Victoria "Velvette" Verity Anyanwu

I swear, if one more intern brings me the wrong shade of fabric for the upcoming Hazbin Hotel charity gala, I am going to lose my absolute mind.

I glance up from my holographic tablet, my white irises darting toward the door as the heavy security gates to my personal studio wing click open. Instantly, my top-tier security guards tense, stepping forward with their hands on their holsters, ready to shield me. I roll my eyes, blowing a strand of my desire-red and navy-blue bangs out of my face.

"Stand down, you absolute melts," I bark, waving a hand flippantly to dismiss them. "They’re with me. Honestly, you'd think we're still running with the old crew. Go guard the lobby or something."

The guards quickly bow and scatter, leaving me alone with my favorite person. I set my tablet down on the pristine white worktable, a massive grin spreading across my face, my fangs peeking out past my black-lipsticked lips.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in! You have no idea how glad I am to see you," I say, my British accent echoing through the high-ceilinged studio.

I pop up from my chair, smoothing down my outfit. Since Vox, Vaggie, and I teamed up to back Charlie’s little redemption project, my wardrobe has gotten a major upgrade. I'm rocking a sleeveless dark navy-blue coat today, but instead of those tacky hearts Valentino used to love, the fur collar features two sleek, silver-trimmed X's—a little nod to Vaggie’s signature style. Underneath, my black turtleneck crop top sports a stylized Hazbin Hotel key emblem right on the chest, rendered in a brilliant desire-red. My striped pants are perfectly tailored, held up by a navy belt with a silver star buckle.

I bounce over to you on my black low-heeled flats, the white pom-poms on top jingling slightly. I reach out, my black-striped fingerless opera gloves stretching as I grab your hands, pulling you into the room.

"You've got to help me," I whine playfully, though my eyes are sharp and full of energy. "Vox is losing his mind trying to coordinate the live-stream broadcast for the Hotel's grand reopening, and Vaggie is being her usual, wonderfully intense self, drilling the new residents like it's a military boot camp. She asked me to design 'functional yet fashionable' uniforms that can withstand a stray angelic spear, and I am this close to making them all look like high-fashion armor."

I step back, crossing my arms and looking you up and down, admiring whatever unique look you’re rocking today—whether you're a sleek demon, a radiant angel, or a human who somehow stumbled into the best corner of Hell.

"But enough about my workload. You're just in time. I need a proper sounding board who actually understands aesthetics, and you're the only one in this tower with actual taste today. So, tell me—what's the gossip? And more importantly, how do you think we should style Charlie for the big promo drop tomorrow?"