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AFTER MONTHS OF no success, you finally had a full house at the place where Sinners lost their belongings, homes and souls to other Sinners in a game of poker – pun intended. The owner was beaming at the never-ending flood of Pride Ring’s residents entering through the golden door. Some of them had platonic entourages trailing after them, others came in romantic couples.Seeing as the casino was located right next to Cannibal Town, you couldn’t hide your surprise, as you stepped next to your boss, and looking up at him, you found him already staring back through his red eyes. You playfully nudged his side and nodded at a particularly striking number of unfamiliar creatures entering – Imps, you realised.“You’re ready for this?” your boss asked, his voice was composed, as he addressed you.You raised an eyebrow, “I’ve done it before.”Instead of growing defensive, he fully turned his body to you, the looming height of his form not making you cower. Clawed hands cupped your cheeks gently, as his sharp replacement for fingers wiped the skin under the outer corner of your left eyes, removing some unintentionally smudged minuscule millimetres of brown eyeliner with it.“Thank you,” you said, recognising the gesture.He gave you a friendly blink with both his eyes before he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. “I think we’ve got a special visitor today,” he said, his eyes narrowing.You stretched your neck, attempting to attain an overview over the Sinners, “Who?”The wolf merely pat your fluffy head in response. “Don’t ya worry your pretty head about it. I’ll handle it.” He scanned your form, “and put on your outfit.”You playfully saluted and went off to the back. You made a bee-line at your destination, however stopped in your tracks when you heard whispering next to you. Two girls had been talking in hushed voices until they spotted you eavesdropping.Your glossed lips stretched into a friendly smile, the front two at the top longer than the rest of the evenly distributed pearly-white teeth. With a frown and a wavering of your warm smile, it dawned on you that they couldn’t be older than you.Both wore black horns and sharply angled red eyes, their slender forms only accentuated by their height.“Flossy?”Seeing as the crowds swallowed you up since you hadn’t worn any high heels at that moment, you thus hadn’t stood out to anyone. On the one hand, you knew that your boss didn’t appreciate tardiness if you conversed with what you assumed to be fans, when on the other hand there was an unsolved mystery laying at hand. They didn’t strike you as frequenters – had they come here because of you?“That’s me,” you said, your stage name sounding foreign coming from someone else but the employee announcing your performances and your employer.The girl that wore her blonde hair in an impressively neat ponytail exchanged glances with her sister that had a horizontal blush lingering on her dark cheeks.“We’re fans of yours,” the one with the ponytail explained. She stretched her hand out to her sister and took a pen and a piece of paper to hold it out to you. “And we were wondering if you could sign this for us…”Despite the clarity in her voice, you sensed nervousness brewing inside of her, her sister even more anxiously toying with her own fingers.The smile, that could have the King of Hell at your mercy, returned to your face, “Of course.”You accepted the paper, which in fact was a picture of you from one of your earlier performances. You had been dressed in the most female gaze centred outfit you had styled with your clothes (it had earned you a scolding from your boss, since you were only half worth without showing your body off and that fact had been reflected in a sudden decrease of visitors – funny that you had performed Kesha’s songs only at that evening, which had been new territory for you (your boss hadn’t appreciated it and appellated you to go back to your usual genres)).A quick flicker of your left wrist and your extravagant signature appeared at the bottom of the picture. You fondly stared at it for a good five seconds before returning it.“Oh my stars, she touched my pen,” you heard the shier sister whisper.“If you’ll excuse me, girls, I have a show to do. If you want to, I can meet you backstage and we can perhaps hang out afterwards?”The eyes of the sister with the ponytail went wider than saucers, “you would do that?”Interpreting her reaction wrongly, you repeated “only if you want to. I don’t wanna pressure you into somethin you don’t want –“Your accent grew stronger with each rambled syllable, a fact that had you flustered.
