Chapter 5: Psychopomp

The royal limo growled to life, sounding to all around like a bellowing dragon, flames of every color belched from the elaborate headers like a demonic pipe organ. The Prince's steed set off down the road at impossible speed, arcs of lightning and streaks of fire filled the air around it as it sheared through the fabric of reality, vanishing in a starbust of light and a low, bass thud. Prince Stolas was off to conduct his mysterious business.

Octavia sighed as she watched the limo vanish, blaming herself for her disappointment. She should have seen this coming, her father was in a similar tizzy yesterday, too. Him cancelling their weekly father-daughter get-together shouldn't have come as a surprise.

It still sucked, though.

She walked down the hall to his office, hoping to pick the brain of her father's dutiful secretary. Few things got under her dad's skin enough for him to actually change his precious schedule, so it was a matter of some interest to her to find out exactly what had managed this time around. She approached the door, hand reaching for the door when she heard voices, obscured by the heavy Abyssal-oak door. Octavia leaned down and cocked her head, her keen owl ears detecting even the slightest sounds; their tones weren't raised, but she could sense the crackle of agitation in the air. There was a demon in there, a very powerful, very annoyed demon.

"I-I'm sorry! You just missed him!" A familiar voice exclaimed.

Another, far deeper voice resounded, carrying with it a very familiar Received-Pronunciation. "Call him back here."

"I can't, My Lord! I don't know which ring he's going to, I–"

" 'Your Excellency'," the deep voice rumbled, the air becoming electrified with outrage. "My honorific is 'Your Excellency', peon."

Octavia burst through the door, her expression hard-set. "Leave him alone! He doesn't know… anything…"

Her command tapered off as she looked up at the hulking figure towering over a cowering Moonchild. The huge, muscular demon straightened out and turned around. His skin was gray as ash and blemishless as marble, contrasting with the slick, creosote black of his three-piece suit and glowing crimson-red tie. His bald head shone in the florescent lights of the office, two orange-within-red eyes peered out from beneath a heavy ridge alight with burning brows. A large, perfectly sculpted beard grew from his lantern jaw, it was dusty gray and glowed dim orange from within, like old embers breathing their last. His massive shoulders bunched upon seeing her, his scowling face softening, his glowing eyes wide.

"Uncle Sally?"

His stern, severe features melted into a handsome, fanged smile. "Via?"

Octavia beamed and threw her arms open. "Uncle Sally!"

"Via!" He bellowed a laugh that shook the palace's foundations, rushing forward, his tree-trunk arms spread wide. "Look at how you've grown! Oh, how are you, poppet?"

"Well, I had some plans fall through, but I'm doing fine. How about you?" Octavia said as she disappeared in the giant duke's embrace, she looked up at him, a crease of concern spreading across her face. "You're not here on business, are you?"

"Er… well…" He released her, looking over her face. "Did I hear you have a free morning? Well, love, so do I! Why don't we talk about it over some coffee?"

She looked over his shoulder at Moonchild, who was silently thanking her with his eyes. She turned back to Sallos and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds great. Just let me grab some things, okay?"

"Of course, pet," he said following her out, turning around to close the door behind them.

He locked the secretary with a smile, an all too familiar smile, an apparently practiced smile among nobles. "See you around."

Sallos and Octavia stood on the sidewalk outside the estate, the air split with a thunderous crack as the barrier between rings cracked, the Duke's limo streaking into view from the rip in reality. The limo, a dark green affair, held about it the air of a massive crocodile, the wheel-wells shaped into limbs ending with gold claws, its extended hood lined with snarling gold fangs. The Duke waved and the door opened, he bowed and directed her in, which she obliged.

Sitting on the opposite side of the limo was Captain Gallia, dressed to match her Uncle's style. She was a fierce and powerful warrior who seemed to follow her Uncle around everywhere. Even the most powerful Overlords skulked away when she walked the streets of Hell, and the lower rungs of the Goetia family took careful notice when she spoke. She was stern and professional, a hardened warrior of countless millennia, she neither gave nor took any bullshit, not even from royals.

She was so fucking cool.

…And distractingly sexy.

"Hey, Captain, how're you holding up?"

