Author's Note:
Okay, SPOILER ALERT
There are spoilers for A Peaceful Afterlife in this chapter. If you haven't read that fic, you may want to stop here and do that. Also give Helluva Job a read, if only to understand some of the stuff that comes later!

Enjoy!

Chapter 2: Persona

Vaggie smiled as she watched the Princess of Hell, her nose in a book, her big bright eyes darting back and forth, glinting with characteristically irrepressible energy. The book was some dry tome regarding psychological archetypes and something-something. Vaggie honestly just sort of tuned it out, but Charlie was voraciously consuming any and all literature she could find on the subject.

Charlie had tasted success, tasted victory, and was ravenous for more. Vaggie admitted it was impressive that she'd managed to crack that stoney-faced feline nut and drag something almost human out of him, and had his stay at their establishment not been cut so tragically short, not even Vaggie doubted Charlie inevitably would have had him on his back for belly-rubs. Charlie was eager to try again, to improve her method, to help more people. It was one of the things Vaggie positively adored about her.

"Ooh! Vaggie! Get this," said Charlie, snapping her fingers. "Right so, there's this thing called 'the shadow', right?"

Vaggie had been the ever-patient recipient of Charlie's increasingly frequent hypotheticals. "That's the Jungian one, right?"

"Yeah, but less specifically. I'm talking about the general idea that repressed thoughts and unacknowledged aspects of a person's inner self influence their behavior."

"A world-breaking theory," said Vaggie, her voice playfully flat.

"Hush," said Charlie, smiling. "Now, it seems to me that a lot of people down here have trouble with their shadow."

"Slow down with the revelations, there, Doc!"

"Sassy bitch." Charlie's face scrunched into a moue. "In life, they repressed the parts of themselves they couldn't identify with, either positive things about themselves due to low self esteem…"

Vaggie nodded. "Or they're suppressing some evil shit and it starts leaking out."

"Kind of…" Charlie shrugged. "Point is, they're not only carrying on with these behaviors imprinted onto their soul, they're encouraged to express their negative aspects as well. If they're going to redeem themselves, they have to embrace their shadow."

Vaggie snorted as a demon ran by on the sidewalk, consumed in flame. "I think they're embracing their shadow plenty."

"That's not what embracing it means," Charlie said, rolling her eyes. "For example, Kira could come to terms with himself because he knew himself. He had nothing hidden, no internal conflicts, he had accepted his darkness. He was remarkably self-aware for someone so… uh…"

"Psychotic?"

"I never said he was a good person in life, just that he was very self-aware." Charlie cleared her throat, desperate to move on from her praise of the ex-serial killer. "But that self-awareness led him to embrace the program more fully, to identify in himself what needed work and how to achieve his goals. That's why he crossed over!"

"Charlie…" Vaggie broke in. "We don't know for sure that's what happened."

Charlie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Right, he just exuded beautiful golden smoke for no reason."

Vaggie tried to articulate a response but gave up. "So, going forward we just have to get people into that 'know thyself' stage first?"

"Theoretically?" Charlie shrugged and smiled. "Honestly, I'm grasping at straws, here."

Vaggie smiled, it was a sharp and decidedly malicious smile. "Angel?"

"Angel." Charlie nodded, sadly. "We've gotten him off drugs, he's… less lustful. He was right there with Kira in therapy, I don't know why he hasn't gone over yet!"

"Maybe we should stab him," Vaggie said, chuckling.

Charlie gasped, mildly offended. "Vaggie!"

"Well, if anyone has a shadow, it's Angel Dust," Vaggie said, crossing her arms. "If you're right, and souls need to reconcile with themselves before they can honestly be redeemed, then we have to assume that there's a sincerity filter at work here."

"That's what I'm thinking." Charlie brandished the book. "So, all we have to do is… get billions of demons to self-actualize, identify their shortcomings, and redeem themselves… oh boy…"

"Hey…" Vaggie reached over and set her hand on Charlie's, giving in a loving squeeze. "You've already done more than anyone thought possible. If anyone's going to save this shithole, it's you."

"Thanks, Vaggie," Charlie said, laughing. "Now, all we need is another client!"