“Of course we want that. Right, Clara?”The blushing girl nodded meekly.“Great. I’ll have someone get you then.”You waved at the sisters before entering the backstage area. You had your own dressing room, seeing as you were the main entertainer. Today, your boss had a sultry night planned. One, where he had chosen your outfit: you stared at your reflection in the mirror, as you put it on. The Bordeaux-coloured satin dress clung to your grey skin, a heart-shaped boob window adorning the décolleté area. You realised that your movements weren’t as restricted as you had originally assumed, for there was a slit at the height of your left knee, yet the crafter had thought of sewing the area around the slit thicker for it to not fly to the side at the slightest breeze.You paired it with black high heels that fit your foot shape. For makeup, you went over your eyeliner with the same colour a second time, darkening it in the process, before adding glittery red eye shadow onto your eyelids and bringing colour back to your face with blush and highlighter (every time you went on stage, you didn’t use the latter lightly, for the harsh stage lights made anything look less intense). A clear lip gloss finished the process of you getting ready for your sixth show.You checked your phone in case your boss had tried to communicate with you, and found nothing. You were ready – you took a deep breath and suddenly inhaled air. Your head instinctively turned to the door through which you had entered, your ears attentively standing at the sides of your head. The churning feeling in your gut intensified with every passing second, as it was trying to tell you something.Scenarios ran through your head, envisioning Armageddon. It had you stand up, the chair soundly scraping across the floor, and stumble through the door. The dim light of the casino had you squirm your eyes, scanning over the Poker tables that were situated next to you, skimming over roulette cylinders that were spinning as quickly as your heart was pounding behind their ribcage. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.Your boss was nowhere to be found – he was probably looking for you, and boy you wouldn’t hear the end of it.The situation at hand was more important to you. And then you saw it. You had only given the largest roulette cylinder a glance, not a full scan, but when you did, you saw them. The two girls you had encountered earlier were standing next to the dealer, on the opposite side was a large demon – he must’ve stood at ten feet –, a gun in one of his hands, aimed at the girls.When Clara saw you, she nearly collapsed.Your form was sprinting towards the incoming disaster, your heels clicking loudly, Sinners that registered you cleared the way for you like the Red Seas for Moses. Nearing the middle of the casino, you found the roulette cylinder not even moving. They weren’t playing.The tall demon, a moth who’s eyes narrowed at your short body behind the pink-tinted glasses, lowered his gun in the slightest.“No guns are allowed in here,” you said, not even out of breath. “And since you broke our policy, I must ask you to leave now, Sir.”You stood in front of the lankier girls, protectively gathering them behind yourself.“And who might you be, amorcita?”Your eyes narrowed at his flirtatious tone, “Someone who doesn’t want you here.”“Too bad that your skinny ass don’t get to tell me what to do,” he hummed, his brow quirked up.Your ears picked up a familiar accent that you couldn’t pinpoint immediately.The shy sister, Clara, timidly spoke up, “Y-You’re on the Radio Demon’s territory, Mister Valentino –““Shut up, Carmine.”“You shut up, you overgrown b –“You stopped the sister with the ponytail from defending her close relative and insulting the moth. Recognition flashed in your eyes – he must’ve been an Overlord. You gulped at the revelation.“Besides, that boring piece of red has been gone for seven years, chiquitas.” He raised his gun again, “So how about we continue our game, hm?”You were growing annoyed with his dragged-out way of speaking and the occasional humming that accompanied his words. Paired with the threat of a gun, it had you looking around at passive bystanders; the one thing that was never different from Hell to Earth was the fact that no one ever did something, when experiencing someone else’s injustice.Tension was palpable, as you didn’t avert your eyes from the Overlord’s as a safety measure. From experience, you knew that if you were attentive enough, you could see your enemies next move in their eyes before they carried it out. You knew that you couldn’t take on someone as him, instead you could waste his time. But would anyone really help you?At that point, your ears were defensively tilted against the back of your head, “What game?”“Why, Russian Roulette of course!”“Oh, you exploiting piece of garb–““Odette –““Michael!” you exclaimed over the girls’ voices.The wolf demon neared you, the crowd parting in a similar manner to how it had done for you.“Michael, he’s threatening us! And he has a gun!”Michael’s sharp canines were on full display as he stepped in front of you, shielding the three of you from the Overlord.“And you are?” Valentino mused, his gun now hidden under his cloak.“The owner of this casino. I must ask you to leave and never come back, Valentino.”Valentino made a vague ’hmpf’ sound, giving you a threatening glance, before he left.You let out air that you didn’t know you had stored in your lunges, and you felt your legs growing wobbly from the adrenaline draining out of you in an instant. Michael, as if sensing your distress and weak state, put an arm around your waist to stabilise you.“Just ’cause your mother’s an Overlord doesn’t mean you can carelessly roam other territories,” your boss told the sisters who lowered their head in shame. “Go home now.”“B-But –““This is my casino and I get to choose who stays and who don’t.”“Thank you for helping us…,” Odette said calmly, “…Sir.”“You’re welcome. Now leave.”Odette dragged Clara along with her, following the path of the moth demon, the chance of a possible friendship vanishing as they did.You felt Michael’s eyes scrutinizing your shivering form, “You’re not performing today.”