"Holding up all of Hell, as usual, Highness," said Gallia before leaning forward, smiling. "Love your outfit."

"Oh, thanks!" Octavia said, blushing. "Y-you too."

The Duke managed to fit his huge frame into the vehicle and snapped his fingers. The limo gently rolled away from the estate and, in a flash, was off.

"Are there any coffee places you prefer, poppet?" Sallos said, gesturing to Gallia. "Or would you rather have some at my place? Gallia here makes an incredible lemoncake, and my staff are the finest coffee artesians in all of Pride."

"Peacekeeping and caffeine go hand in hand," said Gallia.

Octavia thought of the wallowing staff and her Uncle's dour peacekeeper demons no doubt patrolling the estate. "Errm… nah, I have a favorite place in Gluttony, if that's okay."

"Oh-ho?" Sallos said, flaming eyebrow arched. "Do tell."

"It's called Umbric Brewhaus, they specialize in dark poetry and black coffee. You're not even allowed to have milk or sugar!"

"Oh, ah…?" Sallos glanced at Gallia, who shrugged. "…That's nice?"

"They also have a good menu and play good music." Octavia turned to Gallia. "Uhm, what sort of music do you listen to, Captain?"

"The death rattles of the enemies of the Luciferian Reign, the sound of rebel blood spilling by the gallon," said Gallia, tapping her fine, pointed chin with a talon. "Also Neo-Prog and Experimental Jazz."

"You'll love this place, then!"

Dark, brooding poetry droned over the speakers as discordant lounge music played from the live band. The decorating was overwhelmingly dark, with onyx floor tiles and ebony wooden furniture, the occasional splash red from strobelights broke up the blacks and grays, casting crimson pillars through the thick atmosphere, heavily pregnant with the oily smell of dark brew and cigarette smoke. A demoness in a revealing gothic outfit nervously approached the table. Captain Gallia stood near the royals, moved to intercept the server.

"Stand down, Captain," said Sallos, smiling handsomely at the petrified waitress. "Approach."

"Th-thank you, Y-Your Excellency," she stammered, bowing and handing them the menus. "W-what can I get you all today? The special is spaghetti al nero di sepia with Kraken ink and a side of black cross buns or dark czernina."

"I'll have that, czernina as a side," Sallos said. "Pairing?"

"W-we don't carry a wine that pairs well, Your Excellency," she said, pointing a trembling finger at a sign that read 'no whites'.

"Ohhh, so that's what you meant," Octavia said, chuckling uncomfortably. "I thought it meant… something else."

"No problem," said Sallos, snapping his fingers. "Kraken ink demands a softer wine, I think."

The waitress flinched back as a pillar of flame flared to life on the table, a bottle of Sancerre Rosé left in its wake.

"Fetch an ice bucket for that, will you?"

"Y-yes sir-uh-Your Excellency," she said, taking his order. "Would you like anything to drink in the meantime?"

"Espresso."

"Good choice, Your Excellency." She turned to Octavia. "And for you, Highness?"

"Coffee to start, and I think I'll have the charcoal burger and abyssal fries. Hmmm… anything for you, Gallia?"

Gallia shook her head, eyes inscrutable behind her dark sunglasses. "No, thank you, Highness."

With that, the waitress bowed and left, Gallia re-assuming her position beside the table.

"Charcoal burger?" Sallos chuckled. "I do hope that's not literal."

Octavia giggled, shaking her head. "No, just black bread and black food dye. The abyssal fries are cool, though. They're covered in vantablack, they look like they're not even there. It's a theme."

"I noticed."

They were silent for a moment, the droning poetry and desultory music carried along the air like smoke. It was Sallos who spoke first. "Want to talk about it?"

Octavia looked around, the restaurant was half-full, demons milled about. "Here?"

"Don't worry, pet," said Sallos, raising his voice clear across the music. "I'm sure no-one in a classy establishment like this would be so impolite as to eavesdrop!"

The multitude demons near them hurriedly got up, moving their tables and chairs, giving them plenty of space.

Octavia steeled herself, locking eyes with Sallos. "Is dad in trouble?"

"Yes."

Octavia shook her head, leaning forward. "How bad?"

"Bad," Sallos said, his tone grave. "I wanted to meet him today to warn him."

