and stale alcohol. If I were a normal person right now, my head would definitely have started to hurt. Back home, in my past life, I had never encountered such shit.
"Don't growl, she-wolf," I gently put my arm around Loona's shoulders, noticing how her cheeks immediately flushed. Then I did the same with the little owl, who even flinched a little in surprise. I led them through the crowd into the room itself, where the concert was already in full swing. "Ta-da! Here we are! You guys find a spot here for now, and I'll quickly run to the bar and get us something to drink."
No, I didn't shamefully run away from two embarrassed girls! I just made a tactical retreat! You could say I "negatively advanced," yes! Why the fuck is everything always so complicated with girls?! And if it's complicated with ordinary, human girls, then with girls from HELL—it's just fucking complicated!
I mean, I watched that damn cartoon, I remember everything pretty well, but for some reason, the characters of these two individuals in my specific case are completely different from what was shown in the canon! And if they were drastically different, then I could just say that this is all non-canon, and, casting aside all my knowledge, calmly move on. But no, fuck! Their characters are different only because the circumstances around them are also different! And in the end, I have to constantly navigate both what I saw in the canon and what I see right now, while the characters of both of these lovely ladies, even without my hang-ups, are incredibly, fucking, incomprehensible!
Meanwhile, I somehow pushed my way through the sweaty, noisy, dancing crowd to the bar and, shouting over the music, ordered three glasses of Coke with ice. I wasn't going to give alcohol to these minors (well, by my standards). The last thing I needed was for them to get drunk here and start doing some crazy shit. I have enough problems with them when they're sober.
When I returned, the girls had already found a relatively quiet and calm spot by the wall, away from the sloshing center of the room. I handed them their glasses. Loona took hers silently, giving me a suspicious look. Octavia quietly thanked me and smiled sweetly. See, here's another striking example of the fundamental difference between them. Loona, having lived her whole life in Hell, apparently still suspects that I might have slipped something into her drink (or, much more likely, she just sensed with her advanced sense of smell that there was no alcohol in the Coke, and is now upset about it). But Octavia, who has lived her whole life in her luxurious palace and never went anywhere without guards and parents, didn't even entertain such a thought in her sweet little head. Partly because it wasn't just anyone who brought the drinks, but the wonderful and irresistible me. After all, she's not a fool, but a very smart girl.
And yes, if any of you, my imaginary viewers, still think that I was "running away," ahem, that is, retreating just like that, then I hasten to congratulate you—you are completely and utterly mistaken! Because I was doing it, first and foremost, so that these two silent girls, left alone, could finally talk normally and maybe even become friends. But...
My brilliant attempt to get them to talk failed miserably. Octavia, gathering her courage, tried several times to ask Loona something about her favorite bands, but she answered in monosyllables, not taking her eyes off the stage. It seems the mission "befriend two asocial demonesses" was much more difficult than I had imagined. These two stubborn girls were like two like-poled magnets—they seemed similar in some ways, but at the same time, with some donkey-like stubbornness, they constantly repelled each other. And remembering Loona's behavior in the canon, I'm completely at a loss. Because there, she herself took the initiative, communicating with Vortex without any problems. And she seemed to have a decent conversation with me last time. But right now, the she-wolf was stubbornly playing the ice princess, and the little owl, apparently, decided that copying her behavior would be a fucking great idea! And here I am, in the middle of this fucking circus, with my ass burning with shame and anger, desperately trying to somehow mold them into friends! You should be able to imagine for yourselves the full stupidity of this situation and the shame I felt trying to get them to do anything at all…
Meanwhile, on stage, several bands had changed. One played some dreary and depressing piece of music that made you want to go and hang yourself from the nearest chandelier. Another, on the contrary, was rocking out with some pretty upbeat, cheerful, and even slightly catchy punk rock, to which even the gloomy Loona nodded approvingly in time a couple of times, which I, without exaggeration, considered huge, simply colossal progress. Octavia, with genuine, almost childlike interest, was looking at the musicians and the audience, eagerly absorbing this new, unfamiliar atmosphere of freedom, anarchy, and rebellion.
And then, finally, the lights went out, and the headliners of tonight's show came on stage to the deafening, enthusiastic roar of the crowd. The band "Fallen Heavens" and their guitarist-vocalist, performing under the pseudonym "Angel of Death."
He slowly, languidly walked up to the microphone, and at that very moment, I froze. Long, dark-blond hair falling to his shoulders, and a thick stubble of the same color on his chin. Fair skin and... golden eyes. A lean, but strong, sinewy build. And his voice. Piercing, strong, with a light, pleasant rasp. There was something painfully, shiveringly familiar about him. He began to sing, and I listened, holding my breath, feeling everything inside me clench from some strange, long-forgotten, but so familiar emotions.
