The wheels of a gurney squeaked and shook against the cold concrete of the hallway. Rolled into a room. The subject has been hooked up to numerous apparatuses, measuring the myriad vital signs necessary for ensuring the patient's survival. Tranquiliser in their system, oxygen mask strapped around their head and nestled onto their mouth. A deep sleep.
Humans with gowns and scalpels. Disinfected, covered up, staring down at the red and white. A camera recording their every move. The scalpel marks flesh, peeling it back, cutting a chunk of red off. The wine of life leaks out, collected in a beaker and dammed by a cautery pen. Another chunk comes off, white skin. Pieces of muscle. Nails, chunks of horn, collected in tubes, bags, beakers. Black thread and needle poking into one side of the cuts, then the other end, tightening the gashes together. A detached, professional mortification of the flesh. The apparatuses were unhooked, the gurney wheeled out, and the imp unceremoniously dumped back into his cell.
It has been a month. No sign of the boss anywhere. No office, no job, no income. Every attempt at communication to those gifted with the grimoires have fallen flat. Even the desperate ones that would've incriminated IMP are seemingly ignored. The only respite that the three have now is in the light of the harvest moon. The logo of their company was plastered on the van, driving down the vast, empty roads. A reminder of their failure. Perhaps even an epitaph of their identity. Of their friend.
Moxxie was behind the wheel, silent. Each small farmhouse catching his attention. A tumbleweed flies across the street, wind gusting past the craggled, decayed surface. He spoke after what seemed like hours. "…I can't believe we have to do this."
Millie, sitting right beside him, slowly places her hand on Moxxie's shoulder. "Aw… I know ya like our place, Moxx… we'll try to hold on. I'm just thinkin' if things don't pick up... well, I'm darn sure my folks will be more than willin' to take us in!"
The man behind the wheel looked down for a moment, pursing his lips, before flicking his eyes back up on the road. "I don't know, Mills... would they really take me in? You know what they were like during the festival..."
"Ohh, Moxxie…" She let out a soft, reassuring smile, although her eyebrows were wrinkled up in a way that would suggest sadness. "You'll see. We'll have a nice chat about it over a freezin' cold glass of iced tea! My mama makes the best pitcher of it down here."
Loona quietly sat in the back, small leather benches lining the side of the van, along with the equipment for a rather minimal mission strewn on the ground. "While I stay in the car?"
Millie's smile faded. "Well... not the entire time! My folks aren't used to hellhounds, especially not with ones livin' with 'em, so I gotta... ease 'em in, ya know?"
Loona was scrolling through her feed, her eyes squeezing closed for a moment before an annoyed look flashed on her face. "You realise that if they don't take me in, I'm fucked. Right?"
Moxxie grit his teeth. "Ah fuck, Loona… look, if they don't take me in, I'm fucked. The only sure thing is that Millie's going to be fine, but…" He lets out an exasperated sigh. "I've been trying to sort this out. Really, I have been. Nobody's doing anything about this. I've tried every mailing address I could, wrote letters, rewrote letters, tried calling them… there's a grimoire up in the living world, for fuck's sake, and they're sitting on their hands!"
The wife practically jumped on her husband, patting his head and rubbing his shoulder. "Hey, hey, Moxx… shhh, it's okay… focus on the road, hun."
Rough and Tumbleweed Ranch. Rickety wooden structure, the metal sign underneath dangling and creaking in the wind. They backed into the driveway. There was nobody outside to greet them. The van moved in as far as Moxxie was willing to go before he flicked the ignition off, shuttering the car's engine to a halt. He adjusted his side-view mirror, looking back. "Huh… that's odd. Is there nobody here?"
Both imps opened the doors leading out, moving out to the trunk area and staring at the seemingly empty house. Millie glanced into the windows. There was movement. "Oh, ya know what, they probably didn't check their mail! Yeah, they don't got a mailbox, gotta head to the post office for that." Almost on cue, the door to the ranch house opens and a grizzled imp couple walks out. Their eyes light up immediately upon seeing Millie, and the southern belle squeals in delight. "Mama! Papa!" She ran over and gave her mother a squeeeeze while Moxxie awkwardly watched.
Lin spoke up, her accent an echo of Millie's. "Oh, Mills! It's such a surprise to see y'all again!"
Joe chuckled, deep and hearty. "A real surprise. Thought y'all were done with us after the festival!"
Moxxie stepped forward, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "Well, sir, we did send you a letter. I think that was about a week ago?"
Joe swatted the air. "Ah, we don't need no damn mail! My folks didn't go around sending people letters! We just dropped by and had a chat, no big deal. We only check it for bills and such."
Lin nodded, squishing her daughter's cheek. "And you two are here now, so… why don't-cha come on in and make yourselves comfortable while I make y'all some tea?