She put her palm to her face. "It's about that imp, isn't it? Him and his fucking book."

Sallos nodded. "Partially. We were aware of this indiscretion well before the event transpired."

"Is he…" Octavia lowered her voice to a whisper. "Is he going to have to go before the Council?"

Sallos shook his head. "The Inner Circle rejected my request for a subpoena, punishing him for simply being tangental to a crime would set a poor precedent, regardless of the severity of said crime. They're covering their backs for their own future transgressions."

She rolled her eyes, that sounds about right. "What happened?"

Sallos' eyes darted about, he leaned in a, his voice low. "A few months ago, a team of demons and your father's imp friends used a grimoire to break into the Vault on Earth-1. Your father's grimoire. They stole something very, very dangerous."

"The Vault?" She said, hushed awe clear in her voice. "What was it?"

They sat back as the waitress walked over, she bowed and set a tall cup in front of her and a tiny espresso cup in front of him. With another bow, she left.

Sallos waited for a moment until the waitress was well away before saying: "…The Saint's Corpse."

Octavia gasped, this was bad. "It's in Hell? Where?!"

He shook his head. "We don't know. The team that extracted the corpse was hired to do so, and Lucifer's law dictates that they are not only not culpable, but that we also respect their customer confidentiality. We do, however, have some prime suspects."

"And what about Blitzo? Have you questioned him?"

Sallos shook his head again. "Didn't bother, they were hired by the team just as the team was hired by our suspects. Because a service has been rendered and a payment accepted, they are not culpable. However, it was your father's grimoire, which he illegally lent to that imp, that made this possible."

Octavia but both her hands to her face, taking a deep breath before running her fingers through her head feathers. "But he's not going to the Council?"

"No." Sallos said, leaning back in his chair. "But that's possibly more dangerous. Decorum or no, your father will likely be subjected to independent punitive measures. That means you and your mother are in danger, too."

"That's probably what he was out doing today…" Octavia slumped in her chair, her shoulders suddenly very heavy. "Oh, dad… why'd you do it?"

"You can't judge him too harshly, poppet," said Sallos, a gentle smile on his face. "He's in love."

"If you can call it that!" Octavia scoffed, throwing up her arms. "I have no idea what he sees in him. Blitzo's always so annoyed when they're together, but they do stuff together all the time! Movie nights, shopping sprees! Christ! It's like they're horny teenagers who fuck all the time but can't stand each other!"

"I've looked into this imp," Sallos said, steepling his fingers. "He's had a rough life, many let-downs and heartbreaks. He strikes me as someone who's afraid of caring too much, afraid of the intensity if his own emotions, but fears loneliness even more. I do believe there is some reciprocation to your father's feelings, though it remains well hidden under insincerity and hostility."

"Oh, don't tell me…"

Sallos donned a scholarly expression. "He is what I believe the kids call 'tsundere'."

"Ha ha ha ha, Uncle Sally!" Octavia laughed, despite herself. "Do not apply anime archetypes to my dad's love life!"

"Ojou-Uke likes his semes feisty!"

"Ewww!" Octavia laughed, louder now. "Shut up~"

"It's so good to see you smile, Via," said Sallos, sipping his espresso. "I wish you had reason to smile more."

"Thanks for telling me all that, Uncle Sally. I know you didn't have to, I mean, you probably aren't even supposed to, are you?"

"No, but…" He shook his head, reaching across the table and taking her hand in his. "`You deserve to be happier, Via. I wish I could help you more."

She reached out and patted his hand. "You've helped plenty. Just knowing what's going on… thank you."

The limo ground to a stop outside the estate, the door swung open and out stepped Octavia, who gestured at the palace. "Are you sure you don't want to come in and wait for him to come back? Mum would love to catch up."

"As would I," Sallos said, waving her off. "But, I'm afraid I'm needed back on the job. Tell your father what I told you, if he doesn't know already."

"I will," Octavia said, nodding. "Thanks for lunch, Uncle Sally."

"It was my pleasure, Octavia! So good to see you well," said Sallos, reaching out to her. "Oh, and Via?"

"Yes, Uncle Sally?"

"Be safe."

Octavia smiled and nodded, stepping back as the limo rumbled away, waving goodbye as it vanished in a flash.

