The Don's men had scoped out the place for a long while now—three consecutive days—with a week of prep before that. It was more than enough time for Moxxie to get antsy twelve times over.

That's the part they don't tell you about planning to assassinate a high-profile target. The waiting. After agreeing to help kill a member of the Ars Goetia, the highest class of Hell right under Satan, one doesn't expect to spend their time like any other day. Yet here Moxxie was, returning to his mind-numbing, low-paying job as a theatre receptionist.

He wished they had started immediately. Somehow, having time to prepare made him more nervous, not less. Every shift made it worse. He knew that the next time he saw Huey, it would mean business.

And as if on cue, the crowd cleared as Moxxie rang up the last ticket, leaving one person in sight. A tall, hunched over imp in a black suit. Huey. He stood at the corner of the street across from the theatre, just looking at the ticket booth, waiting.

Moxxie somehow got the feeling that he wasn't going to wait around till the end of his shift. He was here now; they were going, now. Without even a consideration for his job, Moxxie left the booth, ripping off the staff vest and tossing it to the sidewalk before meeting up with Huey.

"So, we're finally starting?"

"Yup."

"No one's even filled me in on the details yet."

"Yeah, well, I ain't making the same mistake twice," Huey said, holding up his left hand. The one with a missing ring finger.

Moxxie winced. "How's it healing?"

"Slow. Shit's tender too, gets worse in the cold."

"Well, it's not like you'll need to worry about that here in Wrath."

Huey chuckled, "When did ya learn to be funny?"

"What?"

"Ah, nevermind... Our ride's here."

Sure enough, Moxxie hadn't even noticed the short limo pull up to the curb alongside them. The door swung open, and they both got in. Moxxie was surprised to find that despite the luxurious method of transport, it was actually quite a mess inside. Dirt, wrappers, empty bottles, and of course, bloodstains.

"Is it just us?" Moxxie asked.

Huey nodded, "Driver too, but that's it."

Moxxie watched the streets pass by from the window. Every couple of minutes, he'd pat his lower back, checking to see if his gun was still there. The longer the drive went on, the more nervous he got.

"Before we get there, I got something for ya." Huey pulled out a small container from the seat next to him, and handed it to him. "Subsonic ammo, and a suppressor. 'Bout as quiet as a gun can get."

"Almost as quiet as movies think they are," Moxxie remarked, screwing the suppressor on. Normally, his gun wouldn't be able to take any such additions, but in the weeks leading up to today, Moxxie had already managed to add a few modifications to his weapon. Chief among them, room for front-end attachments.

"Hopefully, if ya gotta use it, this might help ya keep undercover."

"With any luck, I won't have to use it at all."

Eventually, it got further out than he'd ever been in Pride. The buildings were growing further apart, some of them even had front yards. They were getting into wealthy people's territory, places Moxxie had never even seen.

"We're getting close to the drop-off point," the driver said.

Moxxie could feel his palms getting sweaty from how nervous he was getting. They weren't just going to dump him in Stolas' front door were they?

The car pulled to a stop. Moxxie didn't recognize the area at all, but it seemed like Stolas' place. He remembered seeing a picture of it in a newspaper once, the whole thing was fenced-off by walls of brick and iron gates.

The driver motioned for him to get out of the car. Moxxie stepped out to the curb.

"There's clothes, money, and further instructions in a briefcase outside of their mansion by the dumpster. Get changed there. You're on your own from there."

Apparently, they were planning to drop him off at Stolas' front door.

"Wait, that's it? That's all you're gonna tell me?"

"Don't make me repeat myself."

Moxxie grumbled, but didn't say anything back. The limo drove away, and he was alone. Somehow, he had a feeling that Huey was probably waving him off in that car, blissfully unaware that Moxxie couldn't see through the tinted windows.

With no other real options, Moxxie made his way around the side of the building, looking for a dumpster. Soon enough, he found it, and the briefcase alongside it.

Making absolutely certain no one was looking, Moxxie darted to the briefcase and opened it, taking the clothes out and changing into them.

Nothing humbles a person quite like getting naked and changing clothes in the middle of an alleyway.

A butler's clothes. Not his first choice, but they were proper, fancy clothes. Despite all the circumstances surrounding it, Moxxie was quite happy to be wearing a full suit. They could've fit better though.

Next, was the "further instruction" the driver had mentioned. It was just a small paper note.

Enter through the front. Your backstory is that you are a gift of good-will from Stella. Don't explain yourself any more than is absolutely necessary.

Get inside, get close to Stolas, convince him to go to Aamon's party.