"…Why?"

"As a control group, silly!"

"Charlie, I think you need some time away from those clinical psychology books."

"But there's so many fun experiments in them!"

The squeal of breaks sounded and the occupants lurched forward, tumbling up the long interior of the limo. A hard thud was heard as Vaggie and Charlie collected themselves.

The Princess of Hell loomed over the supine moth-demon, a wry, less-than-innocent smile spreading across her face. "Hey~"

Vaggie blushed, her eye darting around. "Uhh, did we hit something?"

"Oh!" Charlie kicked open the door and darted out. "Oh no!"

Vaggie sighed and shook her head, smiling.

Horns bleated and demons roared from behind the wheels of their vehicles, the limo having stopped dead in traffic. Common practice was, in the event of a bumper-damaging impact, the aggrieved party (the driver and those behind him) would be fully justified in rolling over the jay-walker. Delays in traffic outside the regularly scheduled ones were vehemently frowned upon in Hell.

Charlie, heedless of the increasingly acrimonious demons stalled behind her, ran out of the limo and over to the dazed, supine figure on the ground. He was a smallish, slender demon, his noseless, fishlike face alabaster white save for a dusting of shining golden freckles on his cheeks, greenish blood dripped down his forehead from under the pink hair-like tentacle sprawled limply across his flawless face. He was dressed in a purple sweater that left much of his toned chest exposed, together with his tight-fitting pants his outfit left very little to the imagination.

"Oh, my God!" Charlie exclaimed. "Are you okay?"

Vaggie was at her side in an instant. "Charlie, look out!"

A trio of scuzzy, vicious-looking demons approached her, grinning ear to ear. "Hey thanks, lady! He almost got away!"

"And thanks for not just driving over him," said the Big One. "I don't eat roadkill."

"Why?" The Reptilian asked, sourly. "It ain't kosher? You a jew now, too?"

"No, the meat gets all gritty and tastes like tarmac."

"Yeah, so, if you would kindly hand him over, we can get outta traffic, here."

Charlie stepped between them and the stricken fish-demon, her face set and hard. "You're not taking anybody."

The Caprine grinned and snapped his fingers, the Big One stepped forward with a big book in his paws, the Legibus Ab Inferno . "Page 2331, paragraph six, subsection 8: in the event of a pursuit, the pursuant, or pursuants, be they of higher standing or in an otherwise advantageous position over the pursued, shall have dominion over the aforementioned party from point of capture to the dissolution of the contract, either by the will of the dominant party or subsequent expiration of the captured."

The Caprine smiled. "See? Legal. Now, hand 'im over."

"No!" Charlie's hands balled into fists. "I caught him, he's mine!"

"Ah-ah," the Big One said, turning the page. "Paragraph 3, subsection 12: in the event of a third party dispute of ownership, the pursued is automatically remanded to the custody of the party in pursuit for longest distance and/or time."

"We chased him for, what, a block?" The Caprine turned to the Reptilian. "Two?"

"Two and a half."

"Two and a half," the Caprine turned back to Charlie grinning, gesturing at the Big One. "Let 'er have it."

"That's a sunk cost to be determined by the aggrieved party." The Big One pointed at the book. "You are permitted to purchase him from us, if you wish."

"God damnit, fucking abogado callejeros–" Vaggie stepped between Charlie and the trio. "Alright, the three of you. Give us the fish or fuck off, ideally both, in either order."

"Oh ho?" The Caprine chuckled, glancing at his friends as he jabbed a thumb at her. "Oh yeah, Chica? What's in it for me?"

Vaggie sneered and summoned her weapon, an enormous seraphic steel harpoon, the holy metal sparking and shining like a beacon of divine light. "The fewer things in you the better."

"Whoa whoa whoa!" The Caprine flinched back, sweat forming on his brow. "No need for that!"

"Page 927, paragraph 3, subsection 7: should the disputing party be better armed and/or more stylish, the object of dispute is legally remanded to their custody." The Big One leaned over his shoulder, book in hand. "Angelic weapon and slick one-liner. We've got no case, here."

