Helluva Boss: The Auction

The massive Goetic mansion, once belonging to the (former) Prince Stolas, towered magnificently in the Pride Ring. What was once a lavish, comfortable, lively manor was now adorned with swirls of ice in the shape of its new owner’s, Andrealphus, peacock tail. Piles of snow, enormous gates of jagged ice pillars, and, most notably, six ice sculptures of the former Marquis-turned-Prince lining the walkway to the front door. Even the fountain was frozen solid in dagger-like crystals of ice, sharp and clear as glass.

Thanks to the auction being held by Andrealphus and Stella (to spitefully sell all of Stolas’s things), Blitzø had no trouble driving through security. The I.M.P van screeched to a halt in front of the staircase leading up to the front door, the van’s logo hastily painted over with ‘FancyHoale’s Luxery Lemozene Servace’ (courtesy of Blitzø’s spelling), with faint traces of blood painted on the front of the rim (again, courtesy of Blitzø’s driving).

Blitzø had traded his usual assassin clothing for a more regular, butler-esq look: a white undershirt with large cuffs that had a single red dot on them, a red shirt with no sleeves, and a black bowtie. He even had his collar up!

Blitzø: “Okay. You ready?”

Blitzø asked Stolas in a comforting manner, but Stolas didn’t seem comforted. The poor bird was terrified. He had been disgraced, barred, and the last time he had dared go to his manor, Andrealphus nearly killed him (though he did get some damn good hits on the snobby peacock). The owl Goetian had traded his (now) usual civilian attire for his former princely attire, though he still kept that streak of white in his hair he had picked up from one of his Hell-A-Novela’s.

Stolas fidgeted with his long, gloved black fingers as he looked back at Blitzø, the glowing white pupils of his glowing red sclera shrinking slightly.

Stolas: “No. But I suppose I must be.”

He adjusted his collar and the tuft of chest-fur deliberately hanging out, before making a fist and speaking with a new-found determination.

Stolas: “For Via.”

Blitzø stutters, looking at Stolas and stuttering a bit.

Blitzø: “For Vi… Yes, yeah. Via. We are, we are doing this for Via.”

He chuckles awkwardly, smiling even more so, as Stolas gets out of the car and looks up with fear at the staircase. He turns to Blitzø, sagging his shoulders slightly.

Stolas: “Good luck, Blitz.”

Blitzø: “I don’t need luck. I got skills.”

The imp says, highlighting the ‘skills’ as he puts on a pair of shades… then backs up and smashes the van against a (no doubt extremely expensive) parked car, the shades falling of his face as he yells in anger.

Blitzø: “Shit! Who the fuck parks there?! I mean, come on!”

As Blitzø drives away, the tires screeching loudly, Stolas turns to the front door staircase and closes his eyes, smiling slightly.

The massive Goetic mansion, once belonging to the (former) Prince Stolas, towered magnificently in the Pride Ring. What was once a lavish, comfortable, lively manor was now adorned with swirls of ice in the shape of its new owner’s, Andrealphus, peacock tail. Piles of snow, enormous gates of jagged ice pillars, and, most notably, six ice sculptures of the former Marquis-turned-Prince lining the walkway to the front door. Even the fountain was frozen solid in dagger-like crystals of ice, sharp and clear as glass.

Thanks to the auction being held by Andrealphus and Stella (to spitefully sell all of Stolas’s things), Blitzø had no trouble driving through security. The I.M.P van screeched to a halt in front of the staircase leading up to the front door, the van’s logo hastily painted over with ‘FancyHoale’s Luxery Lemozene Servace’ (courtesy of Blitzø’s spelling), with faint traces of blood painted on the front of the rim (again, courtesy of Blitzø’s driving).

Blitzø had traded his usual assassin clothing for a more regular, butler-esq look: a white undershirt with large cuffs that had a single red dot on them, a red shirt with no sleeves, and a black bowtie. He even had his collar up!

Blitzø: “Okay. You ready?”

Blitzø asked Stolas in a comforting manner, but Stolas didn’t seem comforted. The poor bird was terrified. He had been disgraced, barred, and the last time he had dared go to his manor, Andrealphus nearly killed him (though he did get some damn good hits on the snobby peacock). The owl Goetian had traded his (now) usual civilian attire for his former princely attire, though he still kept that streak of white in his hair he had picked up from one of his Hell-A-Novela’s.

Stolas fidgeted with his long, gloved black fingers as he looked back at Blitzø, the glowing white pupils of his glowing red sclera shrinking slightly.

Stolas: “No. But I suppose I must be.”

He adjusted his collar and the tuft of chest-fur deliberately hanging out, before making a fist and speaking with a new-found determination.

Stolas: “For Via.”

Blitzø stutters, looking at Stolas and stuttering a bit.

Blitzø: “For Vi… Yes, yeah. Via. We are, we are doing this for Via.”

He chuckles awkwardly, smiling even more so, as Stolas gets out of the car and looks up with fear at the staircase. He turns to Blitzø, sagging his shoulders slightly.

Stolas: “Good luck, Blitz.”

Blitzø: “I don’t need luck. I got skills.”

The imp says, highlighting the ‘skills’ as he puts on a pair of shades… then backs up and smashes the van against a (no doubt extremely expensive) parked car, the shades falling of his face as he yells in anger.

Blitzø: “Shit! Who the fuck parks there?! I mean, come on!”

As Blitzø drives away, the tires screeching loudly, Stolas turns to the front door staircase and closes his eyes, smiling slightly.

Stolas walked through the ornate, golden entryway into his former home, now bustling with dozens of Goetians— all of whom now outrank him and are here to buy his up-for-sale items. The inside of the manor was just as icy as the outside was, but no one seemed to mind- at least none of the Goetians.

Just as Stolas crossed the entry threshold, a short, unassuming imp with a monocle and a clipboard speaks.

Servant: “Name and title so I might announce you.”

Stolas, panicking, holds up his hands and speaks softly, trying to hide his identity. If Andrealphus, or Lucifer forbid, Stella, was here, he might not make it out alive before Blitzø could grab his mother’s amulet.

Stolas: “Oh. No, no. There’s no need.”

The imp, slightly annoyed, keeps looking down at the clipboard and speaks again.

Servant: “Name and title, if you please.”

He gestures toward Stolas, who was once again fidgeting with his collar, looking dreadfully down at the imp.

Stolas: “Um, Stolas. Uh, prin… Well, former prince of the Ars Goetia.”

Stolas clutches his shirt again as the imp, surprised, stutters and looks up at him.

Servant: “Oh! Um… Pri… um… Stolas, welcome.”

The servant steps aside, gesturing into the ballroom, and as Stolas walks in, looking like a nervous bird, the imp clears his throat and yells, surprising Stolas.

Servant: “Disgraced former prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia!”

The servant, screaming loudly, accidentally sends some saliva onto Stolas’s head, but the poor owl demon didn’t care. He was too busy walking through the chuckling and murmuring crowds, heading into the auction room, where a similarly dressed imp to the one who just announced his presence bows and gestures him towards an empty table. Stolas walks over, leaning against the table as an imp- still dressed the same as the other servants- sets a ladder onto the table and climbs up it, setting down a golden platter with a large green and white heart-shaped bottle of alcohol and a wine glass. The imp pours Stolas some wine, leaving the plate behind, before stepping down the ladder and removing it. Stolas takes the glass, looking down at it, but before he can take a sip, he looks up- his eyes widening as he sees everyone in the room staring at him, someone clearing their throat and another coughing awkwardly. Stolas speaks, before he uncaps the bottle of alcohol and pours it into his open beak.

Stolas: “Oh fuck me.”

The massive Goetic mansion, once belonging to the (former) Prince Stolas, towered magnificently in the Pride Ring. What was once a lavish, comfortable, lively manor was now adorned with swirls of ice in the shape of its new owner’s, Andrealphus, peacock tail. Piles of snow, enormous gates of jagged ice pillars, and, most notably, six ice sculptures of the former Marquis-turned-Prince lining the walkway to the front door. Even the fountain was frozen solid in dagger-like crystals of ice, sharp and clear as glass.

Thanks to the auction being held by Andrealphus and Stella (to spitefully sell all of Stolas’s things), Blitzø had no trouble driving through security. The I.M.P van screeched to a halt in front of the staircase leading up to the front door, the van’s logo hastily painted over with ‘FancyHoale’s Luxery Lemozene Servace’ (courtesy of Blitzø’s spelling), with faint traces of blood painted on the front of the rim (again, courtesy of Blitzø’s driving).

Blitzø had traded his usual assassin clothing for a more regular, butler-esq look: a white undershirt with large cuffs that had a single red dot on them, a red shirt with no sleeves, and a black bowtie. He even had his collar up!

Blitzø: “Okay. You ready?”

Blitzø asked Stolas in a comforting manner, but Stolas didn’t seem comforted. The poor bird was terrified. He had been disgraced, barred, and the last time he had dared go to his manor, Andrealphus nearly killed him (though he did get some damn good hits on the snobby peacock). The owl Goetian had traded his (now) usual civilian attire for his former princely attire, though he still kept that streak of white in his hair he had picked up from one of his Hell-A-Novela’s.

Stolas fidgeted with his long, gloved black fingers as he looked back at Blitzø, the glowing white pupils of his glowing red sclera shrinking slightly.

Stolas: “No. But I suppose I must be.”

He adjusted his collar and the tuft of chest-fur deliberately hanging out, before making a fist and speaking with a new-found determination.

Stolas: “For Via.”

Blitzø stutters, looking at Stolas and stuttering a bit.

Blitzø: “For Vi… Yes, yeah. Via. We are, we are doing this for Via.”