While you're there, see if Stolas is the Goetia hoarding Holy Weapons.

Moxxie rolled his eyes. Stolas? Collecting Holy Weapons? They really didn't know him at all, did they?

Well, technically neither did Moxxie, but from everything he's heard of the owl, he had a pretty good idea of what kind of man he was dealing with. Assuming all the news and rumors were true. Which they usually weren't.

'Oh crumbs,'

The realization that he had to manipulate Stolas into going to a party when he had no real idea of who he was outside of tabloid headlines and news hit him like a truck.

What also hit him like a truck was the Imp he saw staring right at him right as he turned around. They were dressed in clothes similar to the ones he just put on, which meant they were probably one of Stolas' servants. He was barely taller than Moxxie, with white combed back hair, a pencil-thin mustache, and a gold monocle. He certainly looked like someone's servant.

"What are you doing out here?" He asked.

Moxxie was too shocked for quick thinking, instead stuttering over uhm's and uhh's.

"If this is the kind of work ethic you have when no one's looking, I don't see you lasting much longer in Stolas' employ…" He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Wait, I don't recognize you—"

"Of course not Sir, I was just… uhm," Moxxie droned. Come on, where was that quick wit he had when he was younger? Well, that was just being snarky, he was never actually that quick witted. Nothing like a little trial by fire to get the gears turning though. Moxxie glanced at the briefcase he was standing right next to.

"I, uhm, I dropped my briefcase. It flew open and I lost all my things."

The other imp eyed him over suspiciously, but he humored Moxxie. "And what exactly were you doing with your briefcase while taking out the trash?"

"Taking out the— Wait. Sir, I don't work for Stolas… yet."

The other imp raised a brow, "Well, you're certainly not going to by rifling through his garbage."

"I wasn't— Sir, I just lost all my things. I was on my way from Stella's and—"

"Stella?"

Moxxie couldn't believe it, this guy was really buying into his story. He never considered himself a good liar, but this was working out better than he could've hoped for.

"Stella sent me over as a gift, sort of a sign of good-will. I understand this is an unfortunate first impression, if you could please find it in yourself not to share this when I'm introduced, I would be in your debt."

"A gift of good-will, huh?" the imp said, unconvinced, "you wouldn't happen to be armed by any chance would you?"

Moxxie gulped, he could lie now, but he'd only be searched later. How much worse would he look then? He raised one hand up, and withdrew his Beretta from its holster with the other. "This is all I have on me, I couldn't possibly harm Stolas, or any Goetia with it. It's only for his protection, I swear."

"And for what reason does a servant like you have a weapon?"

"I'm a firearms expert, I was in charge of protecting Stella."

"Stella preferred a little imp like you over a Hellhound?"

"As I've said, I'm an expert in firearms." Moxxie said sternly. He wasn't sure where that confidence came from, but it felt good.

Maybe it was that little bit of confidence, maybe it was the story sounding convincing enough, maybe he just didn't see Moxxie as very threatening. Whatever it was, the servant seemed convinced.

"Fine. I'll take you inside, but you're getting cleaned up and re-dressed immediately. We can replace your 'things' after that."

Moxxie wanted to fist-pump so badly, or just jump in the air and cry victory, but he kept it contained.

He walked behind the other imp and followed him through the front gates. For a mansion, it wasn't all that big of a yard. Obviously, it was more square feet than Moxxie could ever hope to have for an entire apartment, but still. He always imagined Goetia mansions as these entire massive estates. This was just a private apartment building. Which, on second thought, might as well be the same thing considering it was in the biggest city in all of hell. Even having a yard at all was a sign of wealth.

After this thought passed, Moxxi noticed that the imp he was following wasn't headed to the front doors.

"Uhm, sir? Should we not be entering through the front? I thought I would need to introduce myself to Stolas."

"The master is not to be disturbed on trivial matters like the arrival of a new servant, gift or otherwise."

He'd have to find another way to introduce himself to Stolas then. That would have to be figured out later though, for now, Moxxie needed to just keep following this guy.

"Sir, what is your name?"

The imp ahead of him didn't answer, instead opening a side door to the home, gesturing for him to enter first. Moxxie walked on inside, noting the peculiar layout of the entrance. If he had to guess, these were servants' halls. Hallways meant to lead to every room in the house, without ever passing through one. All so the residents didn't have to encounter or even see a servant doing anything other than their job. He didn't take Stolas for the type to request such a thing, but chances are he wasn't in charge of the construction of this place in the first place.

"Sir, please, if not for the formality, at least give me something to refer to you by."

