Wet and miserable, Moxxie knocked on the door.

"Octavia?" Moxxie asked, "What's going on?"

No response.

It had only been an hour since the news of an overlord's assassination broke, and about fifty-nine minutes since the start of the riots. Their distance from the Capital District had put Moxxie on edge. He had spent the better part of an hour waiting to take that fateful shot.

Instead, he found Octavia. He wasn't sure which was worse.

Her presence raised eyebrows and lowered none. Imp City was a good twenty miles and two rings away. What was she doing there all by herself? And how the hell had she gotten caught up in the riot?

At the very least, he had to tell Charlie. It was part of his job to protect the hotel. That included the people inside of it, refugees too.

Moxxie waited a few more minutes for the riot to move away before he went inside.

Once ornate and pristine, a trail of blood and mud had been tracked onto the carpet of the Happy Hotel. He found Octavia slumped up against the wall adjacent to him. Head in hands, Octavia didn't seem to notice that he had come inside, instead only letting out an occasional sniffle or series of sighs.

Whatever stealth Moxxie had was wiped away when his phone started to ring.

He fumbled with the device as Octavia poked her bloodied head up.

"Hey, Moxxie!" Millie's cheerful voice said, "Blitz agreed to let me take the day off. He…doesn't know where you are right now. I gotta run a few errands, but I'll be there in a couple hours!"

"That's great, Millie!" Moxxie replied.

"Yuh! How's it goin' down there? You shootin' people yet?!"

"Well, not yet. Actually, we've got a bit of a situation going on here. There was a riot, and Octav-"

Octavia slid her hand across her neck and shook her head as he spoke. Her wide, bloodshot eyes pleaded with him not to spill the secret. Moxxie didn't know why, nor did he know if it was the right decision.

"Mox?" Millie asked, "What did you say?'

"Well…" Moxxie stammered, "There was a riot, and….we took in a few sinners. You know, to let them recover. A lot of people got hurt."

"Need me to take a whack at any of 'em?"

"That won't be necessary. I've got to get back to work, but I'll see you tonight!"

"I'm excited, Mox. Love you!"

"You too."

Moxxie hung up the phone, strutting over to Octavia with a raised eyebrow.

"What was that about?" Moxxie asked, kneeling down by her side, "Not trying to pry or anything. But, your entrance wasn't very smooth."

"Look," Octavia said with a raspy voice, "I'm not giving you my whole story. I don't even remember your fucking name. All I'm telling you is that I'm bleeding, tired, and nobody can know that I'm here. Okay?'

Moxxie caught sight of a dark patch of blood over Octavia's shoulder. It stood out against the fabric like a bullseye, staring back at Moxxie with its wrathful crimson.

"Get away from me!" Octavia barked, shuffling as if to try and swat him away, only to fall back and wince in pain.

Raising his hands, Moxxie backed up.

"We have to patch you up," Moxxie said, "I'm not going to ask what happened. I won't press. But…that's not looking very good."

She shook her head, "No. I'm not going to a hospital. They're going to recognize me."

"We don't have to take you to the hospital or anything. Charlie probably has something that can help you."

"I'll be fine. I just have to sleep this off…"

"Last I checked you can't sleep off a gunshot wound."

Octavia didn't respond.

"Stay here," Moxxie said, "I'm going to get Charlie. In the meantime, take this."

Moxxie reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen.

Hesitantly, Octavia reached for the bottle and downed it with her free hand.

Charlie wasn't a hard woman to find. If the singsong voice didn't give her away, the bright red suit did. He found her chatting at the bar with Husk and Angel Dust with a briefcase in her hands.

"Hello," Moxxie said as he approached the bar, "Charlie, I need to talk to you, if that's okay. It's important."

"Okay," Charlie replied, waving Angel Dust and Husk away, "What is it?"

The pair walked towards the foyer, where the bloodied Octavia sat.

"She was caught up in the riots," Moxxie continued, "She needs treatment. But nobody can know that she's here."

"Why not?"

"She's from a royal family. She wouldn't be out here in the first place if things weren't bad back home."

Charlie heeded Moxxie's words and strolled over to the wounded princess. Moxxie stood a few feet back and listened.

"Hey!" Charlie said with a smile on your face, "Moxxie tells me you're hurt."

"So that's his name," Octavia remarked with a dry sarcasm, "Never would've guessed."