He chuckles awkwardly, smiling even more so, as Stolas gets out of the car and looks up with fear at the staircase. He turns to Blitzø, sagging his shoulders slightly.

Stolas: “Good luck, Blitz.”

Blitzø: “I don’t need luck. I got skills.”

The imp says, highlighting the ‘skills’ as he puts on a pair of shades… then backs up and smashes the van against a (no doubt extremely expensive) parked car, the shades falling of his face as he yells in anger.

Blitzø: “Shit! Who the fuck parks there?! I mean, come on!”

As Blitzø drives away, the tires screeching loudly, Stolas turns to the front door staircase and closes his eyes, smiling slightly.

Stolas walked through the ornate, golden entryway into his former home, now bustling with dozens of Goetians— all of whom now outrank him and are here to buy his up-for-sale items. The inside of the manor was just as icy as the outside was, but no one seemed to mind- at least none of the Goetians.

Just as Stolas crossed the entry threshold, a short, unassuming imp with a monocle and a clipboard speaks.

Servant: “Name and title so I might announce you.”

Stolas, panicking, holds up his hands and speaks softly, trying to hide his identity. If Andrealphus, or Lucifer forbid, Stella, was here, he might not make it out alive before Blitzø could grab his mother’s amulet.

Stolas: “Oh. No, no. There’s no need.”

The imp, slightly annoyed, keeps looking down at the clipboard and speaks again.

Servant: “Name and title, if you please.”

He gestures toward Stolas, who was once again fidgeting with his collar, looking dreadfully down at the imp.

Stolas: “Um, Stolas. Uh, prin… Well, former prince of the Ars Goetia.”

Stolas clutches his shirt again as the imp, surprised, stutters and looks up at him.

Servant: “Oh! Um… Pri… um… Stolas, welcome.”

The servant steps aside, gesturing into the ballroom, and as Stolas walks in, looking like a nervous bird, the imp clears his throat and yells, surprising Stolas.

Servant: “Disgraced former prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia!”

The servant, screaming loudly, accidentally sends some saliva onto Stolas’s head, but the poor owl demon didn’t care. He was too busy walking through the chuckling and murmuring crowds, heading into the auction room, where a similarly dressed imp to the one who just announced his presence bows and gestures him towards an empty table. Stolas walks over, leaning against the table as an imp- still dressed the same as the other servants- sets a ladder onto the table and climbs up it, setting down a golden platter with a large green and white heart-shaped bottle of alcohol and a wine glass. The imp pours Stolas some wine, leaving the plate behind, before stepping down the ladder and removing it. Stolas takes the glass, looking down at it, but before he can take a sip, he looks up- his eyes widening as he sees everyone in the room staring at him, someone clearing their throat and another coughing awkwardly. Stolas speaks, before he uncaps the bottle of alcohol and pours it into his open beak.

Stolas: “Oh fuck me.”

—-

Stolas stood at the table, the bottle of alcohol lying flat on its side. He had been given a wide berth as the crowd chattered softly and looked at him. “Oh, I love parties.” “I just love them.” “Did you know he’s paying taxes? Like a poor person?” They laugh, and upon hearing this, Stolas sinks lower and lower until he was hiding beneath the tall table. A passing imp servant, holding a tray larger than the imp was tall, notices this and hands Stolas another glass of wine. Stolas takes it, watching the imp walk away, but before he could say anything, a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.

Stella: “Stolaaaaaaaas…!”

Stolas spits out his drink, standing and smacking his head on the table, spilling some alcohol from the tipped over bottle as he backed away from the approaching figure of Stella.

Stolas: “Oh. Um, I, um, uh… shit.”

He turns away from Stella, but quickly turns back as she marches toward him, pointing her finger at him until it was mere centimeters from his beak, her other hand holding up her large dress.

Stella: “How dare you come to this palace? You are banished. You have no place among your betters! Everyone here knows that Stolas—“

A voice interupts her, and a white-gloved arm settles on Stolas’s shoulder.

Vassago: “Is my guest.”

Everyone gasps as the prince, Vassago, leans forward, the clear orange-tinted glasses the scarlet macaw wore reflecting his glowing red sclera’s

Vassago: “You did say we could bring whoever we wanted, correct, Stella?”

Vassago takes out the invitation envelope, the front cover depicting Stella’s eye. Meanwhile, Stolas looks at Vassago in shock, before turning to look at Stella, who is also seemingly in shock. Vassago continues, turning and gesturing around the room.

Vassago “To quote, “share in the humiliation and ridicule of my former husband.””

As Vassago puts away the letter, Stella sputters, walking toward the red bird, her tone now less aggressive and more perplexed and annoyed. She comes up beside him, rubbing her fingers together.

Stella: “Well I have obviously didn’t mean him! What will the Goetia think if I—“

Vassago once again interjects, his hands behind his back as he leans down toward her level, turning his cheek to her.

Vassago: “Well, speaking for myself and fellows,” He puts a hand on his chest while gesturing to the rest of the Goetians, who nod along. “I think they’d think you are honoring what you said on your invitation. Cualquiera puede asistir.”

He bows to another Goetian, before turning to Stella and taking her hand, leaning down as he speaks.

Vassago: “Oh. It was very gracious of you, querida.”

Stella blushes, laughing quietly as she turns away, while the crowd applauds.

Stella: “Oh. Thank you.” She chuckles softly. “Fine. Stay.” She walks over to and waves her hand dismissively at Stolas. “I don’t care. I’ll enjoy watching your stupid face as I sell every stupid thing you’ve ever cared about.” She walks over to Vassago, curtsying as she speaks to him. “Honored as always to have you here, Prince Vassago. Even with your shitty taste in company.”

Stella shoulder checks Stolas, who rubs his shoulder and turns to Vassago. Vassago sags his shoulders, letting the facade drop, before turning to Stolas and smiling slightly. Stolas sheepishly rubs his shoulder.

Stolas: “Thank you for that. Um…” He chuckles nervously. “It’s been so long, I…”

Vassago steps up to Stolas, smiling.

Vassago: “Oh. Don’t tell me you forgot about me.” He places a hand on his chest, and Stolas beams.

Stolas: “No, of course not.” He blushes. “Apologies. I-I just don’t think I wanted to…” He clears his throat. “…dwell on…”

Vassago smiles, leaning down to grab a glass from an imp, meanwhile Stolas looks anxious, but for a completely different reason this time.

Vassago: “So. It’s been almost 20 years, mi amigo. What have you been up to? Other than being banished, of course.” He said the last part sadly, looking down and away from Stolas, the purplish hairs on the back of his head lowering as Stolas finishes his drink. “Sorry about that, by the way. I-I was there.”

Stolas’s eyes widen, and for the second time today, he spits out his drink and coughs.

Stolas: “You were? Oh, fuck.” He holds his hand up to his face, starting to walk away. “Um… I should go.”

Vassago chuckles, turning around and reaching out for Stolas.

Vassago: “No, no, no, no. Wait, wait, wait. It’s okay. Really.” He chuckles softly, holding the glass he was drinking up to his chest. “It’s been a while. Maybe we can catch up a bit. Buy you a drink?”

Vassago offers Stolas his arm, who takes it and walks with him.

Stolas: “Oh, gods, yes.”

They both chuckle as they walk away toward the bar, meanwhile a Goetian speaks. “Oh, he just can’t help himself.”the Goetian turns to an imp. “Can I have a drink?”

The massive Goetic mansion, once belonging to the (former) Prince Stolas, towered magnificently in the Pride Ring. What was once a lavish, comfortable, lively manor was now adorned with swirls of ice in the shape of its new owner’s, Andrealphus, peacock tail. Piles of snow, enormous gates of jagged ice pillars, and, most notably, six ice sculptures of the former Marquis-turned-Prince lining the walkway to the front door. Even the fountain was frozen solid in dagger-like crystals of ice, sharp and clear as glass.

Thanks to the auction being held by Andrealphus and Stella (to spitefully sell all of Stolas’s things), Blitzø had no trouble driving through security. The I.M.P van screeched to a halt in front of the staircase leading up to the front door, the van’s logo hastily painted over with ‘FancyHoale’s Luxery Lemozene Servace’ (courtesy of Blitzø’s spelling), with faint traces of blood painted on the front of the rim (again, courtesy of Blitzø’s driving).

Blitzø had traded his usual assassin clothing for a more regular, butler-esq look: a white undershirt with large cuffs that had a single red dot on them, a red shirt with no sleeves, and a black bowtie. He even had his collar up!

Blitzø: “Okay. You ready?”

Blitzø asked Stolas in a comforting manner, but Stolas didn’t seem comforted. The poor bird was terrified. He had been disgraced, barred, and the last time he had dared go to his manor, Andrealphus nearly killed him (though he did get some damn good hits on the snobby peacock). The owl Goetian had traded his (now) usual civilian attire for his former princely attire, though he still kept that streak of white in his hair he had picked up from one of his Hell-A-Novela’s.

Stolas fidgeted with his long, gloved black fingers as he looked back at Blitzø, the glowing white pupils of his glowing red sclera shrinking slightly.

Stolas: “No. But I suppose I must be.”

He adjusted his collar and the tuft of chest-fur deliberately hanging out, before making a fist and speaking with a new-found determination.

Stolas: “For Via.”

Blitzø stutters, looking at Stolas and stuttering a bit.

Blitzø: “For Vi… Yes, yeah. Via. We are, we are doing this for Via.”

He chuckles awkwardly, smiling even more so, as Stolas gets out of the car and looks up with fear at the staircase. He turns to Blitzø, sagging his shoulders slightly.

Stolas: “Good luck, Blitz.”

Blitzø: “I don’t need luck. I got skills.”