"Let's bounce!" The Reptilian whimpered.

The trio of cannibals skulked away, Vaggie smirked and set the pommel of her harpoon on the asphalt, the weapon towering over her petite frame. "Dipshits."

She turned around to see Charlie collect the unconscious demon off the street. "Charlie, what–?!"

"~New client~" Charlie said, her voice melodic. "Get the door for me, will you?"

Vaggie opened her mouth to deliver some manner of dissuading argument, but having spent the past several years with the Princess, she was starting to realize how pointless such an endeavor was. Instead she opened the door to the limo and helped her in with the limp body. Her head rising as the honking directly behind them intensified.

"Move, you dumb bitches!" The driver behind them bellowed out his window. "Stupid fucking blonde cunt! Get… the fuck… uh…"

Vaggie stood in front of his car, a junky shit-brown Sedan, her eye blazing with cold fury. She raised her harpoon over her head and brought it down in a glittering arc, a shrill screaming sounded as the divine edge split the very atoms of the air. The edge sliced through the hood and cleaved the engine block in half before punching through to the asphalt below. Vaggie smiled and yanked the harpoon back out with a spurt of oil and a great pillar of steam. The engine sputtered and died, the shit-colored Sedan now an unsalvageable wreck.

"Language," said Vaggie, smiling sweetly as she hopped back into her vehicle.

The driver, sweat pouring down is pale, clammy face, looked around as the other, less patient drivers exited their cars and crowded around him, the new obstacle.
"…Sorry…"

Moonchild slowly seeped back into the world of the conscious.

Shapes moved about in darkness beyond his eyelids.

There was pain, but less than expected. Their knives and teeth and claws must have done their work while he was unconscious. Part of him didn't want to open his eyes, to see what they had done to him, how they had harvested him. Though, he supposed, that there was anything left at all was a godsend. He'd heard tell of demons eaten whole reconstituting their bodies from raw sewage. The technicalities of such an experience were thankfully beyond his imagination.

"Vaggie!" Someone said, someone with a sweet, chirrupy voice. "Vaggie, Niffty! He's awake!"

He couldn't fathom anyone who owned such a voice would associate with his hunters; slow but surely he opened his eyes.

He was in a room, old-fashioned but tastefully appointed and decorated. The ceiling lamps gave off soft, gentle 40-watt light, which was merciful on his sensitive eyes and splitting headache.

Standing around him was a tall, blonde, doll-like demoness with bright red spots on her cheeks; a shorter, gray demoness with one eye and a head framed by a large red bow; next to them was a minuscule, manic-looking cyclops, the grin on her face broad and toothy and all-too-familiar.

"Where am I?" He mumbled, his head felt like a cracked egg. "What happened?"

"You're safe," said the blonde, her tone gentle as she ran a dainty, pedicured hand down his cheek. "You took a pretty bad bop to the noggin."

"And you were pretty torn up!" The energetic cyclops chirped, leaning in perhaps a little too close. "Claw marks everywhere! I sewed you up though! You're welcome!"

Moonchild craned his head down to look at his body, only just noticing he was naked, only a towel protecting his modesty. The claw-marks Her Ladyship's left crisscrossing his hide were now neatly sewn up. "Oh! Uh… thank you."

"I already said 'you're welcome'!" The little demoness hissed, her smile now much less friendly.

"Uh…"

"You got a name?" The grey demoness said, pulling the intimidating little one away.

"Moonchild," he said, his own voice unbearably loud inside his throbbing head. "My name is Moonchild."

"That's such a pretty name!" The blonde exclaimed, extending her hand in a flash. "My name's Charlie!"

He flinched away from the sudden intrusion of his space, before smiling and taking her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

She shook his hand vigorously, gesturing to the other demoness. "This here is my best friend and hotel administrator, Vaggie."

"Hey."

And then to the scary little cyclops. "And this is Niffty."

"Howdy!"

Moonchild opened his mouth to greet her when a large, white face filled his view, its smile broad and sharp, a single gold fang glinting in the yellow light as a pair of mismatched red eyes leered at him like was meat. "Hey, Chuck! Who's the twink?"