For a moment, Octavia tried to stand, but fell back to the ground and grabbed her shoulder with a wince.

"You got beaten up pretty bad out there, huh?" Charlie said, "We've got some stuff that'll help you. I'll be right back."

Charlie disappeared into a back room. Octavia and Moxxie were once again left alone, the air around them eerily still. He could hear the sips of drinks from the bar behind him. The faint jazz on the radio seemed deafening in comparison.

Rattling his fingers along the wall only made the silence louder. His eyes darted back and forth, pretending to be engaged with anything that would keep Octavia out of his field of vision. The air conditioner suddenly sounded like a scream in a dark forest. Moxxie could hear his own heartbeat, paired with Octavia's shallow breathing.

He would occasionally sneak a glance at her through the reflection in the doorknob. Her warped image faced away from him. A tired head rested on her knees with blood running down her arms and legs.

Just when Moxxie wondered if it could get any worse, Octavia finally broke the silence, albeit with the enthusiasm of an angel in a strip club.

"Thank you for letting me in," Octavia sighed, almost as though she had been forced to say it.

"No problem," Moxxie replied dryly.

How was he supposed to navigate the situation? It felt like talking to a wall. He wanted to find a way to help her.

He soon caught Octavia trying to hide her fits of shivering as the air-conditioning blew against her. Moxxie wouldn't have noticed it if the same breeze hadn't been assaulting his already-soaked pant legs with an arctic chill.

Silently, he walked over to the vent next to her and turned the air off.

For a moment she faced him. They briefly maintained eye-contact, Octavia's bright pink eyes showing a flicker of light before dimming themselves again and closing her off. Moxxie gave her a nod.

Charlie's heels tapped against the carpet opposite to Moxxie as she appeared again. In her arms were two large boxes marked with red crosses.

"I'm here!" an exasperated Charlie said, "Charlie to the rescue!"

Octavia didn't vocalize a thank you. Instead, she nodded silently to herself and whispered. Moxxie wasn't good enough at reading lips to know what she was saying.

"She has a bullet wound in her shoulder," Moxxie remarked, "You might want to take care of that first."

"I think she knows what she's doing," Octavia grumbled, "You can go now."

Moxxie was taken aback by her remark, but he understood where she was coming from. The poor princess was lost, alone, and stuck in a room filled with strangers. Moxxie would have been overwhelmed, too.

De-escalation was one of his personal strengths. Strolling away from a potential conflict was something that came naturally to him, the same way fish swam or birds flew. The narrowed pupils swimming with animosity had been enough to drive him away. Perhaps, when things calmed down, he would try and talk to her again, since she didn't sound like she was leaving anytime soon.

He walked down the hall towards the first room on the first floor of the hotel, 1A. Charlie had placed his boxes of office supplies on a large cart near the staircase. Moxxie placed his hands on it and pushed it along, the wheels turning haphazardly on the ornate carpet.

If nothing else, he had Millie's arrival to look forward to. She claimed that everything at home was fine. Nothing had been mentioned about Blitzo acting up since Moxxie's departure. Those claims fell under Moxxie's scrutiny. There she was, trying to cover an amputated arm with a smiley-face bandaid. Blitzo wasn't a man who let things go. He would hold Moxxie–and in his absence, anybody associated with him– under his iron fist until his temper cooled.

Twisting around his nose like a warm hug, the smell of fresh sheets welcomed Moxxie into his temporary home. A silky purple comforter rested atop his queen-size bed. Brown mahogany drawers sat on the right side of the room with a golden mirror resting above it. Victorian-era purple wallpaper with aimless lines running along the highlights like prongs to a ladder.

Moxxie flipped a switch and turned on a wine glass-shaped light hanging over his head. A black downrod crept from the ceiling and into the light's base. He tapped it lightly with his finger and watched the light swing subtly yet hypnotically back and forth. His shadow expanded and contracted with the differing angles of illumination.

Drops of rain raced down the side of the room's singular window, facing opposite of the door and giving Moxxie a glance at the outside world. Sooner or later, he would have to get back out to finish his patrol.

The last time Moxxie had seen Octavia, she had been seventeen. By that point she had to be at least twenty. He recalled her standoffish personality from their first meeting, during an attempted trip with Stolas to Loo-Loo Land. Moxxie and Millie had been the Goetian bodyguards. Moxxie's only attempt at reaching out to her that day had been shut down after being called an "old man."

