FORTY-EIGHT

Just because saving the horny owl (at least) seemed more & more like The Bullshit Blitzø Needed To Do ™, didn't mean that he'd neglect his employees-associates-family. What was the saying? You don't get rid of family.

(He does. He did – he had – he used to. He's trying not to.)

Especially not when that family stopped to help, to protect, to pick him up when he fell by accident through the forest canopy and alerted the lumberjacks to his presence.

( - until he went too far, screwed up often enough that they'd get sick of him and leave or he'd have to leave first or he'd -

No, stop. You don't fucking think about that. It's the same day over and over again. If you screw up now you can fix it.)

Gagging those thoughts as best he could, Blitzø accepted Moxxie's admonition with a muted nod and apology, much to the smaller imp's bafflement.

…

Later that night, Blitzø stared through a bullet-pierced skylight at Stolas's corpse, and reminded himself this is why he couldn't truly be anyone's family.

FIFTY

Yeah, yeah, sure, Millie can be relied on to clobber Fizzaroli & let Moxxie finish his lovey-dovey song at Ozzie's – but maybe Moxxie could do without the public callout from the Lord of Lust himself? There were plenty of at least halfway-kinky love songs he could sing instead (You Shook Me All Night Long, Fat Bottomed Girls, the pre-breakup prequel to Mustard Dong, etc. etc.)

Now how to suggest this to Moxxie?

…

Not by insulting his songwriting skills, apparently.

FIFTY-ONE

Nor by pointing out the irony of singing about love in Lust. Moxxie remained stubbornly set on his serenade. Strange thing to grow a spine over, Moxx'. Really seems like your backbone is an extension of your dick, huh -

*bonk*

FIFTY-TWO

Just straight-up suggesting Moxxie sing something else? Nope, not that either – the mere idea offended the creative sensibilities of this 'original artist'.

FIFTY-FIVE

It's a tough cumshot pill to swallow, but admitting that he's concerned Moxxie will be made fun of ('cause only he's allowed to tease his Employee of Every Month) was what elicited the 'best reaction' – i.e. a semi-exasperated "it'll be fine, sir, thank you for your concern, there's only one demon's opinion I'll care about tonight." *hyuck*

Fine then. Moxxie would get his boring happy ending no matter what.

Blitzø'd been keeping himself & Stolas away from Ozzie's for a while now (for obvious reasons). Yet seeing the owl depressed and alone, and repeatedly hearing his desperate joy at being asked out over the phone, had motivated the imp to start seeking out busier venues for the night – Stolas deserved better than quiet, musty bars (plus, of course, safety in numbers and in high-class places that Striker wouldn't show his face at – that was the definite main reason, mm-hmm, uh-huh, yup.)

Finding the right place, though, had been its own crapfest.

Stolas was baffled by the rock & electronica played at the first couple of clubs Blitzø picked – though Octavia was into grungy pop-punk, apparently, which was how Stolas did know of 'Fuck U Dad'.

He seemed to hold a major grudge against Valentino, if his foul mood (geddit? Fowl?) when Blitzø took him to Club Hell 666 was anything to go by.

Gardening. Stolas liked plants. Blitzø liked getting blazed. That was as close a shared interest as any, so this night they went to a hipster place boasting 'the whole Devil's salad, not just the lettuce'.

And the night seemed to go better. Stolas shimmied in his seat to the jangly strumming of some guitar. Blitzø got stoned, and felt some of his accumulated anxiety drift away. He blinked, and Stolas was now engrossed in flowing conversation on the cultivation of cannabis plants with the dopeheads at the next table.

Some sad longing twinged in Blitzø's chest, and he took another drag from his blunt to make it go away.

Blitzø stuck around the mansion each night, after each attempt-at-a-date. He could've asked to come in, or just gone in of his own will – a part of him always yearns to – but a knot in his lower intestine held him back, holds him back.

He may need to, though. Because no matter where Blitzø stands guard, Striker compensates, adapts, and finds a new spot from which to take out the Goetia prince. The roof – bam. Trees in the gardens – bam. Impossible noscope from the other side of the mansion – bam.

From inside the master suite tonight – bam.

Blitzø headshotted Striker as the imp sauntered out onto Stolas's balcony, and the misty pink puff was no consolation at all.

FIFTY-EIGHT

It wasn't no Ozzie's, but this club down in Greed was still glitzy enough to make Stolas gush. The drinks – sickeningly appealing cocktail creations – practically cost all four limbs, but it wasn't like Blitzø was truly throwing away his hard-earned bucks for good tonight.

They got drunk pretty fast and wanted more. They were falling into a rhythm – like the casual talks they had sometimes ended up having during the full moon, but made rough and tangy by booze. Kinda like the good times Blitzø had had with Fizz & Verosika back in the day – that should have set off alarm bells, but he was shitfaced enough by now that he'd almost forgotten about the whole-time loop bullshit.

Then Stolas started talking dirty.

And it sobered Blitzø in an instant. He was just beginning to relax & enjoy himself too – fuck.