The imp says, highlighting the ‘skills’ as he puts on a pair of shades… then backs up and smashes the van against a (no doubt extremely expensive) parked car, the shades falling of his face as he yells in anger.

Blitzø: “Shit! Who the fuck parks there?! I mean, come on!”

As Blitzø drives away, the tires screeching loudly, Stolas turns to the front door staircase and closes his eyes, smiling slightly.

Stolas walked through the ornate, golden entryway into his former home, now bustling with dozens of Goetians— all of whom now outrank him and are here to buy his up-for-sale items. The inside of the manor was just as icy as the outside was, but no one seemed to mind- at least none of the Goetians.

Just as Stolas crossed the entry threshold, a short, unassuming imp with a monocle and a clipboard speaks.

Servant: “Name and title so I might announce you.”

Stolas, panicking, holds up his hands and speaks softly, trying to hide his identity. If Andrealphus, or Lucifer forbid, Stella, was here, he might not make it out alive before Blitzø could grab his mother’s amulet.

Stolas: “Oh. No, no. There’s no need.”

The imp, slightly annoyed, keeps looking down at the clipboard and speaks again.

Servant: “Name and title, if you please.”

He gestures toward Stolas, who was once again fidgeting with his collar, looking dreadfully down at the imp.

Stolas: “Um, Stolas. Uh, prin… Well, former prince of the Ars Goetia.”

Stolas clutches his shirt again as the imp, surprised, stutters and looks up at him.

Servant: “Oh! Um… Pri… um… Stolas, welcome.”

The servant steps aside, gesturing into the ballroom, and as Stolas walks in, looking like a nervous bird, the imp clears his throat and yells, surprising Stolas.

Servant: “Disgraced former prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia!”

The servant, screaming loudly, accidentally sends some saliva onto Stolas’s head, but the poor owl demon didn’t care. He was too busy walking through the chuckling and murmuring crowds, heading into the auction room, where a similarly dressed imp to the one who just announced his presence bows and gestures him towards an empty table. Stolas walks over, leaning against the table as an imp- still dressed the same as the other servants- sets a ladder onto the table and climbs up it, setting down a golden platter with a large green and white heart-shaped bottle of alcohol and a wine glass. The imp pours Stolas some wine, leaving the plate behind, before stepping down the ladder and removing it. Stolas takes the glass, looking down at it, but before he can take a sip, he looks up- his eyes widening as he sees everyone in the room staring at him, someone clearing their throat and another coughing awkwardly. Stolas speaks, before he uncaps the bottle of alcohol and pours it into his open beak.

Stolas: “Oh fuck me.”

—-

Stolas stood at the table, the bottle of alcohol lying flat on its side. He had been given a wide berth as the crowd chattered softly and looked at him. “Oh, I love parties.” “I just love them.” “Did you know he’s paying taxes? Like a poor person?” They laugh, and upon hearing this, Stolas sinks lower and lower until he was hiding beneath the tall table. A passing imp servant, holding a tray larger than the imp was tall, notices this and hands Stolas another glass of wine. Stolas takes it, watching the imp walk away, but before he could say anything, a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.

Stella: “Stolaaaaaaaas…!”

Stolas spits out his drink, standing and smacking his head on the table, spilling some alcohol from the tipped over bottle as he backed away from the approaching figure of Stella.

Stolas: “Oh. Um, I, um, uh… shit.”

He turns away from Stella, but quickly turns back as she marches toward him, pointing her finger at him until it was mere centimeters from his beak, her other hand holding up her large dress.

Stella: “How dare you come to this palace? You are banished. You have no place among your betters! Everyone here knows that Stolas—“

A voice interupts her, and a white-gloved arm settles on Stolas’s shoulder.

Vassago: “Is my guest.”

Everyone gasps as the prince, Vassago, leans forward, the clear orange-tinted glasses the scarlet macaw wore reflecting his glowing red sclera’s

Vassago: “You did say we could bring whoever we wanted, correct, Stella?”

Vassago takes out the invitation envelope, the front cover depicting Stella’s eye. Meanwhile, Stolas looks at Vassago in shock, before turning to look at Stella, who is also seemingly in shock. Vassago continues, turning and gesturing around the room.

Vassago “To quote, “share in the humiliation and ridicule of my former husband.””

As Vassago puts away the letter, Stella sputters, walking toward the red bird, her tone now less aggressive and more perplexed and annoyed. She comes up beside him, rubbing her fingers together.

Stella: “Well I have obviously didn’t mean him! What will the Goetia think if I—“

Vassago once again interjects, his hands behind his back as he leans down toward her level, turning his cheek to her.

Vassago: “Well, speaking for myself and fellows,” He puts a hand on his chest while gesturing to the rest of the Goetians, who nod along. “I think they’d think you are honoring what you said on your invitation. Cualquiera puede asistir.”

He bows to another Goetian, before turning to Stella and taking her hand, leaning down as he speaks.

Vassago: “Oh. It was very gracious of you, querida.”

Stella blushes, laughing quietly as she turns away, while the crowd applauds.

Stella: “Oh. Thank you.” She chuckles softly. “Fine. Stay.” She walks over to and waves her hand dismissively at Stolas. “I don’t care. I’ll enjoy watching your stupid face as I sell every stupid thing you’ve ever cared about.” She walks over to Vassago, curtsying as she speaks to him. “Honored as always to have you here, Prince Vassago. Even with your shitty taste in company.”

Stella shoulder checks Stolas, who rubs his shoulder and turns to Vassago. Vassago sags his shoulders, letting the facade drop, before turning to Stolas and smiling slightly. Stolas sheepishly rubs his shoulder.

Stolas: “Thank you for that. Um…” He chuckles nervously. “It’s been so long, I…”

Vassago steps up to Stolas, smiling.

Vassago: “Oh. Don’t tell me you forgot about me.” He places a hand on his chest, and Stolas beams.

Stolas: “No, of course not.” He blushes. “Apologies. I-I just don’t think I wanted to…” He clears his throat. “…dwell on…”

Vassago smiles, leaning down to grab a glass from an imp, meanwhile Stolas looks anxious, but for a completely different reason this time.

Vassago: “So. It’s been almost 20 years, mi amigo. What have you been up to? Other than being banished, of course.” He said the last part sadly, looking down and away from Stolas, the purplish hairs on the back of his head lowering as Stolas finishes his drink. “Sorry about that, by the way. I-I was there.”

Stolas’s eyes widen, and for the second time today, he spits out his drink and coughs.

Stolas: “You were? Oh, fuck.” He holds his hand up to his face, starting to walk away. “Um… I should go.”

Vassago chuckles, turning around and reaching out for Stolas.

Vassago: “No, no, no, no. Wait, wait, wait. It’s okay. Really.” He chuckles softly, holding the glass he was drinking up to his chest. “It’s been a while. Maybe we can catch up a bit. Buy you a drink?”

Vassago offers Stolas his arm, who takes it and walks with him.

Stolas: “Oh, gods, yes.”

They both chuckle as they walk away toward the bar, meanwhile a Goetian speaks. “Oh, he just can’t help himself.”the Goetian turns to an imp. “Can I have a drink?”

—

As they reach the table after buying a drink, Vassago chuckles as they both stand on opposite sides.

Vassago: “Honestly, I didn’t really expect to see my old classmate singing about betrayal and ambition right in Satan’s face. It was, it was pretty impressive, all things considered. Didn’t, didn’t expect that from you.

Vassago smiles, picking up his glass as Stolas speaks.

Stolas: “You didn’t expect me to be such a treasonous fool?”

Vassago laughs, waves his hand, placing a hand on his chest and gesturing with the other.

Vassago: “No, no, no, no. Just to be brave like that. It’s really good to see you again, Stolas.”

Vassago leans closer, smiling sincerely, before pulling back and leaning his head on his hands. Stolas smiles, speaking softly and just as sincerely. As he speaks, Vassago stands back up, taking his wine glass.

Stolas: “It’s good to see you, too. You sure got…” He chuckles. “Older. I mean- you’re handsome now. Uh, not that you weren’t before. I mean… I’ll be quiet.”

Stolas turns away to sip on his wine nervously, while Vassago’s eyes widen, before he laughs softly, leaning sideways to catch Stolas’s eye.

Vassago: “Podría decir lo mismo de ti, pero… siempre lo has sido.” He leans his head against his hand, his Spanish accent smoothing out as he looks lovingly at Stolas. Stolas turns back, sheepishly speaking.

Stolas: “Uh, I only caught a little of that.”

Vassago smiles, standing up straight again.

Vassago: “You look good too, Stolas.” He summon a ray of dazzling starlight as he waves his hand. “Me encanta tu sonrisa. Did you… get that one?” He asks slyly, the magic fading from his hands as he leans closer to Stolas.

Stolas smiles, looking down at his glass, then back at Vassago, then back at his glass and takes a sip.

Stolas: “Yes, I did.”

The massive Goetic mansion, once belonging to the (former) Prince Stolas, towered magnificently in the Pride Ring. What was once a lavish, comfortable, lively manor was now adorned with swirls of ice in the shape of its new owner’s, Andrealphus, peacock tail. Piles of snow, enormous gates of jagged ice pillars, and, most notably, six ice sculptures of the former Marquis-turned-Prince lining the walkway to the front door. Even the fountain was frozen solid in dagger-like crystals of ice, sharp and clear as glass.

Thanks to the auction being held by Andrealphus and Stella (to spitefully sell all of Stolas’s things), Blitzø had no trouble driving through security. The I.M.P van screeched to a halt in front of the staircase leading up to the front door, the van’s logo hastily painted over with ‘FancyHoale’s Luxery Lemozene Servace’ (courtesy of Blitzø’s spelling), with faint traces of blood painted on the front of the rim (again, courtesy of Blitzø’s driving).