A clock on the wall told him it was already three o'clock. He still had four more hours left on his shift. The deafening thunder outside only made the warm sheets of his bed seem softer.

His suit smelled of dampness and ash. Without any clothes to change into, he decided that a little more water wouldn't kill him. Fifty souls an hour was more than enough to get him back outside.

How would he get past Octavia? Would it be better for him to keep his head down and not acknowledge her? Perhaps he could throw a friendly wave and try to gain some favor with the ice queen. The warmth of a smile could be enough to defrost her, or at least begin the process.

Gun on his shoulder, Moxxie walked out of his room and carefully back into the lobby. Charlie was in the process of patching Octavia up. Patches of blood-red gauze dropped into a trash bin near the door. Her hoodie had been pulled down by her left side to expose the bloodied wound on her shoulder. Moxxie tried not to look, but curiosity pulled his eyes towards the jagged marks. It had been a close-range hit from the look of it. Flesh and feathers converged in frantic patterns. Moxxie struggled to imagine how she had walked to the hotel in such a condition.

"...you're doing great!" Charlie said as she applied another bandage.

Octavia only let out a groan in response. Given her angst, Moxxie imagined somebody like Charlie was her worst nightmare. Somehow, her eyes looked even more dead in that moment than when she had entered.

"You're lucky you weren't hit anywhere else," Charlie remarked as she backed away from Octavia like an artist admiring a finished painting, "We would've had to take you to a hospital. I don't think you want that, do you?"

Crickets.

"I'll leave you to it," Charlie said, "You need some time to rest."

She tilted her head towards Moxxie. He followed her, opening the front door and drawing the pair into the downpour outside.

"Dammit," she groaned, patting her pockets, "We don't have to do this out here. Just somewhere where she can't hear us."

An occasional car horn sounded in the distance as the riots died down. Thunder rumbled like a set of falling bowling pins. Occasionally, he would catch a whiff of sour city air that would cause his nose to scrunch.

The downpour continued. A rusted storm drain at Moxxie's feet began to overflow with the excess rainwater. The maroon-tinted sky blocked the amber radiance fighting to get past the hotel windows. Moxxie and Charlie found themselves standing at the edge of the light.

Horizontal rain pelted them a moment later following a spiteful breeze. Charlie's volumetric hair began to take on water and gradually sink down. It was the first time that Moxxie had seen her as anything other than perfect. No longer did her televised image prevail. Instead, Moxxie saw her touched by the elements, the cold hand of a sulfur rain pulling back the curtain.

The tails of her red suit blew in the wind, and yet, she didn't so much as finch. Looking back, Moxxie should have expected more from the woman that had killed the exterminators. He had to remind himself of her courageous past very time he looked at her. Her innocuous nature didn't sell the image of a strong-willed revolutionary. Not that it was a bad thing, of course.

Moxxie withdrew his umbrella and opened it over their heads.

"Thank you," Charlie said.

She flashed an ever-charming smile before her expression fell again. Her eye briefly shot towards the door, then flicked back to Moxxie.

"Soooo," she said, speaking softly as to not give away the contents of their conversation, "What…um…do we do about that?"

Moxxie shook his head, "I don't know."

"She's in rough shape. I don't know how she got here, and frankly, don't know if I want to. As Princess of Hell, it's my job to help my subjects, no matter their ring or status. I'm just not sure how to handle this."

"And you're going to go to me for help? The poverty-line low-class imp?"

"Why would any of that matter?"

"Really? Nothing about that is strange to you?"

"Of course not. I never cared about any of that stuff. You seem to have a history with her. That's all that matters."

"I think calling it a history is generous."

"Tell me about it."

"There's not much to tell. My boss is fucking her dad. He's apparently some sort of big-shot demon prince. Ars Goetia, I believe. Her father tried to take her out one day, and Millie and I were assigned to be her bodyguards. She was around seventeen, I think. I tried to talk to her, but she just waved me off. Teenage angst. That's our 'history.'"

"Well, she's still got that attitude. How old is she now?"

"Twenty, probably, maybe twenty-one. I don't remember. I haven't seen her since."

"She's a bit old to be acting like that, don't you think?"