Sallos and Gallia sat in silence as the limo wove between dimensions, tension thick in the air. Sallos gazed out the window and into the abyssal black of the space between spaces.

It was Gallia who broke the silence. "Was that necessary, Your Excellency?"

"Are you questioning my motives, Captain?" Sallos rumbled. "My loyalty?"

"Your objectivity, Your Excellency," said Gallia, bold as ever. "If the order comes–"

"When."

"When the order comes," said Gallia. "She will be the most effective target."

"I'm well aware." Sallos turned back to her. "You would not hesitate to execute her, would you?"

"Not for a moment, Your Excellency." Gallia paused and sighed. "And it would be with me until the End of Days."

Sallos grunted in agreement as the limo rematerialized in the Ring of Wrath. There was a flash and, the next instant, a severe-looking demon with glasses was sitting next to Gallia. He wore a trim white suit with bands of red, on his chest was a crimson apple broach, the seal of a Luciferian messenger.

"Your Excellency Grand Duke Sallos, Prime Peacekeeper of the Inner Circle, Defender of Decorum, Lord of–"

"I know who I am, insect," Sallos growled. "Deliver His decree and begone."

The messenger nodded respectfully and handed him a sealed scroll. "Enclosed."

Sallos broke the seal and unraveled the scroll, his brow furrowing as he read the dreaded orders. "Gallia, tell the driver we're to travel to Pride, immediately. I need to prepare a task force."

"Understood." Gallia did so, turning back to Sallos when she did. "Specifics?"

"Lucifer has decreed that, while Decorum is to be observed, unofficial punitive actions are to be taken against Prince Stolas. The death of a loved one has been 'suggested' and repercussions will be minimized. This decree expires upon the execution of aforementioned punitive action."

"Hmm…" Gallia rubbed her chin, the ghost of a smile spreading across her savagely beautiful face. "A 'loved one'? That's rather… vague."

Sallos nodded, smiling. "Specificity is anathema to Lucifer. The man loves wiggle-room."

He turned to the messenger. "You. This decree has been delivered to all the Inner Circle?"

"No, Your Excellency. Lucifer specified that you receive the decree first, to 'get your poop in a group'."

"ETA on the official decree?"

"Forgive my glibness but 'soon', Your Excellency."

"Hmm…" Sallos leaned back in his chair, chin resting on his knuckles. "Seems that Lucifer wants this squabble resolved cleanly. If we exact the punishment first, our way, none of Stolas' rivals can blunder in and start a blood feud. Target selection is key."

"Prince Stolas only loves his daughter," the messenger said, unwisely, as the limo once again entered the abyss. "She'd be the only appropriate target."

Gallia opened the door behind him and Sallos' leg streaked out out in a mighty kick, sending the messenger flying backwards out into the nothing between everything, flailing and screaming forever in the timeless realm of the abyss.

Gallia closed the door and crossed her arms. "Ideas?"

Sallos grinned, toothily. "A few."

"Hobby swap~!" Charlie cheered.

"Baaah~!" Razzle harmonized.

"BAAAH~!" Dazzle finished with a crescendo.

Vaggie smiled lovingly, clapping while Husk growled and clapped his hands over his ears. Angel Dust sighed and rolled his eyes. Moonchild smiled and clapped as Niffty waved to Alastor, who was standing the corner, watching and smiling.

"Alright! So good to see everyone back. Niffty, Husk… Alastor. So good to see you all getting involved in the program!"

"I got my reasons," Husk grumbled, shooting an oblivious Moonchild a sideways look.

"I follow the mess," Niffty chirruped. "Mess follows you guys. Q.E.D."

"Well, anyway," said Charlie, pointing to Moonchild. "Moonchild! Any questions?"

"Oh, uh, well," he said, looking at the demons around him in a circle. "What's a hobby swap?"

"I'm glad you asked!" Charlie shot to her feet and did a pirouette. "Just like every demon has a shred of good inside them, we all have our own hobbies! Activities that fill us with joy! The point of the hobby swap is to help us get to know one another and potentially find a new calling in life. Now, why don't you start us off? What are your hobbies, Moonchild?"