Blitzø stood up, chewed Stolas out because if he'd just wanted to fuck he'd have just asked directly instead of this whole stupid date thing, and how was he supposed to know what Stolas felt towards him if he went from stammering teenage girl to needy bottom-cum-maniac in seconds flat, and stormed out for some air with Stolas's meek slurred apology at his back.

He was sober enough to stomp in a straight line, but not enough to notice he was stomping out into the road.

FIFTY-NINE

Loona was jittery, wistful, nervous. Blitzø wondered why he hadn't noticed before. Hadn't he usually been out at this point in the evening, instead of staying in his apartment taking an emotional breather after last loop?

He leaned over her shoulder, because invasion of personal space was the most reliable way he could get attention. She growled, but subsided – that was invitation enough to start asking questions about her night ahead. Some Blitzø already knew from the last 50-whatsit times (fuck him in the b-hole, it'd been two months?), but some bits he didn't.

Like that Vortex had friendzoned Loona back during the spring break beach thing.

Secretly he was glad. But Loonie was still crushing hard, evidently. And that resonated with the bits of Blitzø which still smarted from the previous loop's attempt at a date. So, like the hypocrite he was, he gave her the advice he refused to take himself.

Moving on doesn't mean leaving 'em in your dust. If he's offering to be friends – only friends though – take that chance. Pay it back, or pay it forward, though, cause feelings ain't free and you will be buried in a shitload of emotional debt.

After Loona had actually smiled a bit, snarked a teasing farewell (her way of saying a heartfelt thanks), and left for her party… Blitzø pondered.

Stolas had the one offering his heart to Blitzø, and more often than not Blitzø had been the one turning it down. And here he was accumulating the hurt & isolation he'd once somehow convinced himself he was avoiding.

Because he'd skipped their date that night, Blitzø picked a bunch of flowers. It was too late to give them to Stolas by now, but he picked them anyway.

He beat the shit out of Striker's bullet-riddled carcass with them.

SIXTY-ONE

While Moxxie was off in the woods figuring out how to wield the chainsaw, Blitzø took the chance to ask Millie a subtle question on the vague, unhellish concept of conveying love.

Goddamn it, how did she know this was about Stolas? At least she had the grace to not wheedle past his denial.

Millie's actually-considered answer was "communication". (The thing Blitzø knew he was shitty at.) Not just words, apparently, but actions. The little things. Expressions of interest; of caring; of knowing what the other wants & likes & needs – or at least trying to know.

Tilla's – Mom's – tired but never-failing smile whenever he or Barbie were around.

Fizz's near-constant physical contact & gift-giving.

Verosika's 'clinginess' – well, maybe it hadn't been that, maybe that had been a desire for gratification and reciprocation.

Stolas's fixated gaze, hanging onto his every word no matter how mediocre. The affection beyond mere possessiveness with which he said Blitzy and My little imp . The questions he asked about how Blitzø's day had been. The clear desire to just spend time together, one way or another…

Blitzø asked how exactly you'd give that sort of love back. Millie chuckled, said that there wasn't any set way to do it – even she'd "winged it" courting Moxxie, at first – before skipping off to go murder some beardos.

…Fuck. Okay. There was a crumb of gratification in that trial-and-error wasn't the wrong thing to do. (A tiny, tiny crumb.)

SIXTY-SEVEN

Ozzie's felt inevitable at this point. The only venue that really got Stolas the most flustered when they entered (and gave Blitzø butterflies, deep down).

After a week it had become a well-rehearsed routine by now, pretty much identical to the first time around: Interrupt Asmodeus's roast to defend M&M's love life. Get called out by Fizz & Verosika (shove the guilt down).

Watch as Stolas shrinks under the sudden spotlight, and from the judgemental shades of his wife & daughter turning away from him.

(Look closely, out the corner of his eye, for the concern and guilt and powerlessness on Stolas's face, not shame after all.)

…

Blitzø let Stolas's talons brush his, tonight, as they made their departure.

Stolas awkwardly clambered out of the van, leaned back through the window. Once again, despite everything that had happened, he'd enjoyed spending time with Blitzø. Once again, he invited Blitzø in for drinks; a movie; a chat; a cuddle.

For the first time, Blitzø accepted.

He was exhausted; tired of this loop and worn down by his mistakes and fed up with being somehow unable to just say that he liked Stolas back no matter how he tried. He wasn't thinking about saving the owl or getting to tomorrow. Blitzø just needed a respite – he needed this.

So he climbed the steps with Stolas and wearily trod into the mansion.

The wine was a sweet balm on his tongue. The movie was a welcome distraction. They didn't talk, but perhaps what was unspoken was still conveyed between them.

And once Stolas was out of his fancy getup and back in a rumpled bathrobe, cuddling was as soft and feathery as Blitzø remembered.

Blitzø woke to footsteps, the click of a cocked gun, a sneer. Instinct kicked in, and he tried to yank Stolas with him as he ducked & rolled off the couch, but it was too little too late.

Stolas wheezed and rattled, bleeding out from the flame-licked hole in his chest. Striker reloaded and aimed again, pulled the trigger -

From the floor, Blitzø leaped.

'You are going to die alone…'

No, fuck you, he won't.

Through the blazing onset of oblivion, Blitzø twitched his claws against Stolas's stilled feathers.