"I do. But…I can't blame her. She's been sheltered her whole life, and from what Blitz has told me, things in her family are falling apart. Her mom is a bit of a…a bit of a…"

"...bitch?"

"Yeah. That's the word. We've had to save Prince Stolas from her a few times. She keeps hiring this creepy cowboy to try and kill him. We've stopped him twice. The whole thing is a bit of a mess."

"Sounds like a bitch, alright."

It felt strange to hear the Princess of Hell using such strong language. Not that any of it offended Moxxie. Such words were part of his daily vernacular. The strange part was to hear it coming from the bubbly, happy-go-lucky, Exterminator-fighting Charlie whom Moxxie was just getting to know.

Moxxie huffed, "Mhm. She's been dealt a bad hand. I feel bad for her, and I really want to help her."

"We both do," Charlie said, "We can work together on this."

"I don't know how much help I'm going to be. This might be something you have to do. I've got a patrol to do."

"Well, you're working for the hotel now, right? Octavia's a resident. We have to help her. That includes you. It's in your job description."

"Didn't it say 'hitman'?"

"It might've. Ignore that. Are you really gonna question the Princess of Hell?"

"No, ma'am."

Charlie laughed, "Good, good. I'd say we give her some space. Never hurts to do that."

"That's a start."

The umbrella shook with the pitter-patter of hard rain over the top. Moxxie and Charlie both nervously glanced at the door to the hotel, unsure of what their next move would be.

"Do you think the other guests are going to give her a hard time?" Moxxie asked.

She shook her head, "No. They won't. They're good people. And even if they do, I'll speak with them about it."

That last line was delivered with the same intensity of a toddler trying to fight a doberman. Her voice quaked slightly as the pitch trailed off without any direction. Even Moxxie could pick up on her struggle to assert herself.

Another heavy wind pushed rain underneath their umbrella. Charlie shivered and lifted a finger to the air, creating a small flame that illuminated the underside of the umbrella.

"Do we have any extra rooms for Octavia?" Moxxie asked, "I'm assuming you do."

"Yeah, we do," Charlie said, "But I think she deserves something a little bit nicer than our other rooms, especially if things are as bad as you say. We have a spare master suite down the storage hallway near the kitchen. Vaggie and I had a plan for it, but it ended up falling through. It's a bit nicer than all of our other rooms. I'll need your help setting it up."

"I can help. Millie says I'm a good housewife."

He smiled with pride at the end of that statement.

"Perfect," Charlie said, clapping her hands together, "We'll start now. I'm still a bit nervous about leaving the outside unguarded, though. Whatever happened to Octavia happened for a reason. Demons are getting mad. We've had riots before, but they've never been this bad. Not since the exterminations."

"Should we be worried?" Moxxie asked.

"Maybe. I don't know. I don't think so. Not yet, anyway. Most of it is just overlords getting mad at each other with the new power vacuum. It hurts to see my people killing each other like this, Moxxie. It makes me sick. That being said, I'm surprised it took them this long to actually kill an overlord. I knew Zeezi. We weren't always on the best of terms, but I hate that she died."

How did somebody with such a big heart survive in a place like Hell? In her eyes, Moxxie didn't see a demon. He saw a princess who genuinely wanted to do what was best for her people. She had saved their land from the exterminators, and how had they paid her back? They kept on killing. Going about business as usual.

"I won't be surprised if they kill more," Moxxie said, "If it's anything like Imp City, half the overlords will be dead by next week."

"I don't know. We're safe here at the hotel, at least for now. I'll make sure the staff keeps an eye on Octavia while you prepare the room. Plus, I don't want you out here in the rain all day. You'll ruin your suit."

"Might be a little bit late for that."

"I'll put a word in and get you a new one."

"What?"

"Being Princess of Hell has its perks, you know. I can call our tailor and they'll give me a suit for free."

"Really?"

"Yep. It's AMAZING!"

Charlie opened the front door and brought the pair back inside. Octavia sat just to the side of the door scrolling on her phone. A pair of white earbuds kept her oblivious to their presence.

His royal companion led Moxxie down past a dark hallway near the kitchen. The smell of roasting meat and fresh vegetables pulled his head towards the open door.

"Where do you guys get all of that food?" Moxxie asked, "Everything we buy in Imp City is rotten."

"I have my ways," Charlie said, slyly, "You ever cook?"