Moonchild paused, considered this for a moment, tapping his chin, thoughtfully. "…Well, I'm a secretary I log files and construct schedules based on–"

Charlie broke in, smiling gently. "While I like to hear that you take so much pride in your job, what we're mostly after here is what you do in your off time. What you do to make yourself feel better."

Moonchild's brow furrowed, his hands bunched up on his lap as all eyes fell on him. "Uhh… does trying not to get eaten count?"

The energy of the room deflated almost audibly, Charlie pinched the bridge of her fine, pointed nose for an instant before bouncing back. "Alright! Well, what about hobbies from before? When you were alive? You had to have some fun things you did as a kid, right?"

Moonchild, for the first time since he could remember, tried to recall his childhood. Not just general details like where and when, but events, actions, people.

Nothing.

To his horror, his life didn't seem to start at all until some time in his late teens, when he…

A terrible feeling of dread and panic, of guilt and horror, surged within him for a brief moment before he instinctively shoved it back down into that clawing void at the bottom of his soul, where such troubling things belonged.

"Oh, you know, just normal kid stuff. I, uh, liked bugs, I guess, but generally I don't really know much about them. I… like to play ball?"

"Do you like cooking?" Niffty said.

Moonchild laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I burn cereal."

"Do ya play games?" Husk asked. "Crack a deck? Roll th' dice?"

"Those sorts of games aren't really all that fun for me."

"Howzabout fuckin'? You like layin' pipe at least, dontcha?" Angel inquired, increasingly annoyed.

Moonchild winced, averting his gave to the floor. "Not really..."

"Okay!" Charlie said, clapping her hands together. "Some people live their jobs, and that's okay! Moving on! Angel, how about you? Any juicy tips to share?"

Angel cracked his many knuckles and reached behind his chair, producing a rectangular cart on tall legs terminating in wheels. He pulled a switch at the bas of the box and it whirred. Sections sprouted out from its sides on outriggers as an articulated swathe fanned out before the station, a huge, multi-faceted mirror sprouting out from behind the main body. Once all the whirs and clicks had ceased, a full-scale beauty station stood before Angel, with all manner of bronzer, concealer, contour, powder and primer in every imaginable color or hue. A veritable arsenal of pens, pencils, and highlighters stood in rows above a bevy of styling products, sprays and gels both. Many, many more instruments of beautification stood at the ready in Angel's portable touch-up station.

"Aight, so," said Angel. "Imma show ya basic bitches just how to look ya best in any situation, coordinate colors, and maybe put together a decent ensemble. First, though, I'll be needin' a volunteer."

Angel turned to see a placid-faced Moonchild staring at him expectantly. "Ah, perfect."

He plopped a stool down in front of him and, like picking a puppy from a kennel, plucked Moonchild from his seat and set him down in the stool in front of the beauty station. Angel loomed over the confused little demon, a huge fanged smile on his face.

"Just lay back and think of England, Li'l Fishie!" Angel growled.

"I-I'm Italian."

"The Pope, then."

"Ew."

"Bite the pillow, bitch."

Angel's many arms set to work, a duster here, a brush there, a slathering of foundation all over. Angel's eyes lit up as his vision took hold, his strokes delicate, artful, and confident.

"Viola!" Angel exclaimed, framing his work with his fingers. "Not much I could do wit' th'tentacle thing, but it's fine, I guess."

"I can shift it, if you like," said Moonchild, pointing to the pink mass on his head. "I can make it look like just about anything."

"Bullshit," Angel scoffed, before pinking up a magazine and pointing to the model on the front. "Show me."

Moonchild regarded the picture for a moment and the appendage atop his head shifted and changed, extruding additional tendrils, taking on textures and style mimicking the photo.

"Ho-lee shit," muttered Angel, a smile spreading across his face. "First time I've ever felt hair-envy! Anyway, ta-daaa~!"

He spun Moonchild around on the stool to the impressed gasps and exclamations of the rest of the circle.

Charlie's hands shot to her mouth, a huge smile spreading across her blushing face. "Oh, my goodness, Moonie! You look…"

"Like a girl!" Niffty chirped, clapping.

"Like… a hot girl." Vaggie said, a blush forming in her cheeks as Charlie shot her a wry look. "What? I let you off the hook for drooling over hot guys! Lemme enjoy the femboy!"

