#;; queue

@overlordhusk from HERE

"I'm Husk, the owner of this place. And you're being a bit too much of a messy bitch in my VIP lounge."

Comes the dry reply from the cat, though his tone isn't too harsh.

"Time to drink some water and get it together a little, man..."

Vox scowls at at the retort, anything but pleased with it, but then his mind focuses on the name he has been given. Husk, Husk...right. His restless night wandering has taken him to the Sarcophagus that night. To the shiny lair of the Gambling Overlord.

Digital eyes fall down on the almost empty glass he's holding, glaring at it as if it had been its fault if there's very little left for him to swallow. He really wants to protest and tell the other where to stick it, because he's nowhere close to being drunk enough, but this is his first time at the casino and he doesn't want to get thrown out and banned from it already.

Had it been some other place, he wouldn't have cared, but this is a fellow Overlord he is dealing with. Someone he might have to do business with at some point. He can't start their acquaintance on the wrong foot, because it might be a pain in the ass to correct later on.

With his company growing faster and faster, along with his influence, and a new potential partnership at its initial stages, he can't afford too many false steps, especially the very much avoidable ones.

"Look, I'm not...I've accidentally knocked over a couple of glasses and...uh, tripped one of the servers. Accidentally, of course," he starts arguing, trying and failing to keep his voice from slurring. "It's not like...I'm disturbing anyone. And I'm drunk, but not that drunk."

Not yet at least.

"I-I'll slow the fuck down, alright? I'll drink some water too, if I have. But you can't cut me off, c'mon. I'm a paying costumer, aren't I? And I'm drinking all top-shelf shit, so I'm a gold mine for you."

He needs to reach the point when his mind is thoroughly numbed, thoughts too scattered for painful memories and feelings to assault him. He can't sleep, ever, it's part of hellish punishment, so being completely wasted is the closest he can get to shutting his mind down.

It was always the same with guys like this—thinking attitude was just noise, something to ignore or crush. But for Ellie, attitude was survival. It was how she navigated the mess of the world, how she stayed alive when everything else went to hell. So backing down? Not an option.

This guy looked at her like she was some bloodthirsty gun-for-hire. Like she got off on killing. Sure, she’d killed—too many times, if she was honest—but it was never just for sport. It was defense. It was survival. It was never easy, and it sure as hell wasn’t something she wanted to be good at. No one in her little patchwork family liked killing. They just had to be better at it than the people trying to end them.

And now here he was, offering her a suicide mission like it was a favor. Kill an entire FEDRA team—for what, exactly?

Ellie snorted, one eyebrow raised. “Let me get this straight. You want some kid—who, let’s be real, probably looks like a FEDRA trainee half the time—to take out a squad of actual FEDRA goons. All so you don’t have to get your hands dirty. And your idea of payment is... cocaine?” Her voice cut sharper now, disbelief tinged with venom. “Look, I’ll risk my neck for ration cards, sure. But dying for your party stash? Kinda defeats the whole point of getting paid.”

Blue-grey eyes were staring up in wide awe. Sure he may have shown her a photo of the mighty metal lioness but it was different to see her in person. Petite hands clasped together with a soft gasp. It was so futuristic!

❝ And you pilot her? Like a spaceship? ❞

Dominance and intensity. Miles is known for being intimidating and relentless; it's a requirement for a job as important and intense as his, but it isn't uncommon knowledge that he takes it several steps above standard. Thus, someone who isn't afraid to take charge and knock him down a few pegs, no matter how much huffing he may do and how much he may try to cling to his own pedestal, is just his type. He's really very easy to fluster and gain the upper hand over--- it's just a matter of figuring out how to get him there, first. What buttons to push, what feathers to ruffle...

Self Explanatory - [ ACCEPTING ] ;;

Valentino hadnt expected that the King of Hell himself to turn up at his studio. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to make sure everyone. He turned around in his seat, looking at Lucifer, his eyes looking him up and down behind the rose-tinted glasses. He was much shorter than he realised but he knew not to mess with the man.