Blitzø had traded his usual assassin clothing for a more regular, butler-esq look: a white undershirt with large cuffs that had a single red dot on them, a red shirt with no sleeves, and a black bowtie. He even had his collar up!

Blitzø: “Okay. You ready?”

Blitzø asked Stolas in a comforting manner, but Stolas didn’t seem comforted. The poor bird was terrified. He had been disgraced, barred, and the last time he had dared go to his manor, Andrealphus nearly killed him (though he did get some damn good hits on the snobby peacock). The owl Goetian had traded his (now) usual civilian attire for his former princely attire, though he still kept that streak of white in his hair he had picked up from one of his Hell-A-Novela’s.

Stolas fidgeted with his long, gloved black fingers as he looked back at Blitzø, the glowing white pupils of his glowing red sclera shrinking slightly.

Stolas: “No. But I suppose I must be.”

He adjusted his collar and the tuft of chest-fur deliberately hanging out, before making a fist and speaking with a new-found determination.

Stolas: “For Via.”

Blitzø stutters, looking at Stolas and stuttering a bit.

Blitzø: “For Vi… Yes, yeah. Via. We are, we are doing this for Via.”

He chuckles awkwardly, smiling even more so, as Stolas gets out of the car and looks up with fear at the staircase. He turns to Blitzø, sagging his shoulders slightly.

Stolas: “Good luck, Blitz.”

Blitzø: “I don’t need luck. I got skills.”

The imp says, highlighting the ‘skills’ as he puts on a pair of shades… then backs up and smashes the van against a (no doubt extremely expensive) parked car, the shades falling of his face as he yells in anger.

Blitzø: “Shit! Who the fuck parks there?! I mean, come on!”

As Blitzø drives away, the tires screeching loudly, Stolas turns to the front door staircase and closes his eyes, smiling slightly.

Stolas walked through the ornate, golden entryway into his former home, now bustling with dozens of Goetians— all of whom now outrank him and are here to buy his up-for-sale items. The inside of the manor was just as icy as the outside was, but no one seemed to mind- at least none of the Goetians.

Just as Stolas crossed the entry threshold, a short, unassuming imp with a monocle and a clipboard speaks.

Servant: “Name and title so I might announce you.”

Stolas, panicking, holds up his hands and speaks softly, trying to hide his identity. If Andrealphus, or Lucifer forbid, Stella, was here, he might not make it out alive before Blitzø could grab his mother’s amulet.

Stolas: “Oh. No, no. There’s no need.”

The imp, slightly annoyed, keeps looking down at the clipboard and speaks again.

Servant: “Name and title, if you please.”

He gestures toward Stolas, who was once again fidgeting with his collar, looking dreadfully down at the imp.

Stolas: “Um, Stolas. Uh, prin… Well, former prince of the Ars Goetia.”

Stolas clutches his shirt again as the imp, surprised, stutters and looks up at him.

Servant: “Oh! Um… Pri… um… Stolas, welcome.”

The servant steps aside, gesturing into the ballroom, and as Stolas walks in, looking like a nervous bird, the imp clears his throat and yells, surprising Stolas.

Servant: “Disgraced former prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia!”

The servant, screaming loudly, accidentally sends some saliva onto Stolas’s head, but the poor owl demon didn’t care. He was too busy walking through the chuckling and murmuring crowds, heading into the auction room, where a similarly dressed imp to the one who just announced his presence bows and gestures him towards an empty table. Stolas walks over, leaning against the table as an imp- still dressed the same as the other servants- sets a ladder onto the table and climbs up it, setting down a golden platter with a large green and white heart-shaped bottle of alcohol and a wine glass. The imp pours Stolas some wine, leaving the plate behind, before stepping down the ladder and removing it. Stolas takes the glass, looking down at it, but before he can take a sip, he looks up- his eyes widening as he sees everyone in the room staring at him, someone clearing their throat and another coughing awkwardly. Stolas speaks, before he uncaps the bottle of alcohol and pours it into his open beak.

Stolas: “Oh fuck me.”

—-

Stolas stood at the table, the bottle of alcohol lying flat on its side. He had been given a wide berth as the crowd chattered softly and looked at him. “Oh, I love parties.” “I just love them.” “Did you know he’s paying taxes? Like a poor person?” They laugh, and upon hearing this, Stolas sinks lower and lower until he was hiding beneath the tall table. A passing imp servant, holding a tray larger than the imp was tall, notices this and hands Stolas another glass of wine. Stolas takes it, watching the imp walk away, but before he could say anything, a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.

Stella: “Stolaaaaaaaas…!”

Stolas spits out his drink, standing and smacking his head on the table, spilling some alcohol from the tipped over bottle as he backed away from the approaching figure of Stella.

Stolas: “Oh. Um, I, um, uh… shit.”

He turns away from Stella, but quickly turns back as she marches toward him, pointing her finger at him until it was mere centimeters from his beak, her other hand holding up her large dress.

Stella: “How dare you come to this palace? You are banished. You have no place among your betters! Everyone here knows that Stolas—“

A voice interupts her, and a white-gloved arm settles on Stolas’s shoulder.

Vassago: “Is my guest.”

Everyone gasps as the prince, Vassago, leans forward, the clear orange-tinted glasses the scarlet macaw wore reflecting his glowing red sclera’s

Vassago: “You did say we could bring whoever we wanted, correct, Stella?”

Vassago takes out the invitation envelope, the front cover depicting Stella’s eye. Meanwhile, Stolas looks at Vassago in shock, before turning to look at Stella, who is also seemingly in shock. Vassago continues, turning and gesturing around the room.

Vassago “To quote, “share in the humiliation and ridicule of my former husband.””

As Vassago puts away the letter, Stella sputters, walking toward the red bird, her tone now less aggressive and more perplexed and annoyed. She comes up beside him, rubbing her fingers together.

Stella: “Well I have obviously didn’t mean him! What will the Goetia think if I—“

Vassago once again interjects, his hands behind his back as he leans down toward her level, turning his cheek to her.

Vassago: “Well, speaking for myself and fellows,” He puts a hand on his chest while gesturing to the rest of the Goetians, who nod along. “I think they’d think you are honoring what you said on your invitation. Cualquiera puede asistir.”

He bows to another Goetian, before turning to Stella and taking her hand, leaning down as he speaks.

Vassago: “Oh. It was very gracious of you, querida.”

Stella blushes, laughing quietly as she turns away, while the crowd applauds.

Stella: “Oh. Thank you.” She chuckles softly. “Fine. Stay.” She walks over to and waves her hand dismissively at Stolas. “I don’t care. I’ll enjoy watching your stupid face as I sell every stupid thing you’ve ever cared about.” She walks over to Vassago, curtsying as she speaks to him. “Honored as always to have you here, Prince Vassago. Even with your shitty taste in company.”

Stella shoulder checks Stolas, who rubs his shoulder and turns to Vassago. Vassago sags his shoulders, letting the facade drop, before turning to Stolas and smiling slightly. Stolas sheepishly rubs his shoulder.

Stolas: “Thank you for that. Um…” He chuckles nervously. “It’s been so long, I…”

Vassago steps up to Stolas, smiling.

Vassago: “Oh. Don’t tell me you forgot about me.” He places a hand on his chest, and Stolas beams.

Stolas: “No, of course not.” He blushes. “Apologies. I-I just don’t think I wanted to…” He clears his throat. “…dwell on…”

Vassago smiles, leaning down to grab a glass from an imp, meanwhile Stolas looks anxious, but for a completely different reason this time.

Vassago: “So. It’s been almost 20 years, mi amigo. What have you been up to? Other than being banished, of course.” He said the last part sadly, looking down and away from Stolas, the purplish hairs on the back of his head lowering as Stolas finishes his drink. “Sorry about that, by the way. I-I was there.”

Stolas’s eyes widen, and for the second time today, he spits out his drink and coughs.

Stolas: “You were? Oh, fuck.” He holds his hand up to his face, starting to walk away. “Um… I should go.”

Vassago chuckles, turning around and reaching out for Stolas.

Vassago: “No, no, no, no. Wait, wait, wait. It’s okay. Really.” He chuckles softly, holding the glass he was drinking up to his chest. “It’s been a while. Maybe we can catch up a bit. Buy you a drink?”

Vassago offers Stolas his arm, who takes it and walks with him.

Stolas: “Oh, gods, yes.”

They both chuckle as they walk away toward the bar, meanwhile a Goetian speaks. “Oh, he just can’t help himself.”the Goetian turns to an imp. “Can I have a drink?”

—

As they reach the table after buying a drink, Vassago chuckles as they both stand on opposite sides.

Vassago: “Honestly, I didn’t really expect to see my old classmate singing about betrayal and ambition right in Satan’s face. It was, it was pretty impressive, all things considered. Didn’t, didn’t expect that from you.

Vassago smiles, picking up his glass as Stolas speaks.

Stolas: “You didn’t expect me to be such a treasonous fool?”

Vassago laughs, waves his hand, placing a hand on his chest and gesturing with the other.

Vassago: “No, no, no, no. Just to be brave like that. It’s really good to see you again, Stolas.”

Vassago leans closer, smiling sincerely, before pulling back and leaning his head on his hands. Stolas smiles, speaking softly and just as sincerely. As he speaks, Vassago stands back up, taking his wine glass.

Stolas: “It’s good to see you, too. You sure got…” He chuckles. “Older. I mean- you’re handsome now. Uh, not that you weren’t before. I mean… I’ll be quiet.”

Stolas turns away to sip on his wine nervously, while Vassago’s eyes widen, before he laughs softly, leaning sideways to catch Stolas’s eye.

