Chapter 8

Niffty hadn't really thought much of letting the strange Imp woman into the Hotel. They'd already been housing a couple of Imps for a time (one of whom was incredibly handsome), and this one had told her that she knew them. Lucius's (awkward) reaction had simply confirmed this. She didn't seem particularly dangerous either.

As for Charlie, who tended to let her optimism overshadow her judging of character, she was simply happy to have another guest, and readily invited her to lunch. The Imp cheerfully agreed. Lucius simply shrugged and let her in.

Viola, of course, knew something was off from the get go...but to be frank, she was too hungry and weary to care.

So, there they all were. The Imp woman with the white hair carving a piece of meat with her knife, followed by Lucius awkwardly picking at his food, next to Viola who simply spooned Miso into her mouth like she was in the middle of Hiroshima and waiting for the bomb to drop. Chay was sitting at the other end, with Shakie and Via alongside her. Everyone else was either too ingrained in their own issues, or simply oblivious to the potential drama about to unfold.

And in the middle of it all was Charlie, her eyes darting between Chay and the Imp as they both eyed each other from across the table.

Staring daggers at each other.

"Chay.", said the Imp.

"Gish.", Chay answered in turn.

Charlie looked over at Vaggie at her side, who irritably shrugged.

The Imp sipped at her tea.

"Cunt."

"Slut."

"Bonebag."

"Side-chick."

FUMP

The Imp angrily stabbed her dagger into the table. "Fuckish skull-faced bitch!" she yelled.

"Oooohkay!", Charlie said nervously, sweat pouring down her forehead. "I'm sensing a little bit of tension here."

"Naw, ya think?", Angel Dust called back from the other side of the table.

Shakie, however, was completely lost. "I think I'm missing something here. Chay, who is this woman?"

Husk rumbled from across the room. "I think the real question here is why the fuck did Niffty let her in in the first place."

As if on cue, Niffty zoomed into the kitchen at Mach One, nearly blowing over the plates with her speed. "I thought she looked friendly! And it's not like she's tried to hurt anybody right?"

Nifty pointed a fist at the Imp. "Short Queen Pride?"

The Imp fist bumped her. "Short Queen Pride."

Niffty giggled before zooming out of the room again.

"….Okay, that at least answers another question I had.", Shakie said. "But again: who is this woman Chay?"

"Yeah, Lucius.", Vaggie replied irritably. "Why don't you introduce us to your friend with the deadly blessed-tip weapon, hmmm?" She sat up from her chair, veins popping on her forehead. "The one who is currently taking advantage of Charlie's hospitality and putting knife marks in our very expensive furniture?"

"Calm down, Vaggie…", Charlie said, gently placing her hand on her girlfriend's shoulder. "Like Niffty said, she hasn't tried to hurt anyone, and I have plenty of hospitality to go around. Besides, it's just a table."

"Pffft, not like you can't afford a replacement.", the Imp replied. "I've seen the kind of cash you royals throw around."

"Comrade, please.", Lucius said anxiously with his hand raised. He carefully put his fork down onto the table (careful not to mark it). "Your Highness, Miss Vagatha...this is one of my comrades in the struggle. She's typically more...low key...than this, but nevertheless she is an important asset to our cause."

The Princess nodded sagely. "I see.", she said. She turned to Chay. "And you, Chay? What's your relation to this young lady?"

"Oh, it isn't obvious?", Chay answered. "She's an assassin."

BOOM!

A blinding flash of lightning filled the dining room, followed by deafening thunder.

Vaggie immediately shot up from her seat. "Nope, nope. Not happening." She pointed an angry finger at Lucius and Viola. "You two. Out. Now."

"Vaggie, wait!", Charlie said as she stood up. "Give her a chance to explain."

"Charlie, no. I'm putting my foot down. I was willing to look the other way while they were playing nice, but now they've brought a fucking hired killer into the Hotel. That violates the rule on violent activities and is grounds for banishment from the premises."

Lucius threw up his hands. "Hey, I had no idea she was coming here!"

"I'm just surprised it took her this long.", Viola remarked.

"I'm going to count to tres…", Vaggie said through gritted teeth.

"Relax, sour cream.", the Imp answered with her hand held up. "This isn't a business trip. Besides, housing a couple of known terrorists is completely on you."

"She's got ya there, Vags!", Angel once again remarked from across the table.

"No comments from the peanut gallery!", she yelled back.

"Anyway…", the Imp said through a mouthful of ham. "Continue what you were saying, Chay."

The Sinner raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah.", the Imp answered with a wide, toothy, meat-stained grin. "I like to hear you say it."