“But Michael –““Take a cab home. I’ll be there in a few.” He gave his pocket watch a lazy glance. “Eat somethin’ and go to sleep.”Suddenly, you were aware of the hundreds of eyes watching your interaction, you straightened your back, putting on a mask of neutrality. You carefully pried his paws off of you.“I’m sorry,” you said so silently you were sure he had overheard it.Yet you knew he didn’t.The drive home proved to be uneventful, as the Imp driver talked to a friend via his phone. You didn’t recognise the brand of his digital device, although it reminded you of an iPhone; a hellish version of one of the bestselling phones in the West?Once you entered the apartment, you took a quick shower before hopping into bed. The warmth of the blanket didn’t provide the usual comfort, consequently you rolled from side to side, flipped your pillow when it grew too warm under your curls, until you ended up lying on your back for hours, motionlessly staring at the Freddie Mercury poster on your ceiling.Your thoughts wandered to his fame and how he had upheld it even in Hell. You couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with his sexuality and popular lavish parties or if it all came down to his music. He had gone solo, as his bandmates were still alive. Did he miss his life on Earth?You couldn’t remember much of your life except for the bits your only relative down here had confided you in. Constanzia, you didn’t recall her vividly, yet the thought of her caused warmth to spread through your limbs. Did she miss you much? You hoped that she didn’t. You hoped that she was finally doing what she had always wanting to do. And most importantly, you hoped that she forgot you.You wouldn’t see her again anyways.In those moments where nostalgia hit you the most, nostalgia of a life you didn’t even remember properly, you found yourself craving a blank mind, and a room where the noises from the lively street outside faded away, where you could just live in the moment. Your bedroom couldn’t provide such isolation.You desperately wished to clear your head of the thousands of thoughts swirling around.Alcohol, came the idea. Michael had some expensive whiskey.As your hooves touched the cold ground, you felt a shiver run down your spine. That didn’t stop you from crossing your bedroom and walking into the living room, where the half-empty bottle of beverage stared at you across the room.You climbed onto the red divan, the sensation of the rough material scratching across your naked legs making you cringe internally, your hands grabbed onto the glass bottle, the liquid sloshing from left to right in tiny waves that changed their directions every time they collided with the walls inside.You plopped back onto the divan, your black claws unscrewed the bottle of the tempting drink. Immediately, a disinfectant smell rose into your nostrils, you flinched lightly at the strong scent, yet raised the bottle and took a quick swing.Perhaps that was a mistake, you thought, as you had underestimated the taste. A burning sensation spread through your mouth, you swallowed quickly and the sensation followed the liquid down your throat before weirdly nestling in your stomach. You breathed in, your mouth feeling dry after swallowing the whiskey.You stood up, your stomach feeling heavier than ever, left the bottle on the couch table and took greedy gulps of water from the tab. Your grey hand rose to your mouth, wiping it clean of any access water, all while wondering when the alcohol would work. Would that small gulp even suffice?Perhaps you should simply wait until it worked?You spaced out on the divan, your hooves dangling back and forth. The collection of films Michael had gathered throughout your stay (technically it wasn’t a stay anymore, it was a life – both of you were condemned to live here for eternity) stood out to you, as the shelf was at the opposite side of the room of where you were nestled.
From afar, you could make out familiar film names from when he had been young or not even born. Since when did he have so many? His favourite film stood out to you, it had a fairly simple cover that resonated with the main motif. What an irony that Michael adored this particular film, as he shared names with the main character while being the whole opposite.Your head throbbed lightly, cueing you to not follow the impulse of grabbing aforementioned film and watch it, especially since you hadn’t really understood the main message (which might’ve been caused by the fact that you hadn’t watched it in its entirety – who watched such a long film about the heir of a family?!).The warmth inside of your stomach ceased a bit, before you felt your vision chance. When you raised your hand in front of your face, it appeared slower than how it actually moved. Yet, your hearing senses remained perfectly fine under the influence of the alcohol. Your brain felt fuzzy, as if someone had stuffed too much wool into it, and you gradually let go of the nostalgia.You suddenly giggled into your hand. Funny that Michael’s demon form was a wolf, when he was no wolf at all. He was loving and caring and– looking you in the face.He took long strides, before cupping your cheeks, raising your head for him to meet your hazy eyes.“You reek of alcohol, dolcezza.”It took you a moment to process his appearance, “I don’t,” you mumbled, your mouth feeling heavy.“What have you done?”His sober tone had the intensity and unsavability of your state settle into your brain. “Nothin’, I just…”Your eyes gave a fleeting glance at the opened bottle, before settling on the handsome face of the man above you.He let go of your face, “I’m disappointed. First you try and put yourself in danger for strangers and then you get drunk. I expected more of you.”In that moment, as you couldn’t bear his treatment, you wished that he would yell at you.Michael wasn’t a yeller, never had been. In all those years, he had been gentle with you, protecting you and loving you in ways one could only dream of; you never stepped out of line, always listened to him, earned yourself the validation and praise you had never gotten from your parents. Yet, as you had grown older, the praise had decreased to a minimum, if not fully vanishing. Some part of your head told you that your defiance had been predestined to discontinue boiling beneath and instead rise to the surface one day.Disappointment settled inside of you, “But Michael –““No. I don’t wanna hear it.”