"Femboy?" Moonchild said, turning to Angel.

"Well, ya wasn't no Grizzly Adams before, but here!"

Angel held up a mirror and Moonchild gasped. His pale face was framed by the many rose-colored extensions of his altered hair, his skin given an even cream foundation that accentuated his shining golden freckles and added definition to his already defined cheekbones, an expert dusting of rouge had added a healthy flush to his cheeks. His lips were coated in lime-green lipstick that matched really well with the cold, hard jade-green eyes staring back at him through the mirror.

Wait.

He blinked and re-examined: his eyes were the same vibrant fuchsia they'd always been.

"Yeah, Kid, yer the prettiest girl at th'ball!" Husk grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Moonchild turned to face him, eyes wide as the air around him seemed to sparkle. "You really think so?"

Husk found himself inexplicably stymied as his heart began to race, a blush burning in his ears. He cleared his throat and turned away from him and towards Charlie. "Are ya really gonna let the bug emasculate the poor kid like that?"

"He don't seem ta mind," Angel said, pointing at the fish-demon as he seemed be examining his eyes in the mirror.

"Ech…" Husk spat, waving him off. "Well, I ain't doing that shit. Here, lemme show ya a real hobby!"

With a flick of his wrist, Husk produced a deck of cards, springing them back and forth before setting them on the table and smoothly spreading them across its surface before scooping them back into an immaculate deck.

"Uh, Husk, as much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, I think card games miiiiight be a little close to your addiction to–"

"A-bup-bup!" Husk said, slamming his hand down over the deck. "This ain't gamblin' Chuck!"

He pulled his empty hand away, the deck had disappeared. He snapped his finger and a joker card appeared between them, he turn the single card sideways and turned it into a fan of six cards, which he then collapsed and turn back to face them, once again holding a full deck.

"Oooh!" Niffty said, clapping her hands and giggling. "Husker's gonna do the thiiiing!"

"Pfft!" Angel Dust scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Magic tricks."

"It ain't magic!" Husk snapped, flicking a card at the sarcastic spider. "Any dipshit with powers can spit fire or make it rain blood! Sleight of hand, prestidigitation, that takes skill!"

He turned to Moonchild, the deck in his hand. "Pick a card, kid."

Moonchild did, glancing at it before putting it back: an Eight of Hearts. Husk shuffled the deck, performing an impressive spring back and forth between his hands before plucking a card from the middle of the deck and holding it up: a Jack of Spades.

"This your card?"

Moonchild examined the card and shook his head, an apologetic look on his face. "No, sorry."

Husk blinked in surprise and looked at the card, brow furrowing. "What?! You sure?"

Angel Dust snickered as Moonchild shrugged. "No. My card was the–"

Suddenly, Husk loosed a tremendous sneeze into his hand, sending a veritable cloud of cards exploding into Moonchild's face.

"S'cuse me," Husk sniffled, scratching his nose, he pointed at his forehead and then at Moonchild. "Ya got a li'l somethin' right there."

Moonchild reached up and pulled a card off his forehead and gasped, it was the Eight of Hearts. "It's my card! Amazing!"

Angel cackled and clapped all six hands. "Okay, that was fuckin' cool!"

"I love card tricks!" Charlie exclaimed, elbowing Vaggie who, despite herself, looked impressed.

"The Ol' Sneezy Sucker!" Niffty tittered. "Classic!"

"Whaddaya think of card games now, kid?" Husk said, smirking.

"Oh, I love card games, it's just dice and poker and such don't really appeal to me," said Moonchild, shrugging. "No sport."

Husk cocked his head and sat down next to him. "What that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, didn't I mention?" Moonchild addressed the circle. "Miss Charlie and Miss Vaggie probably didn't tell you all, but I'm a stand-user, or, I was… kind of. Anyway, I have the ability to see 100 seconds into the future, 100 seconds into the past, and have a form of psychometry."

"Psychowhatti?" Angel said, before turning to Charlie. "And why do these superpowered jackasses keep turnin' up here?"

"Thank you!" Vaggie exclaimed, throwing up her arms

"I can see a portion of a person or object's past by touching it," said Moonchild, turning back to Husk. "So, yeah, I always know who's going to call, who's going to fold, who's holding what cards. Same goes for dice, blackjack, roulette, you name it. It just really sucks the fun right out of it, you know?"