Chay felt a shiver crawl through her. That woman had an almost supernatural way of getting underneath her skin in ways that nobody else was capable of.

"As I was saying…", she said through a whistling shudder. "Her name is Gishram. She's been in the ILF for about as long as I've been working with them. She's the organization's resident wetworks specialist. If the ILF has a target that needs to be liquidated, either because they stole from us or because they have been abusing Imps, she's the one who takes care of it."

Vaggie eyed the Imp named Gish. "And you're absolutely sure you're not here for work reasons?"

"Absolutely.", Gish answered. "If it weren't for the absolute boneheadedness of Comrade General Secretary, I wouldn't be here."

"Say what now?", Lucius said.

"Also fun fact…", Chay interjected. "That knife she has? She talks to it. A lot."

"Pfft, like you've never whispered to that weird knife gun you have."

"I don't. It's not exactly a normal thing to do."

"Well, maybe your weapon isn't as much of an annoying chatterbox."

'Wow. I'm right here.', a voice whispered in Gish's mind.

"Radio silence, Jude.", she whispered back under her breath.

"Oh, it gets better.", Chay continued. "You want to know what her code name is? I promise it's a real screamer…"

'Incoming', Jude said.

A staticy voice interrupted her.

"Oh, I'm sure it's incredibly creative and engaging!", Alastor remarked with his usual cheerfulness.

Gish immediately jumped up from her chair to brandish her knife. "The fuck are you doing here, Radio Demon?!"

"I was...bored?", he answered. "Ennui? You're familiar with that word, yes?"

Shnik!

The edge of the knife pointed directly at his nose.

He snickered. "Oh, my dear, that's not necessary."

His cane slowly pointed the knife away from his face.

"Besides…"

His eyes began to glow with a sulfuric crimson.

"...I am way out of your league."

Vaggie simply rubbed her temples. "Vivo en medio de un puto circo..."

Unusually, it was Lucius who decided to break the tension.

"Comrade, what are you doing here? We're only a short time away from the annual extermination and you're miles from HQ. Surely you have better things to do than to pick fights with Sinners."

Gish's head slowly turned to face Lucius, her eyes glowing an angry amber. She grunted irritably as the glow slowly burned out of her gaze.

"I would say something along the lines of 'pot, meet kettle', but we're short on time…."

She carefully sat back down on the chair, letting her tail slip between the spindle.

"I'll get straight to the point."

She wiped her hair away from her face.

"We have a traitor in the organization, comrade. And they've ordered a hit on you."

She sliced off another piece of ham.

"And I'm not talking about Paizana."

The Pride Circle is pockmarked with every variety of bar, tavern, saloon, or any other kind of place where alcohol (and otherwise) can be swilled with the reckless abandon of those who no longer need fear death. Even the most bloodthirsty of Norse Vikings pining for Valhalla could not have imagined the sheer, unbridled hedonism of guzzling and brawling that took place in such establishments. A bacchanalia fueled by life without end.

About a mile away from the Hotel, one such establishment was roughly wedged in the middle of the various dens of excess and indulgence that populated the West Side's commercial districts. Lit by old-school neon and entered via a pair of swinging batwing doors, it had all the hallmarks of both a biker den and an old-timey cowboy saloon. One filled with the stench of tobacco, sweat, stale urine and caustic liquor. One that would be home to both leather-vested Harley riders and mustache-twirling outlaws of the Prairie.

"Alright", a gruff voice grumbled from the table as he placed money on its surface. "I raise."

Another Sinner, a woman, answered in kind. "I fold.", she said as her enormous claws placed a hand of cards on the table.

The one lone Imp in the group, cigarillo in his mouth fuming purple smoke, was still making up his mind. He looked at his hand: a pair of aces and a pair of eights. Some how thematically fitting, in more ways than one.

"Well?", the gruff voice growled at him. "We ain't waitin' here all night, stranger."

The Imp sneered. Sinners were the most infuriating fucking group in Hell.

Only outdone by Royals.

"I fold." He put his cards down on the table and got up from his chair. He needed to get back to work anyway.

"Pfft, pussy.", the growling Sinner heckled at him.

The others erupted in laughter.

Only to be silenced by the blinding shine of a blessed-tip revolver pointed directly at them.

"Somethin' funny, ya fucking degenerates?", the Imp growled, his tail whipping and rattling against the straw-covered floor.

Each and everyone of them shrank into their seats whimpering.

"Thought so.". He spun the revolver around his finger before reholstering it.

"Hey, Striker!", the barman called. "Ya still owe me a fiver for the beer!"

"Put it on my tab!", Striker called back as she walked out.

Not like he had any intention of paying it.

CHAPTER 8 END