“Please, I’ll do anything to make it up to you!”“You mean the show or the alcohol drinking?”You blushed, “Both –““I thought I could save you from it… from all of this. Drugs, alcohol, in short what causes people to land in Hell. And here you are, drinking alcohol like it’s nothin’.”You shrunk into your nightshirt – an old one of his –, wishing you could evaporate on the spot, perhaps visit another Ring of Hell, as anything was better than being the cause and subject of Michael’s disappointment. Despite the changes in his physical appearance after his descent to Hell (which had taken place only a few hours after yours), his expressions remained the same and while you usually enjoyed the familiarity, right now it posed the reason to your discomfort.“I thought you could somehow be redeemed, dolcezza.”You looked up at him, the backs of your thighs sweaty from staying in one place. You nervously pulled your nightshirt a bit lower as to not flash him your pink panties.“Michael, I’m so incredibly sorry for putting you through all of this… I didn’t mean for any of it to happen, I just –” don’t feel like you’re proud of me anymore.The words stayed within the safety of your head, you weren’t ready to address the fact that your relationship had changed at some point, for you knew that you’d face confrontation and you didn’t have the heart to make his life even harder. You weren’t blind, you had seen him working more than you thought was possible, and although he was dead, you knew that nobody could take this much stress.He raised his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling, “you just what?”“I wanted your attention,” you lied through your teeth.“You could’ve asked,” came the plat reply.“I know.”His eyes softened immediately. He didn’t criticize your lack of communication (funny how he thought you were communicating now, when really you were lying at him for the first time), nor did he scold you.You were taken by surprise, when he gathered your body in his caring arms, his hands holding you under your knees and at your back, and brought you to your room. He gently slipped you under the covers and sat down at the side of your bed.“Did you eat?”“Of course.” Lie number two. “Good job.”You knew you had a thing for praise. Not in a romantical or sexual way, but in a way that merely fulfilled you, even if it was praise for the most mundane things. In that moment, it had you blushing and bashfully turning your head away from him.The man took your reaction in, realisation dawning upon him. He knew how to get you back.“I’m proud of you for trying to do the right thing, but I don’t want you to risk your life like that again,” he said, as he gave your head a pat. “On a lighter note, I got an interview request.”Your eyes lit up in the dim light, “For me?”“Of course you, dolcezza. Vox wants to interview you on VOX2NITE. I haven’t given him an answer yet.”“Who is Vox?”You didn’t know, he realised. “The TV Overlord. He’s the face behind some shows such as Yeah, I- uh Venison with Vox.”Confusion was written all over your face.“Owner of VoxTech?” Michael asked.Still nothing.“Do you even know one Overlord?”“Besides the one that visited today? No… not really.”You felt your eyes growing heavier with each passing moment, sleep clouding your head. You yawned behind your hand.“So you know Valentino, but you don’t know Vox? Do you know what brand my phone is from?”“VoxTech?” you guessed in a raspy tone. You wondered if your cab driver had owned a phone from Vox’s brand.“VPhone,” he corrected you. “And my laptop?”But you were already asleep, a deep slumber having taken over.You godfather gave you a kiss to the forehead before departing.
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Chapter 2:AS YOU EMERGED from the small booth, you took a silent sip from the soft drink you held in your hands. Your eyes met Michaels from across the room, where he was sat on the burgundy divan, his back straight and his shoulders pushed back, he wore his usual dark brown suit that was made of the softest material you had ever felt.You crossed the room, the eyes of the producer and audio engineer following each of your hastily placed steps. Only when you plopped next to Michael, did you feel like you could breathe again.“So?” he asked the other present men, his hand on your thigh comforting you significantly.The producer took a drag from his cigarette, “Well,” he let the smoke rise up into the air, “yer voice’s alright I guess. Angelic, pure an’ sweet an’ all… but it ain’t bring ye any success if ye sing that trash. Who wrote that anyways?”You froze, your heartbeat quickening, “I did.”“Well, it’s damn bad girlie. Ye won’t sell one song if ye try an’ make an album outta those rhymes.”He pulled your notebook into sight, and you suddenly wished that he wouldn’t touch it with his dirty fingers.“What vibe were ya goin’ for anyways?”You mulled over the question for a moment before answering: “Melancholy, something that sounds familiar… like something from your childhood.”The producer and audio engineer barked out laughs. You felt Michael’s hand stiffen on top of your thigh, his jaw clenched as he felt your distress.“Ye will fail, girlie,” the producer said once the mocking laughter had died down. “Ye should stick to covers or else –““Do you have any sample songs for what would make her successful?” Michael wondered from next to you.A warning squeeze on your thigh made you shut your mouth instantly before you could protest.“Yeah,” the audio engineer, a Sinner in form of a dog, said. He passed over a piece of paper that had multiple stanzas scribbled onto it.“Freak like me,” you read aloud. “You want a good girl that… oh –“Blush blossomed on the apples of your cheeks, as you scanned over the highly inappropriate words that followed, Michael reading them too. Despite the fact that some of the sexual innuendos were foreign to you, you understood the insinuation clearly and couldn’t hide the fact that this was the whole opposite of what you had intended to center your own music around.