Vassago: “Podría decir lo mismo de ti, pero… siempre lo has sido.” He leans his head against his hand, his Spanish accent smoothing out as he looks lovingly at Stolas. Stolas turns back, sheepishly speaking.

Stolas: “Uh, I only caught a little of that.”

Vassago smiles, standing up straight again.

Vassago: “You look good too, Stolas.” He summon a ray of dazzling starlight as he waves his hand. “Me encanta tu sonrisa. Did you… get that one?” He asks slyly, the magic fading from his hands as he leans closer to Stolas.

Stolas smiles, looking down at his glass, then back at Vassago, then back at his glass and takes a sip.

Stolas: “Yes, I did.”

—-

Blitzø, now disguised as a waiter, carries a tray and walks up to Stolas.

Blitzø: “Psst. Stolas!”

Stolas chuckles at something Vassago said, before turning to Blitzø, not realizing it was him.

Stolas: “No, thank you. We’re fine.”

Blitzø runs up beneath Stolas, kicking the bird in the shin. Stolas lets out an ‘ow’, before leaning down beneath the table to speak with Blitzø.

Blitzø: “Stolas.”

Stolas: “Blitzø, what are you—“

Blitzø: “The servant’s corridors are a no-go. Is there some other way up to the balcony?”

Stolas whispers, turning his head in the direction he was describing.

Stolas: “Though the second floor of the library, but that way—“

Blitzø interrupts him, smirking as he makes his way toward where Stolas was now pointing.

Blitzø: “Thanks.”

Stolas smiles as the imp runs off, hearing some glass shattering, before speaking to Vassago, who tilts his head at Stolas.

Stolas: “Not to come off as ungrateful, but what are you doing here? It seems everyone is here to revel in my humiliation. I would hope…” He clears his throat. “That’s not the case with you?”

Vassago watches some Goetians pass by, before closing his eyes dishearteningly, before turning to Stolas.

Vassago: “No. Far from it. I’m here to win one specific item I didn’t want falling into anyone else’s hands.”

The lights suddenly turn off as the voice of Andrealphus booms throughout the room, the center stage lights turning on, illuminating the podium of ice and Andrealphus descending on manifested blocks of ice while lifting his dress. Stella walks up onto the stage by his side.

Andrealphus: “Ladies and gentleman of the Ars Goetia, welcome. Tonight we have for you a selection of items for sale, belonging to the one, the only, the utter embarrassment, Stolas.” He chuckles, picking up his mallet made of ice. “Who was, who was gracious enough to join us tonight.” He points the mallet at Stolas, and the stage light follows onto Stolas, who blocks it with his arm. “Everyone… feel free to point and laugh to your hearts’ content.”

On cue, everyone begins laughing, and Stolas just leans down onto the table and cross his arms while Vassago looks down at him with pity, before moving in front of Stolas to block him from the ridicule of the crowd.

The massive Goetic mansion, once belonging to the (former) Prince Stolas, towered magnificently in the Pride Ring. What was once a lavish, comfortable, lively manor was now adorned with swirls of ice in the shape of its new owner’s, Andrealphus, peacock tail. Piles of snow, enormous gates of jagged ice pillars, and, most notably, six ice sculptures of the former Marquis-turned-Prince lining the walkway to the front door. Even the fountain was frozen solid in dagger-like crystals of ice, sharp and clear as glass.

Thanks to the auction being held by Andrealphus and Stella (to spitefully sell all of Stolas’s things), Blitzø had no trouble driving through security. The I.M.P van screeched to a halt in front of the staircase leading up to the front door, the van’s logo hastily painted over with ‘FancyHoale’s Luxery Lemozene Servace’ (courtesy of Blitzø’s spelling), with faint traces of blood painted on the front of the rim (again, courtesy of Blitzø’s driving).

Blitzø had traded his usual assassin clothing for a more regular, butler-esq look: a white undershirt with large cuffs that had a single red dot on them, a red shirt with no sleeves, and a black bowtie. He even had his collar up!

Blitzø: “Okay. You ready?”

Blitzø asked Stolas in a comforting manner, but Stolas didn’t seem comforted. The poor bird was terrified. He had been disgraced, barred, and the last time he had dared go to his manor, Andrealphus nearly killed him (though he did get some damn good hits on the snobby peacock). The owl Goetian had traded his (now) usual civilian attire for his former princely attire, though he still kept that streak of white in his hair he had picked up from one of his Hell-A-Novela’s.

Stolas fidgeted with his long, gloved black fingers as he looked back at Blitzø, the glowing white pupils of his glowing red sclera shrinking slightly.

Stolas: “No. But I suppose I must be.”

He adjusted his collar and the tuft of chest-fur deliberately hanging out, before making a fist and speaking with a new-found determination.

Stolas: “For Via.”

Blitzø stutters, looking at Stolas and stuttering a bit.

Blitzø: “For Vi… Yes, yeah. Via. We are, we are doing this for Via.”

He chuckles awkwardly, smiling even more so, as Stolas gets out of the car and looks up with fear at the staircase. He turns to Blitzø, sagging his shoulders slightly.

Stolas: “Good luck, Blitz.”

Blitzø: “I don’t need luck. I got skills.”

The imp says, highlighting the ‘skills’ as he puts on a pair of shades… then backs up and smashes the van against a (no doubt extremely expensive) parked car, the shades falling of his face as he yells in anger.

Blitzø: “Shit! Who the fuck parks there?! I mean, come on!”

As Blitzø drives away, the tires screeching loudly, Stolas turns to the front door staircase and closes his eyes, smiling slightly.

Stolas walked through the ornate, golden entryway into his former home, now bustling with dozens of Goetians— all of whom now outrank him and are here to buy his up-for-sale items. The inside of the manor was just as icy as the outside was, but no one seemed to mind- at least none of the Goetians.

Just as Stolas crossed the entry threshold, a short, unassuming imp with a monocle and a clipboard speaks.

Servant: “Name and title so I might announce you.”

Stolas, panicking, holds up his hands and speaks softly, trying to hide his identity. If Andrealphus, or Lucifer forbid, Stella, was here, he might not make it out alive before Blitzø could grab his mother’s amulet.

Stolas: “Oh. No, no. There’s no need.”

The imp, slightly annoyed, keeps looking down at the clipboard and speaks again.

Servant: “Name and title, if you please.”

He gestures toward Stolas, who was once again fidgeting with his collar, looking dreadfully down at the imp.

Stolas: “Um, Stolas. Uh, prin… Well, former prince of the Ars Goetia.”

Stolas clutches his shirt again as the imp, surprised, stutters and looks up at him.

Servant: “Oh! Um… Pri… um… Stolas, welcome.”

The servant steps aside, gesturing into the ballroom, and as Stolas walks in, looking like a nervous bird, the imp clears his throat and yells, surprising Stolas.

Servant: “Disgraced former prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia!”

The servant, screaming loudly, accidentally sends some saliva onto Stolas’s head, but the poor owl demon didn’t care. He was too busy walking through the chuckling and murmuring crowds, heading into the auction room, where a similarly dressed imp to the one who just announced his presence bows and gestures him towards an empty table. Stolas walks over, leaning against the table as an imp- still dressed the same as the other servants- sets a ladder onto the table and climbs up it, setting down a golden platter with a large green and white heart-shaped bottle of alcohol and a wine glass. The imp pours Stolas some wine, leaving the plate behind, before stepping down the ladder and removing it. Stolas takes the glass, looking down at it, but before he can take a sip, he looks up- his eyes widening as he sees everyone in the room staring at him, someone clearing their throat and another coughing awkwardly. Stolas speaks, before he uncaps the bottle of alcohol and pours it into his open beak.

Stolas: “Oh fuck me.”

—-

Stolas stood at the table, the bottle of alcohol lying flat on its side. He had been given a wide berth as the crowd chattered softly and looked at him. “Oh, I love parties.” “I just love them.” “Did you know he’s paying taxes? Like a poor person?” They laugh, and upon hearing this, Stolas sinks lower and lower until he was hiding beneath the tall table. A passing imp servant, holding a tray larger than the imp was tall, notices this and hands Stolas another glass of wine. Stolas takes it, watching the imp walk away, but before he could say anything, a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.

Stella: “Stolaaaaaaaas…!”

Stolas spits out his drink, standing and smacking his head on the table, spilling some alcohol from the tipped over bottle as he backed away from the approaching figure of Stella.

Stolas: “Oh. Um, I, um, uh… shit.”

He turns away from Stella, but quickly turns back as she marches toward him, pointing her finger at him until it was mere centimeters from his beak, her other hand holding up her large dress.

Stella: “How dare you come to this palace? You are banished. You have no place among your betters! Everyone here knows that Stolas—“

A voice interupts her, and a white-gloved arm settles on Stolas’s shoulder.

Vassago: “Is my guest.”

Everyone gasps as the prince, Vassago, leans forward, the clear orange-tinted glasses the scarlet macaw wore reflecting his glowing red sclera’s

Vassago: “You did say we could bring whoever we wanted, correct, Stella?”

Vassago takes out the invitation envelope, the front cover depicting Stella’s eye. Meanwhile, Stolas looks at Vassago in shock, before turning to look at Stella, who is also seemingly in shock. Vassago continues, turning and gesturing around the room.

Vassago “To quote, “share in the humiliation and ridicule of my former husband.””

As Vassago puts away the letter, Stella sputters, walking toward the red bird, her tone now less aggressive and more perplexed and annoyed. She comes up beside him, rubbing her fingers together.

Stella: “Well I have obviously didn’t mean him! What will the Goetia think if I—“

Vassago once again interjects, his hands behind his back as he leans down toward her level, turning his cheek to her.