He sighed, "Butler, works fine."

"You wouldn't prefer, like, your name?"

"Butler is, like, my name." he returned, mocking Moxxie's phrasing. It seemed he'd have to turn his posh manners up to eleven around here. If anything, at least that meant he wouldn't get mocked for it now.

"My apologies, Butler, I didn't mean any offense by it."

After that, Moxxie quietly followed him through the corridors, taking note of any distinguishing features each corridor had. If he was going to be convincing here, he'd have to memorize the halls fast.

Butler snapped, demanding Moxxie's attention. It felt like a pretty demeaning way to be regarded, but given this new "job," Moxxie figured he'd need to swallow his pride and get used to it. Didn't stop him from liking Butler any less though.

"The kitchen is in there, help clean the dishes while I find you the tailor."

Moxxie simply nodded before heading on in. The second he opened the door, he was blasted with a wall of noise. Running faucets, dishes clanking, all manner of utensils banging around, sizzling food, and the conversation of what looked like at least four or five other servants—all imps—made for a massive shift in volume. That door must've been impressively soundproof.

They didn't even notice him enter. Not wanting to bother Butler who was already long gone, Moxxie just made his way to the sink to do exactly what he was told. Dishes may be one of the most annoying chores to Moxxie, but he didn't want to get on anyone's bad side on the first day.

The second he moved to the dishes though, they all swarmed him. Except for the two who were cooking, though they were paying pretty close attention regardless.

"And who, exactly, might you be?" Asked one of them, a woman about the exact same height as Moxxie, not counting her unusually large horns.

"Moxxie. I just started here today. And you?"

She eyed him suspiciously for little under a second before quickly switching to a much more friendly expression. "Name's Verde. This here is Trevor and Kyd, and those two cookin' over there are Pam and Jam. Twins."

Trevor stood behind her. He was a fairly round man, and somehow even shorter than Moxxie. His horns were barely stubs. Kyd was by the other sink. He was nowhere near as tall as Huey, but still one of the taller imps Moxxie had ever met. He was gaunty too, with sunken eyes. Glancing at the chef twins, they were both nearly identical, each with long noses and eyes obscured by their hair.

Moxxie couldn't help but notice that they were all fairly attractive as well. Not to his own interest, but definitely of note. He figured it wasn't that odd though, servants were also supposed to be easy on the eyes. Which gave Moxxie both a new insecurity and something to worry about. All he'd ever really had to compare himself to was Huey, which… well, they say it's what's on the inside that counts. Regardless, being too ugly to get near Stolas would be the most humiliating way for Moxxie to fail here.

Bringing his attention back to the situation at hand, he greeted the other servants. "Uhh, it's nice to meet you all as well. I hope we'll get along."

Verde smiled back, "I'm sure we will, little guy. You can cut it with the formal speak by the way, save that for when we're actually out serving."

"Oh thank Satan."

"Now, what the hell are you doing here in particular? We're pretty much fine on dishes."

"I wouldn't mind the help actually."

"Shut up, kid."

"It's Kyd, with a Y. I've worked here for a year now, how do you keep getting this wrong?"

Verde didn't seem to even listen to him, still waiting for Moxxie's answer.

"Butler told me to help clean while he went to find the tailor."

"Oh, Butler," Verde scoffed. In perfect unison, everyone but Moxxie stopped to groan at the mention of his name. "No wonder you were talking all posh like that around us, he's super uptight. I swear, the guy probably sleeps in those clothes."

"It's 'cause he was born into the job," Kyd added. "I mean, technically we all were, but that's just standard nepotism. He was literally born into this job. Hence the name."

"Doesn't make him any less annoying," Verde said.

As they continued bantering, Moxxie found a strange comfort in how much they were like any other set of coworkers. Part of him expected everyone to be just as tense as Butler, if not more so. He supposed they probably would be during actual work, but behind closed doors they were so relaxed, even familial. In fact, they were more welcoming than any previous co-workers he'd ever had. Probably due in part to an assumed class-difference, but he'd take that happily.

At the very least, it made his job just a little easier. Having to worry about behavior twenty-four-seven would've been a massive dampener on his ability to try and get close to Stolas.

"So, what's your deal then?" Verde asked, "Rich parents? Right place, right time? Pity hire? Or are you one of those 'lift yourself by the bootstrap' jerk-offs?"

"What?"

"I'm asking you how you got this job, dingus."

"O-oh! Stella sent me. I worked for her, but she's giving me to Stolas, as a sign of good will."