“And her softer lyrics would cause her to fail in the industry?” Michael inquired.“We’ve had people try it, Sir, an’ since yer girlfriend isn’t Beelzebub, she can’t sing ’bout whatever she wants and be successful.”You looked up from the obscene lyrics, not bothering to correct the producer, “But this isn’t who I am.”“Ya think any singer shows who they really are? Besides, with this style yer destined to fail.”Your eyes flickered down your body, taking the long flowy skirt and loose shirt in, “Why? I like it.”“Quite frankly video don’t care what ye like, but what ye sound and look like.”“What if we play my songs over the radio?”A snort emerged from the producer’s lips. “Radio? Ye wanna sing on the radio?”“Yes,” you said, not sounding as sure of yourself as you did seconds ago.“Have fun with the Radio Demon then.”“You know he’s been gone for years,” the dog Sinner mumbled.“That’s the point, doggy.”Michael raised his eyebrow at the tone the producer had used to pronounce his employee’s nickname.“Well, what about radio then?” you asked.“The only radio broadcast that would work down here is the Radio Demon’s and he’s been gone for a long time,” Michael gently explained.“Well, where is he?”The producer laughed, “I doubt ye could find him, girlie. Besides, Vox is in power now. Video killed the Radio Star.”“You mean this Vox killed the Radio Demon?”“Somethin’ like that.”When Michael and you left the studio, arms locked and your soft drink almost empty, you felt more than aware of the cameras that were littered across Pentagram City. Every building had at least one, and you didn’t doubt that Mister Vox had some installed inside of those buildings. What about his technology? VoxTech, was it? You felt like one of those conspiracy theorists, as your thoughts drifted to VPhones, VPads, VBooks (a poorly renamed dupe of Mac Book), VPods, VTV – not to speak of the household utensils Vox was selling daily.Vox was an Overlord; thus, you didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt – he was definitely watching Sinners through their technology. Knowledge was power.You stared at Michael’s VBook that was innocently sitting on the kitchen counter, when you came back home. You opened it, the camera reflecting your appearance and the dark irises that framed your white pupils were staring back at yourself, your ears downturned and your head fluffier than normally.“What’re you lookin’ at, dolcezza?”“Just inspecting your laptop,” you said half absently, as you didn’t avert your eyes from the small camera. “If you can hear me, Mister Vox,” you whispered, “then I want you to know that you’re a stalker.”You knew that having a fight with an Overlord of all people was dumb, yet you couldn’t contain excitement at the prospect of riling someone powerful up. You knew you were in Hell for a reason and despite the fact that you couldn’t remember why, you just knew you had been a bad person.Yesterday evening had proven to you that Michael had a different view of you, one that had you resembling a saint, someone who had been innocent and pure for years. You wouldn’t be down here, if you were innocent or pure though.“You have a performance tonight, don’t forget that,” Michael suddenly exclaimed from behind you. He gently pried the laptop out of your fingers and started doing his work on it, as if you hadn’t just provoked an Overlord (you assumed that he hadn’t heard you threatening the TV Overlord).“What kinda songs should I perform?”Your godfather looked up from the screen, “I think the song the dog showed you isn’t that bad.”You narrowed your eyes at him, “But Mikey, it was bad.”“Why do you think it’s bad? It sounds like all of the other songs you have been covering so far.”“It doesn’t,” you argued.“Oh, it does.”“I don’t want to be known for sexual songs.” As you spoke, you felt yourself blushing under his intense gaze.“Sex sells down here.”“Says you.”“Me?”“You’re always so… neutral towards how sexual everything down here is. One would think you’re Michael Corleone.”Michael shook his head, as a tiny smile painted his lips, “Michael Corleone you say? So, you’ve watched it.”“Of course I have.”You heard bombs going off in the distance and rolled your eyes, another turf war on the Radio Demon’s territory, as if it hadn’t been reduced to smithereens countless times already.“Have you thought of the interview request?”“With Mister Vox?” you asked.The wolf nodded, he turned his laptop towards you, an opened mail staring right at you.“Dear Mister Puzo, we at VoxTeach are happy to –” your eyes flickered towards the more important part of the mail, “– … for that reason Mister Vox requested an interview with Flossy on Monday the 29th at VOX2NITE. That is in four days.”“Yes.”“I’ve never been to an interview.”“I know.”“Especially one with an Overlord.”“Uh huh.”“Are you even listening?”Michael’s playful expression shifted to one of familiar neutrality. “Why would you think I’m not listening?”You shrunk in your place and sat yourself down on the opposite side of the table, his laptop still open between the two of you. You opened Vafari, typed Vox’s name into the browser, your claws scrolling over various articles about Vox’s success as a self-made Overlord, the rise of VoxTech and his entourages.Your eyes scrutinized pictures of him and his TV head. Seeing as one’s personality or cause of death reflected on who they had been during their life, you had no idea as to why he had a literal TV instead of a head.A large smile revealed blue canines that shone under his multicoloured eyes. Despite his very posed body language, his taloned hands framing his narrow hips, the unwavering smile on each picture and the straight posture, you couldn’t help but feel an eerie aura emitting off of the Demon.Still, he was dressed to the nines.You counted the number of different colours he wore, which were more than three and if there was one thing you had learned, it was that one shouldn’t wear more than three colours.Vox broke that rule and still pulled the two-coloured pinstripe suit with the horizontally red-and-black-striped shirt underneath off, a bow perfecting the outfit. Somehow, the artic shades mixed smoothly with the peacock blues. After staring at him for a concerningly long time, you saw a hat atop his head.