Vassago: “Well, speaking for myself and fellows,” He puts a hand on his chest while gesturing to the rest of the Goetians, who nod along. “I think they’d think you are honoring what you said on your invitation. Cualquiera puede asistir.”

He bows to another Goetian, before turning to Stella and taking her hand, leaning down as he speaks.

Vassago: “Oh. It was very gracious of you, querida.”

Stella blushes, laughing quietly as she turns away, while the crowd applauds.

Stella: “Oh. Thank you.” She chuckles softly. “Fine. Stay.” She walks over to and waves her hand dismissively at Stolas. “I don’t care. I’ll enjoy watching your stupid face as I sell every stupid thing you’ve ever cared about.” She walks over to Vassago, curtsying as she speaks to him. “Honored as always to have you here, Prince Vassago. Even with your shitty taste in company.”

Stella shoulder checks Stolas, who rubs his shoulder and turns to Vassago. Vassago sags his shoulders, letting the facade drop, before turning to Stolas and smiling slightly. Stolas sheepishly rubs his shoulder.

Stolas: “Thank you for that. Um…” He chuckles nervously. “It’s been so long, I…”

Vassago steps up to Stolas, smiling.

Vassago: “Oh. Don’t tell me you forgot about me.” He places a hand on his chest, and Stolas beams.

Stolas: “No, of course not.” He blushes. “Apologies. I-I just don’t think I wanted to…” He clears his throat. “…dwell on…”

Vassago smiles, leaning down to grab a glass from an imp, meanwhile Stolas looks anxious, but for a completely different reason this time.

Vassago: “So. It’s been almost 20 years, mi amigo. What have you been up to? Other than being banished, of course.” He said the last part sadly, looking down and away from Stolas, the purplish hairs on the back of his head lowering as Stolas finishes his drink. “Sorry about that, by the way. I-I was there.”

Stolas’s eyes widen, and for the second time today, he spits out his drink and coughs.

Stolas: “You were? Oh, fuck.” He holds his hand up to his face, starting to walk away. “Um… I should go.”

Vassago chuckles, turning around and reaching out for Stolas.

Vassago: “No, no, no, no. Wait, wait, wait. It’s okay. Really.” He chuckles softly, holding the glass he was drinking up to his chest. “It’s been a while. Maybe we can catch up a bit. Buy you a drink?”

Vassago offers Stolas his arm, who takes it and walks with him.

Stolas: “Oh, gods, yes.”

They both chuckle as they walk away toward the bar, meanwhile a Goetian speaks. “Oh, he just can’t help himself.”the Goetian turns to an imp. “Can I have a drink?”

—

As they reach the table after buying a drink, Vassago chuckles as they both stand on opposite sides.

Vassago: “Honestly, I didn’t really expect to see my old classmate singing about betrayal and ambition right in Satan’s face. It was, it was pretty impressive, all things considered. Didn’t, didn’t expect that from you.

Vassago smiles, picking up his glass as Stolas speaks.

Stolas: “You didn’t expect me to be such a treasonous fool?”

Vassago laughs, waves his hand, placing a hand on his chest and gesturing with the other.

Vassago: “No, no, no, no. Just to be brave like that. It’s really good to see you again, Stolas.”

Vassago leans closer, smiling sincerely, before pulling back and leaning his head on his hands. Stolas smiles, speaking softly and just as sincerely. As he speaks, Vassago stands back up, taking his wine glass.

Stolas: “It’s good to see you, too. You sure got…” He chuckles. “Older. I mean- you’re handsome now. Uh, not that you weren’t before. I mean… I’ll be quiet.”

Stolas turns away to sip on his wine nervously, while Vassago’s eyes widen, before he laughs softly, leaning sideways to catch Stolas’s eye.

Vassago: “Podría decir lo mismo de ti, pero… siempre lo has sido.” He leans his head against his hand, his Spanish accent smoothing out as he looks lovingly at Stolas. Stolas turns back, sheepishly speaking.

Stolas: “Uh, I only caught a little of that.”

Vassago smiles, standing up straight again.

Vassago: “You look good too, Stolas.” He summon a ray of dazzling starlight as he waves his hand. “Me encanta tu sonrisa. Did you… get that one?” He asks slyly, the magic fading from his hands as he leans closer to Stolas.

Stolas smiles, looking down at his glass, then back at Vassago, then back at his glass and takes a sip.

Stolas: “Yes, I did.”

—-

Blitzø, now disguised as a waiter, carries a tray and walks up to Stolas.

Blitzø: “Psst. Stolas!”

Stolas chuckles at something Vassago said, before turning to Blitzø, not realizing it was him.

Stolas: “No, thank you. We’re fine.”

Blitzø runs up beneath Stolas, kicking the bird in the shin. Stolas lets out an ‘ow’, before leaning down beneath the table to speak with Blitzø.

Blitzø: “Stolas.”

Stolas: “Blitzø, what are you—“

Blitzø: “The servant’s corridors are a no-go. Is there some other way up to the balcony?”

Stolas whispers, turning his head in the direction he was describing.

Stolas: “Though the second floor of the library, but that way—“

Blitzø interrupts him, smirking as he makes his way toward where Stolas was now pointing.

Blitzø: “Thanks.”

Stolas smiles as the imp runs off, hearing some glass shattering, before speaking to Vassago, who tilts his head at Stolas.

Stolas: “Not to come off as ungrateful, but what are you doing here? It seems everyone is here to revel in my humiliation. I would hope…” He clears his throat. “That’s not the case with you?”

Vassago watches some Goetians pass by, before closing his eyes dishearteningly, before turning to Stolas.

Vassago: “No. Far from it. I’m here to win one specific item I didn’t want falling into anyone else’s hands.”

The lights suddenly turn off as the voice of Andrealphus booms throughout the room, the center stage lights turning on, illuminating the podium of ice and Andrealphus descending on manifested blocks of ice while lifting his dress. Stella walks up onto the stage by his side.

Andrealphus: “Ladies and gentleman of the Ars Goetia, welcome. Tonight we have for you a selection of items for sale, belonging to the one, the only, the utter embarrassment, Stolas.” He chuckles, picking up his mallet made of ice. “Who was, who was gracious enough to join us tonight.” He points the mallet at Stolas, and the stage light follows onto Stolas, who blocks it with his arm. “Everyone… feel free to point and laugh to your hearts’ content.”

On cue, everyone begins laughing, and Stolas just leans down onto the table and cross his arms while Vassago looks down at him with pity, before moving in front of Stolas to block him from the ridicule of the crowd.

—-

An imp walks toward a pedestal, placing a glittering purple and gold journal with a cursive ‘S’ on the front of the book.

Andrealphus: “The next item up for bid is a journal from Stolas’s youth. Sure to be full of embarrassing stories about being a lonely, pathetic, unloved little brat. Hilarious fun for the whole family. Should we start the bidding at 100,000?”

Immediately, dozens of hands shoot up as the crowd erupts into cheers, with vassago’s hand going up as well. Stolas, however, is too busy reminiscing about what he wrote in the journal: how he met Vassago, his time training in magic with Vassago and their master Barbados, how Vassago and he gradually fell in love, how Vassago had kissed him and begged him to run away with him… how he had tearfully denied Vassago’s offer to fulfill the destiny Stolas’s father Paimon so clearly laid out for him. Stolas is snapped out of his memories, his eyes wide with fear, as Andrealphus yells.

Andrealphus: “Sold! To Prince Vassago.”

A servant brings over the journal, which Vassago takes.

Stolas: “What?”

Vassago scoffs, taking the book and handing it over to Stolas.

Vassago: “I told you. Just one thing.”

Stolas chuckles, taking the book delicately from Vassago.

Stolas: “Huh. Wow. You don’t want to read your prize first?” He asks, offering the book to Vassago.

Vassago: “Eh, I’m pretty sure I know what’s in there.”

The massive Goetic mansion, once belonging to the (former) Prince Stolas, towered magnificently in the Pride Ring. What was once a lavish, comfortable, lively manor was now adorned with swirls of ice in the shape of its new owner’s, Andrealphus, peacock tail. Piles of snow, enormous gates of jagged ice pillars, and, most notably, six ice sculptures of the former Marquis-turned-Prince lining the walkway to the front door. Even the fountain was frozen solid in dagger-like crystals of ice, sharp and clear as glass.

Thanks to the auction being held by Andrealphus and Stella (to spitefully sell all of Stolas’s things), Blitzø had no trouble driving through security. The I.M.P van screeched to a halt in front of the staircase leading up to the front door, the van’s logo hastily painted over with ‘FancyHoale’s Luxery Lemozene Servace’ (courtesy of Blitzø’s spelling), with faint traces of blood painted on the front of the rim (again, courtesy of Blitzø’s driving).

Blitzø had traded his usual assassin clothing for a more regular, butler-esq look: a white undershirt with large cuffs that had a single red dot on them, a red shirt with no sleeves, and a black bowtie. He even had his collar up!

Blitzø: “Okay. You ready?”

Blitzø asked Stolas in a comforting manner, but Stolas didn’t seem comforted. The poor bird was terrified. He had been disgraced, barred, and the last time he had dared go to his manor, Andrealphus nearly killed him (though he did get some damn good hits on the snobby peacock). The owl Goetian had traded his (now) usual civilian attire for his former princely attire, though he still kept that streak of white in his hair he had picked up from one of his Hell-A-Novela’s.

Stolas fidgeted with his long, gloved black fingers as he looked back at Blitzø, the glowing white pupils of his glowing red sclera shrinking slightly.

Stolas: “No. But I suppose I must be.”

He adjusted his collar and the tuft of chest-fur deliberately hanging out, before making a fist and speaking with a new-found determination.

Stolas: “For Via.”

Blitzø stutters, looking at Stolas and stuttering a bit.