Verde sucked the air through her teeth with a cringe, "Stella, huh? Yeah that's… unfortunate."

"I'm aware," Moxxie said. "Believe me, I was lucky to be in that room when she was discussing the idea. Satan knows how much longer I'd last working for her." Despite every word of it being a complete lie, Moxxie found himself falling into the role with ease.

"Glad to hear you ain't a fan of her. She's popular around here, and not in the good way. Liking her is a quick way to make your job here a living hell."

"I think I'll like it here," Moxxie smiled.

"Moxxie!"

He snapped to attention, turning around to see Butler had returned.

"Come with me."

"Yes sir."

Moxxie quickly put down the dish he was working on and dried his hands, walking over to Butler. Before closing the doors to the kitchen, he saw Verde waving him off. It gave him a warm feeling, to be welcome here. Followed by a gut-punch, being reminded of why he was here at all. He had to swallow that feeling, being here was dangerous, getting too attached would only put him at risk.

But, truth be told, he wasn't very good at suppressing his emotions like that.

"Well? Don't dawdle. This way. You'll need to get washed up before the tailor will see you. Clean yourself in the staff baths, and then I'll take you to get your new suit." Butler insisted.

"Right, yes sir."

Despite being dingy in comparison to the standard set by the rest of the palace, the showers were like a luxury compared to anything Moxxie had ever used. They never seemed to run out of hot water either. He wished he could've stayed there for hours, but all he had was five minutes. Wash, rinse, dry.

After that, he had spent the following two hours standing in place as the tailor retrofitted another suit to fit him. Normally it'd take weeks to get a suit to fit any particular person perfectly, but he needed something to wear in the meantime. That, and Moxxie didn't plan on being here for multiple weeks. Hopefully.

So, they took a spare suit, and fit it to him. It looked about the same as the rest of the servants, or any other suit you'd see. The only difference being luxury materials, and a special request from Moxxie; a tailcoat.

Seeing himself in the mirror with that made him smile wider than he had in what felt like years. It was such a small, insignificant thing to be so emotional about, but it made him feel right.

Despite seemingly everything making him want to pretend this was really his job, he managed to keep reminding himself what he was here to do. Every time he was getting carried away, came a reminder. A stray question he had to make up an answer to, or lie he had to check his consistency with, anything. All reminders of what he was here to do; convince Stolas to go to a party, to draw out a target, to kill them.

Those were the thoughts running through his head while he, Kyd, and Trevor were setting the dinner table.

"Bud, you uh… you good?"

Moxxie blinked, "huh?"

Kyd stared at his hand with a level of concern Moxxie wasn't anticipating.

Looking down seemed to explain why though, Moxxie had been gripping the knives by their blades, and very tightly for that matter.

The sensation of the blades cutting into his palms seemed to catch up to him now. A neat, burning slice along his palm slowly dawned on him more painfully with every second. "Fuck!" Moxxie shouted, immediately letting go of the knives, letting them fall to the table. Moxxie swiped the knives onto a platter, but not before the blood on them stained the white table cloth beneath, leaving a smear of dark red.

"Shit, Moxxie what the hell!?"

"I, I don't know, I just—"

"Verde! Get him a bandage or something!"

She was already on her way with a spare cloth. She grabbed Moxxie's palm and began wrapping the cut. "What about the stain? Dinner's in five minutes, what are we gonna do about that?"

"What if we shifted the plates over? Covered it up?" Moxxie suggested.

Kyd looked at him, "No, no way. It's not just Stolas tonight. Paimon is joining too, they'd definitely notice a difference."

"Then blame it on me. I'm brand new here, it would make sense."

"They'd still get upset at us for not fixing it."

"But it'd be explained, and they wouldn't investigate any further."

"You sure you really want to have two Goetia upset with you on your first day?" Verde asked.

"It's my fault, isn't it?"

Kyd and Verde glanced at each other, nodded, and turned back to Moxxie. "Fine," Kyd said, "Guess it's, what, a calculated loss?"

"Better than the alternative," Verde said.

They did exactly what Moxxie said, shifting the spread a foot or so to the side, covering up the blood stains, but killing the symmetry of the table entirely. Hopefully they wouldn't notice. Maybe it could even be explained as "the newbie hadn't been trained yet."

By the time they were finished, voices could be heard just outside the doors. Kyd all but sprinted out of the room into one of the servant halls. Verde and Moxxie rushed to their positions by each side of the table, a good six feet away from the only two chairs.

The very second Moxxie hid his bandaged hand behind his back, the doors swung open, and two of the tallest demons Moxxie had ever soon walked into the room, already wrapped up in some argument.