Moonchild squeaked and scurried away, tumbling off the table, the towel covering him fluttering away.

"Ooh~" The towering spider-demon crooned. "Forget fish-sticks, that's a fish-branch!"

"Angel!" Charlie scolded, casting a larger towel over the hyperventilating Moonchild. "Stop it, you're scaring him!"

"Hey, don't be scared, pretty-boy!" Angel said, winking at him. "I don't bite… hard."

"This is Angel Dust," Charlie said, smiling apologetically as she helped him to his feet. "He's… well, anyway! Let's get you dressed!"

"Aw shit! He's a client, ain't he?" Angel Dust groaned, throwing up his hands. "An' here I thought ya dames went and unwound an' grabbed ya-selves a hooer!"

"Ignore him as often as possible," Vaggie grumbled as she helped Charlie lead him out of the first aide station. "It's all you can do."

Angel blew a kiss at him and winked. "See ya around, Sea-Snack!"

Moonchild gawped as he walked through the halls. Though not as opulent as the Prince's mansion, it clearly was in the same bracket. Key term being 'was'. Some time long ago it might have been the home of an aristocrat or overlord, but had long since slid into dilapidation, from which it had only recently been saved. No, not a royal's house, but a cut above most high-rate establishments.

"Where am I?"

"Oh!" Charlie exclaimed, grabbing his arm as they walked into the lobby. "Hold on!"

She jumped out in front of him with a dancer's grace and, with a wide, sweeping flourish said: "Welcome to the Happy Hotel! Where sinners check in and the redeemed check out!"

"More like 'Hazbin Hotel'," a low, gravelly voice from behind the desk grumbled.

Her smile dropped, waving off the snarky comment like it was a bad smell. "Oh, hush."

A winged cat-demon reared up from behind the desk, sneering as he set a large book on the desk with a painfully loud thump. "What's yer name, roadkill?"

"M-Moonchild."

"Moonshine?" The cat-demon said, smirking sourly. "You're lucky that name ain't taken no more."

Moonchild shook his head. "It's Moonchild, actually."

The cat-demon didn't seem to notice, or was simply extremely adept at not giving a shit. "Moon… shine… there! Yer in."

"In? In what?" He turned to Charlie. "Where am I? What's going on?"

Charlie sighed and rolled her eyes. "Don't mind Husk, he's just getting ahead of himself. Anyway, I'm not sure if you've heard of this place, but it's a facility that redeems sinners and–"

"Oh! Yes! I've heard!" Moonchild's face lit up, his pointed at the hotel and then to Charlie. "I saw it on TV, with Mr. Clean and the gang war… and…" His eyes went wide. "Oh, dear God. You're…"

"Oh, here we go." Vaggie rolled her eye. "We got a royalist on our hands."

"Your Highness!" Moonchild dropped to his knees, head bowed.

Charlie shook her head, reaching out to him "Oh no, no, no! Please don't kneel!"

"My gravest apologies, Your Highness!" Moonchild proceeded to lower his head to the floor in a groveling kowtow.

"Ha!" Husk barked, capping a bottle of bourbon. "She has a spot on her spats, kid. Get that for her, will ya?"

Moonchild's eyes darted back and forth uncertainly.

Husk tapped his wrist. "Tick-tock."

The groveling fish-demon moved to lick her shoes when Charlie reached down and effortlessly plucked him off the ground, setting him down standing up. "No. No kowtowing, no kneeling, no bowing! I'm not the princess in here, I'm not 'Your Highness' or 'Your Majesty' or 'Your Excellency'! I'm not even 'Charlotte'! My name… is Charlie. Okay?"

Moonchild nodded and blushed. "Yes, Yo– yes, Charlie."

"Anyway…" Charlie nudged him with her elbow. "What do you think? Wanna sign up?"

Moonchild blinked in surprise. "…I'm sorry?"