Blitzø: “For Vi… Yes, yeah. Via. We are, we are doing this for Via.”

He chuckles awkwardly, smiling even more so, as Stolas gets out of the car and looks up with fear at the staircase. He turns to Blitzø, sagging his shoulders slightly.

Stolas: “Good luck, Blitz.”

Blitzø: “I don’t need luck. I got skills.”

The imp says, highlighting the ‘skills’ as he puts on a pair of shades… then backs up and smashes the van against a (no doubt extremely expensive) parked car, the shades falling of his face as he yells in anger.

Blitzø: “Shit! Who the fuck parks there?! I mean, come on!”

As Blitzø drives away, the tires screeching loudly, Stolas turns to the front door staircase and closes his eyes, smiling slightly.

Stolas walked through the ornate, golden entryway into his former home, now bustling with dozens of Goetians— all of whom now outrank him and are here to buy his up-for-sale items. The inside of the manor was just as icy as the outside was, but no one seemed to mind- at least none of the Goetians.

Just as Stolas crossed the entry threshold, a short, unassuming imp with a monocle and a clipboard speaks.

Servant: “Name and title so I might announce you.”

Stolas, panicking, holds up his hands and speaks softly, trying to hide his identity. If Andrealphus, or Lucifer forbid, Stella, was here, he might not make it out alive before Blitzø could grab his mother’s amulet.

Stolas: “Oh. No, no. There’s no need.”

The imp, slightly annoyed, keeps looking down at the clipboard and speaks again.

Servant: “Name and title, if you please.”

He gestures toward Stolas, who was once again fidgeting with his collar, looking dreadfully down at the imp.

Stolas: “Um, Stolas. Uh, prin… Well, former prince of the Ars Goetia.”

Stolas clutches his shirt again as the imp, surprised, stutters and looks up at him.

Servant: “Oh! Um… Pri… um… Stolas, welcome.”

The servant steps aside, gesturing into the ballroom, and as Stolas walks in, looking like a nervous bird, the imp clears his throat and yells, surprising Stolas.

Servant: “Disgraced former prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia!”

The servant, screaming loudly, accidentally sends some saliva onto Stolas’s head, but the poor owl demon didn’t care. He was too busy walking through the chuckling and murmuring crowds, heading into the auction room, where a similarly dressed imp to the one who just announced his presence bows and gestures him towards an empty table. Stolas walks over, leaning against the table as an imp- still dressed the same as the other servants- sets a ladder onto the table and climbs up it, setting down a golden platter with a large green and white heart-shaped bottle of alcohol and a wine glass. The imp pours Stolas some wine, leaving the plate behind, before stepping down the ladder and removing it. Stolas takes the glass, looking down at it, but before he can take a sip, he looks up- his eyes widening as he sees everyone in the room staring at him, someone clearing their throat and another coughing awkwardly. Stolas speaks, before he uncaps the bottle of alcohol and pours it into his open beak.

Stolas: “Oh fuck me.”

—-

Stolas stood at the table, the bottle of alcohol lying flat on its side. He had been given a wide berth as the crowd chattered softly and looked at him. “Oh, I love parties.” “I just love them.” “Did you know he’s paying taxes? Like a poor person?” They laugh, and upon hearing this, Stolas sinks lower and lower until he was hiding beneath the tall table. A passing imp servant, holding a tray larger than the imp was tall, notices this and hands Stolas another glass of wine. Stolas takes it, watching the imp walk away, but before he could say anything, a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.

Stella: “Stolaaaaaaaas…!”

Stolas spits out his drink, standing and smacking his head on the table, spilling some alcohol from the tipped over bottle as he backed away from the approaching figure of Stella.

Stolas: “Oh. Um, I, um, uh… shit.”

He turns away from Stella, but quickly turns back as she marches toward him, pointing her finger at him until it was mere centimeters from his beak, her other hand holding up her large dress.

Stella: “How dare you come to this palace? You are banished. You have no place among your betters! Everyone here knows that Stolas—“

A voice interupts her, and a white-gloved arm settles on Stolas’s shoulder.

Vassago: “Is my guest.”

Everyone gasps as the prince, Vassago, leans forward, the clear orange-tinted glasses the scarlet macaw wore reflecting his glowing red sclera’s

Vassago: “You did say we could bring whoever we wanted, correct, Stella?”

Vassago takes out the invitation envelope, the front cover depicting Stella’s eye. Meanwhile, Stolas looks at Vassago in shock, before turning to look at Stella, who is also seemingly in shock. Vassago continues, turning and gesturing around the room.

Vassago “To quote, “share in the humiliation and ridicule of my former husband.””

As Vassago puts away the letter, Stella sputters, walking toward the red bird, her tone now less aggressive and more perplexed and annoyed. She comes up beside him, rubbing her fingers together.

Stella: “Well I have obviously didn’t mean him! What will the Goetia think if I—“

Vassago once again interjects, his hands behind his back as he leans down toward her level, turning his cheek to her.

Vassago: “Well, speaking for myself and fellows,” He puts a hand on his chest while gesturing to the rest of the Goetians, who nod along. “I think they’d think you are honoring what you said on your invitation. Cualquiera puede asistir.”

He bows to another Goetian, before turning to Stella and taking her hand, leaning down as he speaks.

Vassago: “Oh. It was very gracious of you, querida.”

Stella blushes, laughing quietly as she turns away, while the crowd applauds.

Stella: “Oh. Thank you.” She chuckles softly. “Fine. Stay.” She walks over to and waves her hand dismissively at Stolas. “I don’t care. I’ll enjoy watching your stupid face as I sell every stupid thing you’ve ever cared about.” She walks over to Vassago, curtsying as she speaks to him. “Honored as always to have you here, Prince Vassago. Even with your shitty taste in company.”

Stella shoulder checks Stolas, who rubs his shoulder and turns to Vassago. Vassago sags his shoulders, letting the facade drop, before turning to Stolas and smiling slightly. Stolas sheepishly rubs his shoulder.

Stolas: “Thank you for that. Um…” He chuckles nervously. “It’s been so long, I…”

Vassago steps up to Stolas, smiling.

Vassago: “Oh. Don’t tell me you forgot about me.” He places a hand on his chest, and Stolas beams.

Stolas: “No, of course not.” He blushes. “Apologies. I-I just don’t think I wanted to…” He clears his throat. “…dwell on…”

Vassago smiles, leaning down to grab a glass from an imp, meanwhile Stolas looks anxious, but for a completely different reason this time.

Vassago: “So. It’s been almost 20 years, mi amigo. What have you been up to? Other than being banished, of course.” He said the last part sadly, looking down and away from Stolas, the purplish hairs on the back of his head lowering as Stolas finishes his drink. “Sorry about that, by the way. I-I was there.”

Stolas’s eyes widen, and for the second time today, he spits out his drink and coughs.

Stolas: “You were? Oh, fuck.” He holds his hand up to his face, starting to walk away. “Um… I should go.”

Vassago chuckles, turning around and reaching out for Stolas.

Vassago: “No, no, no, no. Wait, wait, wait. It’s okay. Really.” He chuckles softly, holding the glass he was drinking up to his chest. “It’s been a while. Maybe we can catch up a bit. Buy you a drink?”

Vassago offers Stolas his arm, who takes it and walks with him.

Stolas: “Oh, gods, yes.”

They both chuckle as they walk away toward the bar, meanwhile a Goetian speaks. “Oh, he just can’t help himself.”the Goetian turns to an imp. “Can I have a drink?”

—

As they reach the table after buying a drink, Vassago chuckles as they both stand on opposite sides.

Vassago: “Honestly, I didn’t really expect to see my old classmate singing about betrayal and ambition right in Satan’s face. It was, it was pretty impressive, all things considered. Didn’t, didn’t expect that from you.

Vassago smiles, picking up his glass as Stolas speaks.

Stolas: “You didn’t expect me to be such a treasonous fool?”

Vassago laughs, waves his hand, placing a hand on his chest and gesturing with the other.

Vassago: “No, no, no, no. Just to be brave like that. It’s really good to see you again, Stolas.”

Vassago leans closer, smiling sincerely, before pulling back and leaning his head on his hands. Stolas smiles, speaking softly and just as sincerely. As he speaks, Vassago stands back up, taking his wine glass.

Stolas: “It’s good to see you, too. You sure got…” He chuckles. “Older. I mean- you’re handsome now. Uh, not that you weren’t before. I mean… I’ll be quiet.”

Stolas turns away to sip on his wine nervously, while Vassago’s eyes widen, before he laughs softly, leaning sideways to catch Stolas’s eye.

Vassago: “Podría decir lo mismo de ti, pero… siempre lo has sido.” He leans his head against his hand, his Spanish accent smoothing out as he looks lovingly at Stolas. Stolas turns back, sheepishly speaking.

Stolas: “Uh, I only caught a little of that.”

Vassago smiles, standing up straight again.

Vassago: “You look good too, Stolas.” He summon a ray of dazzling starlight as he waves his hand. “Me encanta tu sonrisa. Did you… get that one?” He asks slyly, the magic fading from his hands as he leans closer to Stolas.

Stolas smiles, looking down at his glass, then back at Vassago, then back at his glass and takes a sip.

Stolas: “Yes, I did.”

—-

Blitzø, now disguised as a waiter, carries a tray and walks up to Stolas.

Blitzø: “Psst. Stolas!”

Stolas chuckles at something Vassago said, before turning to Blitzø, not realizing it was him.

Stolas: “No, thank you. We’re fine.”

Blitzø runs up beneath Stolas, kicking the bird in the shin. Stolas lets out an ‘ow’, before leaning down beneath the table to speak with Blitzø.

