Two imps sitting near the window of their second-floor apartment. A view of the decrepit skyline, strewn with clotheslines, wires, and water towers, obstructed by the crosses on the window. A concerned husband, looking out into the slum with his wife. "…he should've called us back by now."

Millie leaned against the windowsill. The hellish sun had set, leaving the red moon to bake the world in colour. "Hate to be a Debbie Downer but… it is a tad unusual there."

Moxxie let out a huge sigh, planting his hands into his face. "How could we have let him get away? If only I weren't so… pathetic." He spat the last word out, shaking his head.

His wife walked over to him, embracing him, rubbing at the top of his head. "Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, hun. Neither of us got 'em… hell, I don't think Blitz could've got 'em." Millie squeezed him tight, small tears pooling under her husband's eyes. "That's just part of the job, ya get what I'm sayin'? And fuck what anyone says about it, it doesn't make us any less important!"
Moxxie returned the hug, clinging onto her, sobbing lightly. "I don't know what I'd do, Mill… if we… if we couldn't pay rent…"
"Oh, no, no, we'll get there! Life'll kick our ass sometimes, but it'll work out in the end…" She pulled his head in, letting him nuzzle her shoulder, now growing damper with each passing second. They sat there for a while, comforting each other.

The old landline telephone in their house rang, and the sound of metal hitting bell shocked them out of their moment. Both of the imps flicked their heads up, staring at it. Millie gave a pat to her husband's head, wiping his tears away. "I'll get it, hun. I'm gonna wager that's him now!" She walked over to the phone, clacking it off of the receiver, and put it to her ear. "Moxx and Mill residence!"
"Stop whatever you're fuckin' doing and come into the office. Now." It was Loona on the other end. This is probably the most emotion Millie's heard from her.

Her expression straightened, her eyebrows furrowing with worry. "Loons? Wait, what's happenin'?"
"He's gone, Millie! He's fuckin' gone!" Through the tinny speaker, it was clear she was suppressing panic.

"Gone? What do ya mean?" When Millie said those words, Moxxie rose up from his seat, looking over to her.

"He's just… gone! The grimoire's gone, I don't know where he is and I'm freakin' the fuck out!" Anxiety rising in her voice along with the volume of her words.

"Oh jeez, Loona, that's terrible! We'll be right there, y'all just hang tight there, alright?"
The phone had disconnected, an artificial, empty tone on the other end. Millie clacked her phone back on the receiver, looking back at her husband. They looked at each other for a moment and, through that, immediately understood the situation.


Standing bodies crowding the house. The incessant chatter, spooky music playing on the tinny speakers of a home stereo. Red plastic cups, mingling, dancing. Costumes as far as the eye could see.

A pounding headache. A sprained ankle. A leather couch. Too much time to think to himself. That bird motherfucker… the reason why he was here… "I feel quite safe at the Harvest Festival… it's the same every year." He was tempting fate. He was tickling the motherfuckin' dragon… and now he was dead. Dead on the ground. Dead on the ground…

Vincent sat down next to the imp, two cups in his hand, extending one of them to the imp. "Hey! Sorry, was trying to get some punch, but the line's completely packed. You doin' alright? Probably not so fun just sitting here, yeah?"
Blitzo welcomed the distraction, taking the cup and sipping on it. Sickly sweet, but with the familiar burn of booze. This would do. "Oh, uh, yeah… yeah, I'm fine." He squinted his eyes and grit his teeth, a throb of headache echoing through him in waves. "Rrh… yeah, just fine. Got a massive headache, though."
Vincent took a sip at his own cup, pursing his lips. "That suuucks… you need anything? I can get ya some water, maybe a Tylenol, I dunno."
"Tylen-what?"
"Uhhh, acetaminophen, it's a-"

"Sorry, kid, I don't do speed."

The human blinked for a moment before ejecting out a small laugh. "Speed's amphetamine, dummy! Holy craaap… yeah, no, I don't touch that shit either. Rots your brain. Hell, I barely drink alcohol." He takes a sip of his cup. "Only when it's sweet like this… or maybe some good quality beer. Some of the swill these guys drink is just… blech. Ever had Molson Canadian? Don't. Worst mistake of my life, turned me off of beer for like four years."
Blitzo let off a small, nervous laugh. "Yeahhh… I don't know much about the beer up here."
"In Canada? Yeah, I drink imported stuff if I have to. Where are ya from, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Uhhhh…" A little bead of sweat comes down the imp's forehead. "…impland?"
"…impland? Never heard of it." Vincent blinked and puckered his lips a bit. He was definitely doing something with his eyebrows, but it was hard to tell what.

"Y-yeah… don't know what it's called in English, eheh…" Another laugh with a greater tinge of nervousness.

"…oooooh! It's an endonym, gotcha. I'll have to look it up after."

"Endo-wha?"
"Like… what a people call themselves. Exonyms are the names given to a people from the outside. So Germany's an exonym, Deutschland's an endonym. For example."

Blitzo took a large swig of his drink, just kinda… staring at the human. "…what?"
Vincent let some air escape his lips in a quasi-raspberry, smiling. "Sorry, I do that… history major here, so it's kinda all I do-"

Someone was shouting out from the crowd. "Yo, Vince! Get over here!"
The imp looked over to the other human, before staring back at Vincent, who was getting up from his chair and putting his cup down. "Oph, sorry… that's me. I'll be back, man."

Blitzo nodded, a small smile on his face. "Yeah, yeah, sure…"

The human disappeared into the crowd with the others. The imp was once again left to his thoughts. The booze in the cup was gone. He didn't know when he drank it, but he did, and he wanted more. Seconds became minutes. Humans were looking at him, staring, raising their eyebrows. Some gasped when they saw his 'costume'. It was hard to know why and he just waved at the passersby.

How did he get into this situation? Complete at the mercy of human beings, barely able to drink his troubles away, unable to run. His heart thumped in his chest as the crowd cleared a bit. Vincent was talking with a group. They were looking over in his direction. They were talking about him. The human that had taken him in was stoic in the face, nodding, being shown photos on a smartphone.

Vincent made a few quick remarks, muffled by the sound of the party, before walking back to the imp. "Hey, uh… why are you dressed like the Spring Break Butcher?"
"…the what?"