She gestured at the hotel around them, grinning. "Would you like to sign up and get redeemed? It's free room and board… and you'll go to Heaven! Now, that's a deal!"
Moonchild's eyes bugged out of his head. Was this really happening? He started this day on the subway, going to what he assumed was the rest of his miserable existence, and now, mere hours later, he was staring redemption right in the face, the face of a pretty, smiling princess. Provided it was possible, of course. Even if it wasn't, his Princess wanted him here, clearly, and he couldn't turn her down! But, then again…

"I would like to, but…" Moonchild wrung his hands, averting gaze. "But, I can't."

Charlie cocked her head, her expression crestfallen. "How come?"

"It's my boss." Moonchild cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "I work for Prince Stolas, as his secretary. I fear he might, er, object to me staying here."

"Phhhht!" Husk spat. "That fuckin' fruit wouldn't care if secretary fucked off! He'd just get a new one!"

"I think I'm the exception," said Moonchild, pointing at the stitches on his body. "These aren't from the accident, they're from his wife."

Husk tilted his head, expression confused, before his ears shot up as the revelation struck. "No fuckin' way! Yer plowin' Prince Stolas' lady?!"

"It's a very one-sided affair…" Moonchild cleared this throat, nodding. "He knows, too."

"And you're still alive?!" Husk shot to his feet, grinning maliciously. "Last person she slept around with is still gettin' tortured!"

"He values me, for some reason." Moonchild said, bowing his head to Charlie. "Moreover, he's none too fond of your father. If he found out I was here, he might get… upset."

"I'll say," said Vaggie, impressed. "If he's willing to keep you around after that."

Charlie tapped her chin, contemplating. "Hmmm…"

"Charlie," Vaggie said, forebodingly. "No. There's a million-billion demons out there who aren't associated with a cruel Goetian Prince! Stolas is incredibly–"

"How about you stay here?" Charlie said, suddenly.

Moonchild blinked in surprise as Vaggie buried her face in her hands. "Excuse me?"

"Stay here!" Charlie chirped. "Live here and redeem yourself, but also go to work! That way, you can redeem yourself without Big Hoot knowing any better!"

"Yeah, this is gonna end well…" Husk grumbled, taking a slug of bourbon.

"Charlie…" Vaggie moaned, fingers digging into her cheeks in dismay. "Whhhyyy…?"

"I'll explain later," Charlie whispered, turning to Moonchild, beaming, her hand extended. "What do you say?"

Moonchild eyed her hand dubiously, fingers fidgeting. "…Free room and board?"

"Free as air!"

He smiled furtively and took her hand, just because Stolas valued him didn't mean he paid well (and he was too scared to ask for a raise). "Deal!"

"Just a few more questions and we'll have you in your room before you know it!"

"Alright," Moonchild said, some of these questions were… odd.

"Favorite color?" Vaggie said, sounding impossibly bored.

"I like green, but reds, purples, and pinks work best with my natural colors."

"Favorite musical?" Charlie asked, hopefully. "Theater and film."

"Easter Parade, followed by Jekyll and Hyde." Moonchild thought for a moment, smiling wryly. "South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut."

Charlie giggled and nudged him. "I never would have guessed! Good taste, though!"

"I've memorized all the songs!"

"Me too."Charlie took note and tapped her pen on the questionnaire. "Alright moving on. Are you or have you ever been a Stand-user?"

"Oh, uh, yes, I suppose."

Vaggie's eye snapped up to him and narrowed. "What do you mean 'you suppose'? As I understand it, you either are or you aren't."

He scratched his cheek and shrugged. "I… don't know. On earth, my old boss would, I guess, 'loan' me his Stand. I suppose I still had it when I died because I have similar powers down here."

Vaggie leaned back, eyeing him up. "What could you do, exactly?"

"I could see 10 seconds into the future, but I couldn't change anything."

"I see, and now?"

"I can see 100 seconds into the future and can change events." He drummed his fingers on his legs. "And I can see 100 seconds into the past and, uh, I have something Prince Stolas calls psychometry. That's–"

"You can see something's past by touching it?" Charlie said, interested. "That's pretty cool!"

"Yes, but I can't fully control it," he reached out to touch the desk. "It's only a 100 second clip and unless I'm looking for something it's usually random." He touched the desk and his eyes snapped open wide, a furious red blush consuming his pale cream-colored face. "Oh! Oh my!"