Blitzø: “Stolas.”

Stolas: “Blitzø, what are you—“

Blitzø: “The servant’s corridors are a no-go. Is there some other way up to the balcony?”

Stolas whispers, turning his head in the direction he was describing.

Stolas: “Though the second floor of the library, but that way—“

Blitzø interrupts him, smirking as he makes his way toward where Stolas was now pointing.

Blitzø: “Thanks.”

Stolas smiles as the imp runs off, hearing some glass shattering, before speaking to Vassago, who tilts his head at Stolas.

Stolas: “Not to come off as ungrateful, but what are you doing here? It seems everyone is here to revel in my humiliation. I would hope…” He clears his throat. “That’s not the case with you?”

Vassago watches some Goetians pass by, before closing his eyes dishearteningly, before turning to Stolas.

Vassago: “No. Far from it. I’m here to win one specific item I didn’t want falling into anyone else’s hands.”

The lights suddenly turn off as the voice of Andrealphus booms throughout the room, the center stage lights turning on, illuminating the podium of ice and Andrealphus descending on manifested blocks of ice while lifting his dress. Stella walks up onto the stage by his side.

Andrealphus: “Ladies and gentleman of the Ars Goetia, welcome. Tonight we have for you a selection of items for sale, belonging to the one, the only, the utter embarrassment, Stolas.” He chuckles, picking up his mallet made of ice. “Who was, who was gracious enough to join us tonight.” He points the mallet at Stolas, and the stage light follows onto Stolas, who blocks it with his arm. “Everyone… feel free to point and laugh to your hearts’ content.”

On cue, everyone begins laughing, and Stolas just leans down onto the table and cross his arms while Vassago looks down at him with pity, before moving in front of Stolas to block him from the ridicule of the crowd.

—-

An imp walks toward a pedestal, placing a glittering purple and gold journal with a cursive ‘S’ on the front of the book.

Andrealphus: “The next item up for bid is a journal from Stolas’s youth. Sure to be full of embarrassing stories about being a lonely, pathetic, unloved little brat. Hilarious fun for the whole family. Should we start the bidding at 100,000?”

Immediately, dozens of hands shoot up as the crowd erupts into cheers, with vassago’s hand going up as well. Stolas, however, is too busy reminiscing about what he wrote in the journal: how he met Vassago, his time training in magic with Vassago and their master Barbados, how Vassago and he gradually fell in love, how Vassago had kissed him and begged him to run away with him… how he had tearfully denied Vassago’s offer to fulfill the destiny Stolas’s father Paimon so clearly laid out for him. Stolas is snapped out of his memories, his eyes wide with fear, as Andrealphus yells.

Andrealphus: “Sold! To Prince Vassago.”

A servant brings over the journal, which Vassago takes.

Stolas: “What?”

Vassago scoffs, taking the book and handing it over to Stolas.

Vassago: “I told you. Just one thing.”

Stolas chuckles, taking the book delicately from Vassago.

Stolas: “Huh. Wow. You don’t want to read your prize first?” He asks, offering the book to Vassago.

Vassago: “Eh, I’m pretty sure I know what’s in there.”

—-

Vassago swirls the wine around in his glass, turning to face Stolas.

Vassago: “Stolas, uh, I was, uh, wondering—“

Stolas interupts Vassago as he sees the locket Blitzø was supposed to steal, the locket belonging to his mother— the only thing he had of her— the locket he was going to give to Octavia. Stolas stands, yelling.

Stolas: “No!”

Vassago, surprised and taken aback, drops his glass and holds out his hands in a placating gesture toward Stolas before he speaks.

Vassago: “Oh! Okay. Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Stolas is too entranced by the item, the golden locket with a rectangular purple gem in the middle, to acknowledge Vassago.

Andrealphus: “The next item is some old locket. Not much to speak of. It’s dreadfully pedestrian.”

Andrealphus says, making his typical effeminate movements and hand gestures, before glancing up as Stolas yells once more.

Stolas: “Andrealphus, please! You can’t!”

Andrealphus smiles wickedly, pointing the mallet at Stolas again as he speaks.

Andrealphus: “But Stolas seems to like this piece of shit, so uh, let’s start at 100,000.”

Stolas collapses onto the table, hands on his head. Vassago turns, clearly worried for him, before speaking.

*Vassago: “Stolas, what’s so special about that thing?”

Stolas let’s go of his head, looking up at Vassago, his voice panicked and close to tears.

Stolas: “It, it was meant for Via. It was my mother’s.”

Vassago’s eyes widen, determination filling his eyes, before raising his hand and shouting.

Vassago: “200,000!”

Stolas looks up, eyes widen, blinking.

Stolas: “What?”

People gasp, and Stella fucking freaks out, standing up and grabbing her hair, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Stella: “Oh, fuck no! 300,000!”

Andrealphus looks at Stella, trying not to explode in anger in front of the Goetians.

Andrealphus: “Stella, what the fuck are you doing?”

Stella: “He’s going to give it to Stolas!”

Andrealphus chuckles nervously, clearly taken aback by Stella’s pure anger.

Andrealphus: “Stella, you’re supposed to make money on these things, not spend it.” He says, setting the mallet down and rubbing his fingers together, clearly struggling to keep his voice calm.

Stella screams again, acting like a child having a tantrum.

Stella: “I don’t care! 400,000!”

She says, holding up a five.

Andrealphus grabs his head, speaking in exasperation.

Andrealphus: “You’re already the top bid, you stupid…!” He says, about to explode in anger, but quickly reels it in, grabbing the mallet and gesturing around. “Anyone else?”

Vassago: “600,000!”

Stella runs to grab the mallet from Andrealphus, who keeps it from her.

Stella: “700,000!”

Vassago begins storming to the front of the room toward the stage, pointing at the locket.

Vassago: “850,000!”

Stella: “900,000!”

Vassago: “900,001!”

Stella holds up the middle finger, screaming again.

Stella: “Fuck you! One million!”

Vassago, letting out his anger in his Spanish accent, holds up the middle finger.

Vassago: “No, fuck you! One hundred millones!”

Andrealphus grabs stella’s beak shut, hitting the mallet on the podium.

Andrealphus: “Sold! To Prince Vassago. Pleeeease, deliver the locket.”

This whole time, however, Blitzø had been fighting with the guards to sneakily steal the locket, and he almost had it, when Andrealphus notices him, an instant snarl coming to the icy peacock demon’s face.

Andrealphus: “You! Guards!”

The guards grab Blitzø, one of them apologizing before taking a picture with the imp, as Stolas cries out for Blitzø.

Stolas: “Blitzø! No!”

Vassago, thinking on his feet, puts on his confident act and speaks up.

Vassago: “Uh, uh, unhand my valet at once.”

Andrealphus: “Your what now?” He asks, still holding Stella’s beak shut.

Vassago chuckles, walking to the stage.

Vassago: “He’s, he’s working for me tonight, Andrealphus. Merely securing my property. You’ll have to pardon me for breaking protocol, but… I did just promise you a lot of money for it.”

Andrealphus groans, before responding

Andrealphus: “Right you are. Unhand the imp.”

Blitzø is dropped, and quickly tries to run, but Vassago grabs him and laughs nervously.

Vassago: “Play along, little one.”

Blitzø hides his face in the bust of the chest the locket was placed around, faint tears coming to his eyes as he hands the locket over to Vassago.

Vassago: “Why- why don’t you bring my car around before you cause these nice people anymore alarm? Por favor.”

Blitzø growls, clearly about to explode, but stops and snarls.

Blitzø: “Whatever you say… sir.”

As Blitzø fake-bows and storms away, Vassago chuckles and grabs Stolas, beginning to leave.

Vassago: “Okay, we really should be leaving. Hasta leugo!”

As they walk out, Vassago speaks, snapping the locket around Stolas’s neck.

Vassago: “Oh, I almost forgot. Your locket, mi principe.”

Stolas, in shock, clutches the locket.

Stolas: “I… I can’t believe it. Vassago, you… thank you. But why?”

Vassago leans against the railing of the stairs up to the front door, speaking softly.

Vassago: “Because I meant what I wrote in there.”

Stolas raises his eyebrow, taking out the book and flipping through pages of words and pictures he had drawn of Vassago in his youth, one being a shirtless Vassago.

Stolas: “Whoa. Oh. Oh, no. No, no, no. Ignore that. No, no, no…”

While Stolas was sweating profusely, Vassago leans forward, opening the book to the page he has wrote on.

Whenever you’re Ready, So Am I. -yours Always, Vassago ❤️

Stolas: “Oh. Oh.”

Vassago laughs, leaning over his shoulder.

Vassago: “You know, I heard somewhere that you were banished. So, no responsibilities, no duties, no wife… how about it, Stolas? You ready now?” He asks, holding out his hand.

Stolas’s eyes widen, looking out at where Blitzø was in the van, before looking back at Vassago.

Stolas: “Ready? To run away? To- to live on the sun? What?”

Noticing Stolas was spiraling, Vassago brushed his hand against Stolas’s arm.

Vassago: “How about we just start with dinner. Hmm?” He offers his hand, and Stolas takes it. “I’ve become more patient with age.” He says, clasping his hands over Stolas’s one. Stolas’s feathers fluff up as he blushes.

Stolas: “Oh. Uh, just give me one moment.”

He quickly texts Blitzø, telling him that he’s sorry for how things went and he cannot thank Blitzø enough, and that he was going out to dinner with Vassago. Blitzø has a quick rage, before texting Stolas back a quick ‘no problem’ and driving off through a wall.

Vassago lays his hands on Stolas’s shoulders, leaning in.

Vassago: “So?”

Stolas sighs, deleting the SafeWord app.

Stolas: “Yes. I’m ready.”