Sif… My son. My little shit. What the fuck is he doing here?!
My strange state was also noticed by my companions, but I just waved away their worried questions, saying that I had met an old acquaintance. That seemed to be enough for them, and they only threw a couple of strange, questioning glances at me.
Meanwhile, my little shit was singing some song about an "alyutushka" (Author's Note: https://youtu.be/wK5dKCsXV3o?si=-OG-bF5h-0pf0mur&t=44). And I, listening to this nonsense, felt like some incredibly out-of-touch old man, because I understood the lyrics every other word, but what I did understand… Ringing vulgarity! Fuck, Sif is a fucking angel! This guy is already several thousand years old, what the fuck is he even doing performing in some shabby, stinking club on Earth?! No, I mean, I'm not against "my little shit" following in my footsteps and becoming a rock star, but in a few hundred years (and that's how long he's been gone from Heaven and hanging around on Earth) he could have become the coolest fucking rock star in this whole damn universe, like his daddy! Ugh…
Heh, plans for the evening are changing. I haven't seen this slacker for several hundred years, and I think I'm simply obligated to spare ten minutes for my wayward son. Waiting for his song to end, I apologized to the girls and, promising to be back soon, slipped off towards the dressing rooms. If you could even call these cramped rooms that.
In front of an old, shabby door with a huge golden star and the pretentious inscription "Angel of Death," I stopped, suspiciously examining the inscription itself. I don't think I'd heard this pseudonym before, but on the other hand, they definitely wouldn't hang a plaque for some relative nobody here. Because he probably wouldn't even have a plaque, which means either I don't know something, and my son has managed to become a pretty well-known musician in certain circles over the years, or he just carries this plaque with him to all his performances… Or he just created it from Light, yeah.
Alright, here goes nothing. I reach for the door and, without knocking, open it…
"So… are you and Baal, like, a thing?" Loona finally decided to speak, having finished her glass of Coke, carefully avoiding looking at her… companion? Rival? New acquaintance?
"Kha!" Octavia choked on her own Coke in surprise, which she had been sipping slowly until that moment, since she didn't really like such sugary drinks. She loved tea. "Ahem, no, Baal is just my… friend…" she mumbled, lowering her gaze and blushing deeply, also hiding her eyes.
"Friend? And how long have you been… friends?" Loona, apparently having gathered some courage, decided to stop pretending to be an unfeeling and uninterested she-wolf.
"I'm not sure," the little owl answered, gathering her strength, deciding not to show her usual prickly character this time. Baal had said they could be friends. They could always argue and tell each other to fuck off, but she didn't want to offend the one who had done so much for her with such behavior. "A few months, I think? He… he listened to me when I really needed it, and then helped me a few more times…"
"Listened when you needed it, huh?..." Loona asked quietly, as if to herself, turning to Octavia. Their eyes met, and for a few long, awkward moments, they silently looked into each other's eyes. "It was pretty much the same with me," it was surprisingly the she-wolf who "gave in" first. She leaned against the wall and sighed heavily, clearly remembering their recent meeting at Bee's party. "I was having a really hard time, a shitty period in my life, and he just came up and… calmed me down…"
"Baal is… he's very kind for a demon…" Hearing such unexpected frankness from someone who could very well become her friend, Octavia decided to take a step forward herself. "My father and I… don't have the best relationship… We didn't…" she chugged her glass of Coke in one go, as if it were strong alcohol that would help her calm her nerves. "And when I was just sitting and crying, feeling sorry for myself and cursing the whole world, he just came up and listened to me…"
"Yeah, I also, when I met him, started crying like a complete fool who had listened to too many stories about unhappy love," Loona admitted with a crooked smirk, remembering that evening. Thanks to Baal's advice, she had been able to start changing, trying to love herself, and began to understand who really loves her for who she is, and who just wants to have a good evening at her expense, and then leave, leaving the poor she-wolf with a broken heart. "I just cried on his shoulder for about fifteen minutes about my 'hard life,' and then he gave me a whole lecture about how cool I am, gave me a couple of good pieces of advice, and… left…" Loona fell silent for a few moments. "Hey, birdy, wanna party like adults?" she asked unexpectedly, with a sly smirk.
"Like adults?" Octavia was a smart girl and immediately guessed what Loona meant. And when she cast a very eloquent glance at the bar… "Let's do it!"