Only the best designer in Hell could have created something as extraordinarily harmonising.“You done stalkin’ him?”Your head shot up, “I’m not stalking him… I just wanna know who I’d be talking to.”“What do you think?”“He looks funny… not in a funny way though.”“You’re in Hell, dolcezza. No one looks normal down here.”“I know…” you sighed, “I’ll think about the interview and give you an answer tonight, yeah?”You stood up, returned his laptop and retreated to your room while Michael resumed his work.By the time it was evening, you shuffled an appropriate outfit together that would fit to your planned performance for the evening. You neatly folded the clothes and packed your makeup and the fabrics into your bag. Michael was already waiting for you by the door.The walk to the casino was resumed in silence, as always. Neither of you felt the need to express something, thus you walked silently, occasionally exchanging glances.Some employees had already opened the casino for early guests, one of them a regular: a cat that was winning every game he played despite his usual intoxicated state. By the looks of it, he had already challenged other guests, who had gladly joined in on the game of Texas Hold ’Em.You slid past the group of obnoxiously loudly talking men into your dressing room. The soft lights illuminated your soft features that were so different from how you looked as a human. While you were slowly growing accustomed to your herbivorous body, you wouldn’t get used to your face. Back during your life on Earth, it had reflected your ancestors, the shape of every millimetre passed down to you and a miscellaneous mixture of faces that had been loved by their partners (you were ignoring the possible prospect of many marriages having been arranged and not out of love).You couldn’t see your mother and father on your face anymore and every time you returned to that realisation, and that if you ever met Constanzia down here, she wouldn’t recognise you, you felt like you died inside. At least you had Michael, who had always loved you more than anyone ever could and would. After all, who could proudly proclaim that they knew someone who loved them unconditionally, someone that would always choose them in a room full of people?
Melancholy and memory loss seemed to be your biggest enemies down in Hell.You opted for distraction, putting the outfit on that you had chosen beforehand. It consisted of a mini dress with a diamond pattern, the main colours a hot Barbie pink that resonated with the shade of your wool and silver. You topped the outfit off with an excessive amount of silver jewellery (most of it was Michael’s) – three watches that you had pulled over your upper right arm, a thick choker that was snugly fitted around your neck and other chains were layered beneath it, across almost each of your talon you had slipped heavy rings.You chose the sluttiest shoes you owned, sparkly silver platform heels that you hadn’t worn yet.During your process of getting ready, Michael checked in with you to quickly discuss your song choices and tape the neckline of your dress to your décolleté, as to impede any accident. Once you were done with accessories, he took your hand into his and twirled you in a smooth circle, the dress not moving a centimetre.“You look breath-taking, dolcezza,” he said, his eyes soft at your obedience.You knew you had been victorious in your choices, as he approved your ensemble. Yet, you missed your men-repellent attires.You straightened your dress, when you stared at your reflection in the mirror, your height the same as Michael’s due to the high shoes, “I hope there won’t be any Overlords.”“Perhaps Carmilla Carmine will be there,” he exclaimed, his right hand on your shoulder, he gave a patronising squeeze.“Overlords mean trouble,” you mumbled. “Who knows if they might try to get my soul?”“As long as you’re under my protection, nobody will have your soul.” Not even you. Your thoughtful gaze returned to the eyeshadow palette you had left open. You dipped your brush into a pink shade that you swept over your eyelids before using a silvery colour to brighten your inner eye corner. Your usual brown eyeliner finished the eye makeup, all while Michael watched you.However, as you did your makeup, you couldn’t find your lip gloss. It was a cheap one, if not one of the cheapest down here, and it was lightly tinted, yet your squinted eyes couldn’t spot it anywhere. You bent at your waist, searching through your bag.Out of nowhere, warm claws pulled you up by the shoulders, a tube appeared in your line of sight, held up by one of the claws that had pulled you up.“Thank you, Mikey,” you mumbled, opening the tube only to realise that it was a new one. “Oh…”“I always keep a spare one.”Your heart swelled, “I love you.”“I love you too. Finish up now. I’ll tell the boys to get the stage ready.”