Husk's mouth hung open, the sounds of jackpots being struck and fat stacks of poker chips being scooped his way filled his head as a hungry leer spread across his face. "Oh yeah… I can totally see how that'd, uh, just be so, um, terrible. Say! How'd ya like to hang out some time? Grab some drinks, crack a deck, just y'know, have fun?"

Moonchild smiled joyously, his long, webbed ears tilting upwards in happiness. "I'd love to!"

The kid was still done up in his distressingly alluring make-up, and even Husk was willing to admit he looked like a tall glass of water when he smiled. Husk blushed and cleared his throat, waving him off. "Yeah, well, we'll hafta wash that shit off yer face if I'm gonna be seen witcha."

"What the shit?!" Angel shouted, outraged. "I been tryna rub dat belly for months and this little–"

"Eat shit, bug."

Just as Angel and Husk prepared to engage in a yet another bickering session when Charlie broke in, pointing to Alastor as he loomed in the shadows. "Alastor! Any non-murdery hobbies to share?"

Alastor appeared next to Moonshine in a burst of static, leaning over with his hands clasped behind his back. "I make a seafood jambalaya that's to die for…"

"Any non-cannibalistic hobbies?"

Alastor stood up straight and pondered for a moment, snapping his fingers as an idea struck. "I have a pipe-organ made of Furbies!"

Charlie tried manfully to formulate a response, any kind of response, to this but, words failing her, she turned to Niffty. "Niffty! I see you've brought some things!"

"That's right!" Niffty said, jumping to her feet, a duffel bag in her tiny arms, which she opened to reveal many rolls of colored twine, needles, and canvases. "Embroidery! I brought enough for everyone!"

"Great! Everybody grab a canvas!"

Moonchild absentmindedly set drew the needle through the canvas, creating a blue bundle that would eventually become an ocean. He'd always wanted to be a sailor.

…Or did he?

The longer he spent here, the more questions these people asked, the more and more he was coming to an inescapable realization: he wasn't who he thought he was.
Most people can remember at least something about their childhoods. Most people had interests and hobbies, things they liked to do, most people had friends. Even if that wasn't the case down here, most people would least have memories of such things from Earth, of friends and family and interests and pass-times.

Not him.

The more he dwelt on it, the more it became clear that there were vast swathes of his life just… gone. Even his memories of Passione, the organization that damned him, was at best a photo album of merely fulfilling his duties as an underboss. That unsettling encounter with the fortune teller, whom he had… just walked away from, apparently? His grueling fight with Risotto Nero, even that was a patchwork of pain and confusion. Did he pass out? How did he survive that fight, anyway? Did Boss save him?

Who was he?

'Who am I?'

Without realizing he moved his thumb into the path of the needle. Moonchild hiss and drew his hand back, examining the small bead of greenish-black liquid that passed for his blood down here form on his thumb. He moved to suckle the wound when he noticed the other blood, the red blood, the human blood. He looked at his hands, they were covered in rivulets of the stuff. The needle in his fingers, now a huge fishing hook, dripped ruby beads of blood. He became aware of the feeling of soft, warm flesh on his lap, the smooth dark hair spilling over his legs. He looked down and gasped. Between his legs was the face of a woman, her eyes vacant and glossy, barely conscious, finger-shaped bruises ringed her neck. Her full, luscious lips were dripping with blood, sewn shut with heavy fishing line.

He'd never seen this woman before in his life, but he knew who she was.

She was his mother.

Moonchild screamed and shot to his feet, scrambling backwards, tripping over his chair and tumbling to the floor. He scuttled away on his rear, coming to a stop, his rapid breath ripping from his mouth in shrill, shrieking pants.

"Moonchild!" Charlie cried, at his side in an instant. "Moonchild, what is it? What's wrong?"

He looked at her, his eyes huge and almost red in his pale face, he raised a trembling hand and pointed at the canvas.

Charlie reached over and picked it up, it was a crude representation of a shoreline.

"I-I-I…" Moonchild sobbed, tears sending his mascara spilling down his cheeks in dark channels. "I don't know!"