Vaggie arched an eyebrow, somewhat amused at his reaction. "What? What is it? What did you see?"

Moonchild cleared this throat, fingers drumming much more rapidly on his thighs as his face turned pink. "N-nothing. Just, uh, just something unrelated! Remembered something embarrassing I did, you know? You ever get that? Where you–?"

Charlie grinned and leaned in, her tone mischievous. "No, no, no! C'mon! You did the thing just now, didn't you? What did you see?"

"Very well," he sighed, shaking his head. "A few weeks ago, er, on this desk, y-you and Miss Vaggie, uh, well, there's probably still an ink-mark from the rubber stamp in small of her back. That ink is, uh, hard to remove from, um… skin."

Charlie hid her mortified expression behind the questionnaire as Vaggie blushed furiously and looked away, farms folded tightly across her chest.

"I'm sorry, I did try to warn you," Moonchild said, smiling apologetically.

"No, no, I fully deserved that one." Charlie set the papers back down on the desk, blushing red. "Final question! Are you, in any way, associated with any gangs, factions, or sects presently or formerly involved in plots to assassinate me, my father, or otherwise usurp control over Hell?"

"Has this sort of thing happened before?"

"Answer the question!" Vaggie barked, more than a little flustered.

"No! No, I work for Prince Stolas," he said, recoiling. "He may not like your father, but he's a firm supporter of the Inner Circle."

"He knows who butters his bread," Vaggie grumbled, turning to Charlie. "We done here?"

"Yes, you can go enter him into the system, now," Charlie said, gently patting her on the hand. "Thanks, Vaggie."

Vaggie left, stopping and turning to face Moonchild in the doorway to the office, pointing at her eye and then at him. Moonchild frowned but responded by pointing at the small of his back and then at her, raising his eyebrows in a silent challenge. A fresh blush burned in Vaggie's cheeks and she made a hasty exit. He sat back into the chair and watched as Charlie filled out the paper work. She set the pen down and got to her feet, gesturing for him to follow.

"Follow me and I'll get you all set up in your room," Charlie said as they made their way down the hall. "Once Vaggie has you in the system I'll have the boys swing you by your old place to pick up your belongings. Sound good?"

"Yes, thank you. You're very kind, Charlie," he said. "You've already helped me so much."

"Oh, it's all part of the program!" She said, putting a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eye. "The first step to redemption is realizing that you have a problem. Understanding why you're here and, more importantly, how you can change. We're here to help you help yourself, understand?"

Moonchild faltered for a moment before giving a forced, brittle smile. "Oh, y-yes! Of course. Just got to, uh, do that…"

Charlie watched as he walked alongside her, the ghost of a furrow in her brow; either this kid was very good at keeping a cap on his feelings, or he honestly didn't know why he was down here. 'Hmmm… this could be harder than I thought.'

Charlie knew how she must appear to others, how her demeanor and attitude must give the impression of someone lacking in guile, gullible, perhaps even naive. But centuries of living in her household, the endless, daily machinations of Lucifer and Lillith as they sparred with each other as well as their infernal court, had bred in her a sixth sense for disassembly, for intrigue. Achingly aware of the crass manipulations of others, her determined positivity was that much more affirmed. If schemes begat schemes, why not try the novel approach? Defusing plots and machinations with openness and honesty? Besides, it was easy to bait people who assumed you were an idiot or lying, the mere thought of genuine good intent more often than not never even crossed their curdled minds, making them all the more predictable.

Charlie eyed him up, tapping into her well-earned insight. She allowed him to take a slight lead as they walked. His body language, stride, expression, all indicated a mild-mannered, even timid personae. This was a demon who did his best to escape notice, to slide on by with the crowd and avoid conflict.

Or was he?

She remembered reading about cuttlefish, mostly because she thought they were cute; strong males would impress females and fight off lesser males, as was expected, but a small portion of the male population possessed nigh-feminine attributes and a carefully cultivated mannerisms as not to trigger the alpha-male's territorial instincts. These duplicitous cephalopods were then free to run rampant among the alpha's harem, propagating their genes and earning the humorous label of 'sneaky fuckers'.