"—my own palace! Why must you insist on this charade of manners? You're my father, for Satan's sake!"

The taller of the two, presumably Paimon, was already taking their seat. "Manners maketh man, Stolas."

Moxxie could only barely hear Stolas mutter something about sticks and asses from where he stood.

For a short while, things seemed to proceed smoothly. Dinner was served, the Stolas and Paimon performed their satanic equivalent of grace, they ate a bit.

"Hm."

Stolas sighed, "What is it now?"

Paimon shifted in his seat before responding, "The table isn't set right."

Moxxie froze.

"So?" Stolas asked.

"What do you mean 'So?' Did we not just discuss the importance of upholding standards? Who here did this!"

Before Moxxie could raise a hand, Stolas responded again. "Father, you're overreacting. I'll talk with the staff later if you're so insistent, but know you're the only one here concerned with it."

"Clearly, you can't even select decent servants."

Stolas just furrowed his brows at the remark.

"To discuss another matter, I'm sure you've heard the rumors that a Goetia has kept a holy weapon, haven't you?"

"Of course I have, I've hardly heard word of anything else for the past several months."

"Good, good. Then, as my son, I must ask… is it you?"

Stolas dropped his fork, "Excuse me?"

"Are you the one in possession of a holy weapon?"

Stolas was too appalled by the question to even respond for a moment, "No! Of course not!"

"And that wouldn't happen to be a lie would it?"

Stolas stood up from the table, nearly knocking his plate over. "Why would you even ask me that?! I've destroyed every holy weapon I've ever come across! Do you honestly doubt my sincerity?!"

"You've always been an odd-one-out amongst your peers Stolas, I'm only asking—"

"Me not being a narcissistic sociopath like nearly everyone in the family doesn't make me some kind of malevolent problem-child!"

Paimon squeezed his brow, "Then please just let me have one of my staff inspect your home and let us be done with this."

"You expect me to allow a violation to my privacy of this magnitude because you suspect me on no other grounds than being an odd-one-out?"

"I expect you to stand down and do as you're told! You're my son, you'll do as I say!"

Stolas scoffed, "By blood and blood alone, you've never parented anyone, I certainly wasn't an exception."

Now it was Paimon's turn to stand up at the table, putting a fist down as he shouted back. "Watch your tongue! I gave you everything a young boy should need. You are a prince! It's high time you acted like one instead of pouting at every single responsibility that befalls you!"

"Oh that's rich, you want to lecture me on responsibility? I'm sorry, who was it that would send me off to watch the circus every time I so much as whined when I was a child, instead of acting like a parent?"

"Your ceaseless crying was unbearable, you'd have me listen to that?"

"I was a child, your child!" Stolas said, slamming the table for emphasis. "I wanted you to talk to me, do your job as a parent."

"I did my job, as a Geotia. Now cease this pointless whining and do yours!"

Paimon slammed the table to emphasize his point, hard. His hand landed right on his plate, shattering it instantly. Moxxie felt his heart freeze. He watched as Paimon stared down at the pieces of the plate, his eyes narrowed, and Moxxie's gut dropped.

"What. Is. This."

"Excuse me?"

"Have you no standards? This bloodstain on your tablecloth. Servants are a reflection of the standards upheld by their lord, are your servants truly so pathetic that they'd bleed on your cloth and not even clean it?"

Before Moxxie could even think to excuse himself, hide, or anything, Paimon whipped around.

"Which one of you did this!" His eyes immediately locked onto Moxxie, noting his hand hidden behind his back. "You. Show me your hand, now."

Moxxie froze. He didn't want to do it, for the first time in years he felt like a child who got caught red-handed by a grown-up. But, he knew disobeying Paimon would mean not only jeopardizing the mission, but could get him into all sorts of trouble alongside that.

Stolas had walked to their side of the table, attempting to get his father to stop, but he was too late.

Moxxie shut his eyes, and showed his hand. It was wrapped in a cloth, the blood from his cut already bleeding through the fabric just a little.

"You filthy imp!"

"Father! Don't—"

Before Moxxie even looked, he felt a stinging pain on the entire left side of his face. He felt himself flinging back. He didn't even process the impact on the back of his head before he was out cold.

A/N: That was a nice break. I got to relax, had some emotional struggles, got trapped at my parent's place for a week, and even got so stressed I developed abnormally high sinus arrhythmia!

…Hm. Now that I say it out loud, that last one doesn't sound very nice. Well, I'm not dead! I'll consider that a victory.