" ... you ever think that maybe you're in the wrong job? " there are a lot of words that come to mind when odile thinks of vee tower. silence isn't even close to being one of them. " i can't hear myself think in this place sometimes. "

two shots ring clear, the jetstream of pentious' heavy bullets carving clean lines into the smoke. "i don't remember you being too adept in close quarters, my dear. always off somewhere with your projectiles." the cracked plastic of his weapon creaks dangerously in complaint when he adjusts his grip. pentious fans his neck-frill out further, an effort to catch the sounds of cherri's footsteps over the din of his collapsing workshop. "are you brave enough to prove me wrong?" @veestowers.

"and did it do you any good? fuck no, it didn't." he can speak pretty solidly from experience there. blitzo's been eating more shit than any sinner in hell, just objectively, and he's assured that it hasn't benefitted him even slightly. if anything, all of his charm, patience and desire to work hard has all formed in spite of the eating shit. those prudish whores in heaven better be thanking their lucky stars that he can't be redeemed at this rate, or the whole place would be getting torn up at the root. "face it, you're as fucked up as the rest of us. what is it, wills? minimum wage at a slop-factory? mediocre dick from a washed-up bassist who thinks fingering is the height of romance? get fuckin' real." @veestowers.

jumper doesn't mind talking with them so much when they poke their heads out and pull their furs tight. usually they're gossping about each other and want him to weigh in. could be they're bemoaning a loss or trying to keep a win nice and quiet. doesn't bother him. he's been told he's a good listener. "'s cold out," he manages after a moment, curling his fingers against his fist and pressing them to his thigh. fizzarolli sounds kind, which makes it worse, somehow. jumper tilts his nose upward and looks into the sky, the rippling red clouds peppering the night. "couple hours 'till i head back in. don't worry about me." @veestowers.

"men are dogs," she coos, thinking of jumper at the door. no offence, hounddog. her romero's sweet as a kitten, wrapped around his piano and her finger both. when she talks of love like this, teeth and wit, she doesn't think of him at all. whatever man this is that she's picturing, he's nowhere near romero's honey-soft hands. "what did he do? you wanna throw darts at a picture or somethin'?" @veestowers.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ The air is sharp with ozone & sanctimony as Heaven’s gate still stands open behind them; ] Lute turns her head just ever so, expression smoothing into something dangerously polite, “Forgive me?” digits hook beneath the edge of her gauntlet, tightening the strap, “What are you forgiving, exactly?” tone sharp enough to cut glass. “Was it the comment about your hair? The one where I said it looked like a frightened little girl? Or was it when I suggested the gates run smoother when you’re not watching them?” Brows lift, [ contrary to what most think, Lute has the ability for theatrics… at times! ] “I lose track,” Wings give a compact adjustment, feathers snapping back into place with military neatness. “You’re speaking as if I’ve wounded you spiritually. Did I bruise your fragile ego? Dent your pretty halo?” Gold gaze travels up & down him once, unimpressed, “Would you prefer I submit a written apology for failing to curtsy at your little gate? Fuck off already, Peter… You suck at your job,”

his tail twitches, then rears. not a second later, the door grinds against the thick concrete floor and light spills in, cut in half by baxter's shadow. "mornin', chief," he calls cheerfully over one shoulder just as the bundle of rags under his chair starts to moan. "big drop-off pendin'. figured i'd bring a little o' the merch in early. see what you think of 'em."