"Sometimes. It's hard to get fresh stuff back at home. But when we can, yeah, I try to."

"We'll have to let you in the kitchen one of these days, once all this stuff with the overlords blows over."

"If it ever blows over…"

"It will. They'll tire themselves out. Hopefully, they'll leave the hotel alone."

The lush carpet continued and soon gave way to a white-painted door with a golden handle. A whiff of air-freshener passed his nose. Above his head, a white ceiling fan created a soothing breeze, ventilating the narrow hallway that led to the suite.

"Why'd you keep it all the way back here?" Moxxie asked.

"When we rebuilt the hotel," Charlie said, slipping a golden key into the lock and opening the door, "I was thinking we'd get some high-profile guests. You know, people we would have to protect. This room was supposed to keep them away from the lobby in case anybody came looking for them."

"Sounds perfect for Octavia."

"Exactly what I was thinking."

A king-sized bed decorated with lavender quilts and comforters sat at the back of the room. There was a large bookshelf to the left with a variety of works from the mortal realm, the titles of which Moxxie recognized. Mounted on the opposite wall was a large television. A small vent jutting out from the crown molding dispersed cool air around the royal room.

"Wow…" Moxxie said, "I've…never seen anything like this before…"

"Pretty cool, right?" Charlie asked.

Moxxie pulled a handful of books from the shelf to examine them.

"The Handmaid's Tale," Charlie said, suddenly peeking over Moxxie's shoulder, "Ever read it?"

"I've been meaning to. I haven't had the time."

"Well, it's about a woman named Offred narrating her experience in the Republic of Gilead following an environmental disaster. The government controls everything, but they're especially focused on fertility. Every month she has to try for a kid with her Commander. She's trapped, and they see her as nothing more than a vessel for making kids. It's a powerful read."

"I'll…add it to my list."

Moxxie struggled to see how the room needed to be prepared. Everything was perfect. His measly apartment back in Imp City paled in comparison.

"...so what do I do?" Moxxie asked timidly, "I don't think anything needs to be fixed here…"

Charlie pointed to the bed, "Well, I still need someone to wash the sheets, get the closet cleared out, and make sure everything is in working order. We'll probably need to vacuum the floor, too. Just in case. Don't want any infestations."

"Infestations? Here?"

"You'd be surprised. They happened a lot before the renovation. It never hurts to check."

"What about the maid? You know, the one with one eye?"

"Nifty? No, she can't know this room exists. She'll go crazy. I need somebody with a little less…intensity…to be in charge of this one."

"Okay. Where should I keep my gun?"

"Just put it in your room somewhere. I'll see if I can get Octavia something to eat. Dinner should be ready in an hour or so."

"Fantastic."

Charlie made her way towards the door. Moxxie placed his copy of The Handmaid's Tale back on the shelf. He imagined Octavia wouldn't want to read something so dark. Not if her life was as big of a disaster as she claimed.

With all of the strength he could muster, Moxxie pulled the sheets from the bed and placed them in a basket on the floor. Charlie claimed that they hadn't been used in a long time. In spite of that, they smelled of lavender and cleanliness. The hotel continued to exceed his expectations.

His heart ached for their new guest. Moxxie didn't know much about Octavia, but he knew that she had run away for a reason. Her home life was nothing short of a house fire. Blitzo's stories had been enough for him to reach that conclusion. Those stoic, flat eyes blocked out a world of secrets, just out of Moxxie's orbit.

After another half hour of dusting, the room was ready for her. All Moxxie had to do was bring the sheets to be washed. They had passed a washing machine on their way to the suite.

The basket was heavier than he had imagined. Moxxie had only ever been to the gym a handful of times, and it showed in his hunched posture as he struggled to drag it out into the hallway.

Eventually, he found the washer and dryer, significantly more dilapidated than anything Moxxie had in the hotel thus far.

The machine came to life with a small hiss. Moxxie ran his hand along the rusted surface as he threw the sheets into the machine.

Afterwards, he picked up his gun and prepared to head back outside. Charlie might have dismissed him, but he decided that he needed to stick to something that he was good at. Shooting, for better or for worse, was his calling. He would have an easier time hitting a bullseye from a thousand meters than he would reaching out to Octavia.

He left the room quickly. So quick, in fact, that he failed to notice the faint, static-laden chuckle coming from behind.