“Alrighty.”Michael gave you a kiss to the forehead before leaving you to the solitude of your dressing room.Your eyes met your reflection again, as if telling you that this was why you were in Hell. For dressing as slutty as you could, for helping Michael run a casino that openly sold drugs, for lying to Constanzia.Yeah, you were in Hell for a reason.The casino had gained plenty of new visitors during the half hour you had taken to get ready, mostly Sinners were swarmed around the games, you even spotted a few Hellhounds here and there, and there was a short woman sitting in the VIP area, which was closest to the stage at the other end of the room. From afar, you couldn’t exactly make out her features. As you minimized the distance between yourself and the stage, your eyes scanned her. Her face was turned towards a glowing VPhone, seemingly disinterested in the gambling around her, her arms covered by striped gloves that matched with her dress and sleeveless coat. Strangely, her outfit reminded you of the TV Overlord.You watched as the band set up the stage, the lone woman still staring at her phone. You neared her, letting your heels click noisily on the floor as to not scare her with your sudden appearance. She shrieked, immediately scanning your body.“You must be Flossy?”You picked a distinct accent up, one that didn’t remotely sound American.“Yep, that’s me,” you said, hoping she’d continue the conversation.She made a sound you couldn’t quite place, “You look like a Harley Quinn Barbie doll.”“Er..., thank you?”“You’re welcome, love.”She was British.A shiver went down your spine. If you were into your sex, you’d develop a raging crush on the woman you were talking to.“Doncha perform today?”You blinked. “Oh, right. I-It was nice talking to you, Ma’am.”Before she could say anything, you scrambled away and behind the stage. Faust, Harry and Crystal were rehearsing the two songs you would be performing today. You greeted them, and quickly warmed your voice up, as it had been slightly hoarse from yesterday’s endeavour.You heard the casino grow quieter, as the lights changed from shining onto the whole casino to flickering over the stage you would dominate. The curtains moved to the side, revealing you and the band of Sinners. Applause greeted you, the lights that shone into your eyes hindering your eye sight significantly, but you heard that the cheering had grown in noise with people visiting the casino not for the gambling and drugs, but for you. Faust walked over to the drum set, Harry and Crystal emerged with a guitar and a bass.Your talons, on the other hand, only gripped onto a microphone that you had bedazzled some weeks ago.Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Michael standing not to far off, his claw mimicking a thumbs-up.The performance began.You were in your element, as you listened to the instruments filling the silence, someone gave a whistle from the audience that made you wink in their direction. You snapped your fingers in beat with the drums, your eyes getting used to the lights, and what you saw made you want to run off the stage.Inside of the VIP booth and right next to the woman you have had the awkward encounter with previously, sat a tall Overlord, a grin stretching the lips on his digital face, as he caught your eyes.
Fuck my life.
You nearly tripped over your feet, when you took a shaky step, suddenly hyperaware of your movements. You raised the microphone to your lips, your mouth feeling dry as if you had eaten sand.“You don’t own me,” you sang lowly, the power of your voice vibrating through the whole casino. “I’m not just one of your many toys. You don’t own me.”You caught Michael’s eyes.
“Don’t say I can’t go with other boys.”
The audience was entranced with your stage presence, the few that had been standing were sitting down by now, for they had felt their legs growing weak. Female, male and every Sinner in-between sat down, hundreds of eyes were following each of your movements, as you gently swayed with the beat.
“And don't tell me what to do
Don't tell me what to say
And please, when I go out with you
Don't put me on display 'cause…”
It hit you like a lightning bolt. The woman next to Vox had to be an Overlord. Two Overlords. Double fuck.
“You don't own me
Don't try to change me in any way
You don't own me
Don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay”
You put your metaphorical mask on, one that hid your distress perfectly. Your body language mirrored the mask, even swaying your hips from side to side, when you made calculated steps towards Crystal, your hand seductively stroking over her shoulder. She messed up a note, a detail no one besides you noticed, causing a smirk to paint your glossed lips.
“I don't tell you what to say
I don't tell you what to do
So just let me be myself
That's all I ask of you”
You were a born performer. You knew how to catch people’s attention and keep it. You basked in having people enchanted with your body, your voice, your face – it fed your ego immensely, a borderline narcissist trait that had emerged in Hell, its roots stemming from your parents neglecting you.