While Charlie sincerely doubted that this unassuming demon was out hunting for tail, she couldn't help but suspect that at least some of his innocence was an act. She truly, deeply believed that there was good in everyone, but she also knew for a fact that there was evil, too, and no-one wound up in her kingdom without due cause.

"…Is your private bathroom," said Charlie, only now aware that she was giving the usual spiel on autopilot. "It has a large-sized walk-in shower with a rainfall showerhead and adjustable stream nozzles. Toiletries and all that… stuff are… under–Moonchild?"

Moonchild stood in the middle of the room, his back to her.

Charlie approached, her hand outstretched, cautiously. "Moonchild?

"This is…" He spun around, a huge joyous smile on his face, a slight flush shone in his pale cheeks, his golden freckles sparkling, it was almost as though some invisible force of pure innocent joy radiated off of the slender demon in waves. "…Wonderful! This one room is bigger than my whole apartment! And the decorating! I love it! I–Charlie?"

Charlie had her back to him, she was leaning on the doorframe to the bathroom, hand clutched over her heart as a furious blush burned in her cheeks. 'Too… too cute! I can't stand it!'

"Charlie?" He said, his concern almost unbearably genuine. "Charlie, are you alright?"

"F-fine, I'm fine!" She said, turning back to him, smiling. "I, uh, I'm just glad you like it, is all."

"Oh, yes!" He said, nodding, his large fuchsia eyes glimmering. "Let me just say, for all you've done for me, all you're planning to do, thank you, Charlie. I'm… not used to people caring about me."

Charlie torturously fought the urge to pull him into a bone-crushing hug, instead patting him on the shoulder and laughing. "Don't mention it! I'm happy to help! Now, why don't we go grab your things, okay? C'mon, I'll help you pack."

"Okay," Moonchild said, laughing nervously. "I have to warn you, though. It's no Ritz!"

Somewhere far away, a scrye-pool shimmered, the image of the Heiress flickered upon its quicksilver surface. A pair of red, glaring eyes watched as the Princess of Hell and her two caprine cohorts escorted the target out of the hotel. He was small, leanly built, his slick, rubbery skin deep pink, almost red, his face pale, cream-colored, complimenting the rose-colored tentacle atop his head, mimicking hair. That such a fundamentally nonthreatening creature could be intertwined with so great a calamity struck the proud observer as absurd. However, he had long since learned to trust in Prince Orobas' visions, and this being, along with his master, were to be setpieces in the coming conflagration. There was nothing to be done save for his duty.

A tall, muscular demoness entered the room, the long, interlocking spines she had in place of hair laid flat as she bow deferentially. "Your Excellency Grand Duke Sallos."

Sallos stood up and away from the scrye-pool, straightening out to his full twelve-foot height, his massive frame visibly thew and powerful even beneath his leisurely robes. He turned to face her, a beard of dimly glowing embers extruded from his lantern-jaw, his head bald save for the undulating thickets of orange flame that were his eyebrows.

"Captain Gallia," he rumbled. "Report."

"Our advanced reconnaissance teams have reported back. Nothing out of the ordinary, Trouble hasn't so much as left his compound in a week."

He had expected as much; the demon priest known as Trouble had not survived this long by being imprudent. He knew he was being watched, and would do all he could to direct attention elsewhere. But Orobas deemed him dangerous, and that was enough for Sallos. That Stolas of all demons would associate with a vulgarian such as Trouble was bad enough, but the vesxing visions had forced the Inner Circle's hand: a formal investigation was underway.

"Maintain observation, I will petition the Inner Circle for a subpoena against Stolas. Then we will make our move."

"Understood, Your Excellency," Gallia said, bowing. "What of the Heiress?"

"At present, do nothing. She will keep the informant safe for us for the time being. However, when the time comes, I expect you to be ready to extradite the informant, by any means necessary."

"Understood, Your Excellency."

Author's Note:
Charlie's met her match in this little cinnamon roll. Can she ever reclaim her title?

Also, who's Sallos?

If y'all could recommend this fic to anyone you think might be interested, that'd be great! Thanks for reading!