“I'm young and I love to be young
I'm free and I love to be free
To live my life the way I want
To say and do whatever I please”
Vox was watching you. You knew he was. And you were basking in his attention. An Overlord, someone with power you could only dream of, mesmerised with you out of all Sinners.
“And don't tell me what to do
Oh, don't tell me what to say
And please, when I go out with you
Don't put me on display”
Your voice grew stronger with each syllable, each phoneme that slipped past your pink lips, the spell that had your audience captivated swelling, increasing exponentially concomitantly with the crescendo.
“I don't tell you what to say
Oh, don't tell you what to do
So just let me be myself
That's all I ask of you”
The lights were dimmed, as the decrescendo set in.“I'm young and I love to be young. I'm free and I love to be free,” you whispered the last lines.Applause came from the audience, cheers and whistles mixing with the clapping of hands.You bowed once, sending a cheeky wink at the male Overlord who was visibly manspreading in his seat.Despite the fact that your choice of a song had been turned into a feminist anthem decades ago, you had tried to approach your performance with something that sounded familiar to most of the gathered Sinners and you had succeeded – perhaps your outfit had contributed to it.“Thank you everyone for coming tonight,” you spoke into the microphone, once the applause had died down significantly. Another round of clapping rose that you shushed with a hand gesture. “If you want to support this casino and me, y’all can play every game you’ll wish for here. Roulette, Poker, Black Jack, Baccarat, Slots and much more!”Someone yelled a “fuck yeah!” and you were sure that it was the drunk cat Sinner.“Now –,“ you sat down at the edge of the stage, right in front of the VIP booth, swinging your naked legs back and forth, your dress rolling up a few centimetres, “– let’s end this show with something more… hellish.”Short applause set in, before it died down again.You gave a childish laugh that echoed through the room, when Crystal’s skilled fingers worked on the bass, low notes surrounding you.“I need a gangsta… To love me better – than all the others do,” you sang, your voice a lot softer than before, almost seductive.
“To always forgive me
Ride or die with me
That's just what gangsters do”
Your right hand travelled over your covered stomach, over the curve of your hips before smoothing over your velvety thighs, a clear innuendo that had the audience hold their breath. Even the Overlord next to Vox had put her phone down and was staring at you wide-eyed.
“I'm fucked up, I'm black and blue
I'm built for it, all the abuse
I got secrets
That nobody, nobody, nobody knows”
The innocent expression on your face didn’t fit the vulgar lyrics, yet it was perfect. You knew it was.You jumped off the stage, landing in front of Vox and his entourage, the round table the only thing separating you from each other.
“I'm good on, that pussy shit.”
You saw a blue-hued blush cross his cheeks.
“I don’t want, what I can get.”
One step and you were closer to him.
“I want someone, with secrets that nobody, nobody, nobody knows.”
You inched even closer, until you could make out singular pixels on his screen.“I need a gangsta, to love me better – than all the others do,” you continued, dragging the last note out, “To always forgive me, ride or die with me – that’s just what gangsters do.”Another step. Your hand reached out to him, landing atop his shoulder(pad), giving him a light pinch.“My freakness is on the loose, and running –,“ your pointer talon ran down his bicep, nearly cutting through the fabric of his suit, “– all over you. Please take me –,“ you left a mischievous pause, “– to places that nobody, nobody, nobody knows.”A shiver ran through his slender body that had you grinning like a madwoman. You stood up straight, his screen the same height as your chest, and you knew that you’d be significantly smaller if he stood up.Your singing voice took an edge of hysteria, “You got me hooked up on the feeling. You got me hanging from the ceiling.” Oh, you were relishing in the sight of the squirming Overlord. “Got me up so high I’m barely breathing.”If the fucked-out expression on his face said something, then you knew he was enamoured.
“So don’t let me, don’t let me, don’t let me go.”
You left the booth, which had blocked the audience’s view of you, and were met with hundreds of faces, some of them having saliva drip down their chins.
“I need a gangsta. To love me better – than all the others do.”
You took elegant strides to the side of the stage, passing by Michael, and stepped back up again.
“To always forgive me, ride or die with me – that
’s just what gangsters do.”
As the music faded out, so did the lights.Deafening noise hit your sensitive ears, when the applause came. Blinding lights went on, you and the band bowed thrice before the lights were dimmed again and you left the stage, leaving your performer persona behind.All that you were left with was an anxious sheep Sinner in a flashy outfit that would’ve had your parents rolling in their graves.After saying your goodbye to the three Sinners that had accompanied your performance, you took a secret passage to your dressing room, where a surprise awaited you.Michael and the two Overlords were waiting for you and by the smile on Vox’s face you knew that you were knee-deep in shit.